We have a new REAL coffee place in town! It is just a block away from the office and Oh So Perfect! I went in one morning last week and saw that they had a weekly schedule posted on a big chalkboard. That night was an open mic night poetry reading. I was telling Rachel about it when I got to work. We kicked it around and decided that we would go. We are all about *the culture* ya know. The poetry reading was scheduled to begin at 6:30.

I got to Broadway Brewery before Rach so I went ahead and got a Raspberry Italian Cream Soda. YYYUUUUMMMMMYYYYY!! They were getting chairs and things arraigned for the festivities. I got ready to pay and the Batista leaned in and told me, *UUUmmmm Ma'am (Yes, he called me ma'am) we are about to have an open mike night for poetry.....* Me *Yes! That is why I am here!* Him ~heavy silence and blinking of his eyes~ That should have been my first clue.

I found a booth and got settled in and waited for Rach. There was already a group of young men fiddling with the sound system. And fiddling and fiddling and fiddling.

JOKE: How many college students does it take to adjust a mike?

At least 8 and they all must different times and different levels. This continued for quiet some time. However, I am sure the same thing would have happened with a group of 40 year old men.

Rach comes in and we get ready to be entertained. It is 6:30.

People trickle in and find their seats. A lot of hugging goes on between the male and female of the species. Several have lap tops. At about that time, the dark haired young man that seems to be in charge of the whole thing, begins to pass around a note book. He tells people to write down their name if they are there to perform. He goes to every single person there with that instruction until be gets about 2 feet away from our table....stops...and then turns away.

I guess we just did not look too Sylvia Plathish to him.

He also begins to announce that there will be three rounds at the reading. He urges us to keep the first round FAMILY FRIENDLY. They he goes on to say *You know what I TV censorship 30 years ago.*

WHAT THE ????? I am thinking that he has no point of reference seeing as though he was not even a twinkle in his daddy's eye 30 years ago!

And just how down and dirty was this thing going to get? We just could not wait to see what happened in round 2 or round 3!

The poetry reading did not begin until 7:30. Rach and I NOW KNOW the cool girls do not get there until AT LEAST 7:30. We shant make that mistake again!!

The reading began with a two man duet. Poetry had really changed over the years. Now it involves a hand gesture for each word and a mighty flinging of your paper once you have finished your page!

We learned how the poet is an addict for his craft. The words are his drug shot up into his cold icy veins. ~this is all accompanied by a dramatic slapping on his hand on his other arm trying to raise a vein~ How lovers and solders are all the same in this battle field we call love. ~now you need raise your right hand up in the air like you are holding a sword and bow your head to your chest and give a LLLLOOOONNNNNGGGGG dramatic pause~

Then a young man stood up to read a poem from his lap top. An ode to his Japanese ancestry.

~blink blink~

He was a little white boy. If there was any Japanese in him, it was only because he ate Japanese food for lunch. A small blip on the Japanese radar.

The words that ran throughout round one were: Shivers, addicted and war. Addicted and war are easy words to weave through poetry. I think you got bonus points for the use of shiver. I kid you was in almost every poem! *I shiver as I stand alone on this battlefield of your rejection*, *the words shiver as they race through my pen*, *shiver me timbers* .

~snickers~ that last one I just threw in to see if you are still reading.

One girl got up to read and she looked the part. Hard...edgy....mean streets. I knew her words were going to come deep from the soul. was all about basketballs and rebounds in relationships. *Bounce Bounce Bounce Bounce Bounce Rebound off the back board of the soul*.

That concluded round 1.

These kids tried so hard. Yet, it is hard to write about things that have not been experienced yet. We were impressed with their jaded sensibilities even though they are all middle class white kids with Old Navy credit cards. I guess that we felt the same things when we were their age. Lord knows that I thought that I KNEW everything when I was 18. For $3.50, the whole experience was better than a movie.

I looked at Rachel and we both knew what the other was thinking. It was time to be at home in our p.j.'s. We got up to leave. I just know they thought we had packed our hoverarounds in the handicapped parking.

We tried so hard to stay for round 2 and 3 but....well you know....

we had to go home and take our Geritol.


  1. Ahhh... culture and angst in the town with the cows. I say next time y'all join in the readings and give them a run for their money -- let them know what we "old folks" can do!! :)

  2. ROFLOL--what a hoot! You describe it so well that I feel as though I were there with you!

    Ah, youth....

