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seabird78So last night was the No Touching reading at Phyllis’s Musical Inn. I met up with some good friends for BBQ at Smoke Daddy beforehand, and was reminded of how much I love me some smoky, tangy, spicy flavor. I ate a veggie burger that I doused with a couple different sauces, and learned that sweet potato fries are love.
After that it was off to the bar. A good crowd had already gathered, but I think a lot of them were the place’s regular patrons, because a bunch of them couldn’t be bothered to lower their voices once the storytelling began. One woman in particular was really wasted, and kept muttering loudly to herself while people were reading. She had a haircut similar to Moe of the Three Stooges, a rather wide gap between her front teeth, and a light blue fleece scarf draped around her neck. At one point, the person on the stage must have caught her attention, because she started responding to his lines of dialogue.
“Get over it? You get over it!” I don’t know if she realized he wasn’t talking to her, but even if she did she didn’t give a damn, she just wanted to make her voice heard. It got so bad that a bartender from around the bar, pressed a folded up pile of bills in her hand, and pointed her in the direction of the door. And she didn’t put up too much of a fuss, but she sure as hell didn’t go quietly either. I felt so bad for the guy trying to read, and started wondering if I’d be able to tune out such distractions if they were happening when I got up there.
“Stupid, you’re all stupid,” she said as she passed me on her way out. “Or maybe I’m real drunk.”
Once she left, there were a couple other people talking loudly near the entrance, but for the most part everyone was quiet and respectful. I ended up reading second-to-last, and by then the only people left were the ones who had come to enjoy the show. The events from earlier in the night had worked me into a nervous frenzy, but once I got up there that all disappeared, and I managed to read without flubbing my lines or stumbling over words too much. There was one point in my story involving music that I sort of botched, (I had brought a CD to be cued up at certain points throughout the piece, and I paused for the first sound clip a paragraph too soon) but I was able to recover and keep going and hopefully make everyone forget my blunder. The story was pretty well received, and I loved everything else that was performed…it made me happy to be in the company of such talented writers.
And that’s pretty much it. My friend Stephanie and I headed home in the rain, and I realized that I need to get out to literary type events more often, especially those put on by cool people from the Columbia College Fiction Writing Department. It’s the only thing that really feeds my desire to create, well, that and being introduced as “one of the hardest working writers in Chicago.” Yeah, that was pretty damn cool.
After that it was off to the bar. A good crowd had already gathered, but I think a lot of them were the place’s regular patrons, because a bunch of them couldn’t be bothered to lower their voices once the storytelling began. One woman in particular was really wasted, and kept muttering loudly to herself while people were reading. She had a haircut similar to Moe of the Three Stooges, a rather wide gap between her front teeth, and a light blue fleece scarf draped around her neck. At one point, the person on the stage must have caught her attention, because she started responding to his lines of dialogue.
“Get over it? You get over it!” I don’t know if she realized he wasn’t talking to her, but even if she did she didn’t give a damn, she just wanted to make her voice heard. It got so bad that a bartender from around the bar, pressed a folded up pile of bills in her hand, and pointed her in the direction of the door. And she didn’t put up too much of a fuss, but she sure as hell didn’t go quietly either. I felt so bad for the guy trying to read, and started wondering if I’d be able to tune out such distractions if they were happening when I got up there.
“Stupid, you’re all stupid,” she said as she passed me on her way out. “Or maybe I’m real drunk.”
Once she left, there were a couple other people talking loudly near the entrance, but for the most part everyone was quiet and respectful. I ended up reading second-to-last, and by then the only people left were the ones who had come to enjoy the show. The events from earlier in the night had worked me into a nervous frenzy, but once I got up there that all disappeared, and I managed to read without flubbing my lines or stumbling over words too much. There was one point in my story involving music that I sort of botched, (I had brought a CD to be cued up at certain points throughout the piece, and I paused for the first sound clip a paragraph too soon) but I was able to recover and keep going and hopefully make everyone forget my blunder. The story was pretty well received, and I loved everything else that was performed…it made me happy to be in the company of such talented writers.
And that’s pretty much it. My friend Stephanie and I headed home in the rain, and I realized that I need to get out to literary type events more often, especially those put on by cool people from the Columbia College Fiction Writing Department. It’s the only thing that really feeds my desire to create, well, that and being introduced as “one of the hardest working writers in Chicago.” Yeah, that was pretty damn cool.
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no subject
Date: 2006-12-21 10:41 pm (UTC)On the other hand, KJ makes great sweet potato fries~