A Night Out

Last night I attended an open mike poetry event. But, it wasn't quite like the poetry readings I'm accustomed to as an English grad student. Most people were either comics working on new material or "poets" that were big into enunciation, rhythm, and bashing their ex-girlfriends for 3 minutes before getting a tad weepy and too introspective towards the end of their "Karen was a Filthy Whore" work in 16 parts, 14 of which include references to Karen's new boyfriend - the overly muscled Neanderthal who doesn't appreciate the subtleties of Albert Camus. I felt a little like I was in the much too serious version of "So I Married an Axe Murderer," and I did have to debate whether or not I was supposed to clap or click my fingers thrice in the air at the end of each performance. (Clapping prevailed, and I only made it through about 3 performances anyway. After something that ended "become, becoming, becoming again, lest we become" while the poet drew his hands in front of him like he was praying, I retreated to my mental happy place where Hugh Laurie entertains me on the beach with his oh-so-dry British wit and oh-so-tasty daiquiris.) But, my point is this - after listening to multiple men complain about the fact that their girlfriends left them for the aforementioned Neanderthals, I was wholeheartedly on the side of the exes. I started to imagine poet after poet writing little poems for their beloved or getting weepy when things were just overwhelmingly beautiful. I could even see knowing that your boyfriend was going to go whine in a bar with badly written verse every time you had an argument, and I felt smothered just sitting there. This is how I imagine month 4: "Yeah, yeah, it's a great poem. No, I really love you too. Yeah...I love you with all my soul and all. And, I'm sorry that your boss didn't understand your creative genius. Maybe next time you should just do the spreadsheet like he asked you to...No, I agree that consumer-based American culture can be like a stranglehold. No, this isn't the world Thoreau imagined...I already told you I liked the poem that you sent me...Yes, I love you completely...No, I think your sensitivity is attractive, I really do. I would never dump you for my personal trainer...Yes, the sunset was particularly beautiful today, but, no, I didn't cry when I looked at it....OH DEAR GOD, COULD YOU JUST SHUT UP FOR A FREAKIN' MINUTE SO I COULD WATCH SOME FREAKIN' 'LAW & ORDER,' AND NO I DON'T WANT YOU TO JUST HOLD ME WHILE WE WATCH THE RAIN - JERRY ORBACH IS TALKING!" Maybe I'm not like most girls, but I'd take the overly muscled Neanderthal if it was an (a) or (b) option.