Last night I dreamt that I had a tiny baby. He was, like, the size of my fist, and adorable. I remember thinking that I had to be very careful because I loved him so much I wanted to squeeze him, and then he might get crushed.
I also dreamt I was in negotiations to rent a loft apartment, and when I went to see it, it was like the size of a cathedral and had one wall that was just a three-story window with a nice Manhattan view. I remember being so happy that it had hardwood floors, which were in fabulous condition.
I'm going to the Million Poems Show tonight. Six-thirty at Bowery Poetry Club. We can all do a million poem dance.
Fanny Foo-Foo was a Japanese girl,
A child of the great Tycoon;
She wore her head bald, and her clothes were made
Half petticoat, half pantaloon;
And her face was the color of lemon peel,
And the shape of a tablespoon.
Holy yikes. You can see the rest of the poem here. It doesn't improve.
On Friday, the poetry game show kicked off a bit late, but much fun was had all around, and almost everyone went home with at least one small stuffed creature. Hooray! The judges could not bring themselves to part from their favorites, and so Erica took home a bumblebee in Lakers colors, Joanna took home the rabbit as king of the ghosts, and Doug took home the "You Rock" rock. I wound up with a couple of notebooks, a funky pen, a chalkboard, and two espresso cups and saucers.
Saturday I frittered away at home, cleaning and making Leek and Thyme soup. Mmmm.
Sunday I headed off to the Four Faced Liar for the Frequency Series, where Jordan Davis and Richard Fein were scheduled to read. Jonathan Mayhew of Bemsha Swing also showed up, and David Shapiro soon arrived on the scene, and began distributing little collages all about. Many things were distributed in fact; someone unearthed a stack of review copies of books that he intended to give to Jordan, who already had two of them and gave those to me. And I got from David Shapiro a catalogue of collages by the architect Richard Meier for which he had written the introduction. So it was the free book jackpot at the FFL for me.
It was an intimate gathering, so we sat on low stools around the main table and heard the reading that way. Drew Gardner and Douglas Rothschild entered mid-reading. Meghan Cleary showed up about halfway through. I took many notes. Jonathan read, then Richard, then Jordan, who plugged the Million Poems Show between each poem. David Shapiro then read one poem and encores were encouraged. During this time, Jordan took to writing out Million Poems Show handbills to give out to the crowd and when, while Richard Fein was reading, he was accused of "Flirting During an Encore" by David Shapiro by giving a handbill out to a blond girl who had to leave, everyone laughed hysterically. It was almost British in its delightfulness. Calloo callay.
And then the reading was over. Rachel Shukert arrived and we began the highest-scoring game of scrabble in history (we both used all seven letters on our first turns, spelling "TROLLEY" and "PHOBIAS." Douglas Rothschild whispered to me of his scheme to get David Shapiro to get his gallery-owner friends to put my stuffed creatures into galleries and sell them for mucho dinero as part of an elaborate conceptual joke. Fun and profit!
The readers left for a walk along the river, but Rachel and I stayed on, and were eventually joined by a new crowd. Women's college bowling was on the television and we became enchanted. Rachel composed, on the spot, the following ballad, dedicated to lesbian women college bowlers everywhere:
Lesbian bowler, you could save me,
Lesbian bowler you could shave me,
The coach is allllll in black . . .
He doesn't understand . . .
That we don't lack for love.
God on our side, lesbian bowler (repeat 4x)
There were many more verses, but I did not take them down.