in which I pass the evils of capitalism across generations

Spent the morning on the phone with my mom and dad. My dad might get laid off. He told me the insane details of the last time he got laid off in 98... So either he gets laid off and gets a huge amount of bonuses, stock, pension, and 2 years pay, OR they offer him a new job in his town and he has to take it, or they offer him a new job in London and flying to Nigeria a lot and he has to figure out whether to take it or not. My mom hopes they stay there, and he keeps working, and she quits, because she hates her job. He hopes they lay him off and he gets to retire at 56 or however old he is. About that.  We talked about Moomin's college money...  and whatever the hell I'm going to do when I graduate... and what my working will do to me and Rook's taxes.

A futile shout out, that there should be jobs that let people have a life, and still some respect.

My new friend Sharkyl came over with her daughter Angstela, and Jo with Eliz.   Jo went to ground in my badger den.  The rest of us played a game called Niagara, and then some Ice Towers, and then the classic game Rat Race, which as usual cracked me up...   Very quickly we were all yelling about acquiring status symbols and freaking out if we landed on "taxes" or divorce, desperate to play the racetrack or or the stock market and to move up from working class to middle class to High Society.  Oh man, it's silly but also poignant and scary.  We played games for about 6 hours!  yow! 

 Hamster's dad came to pick up Moomin and take him to the Tech Museum for a mars movie and a sleepover at their house... Rook and I primped and took off for Writers With Drinks... my plan was for a leisurely dinner and walking-around SF first, but that didn't happen because of all the gaming.  I was exhausted but hyper. 

And in the background of my strange yet normal day, I had this strong underlying gratitude that my health is so great, that I'm walking around, I'm not totally free of pain but I'm no longer always in pain so bad it's hard to block out. I was thinking  how I do love dancing, but I'm not even feeling pouty that I couldn't tonight, because of being so happy just to be able to be there and to go out.  I have possibly reached the point where I can't cram anything else into my life and I'm overdoing and overextending, but I know why I do it.  For so long, my life was a crucible of boring. and I had to learn to be patient and try to be happy while laying around in pain or painfully dragging my ass around town in a wheelchair while it felt like there were knives sticking into my spine and legs. I particularly remember the hideous grinding pain of riding in a car, and the vibrations jolting the  weird going-down-the-leg sciatica pain. I often think of the days I'd collect some bread, and blankets, and go out to the porch of the house in the mountains, and sit there in a lawn chair all day, as a variant from bed.   Inside, nothing to look at but the changing sliding light and shadows as time & the day passed.  Outside, I could watch people leaving for work, the birds in their waking state, then daytime somnolence & buzz in the trees, then everyone would come home again slowly in their cars...    When I had to walk, to go inside and use the bathroom, it was like I'd been beaten all over, and it was like moving through syrup, or in gravity much heavier than Earth's.  During good periods, I could go do maybe one thing, and come home exhausted. 

Well, okay, enough about that for now, but it was on my mind yesterday.

So to WWD, and it was fun, Chefily was there looking super cute, she gave me the best massage ever...   I went over to hang with Antzen the poet while the good slam poets were doing their stuff.  Especially the first guy rocked and I bought his books; I'll review them later on my poet-blog.   I imagined myself reading/declaiming in that particular slam style and started cracking up.  While I see its effectiveness, I also kind of want to parody it.  But I approve of every style of declamación that isn't wooden, so I'm not objecting!   But isn't it funny that it has its own little conventions and tricks?    Elocution!  One thinks of Anne of Green Gables, or Caddie Woodlawn and the Boston gestures her mother teaches her for the school recital and her poem about the oak tree.

Woops I have to go pick up Moomin.  And I have to do a crapload of things today. More later, maybe.    The "nerd salon" thing at Bootie was crowded, hot and stuffy, kind of okay, but apparently the karaoke thing wasn't actually part of it.   I loved Chula's version of "Maneater" and Rook's "I love rock n roll"...   omg so cute!    But had the  most fun standing outside talking to Danny about Peanuts, Doon, rpgs, and books.

Comments

[lori]

"I imagined myself reading/declaiming in that particular slam style and started cracking up."

We call that "the voice." The VOICE, The VOICE that the OPEN MIKE poets read in, the VOICE with its weird CADENCE...

We parody it all the time.

[badgerbag]

I kind of like it! Surely it's better than droning in monotone.

But I also really love to parody it!

Oh, man, you missed a funny poet-moment Saturday night at WWD when C. started going off about TS Eliot being trans spokesperson - thus the "TS".