(no subject)

Sunday afternoon, it rained. It was a rain that kept saying Spring, even though a lot of people around here are wondering when Summer's really going to show up. All day it had been that clear sort of sunny that hit you in the eyes and made you look at everything, no matter how cranky or tired you were. Every leaf on every tree, every person walking on the streets, every red shirt and blue car and yellow light and silver chrome and ashen clouds lurking in the northwest.

I had most of the windows in the apartment closed but for the kitchen window, bathroom window, and a crack of the living room window. There's a nice piano solo CD by Linford Detweiler that I like to play when I feel like hearing something sedate and pretty, but not incredibly moving or meaningful. I mean, it's not fluff, exactly, but it's gentle.

Cedar incense and the kitchen ceiling fan swooping around slowly, the smells of tomato sauce simmering, garlic and tomato and mushroom rising up and touching the cool, damp air. Outside, the world is almost tropical. Green and deep and rich, car tires slicking along, pavement shiny and spattered constantly in the light rain.

I worked methodically, laying the eggplant slices out, salting them, rinsing them, blotting them dry, crushing the garlic, chopping the baby portabellas, each little piece a part of an equation. Small handfuls of cheese sprinkled over the top, the oven belching out gusts of heat, my apron damp from wiping my hands dry, washing them several times over the course of preparation.

By the time the eggplant was done and my hair was damp from showering, the sun was beginning to peek out again. I grabbed my jacked, my bag, forgot the printer cable I was supposed to bring for Darryl, and left my cell phone charging. Whoops. I hadn't eaten soon enough (hadn't really eaten all day), and so my head was ringing with pain, across my temples and the bridge of my nose. Two Motrin, some patience, and a bit of time, and by the time I got inside the Green Mill and was sipping on icy-cold soda, I was alright again.

I'd never actually been in the Green Mill before. Driven past it, sure, countless times. I'd even got as far as the door once, on a Saturday night when they were charging $9 or something ridiculous just to catch the last half hour of a jazz set.

mstegosaurus was a featured poet, and he seemed excited about this set, so I was eager to finally see an evening of open mic and slam, and see him perform again. Darryl and I got there early enough that we managed to snag a cabaret table off to the side, and so we perched and drank soda and watched the open mic people go first. As the MC for the night gave the rules for the evening, I leaned over to Darryl and said, "It's like, Rocky Horror Picture Show, but with a beret." He nodded, but I am not sure he knew what I meant by that. Anyway, there were lots of in-jokes, and people speaking in unison when repeating the rules, and a general cameraderie that I guess comes from sitting in the Green Mill every Sunday, wondering if you're going to get hissed or floor-stomped right off the stage.

I liked the open mic people, and the featured poets seemed to be a total treat. Dasha Kelly was lovely to listen to and fun to watch, keeping the audience captivated and engaged for her set. She even did an encore poem, but unfortunately it wasn't as cool or as good a 'button' as her scheduled final poem. Ah well! She was still good, I think. And then Morris went up, and just grabbed onto everyone's attention span and wouldn't let go, flinging energy out with his arms, and gathering it back in with his grin. More in-jokes seemed to fly during his set, even inside his poems, and although I was a little lost, I didn't really mind.

The slam portion seemed awkward and a bit disappointing. I am not sure what the point of it was, since overall the open mic people seemed far more practiced and polished and more fun to listen to. There was one very bizarre older man, one boy who did a poem that was 99% car racing sound effects, and a bunch of others that did their level best to ignore/out-talk the finger-snapping and foot stomping that indicated their apparent suckiness. It was OK. The guy who won (his prize was ten dollars) had a much better second poem for final round.

I'm glad I went, though. I might go again. It was good to see Morris again. He's fun to watch.

(no subject)

On the way to the Green Mill, as I said, the rain was sort of letting up, and the sun was creeping back in. I was at an intersection when it occurred to me to roll my car up as far as I could, and look east, where the dark clouds from earlier had driven themselves through the gentle storm.

This is what I saw:

Click on the photo for the uncropped, mostly uncompressed version.

The photo was taken with arm outstretched to the passenger side as I was passing through the intersection. I had my eyes looking ahead, and so the picture was taken blindly, hoping I'd get a shot of as much of it as possible. It worked out pretty well!