It's Been a Week

It's been six days since last Tuesday, which must mean it's Monday.

I have been meaning to rave for a week about the experience I had last week. On Tuesday I was at the Plasticine Poetry Series. Yes, there were good performances by Kate Marshall Flaherty, Phlip Arima and Myna Wallin. However, one performance stood out above all....my open-mic performance...was not it. It was the performance of Lara Bozabalian. She's a Toronto-area high school teacher. I've heard her read at various open mics and poetry slams. Now, I always thought her work was good, but could never say, until last Tuesday, I was blown away by her work. I was especially blown away by a piece called Eraser Marks, which deals with adults putting pressure on children, at least that's my interpretation. I've never been a fan of reviewing poetry in depth as there can be many interpretations and it's almost unfair to even attempt to deconstruct one's work when you're not even sure if you're going about it the right way. Sure, we can comment on the use of imagery, overall message, if there is a very clear one, and use of language, but to go in depth and discuss whether or not someone is "hitting the point" needs ability to read the mind of the poet. I know of one poet here in Toronto who is a professional tarot card reader, so that may count for something (Clara Blackwood. Go to her book launch for Subway Medusa next Wednesday at Bar Italia. Buy me a drink while you're at it as I'll be there. Kick some ass Clara.)

Let me get back to Lara. As I told her, she's no longer just pretty good, she's pretty great. Her reading style at first may lead you to believe she's either incredibly nervous or broken-hearted. I can't comment if either is true. All I know is it's her style, unique and she need not change it.

So I was in Peterborough this weekend visiting friends and family. On Saturday night I discover a couple of guys who occasionally busk outside the liquor store around the corner (a stone's throw away if you have a quarterback's arm) were actually from Peterborough and I walked into their gig at The Pig's Ear Tavern. They're a bluegrass band called The County Boys. They're quite good. Afterward at the Spill some garage rock band were playing who were quite good. I have no idea who they were and likely never will.

On Sunday I sat down with my father watching the Grey Cup. My father's drunken commentary as if he was an expert on the CFL was more entertaining than the game, and that wasn't saying much, though the game did pick up the pace toward the end. At one point I joked my dad should go apply for a coaching job in the CFL or to be a commentator. But afterward we watched the end of the Sunday night NFL game, which was much more exciting, to be honest.

3 a.m. I Must be Lonely

And I'll say, no I'm not a Matchbox 20 fan.

I entered another smaller slam last night. I just got squeezed out of the second round, but did a helluva lot better than last time. I was drawn to go first. Poetry is a passion for me. I had a blast there last night at The Press Club. Gypsy Eyes won and deservedly so. It's rare when one wins the slam who I feel really deserved it. Often really good poets get knocked out of the early rounds, etc.

It is 3 a.m. I must sleep and will write more later. If you happen to read this, sorry for the short posting.

Life

So I entered the Toronto Poetry Slam on Saturday. Walking back to my chair I heard all the scores and realized, even though I was the second reader, I was out. My score was 22.8, which is pretty lousy. It's hard to do well when you're reading early on, especially when the one who went right before you did a piece moreorless about the topic you had and was better than you. To me, it's the poetry that matters. It's the passion that matters. I don't care too much. Tonight I wrote a slam piece called "I finished last in the Toronto Poetry Slam." Really, I didn't finish last, but I came close.

Tonight I was at a pub I often go to in my neighbourhood. There are these two guys who are there almost every time drinking shots of tequila talking like Brooklyn mobsters. "Fuck, I bet a hundred bucks on da Niners and they're not doing shit." "So Kanye West's Mom died. It was a facelift or some shit like dat. Serves him right. He's an asshole. Always ranting about George Bush hating black people and how he can't win awards because he's black. Green Day's the only white band to win awards recently Fuck Kanye West." Then they pissed off the guy beside me who I thought was Mediterranean, but was actually East Indian. They kept referring to him as "de guy from Harold and Kumar." Yeah, that's pretty lame. If you're actually there to witness these guys, they're funny with they're obnoxiousness, mainly because they're silly. When they leave, the joint becomes quiet and everyone jokes about them in their best Brooklyn accents.

But I don't think I really need to say, racism ain't cool.

The Beginning

I guess this is my first post on Blogger. I had a Myspace blog way back when and technically I still do. Myspace got annoying as a Web site some time ago and I rarely log on. I'll probably end up posting a lot of poetry and the like whenever/if I start taking this blog seriously. I'll probably vent about pet peeves (people with full shopping carts in the express line, people who block escalators and stairways to subway tracks, etc.)

I'm mad about the Raptors losing three in a row. I hope they don't go back to being horrible. I just simply expect the Leafs to be horrible nowadays. They're run by an imbecile in JF Jr. who has great ideas like resigning the whole team he can't win with and trying to win with them the next year. I've virtually stopped paying attention to the Leafs. I only caught parts of both games last night as I was at the Art Bar Poetry Series for Shane Koyczan and Bob Snider. It was a great show.