  3. Well, I guess once you are of a certain age if its not Pat Sajak then us "old folks" just ain't interested.

    You should go next time with a little poetry of your own. I think you could WOW them. If you could tear the notebook out of their clutches.

  4. SHIVER me timbers indeed! ANd when I stop giggling, I'll create me a poem on Geritol...

    you and Rach get to have all the fun!


  5. *huge grin* It was HYSTERICAL. Seriously.

    I can't wait 'till next time. Maybe I'll take a nap in my chair before we go so I can stay awake long enough to hear the good stuff.

  6. you. crack. me. up.

    shiva me timbers indeed!


  7. LMAO! You have all the fun out there.

  8. LOL!! The "poets" probably said, "Whew, now the old folks are gone" after y'all left. Donna's right, next time take some poems of your own.
    I remember in junior high, our parents and teachers were concerned because we all were writing poems about "the cold hand of death", etc. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

  9. HAHAHAHAHA! I wish I could go there with you. We could dress in black tights, black sweatshirts and berets, with long cigarette holders and unlit cigarettes and snap our fingers instead of applaud!!! It would be so fun. Wanna?

  10. That is sooo funny! You should be the poet ~ you're descriptions always make me feel like I am right there with you.

  11. Hey, I'm with PG. Though thighs of cellulite in tight black clothing might scare small children, I am *TOTALLY* up for a RevGal meet up!



  12. Two women sipping flavored coffee
    oblivious to the torment surrounding them.

    How can they know?
    In the comfort of their "old" skin
    they cannot know our anguish, our turmoil.

    How dare they sit and judge us?
    What do they know, what have they seen?

    That's right! Go, go!
    Roll out to your parking space with the solid blue lines!
    Get in your cars, go home and go to bed!

    Because you don't know what it's like to spend your entire life recycling!
    Copying and pasting.

    What do you know?
    Sylvia Plath?!
    She designed jeans, didn't she?

  13. Sometimes it's just so hard to be deep!

    I prefer the "shiver me timbers" myself.

    You should go with a poem about youth.

  14. Its a Wonderful is my hero.

  15. Hilarious. We don't have this kind of culture here. I'm totally jealous.

    I say next time you should bring a whole group of friends and share some haiku poetry or perhaps a few limmericks.

  16. I just want to make it clear that I don't even have any of my poetry that I wrote from before I was thirty. It was trash. THe only ones I kept was the first one from when I was 8 years old, 'cause it was first and all and the one I wrote about sewing a dress for my 3 year old like my mother sewed dresses for me. Other than that...ghastly.

  17. Hah! We were in there for lunch yesterday--took a terribly long time to assemble four sandwiches, but I think the waitress was new. And she had to peel and mash the avocados first.

    I can just imagine the scene. Some of those kids are in theatre (yes, I meant to spell it that way), and they just pray for a scene in which they get to say "damn" or "hell." Life. Must. Be. Serious. Or somethinlikethat.

    Let me know next time you are going and I will tag along. Yes, some of them know I am a religion professor--should really crimp their style..

  18. I could puke I am so disgusted with them assuming such things that you are Rach were not poets! *ugh* I want to write a letter, yell and scream, you a&*holes, if someone came to your uppity f'ing poetry reading, then maybe, just maybe you should welcome and include them.

    ok... I am fine now. They are smelly. Like their poetry. Smelly.

  19. Lol, the only way this story is any funnier is when you are telling in person!!! I love you so much!

  20. Anonymous9:06 PM

    high.lar.ity in the town of cows!! maybe we should collectively compose something that would knock their shivery socks off!! Then you and Rach could read it together with hand motions!! I learned a new way to write poetry earlier this summer - and I need something else to do!!

  21. LMAO.
    Yeah, this is how I felt the first time I attended a seminary event for talent (mostly set up by the under 30 crowd)...but when I went back for a visit I was one of the first to volunteer for improv.
    Yes, Geritol, my Hooverround and Depends undergarments did nto stop me.
    Quite the participants we are!
    Also, I am reminded of a classic camp poem called, " The Horse."
    You should go and do it next time.

  22. I'm so glad you wrote about this experience! I have been wanting to go to an open mic poetry reading. I think you may have cured me of that notion!

    Did you notice your typo about arraigning the chairs?? He probably got an early whiff of your PO scent!!

    Ha! You could write a poem about the scent of a PO!!

    Young people poetry is mostly so silly! They think they are writing such fresh stuff when really, it is the same old stuff we wrote about when we were their age!

  23. PS--I love it's a wonderful's poetic interpretation of the evening's events.


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