Another Year, Another Yen

Has it really been almost fourteen months since I posted a blog entry on this website? Could it really have been more than a year since I’ve had a spoken-word event to plug? That seems to be the case. But I didn’t do much in the poetry or lit scenes in 2016. There might have been a mini-feature at Jammin’ on the One somewhere along the way, but I didn’t feel like promoting it. There were a couple of open mics I did in New York back in June. That’s about it. Nothing to write home about. Or from home, on a website. Whatever floats your bag of wax.

2016 was a crappy year for a lot of people, and I’m no exception, but I’d rather not go into the details. Suffice it to say that a year ago, I had a spacious high-rise apartment, a steady freelance income in addition to my day job, and a healthy savings account. Now I have none of those things (except the day job, thankfully) and, for all I know, maybe never will again. There are a lot of people much worse off, sure, and we’ll all have a lot to fear when an air-headed reality-show billionaire with no political experience becomes leader of the free world in less than two weeks. But suckage comes on many levels, doesn’t it?
As a Caucasian heterosexual male, I am constantly told that I am one of the luckiest and most privileged individuals in the history of the human race. And I guess I’m in no real position to dispute that. But when I take a look around my cramped basement apartment, while worrying about how long I can keep my financial situation stable, and thinking about all the people who’ve deceived or betrayed or manipulated or taken advantage of me, sometimes I can’t help thinking: if this is privilege, I ain’t doing it right.

Anyway. Never mind all that.
I have two gigs this month. And I’m out of practice in performance, and I haven’t even written any new material in more than a year. But they should be fun.

This Tuesday, I have a feature at the Art Bar.
You thought the Art Bar was dead, did you? No siree Roberto. It was in the ICU for a while, but it rose from the ashes like Lazarus to mix metaphors like a Colossus. Now it’s at the Free Times Cafe, without the government funding, but still determined to be the best Art Bar that ever Art Barred. Lucy Brennan and Marc di Saverio will be the other features, and you can win $20 as the best open-mic performer.

Later on, I’ll be helping JOTO host Damon Lum celebrate his birthday in a show at the historic Arts and Letters Club, where they say the Group of Seven used to paint. (Ernest Hemingway briefly was a club member there in the 1920s, but the cheap bastard never paid his dues. And was never heard from again.)
Tessa Stone, Pelayo Matute and other friends will be performing as well. I am crossing my fingers for free chips and pretzels.

Happy New Year. More imaginative posts to come later on. Don’t wig your gig.

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