11.25.05

Bad Poetry Night was considerably more fun than a mouthfull of fishhooks. MC-CC promises that there will be more.

Many foam rocks were thrown. Much hooting and hollering happened. I read drunken and dramatically. Thank goodness my only t-day obligation was to call Gran'mere late in the afternoon--because I was in no shape to be lovely and granddaughter-ish until late in the day.

Let's put it this way, my throwing arm is still sore today (Friday) from Wednesday night's rock-lobbing.

It was ridiculous, silly, unserious, and ordered everyone to take the corks out of their asses. Yay! Poets tend to take themselves too seriously. We forget that the real fun is in playing with words and sounds. I am deeply suspicious of anything that has lost its sense of humour.

I'm off. Have a lovely weekend, y'all.

Go. Be fabulous.

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