Hooray for everyone who came out to the Bar Rouge for Monday's Burlesque Poetry Hour (and a "we missed you," via smoke signal, for Maureen trapped at her law office). Karl and Christopher proved to be lovely dinner partners and great readers. Gilda and Lolita were, as always, sassy and brassy & perfect hostesses. The Down & Dirty martini had just the right dash of tobasco. I have to confess, I think I was underbid--only $18 for my garter belt, wrapped around a copy of the latest 32 Poems? Come on, people--that's quality poetry. Not to mention the best purple-satin-and-bordello-lace a girl can find in DC.
Jessica Smith not only made the drive all the way from Charlottesville, she did so with the imminent birth of Organic Furniture Cellar on her mind. Go buy your advance copy. The woman needs to pay rent, damn it. Don't pretend you've never been there.
This is the second time I have seriously debated posting a poem draft on here. Hmmmm.
In a mere three weeks I will be gone for twice that long (and who knows what my internet access will be, whether blessing or curse). I am driving all the way to the Millay Colony in New York, and so there is a big empty box in my backseat, waiting to be filled with books for inspiration. I've picked up essays by Cynthia Ozick, fiction by Nabokov, poetry by Josh Bell and Cate Marvin, criticism by Tony Hoagland, a few others. Deb Agers suggests Best Words, Best Order by Stephen Dobyns. Give me suggestions for books to throw in the box, please--