09.20.04

I am the luckiest girl.

Last night, much to my surprise, I went down to the Hole for the regular Beat Revival. Aha--but it wasn't the usual thing. Last night was the original MC's (Molotov) goodbye party/poetry/hoo-ha.

Here's the lucky part; I got to the bar and had to park across the street. In the shadowed light from the used car lot, I saw men in skirts. They had huge bags under their left arms, and sporrans.

Great day in the morning, Scots bagpipes! I parked and flew out of ToraTorakku.

"Good god," I said to the kilted men, "I've heard of people not liking bagpipes, but making you stand all the way out here is ridiculous."

We got to talking about the pipes, and songs that we liked. Then one guy asked if they could play something for me. I said that I didn't really know any titles, just Gay Gordons but...

"You know the correct name!" he said. (It's the song that you might know as either Scotland the Brave or--ugh--as the Old Spice commercial song.) "Let me shake your hand. Now we've really got to play something for you."

"How about Lovat's Lament?"

"Great!" He got his pipes all ready (the pipes are notoriously tempermental) and let 'er rip.

It was grand. As he played, Molotov and EmCeeCeeCee walked up, huge grins plastered on their faces. We stood together and enjoyed the song.

After the song ended, Molotov had some instructions to the players. I thanked the pipers and went into the Hole, grinning.

The pipers played inside a little later on as Molotov and EmCeeCeeCee read. It was loud, but most satisfying.

I read last night, much to my surprise. When one of the hosts came by the table and said that we were all on the list to read, it didn't register that I was one of the people that'd be put on a list. Erp.

Eek. Next thing I know, my name's getting called from the stage. AAAAAAAAHHHHH! Managed to get up and do a few poems, ending with "Tonight." (Tonight I've decided/to believe the shit/that falls out of your mouth.//Call it boredom/Call it mercy/It's easier to say/What the fuck/for a fuck//and you//You wonder if you're gonna get laid tonight.///I all ready know.)

Gosh, I like that poem. *grin* And it makes all the boys gasp.

Binkie got up and read (YAY!) as did Treluv (YAY!), and all sorts of disreputable poet-types.

Towards the end of the evening, a youngish man came up to the table. He thanked us for reading, turning to Treluv and me and thanking each one of us. It was weird, to be the recipient of that sort of almost, hell, I don't know what to call it, uhm, attention. Like some strange big frog, small pond, minor celebrity. Weird.

The bar owner got up and thanked Molotov, and gave shots away to everyone left at the Hole. There was some attempt at pressuring me to take a shot, but I am made of Very Firm Stuff (when I want). I declined the shot offer. There was some loose talk about going to another, but if the biggest draw to the place is drinking and shuffleboard (!!), eh, not so interested. Plus, I am input-overwhelmed at this point. All I want is my empty bed, a good book, and a purring cat nestled against my belly.

I said my good-byes, got invited to a mock-weapon melee Monday at noon, got another ego-expanding puff of compliments (ranging from physical beauty to admiration of my writing--guess which one thrills me more) *laugh*, and headed out to the 'burbs.

It was lovely, and I'm glad I got my tucchus out the door.

Dang.

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