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9 august 2000

i had an unfortunate run-in with a postwar styling product

So I guess I ought to explain a few details about this SlamAmerica bus tour. Last year, Gary Glazner of Albequerque NM approached Grand Marnier to sponsor a dream that Gary had been incubating for some time. Rock stars do it, so why couldn't a bunch of performance poets? He wanted to get a swank bus, fill it with poets, and schedule a cross-country poetry extravaganza. The way it has worked is this: each poet stays with the bus for one leg of about one week. I boarded in DC, and am continuing through to the National Poetry Slam in Providence, RI. Definitely a primo leg of the tour, with performances in NYC, Boston, and Baltimore. Free booze and big crowds --- does a body good.

Our shows are a wacked, eclectic mix of people and poetry. Two or three of us alternate hosting duties, and each poet has one performance slot each night. That is unless you're feeling especially frisky, and accept a head-to-head challenge. Two poets, one poem each in a sudden-death match. Audience lets you know who they like better. Happy Poet's Note: I won my challenge in Baltimore.

Considering that most of us poet types are strictly a Bud / Schlitz kinda crowd, Grand Marnier sponsorship sounded pretty sweet to me. I was all up for drinking out of a real live glass with all the trimmings --- no cans for me this week!

So here we are, on that very bus, enjoying "complimentary" Grand Marnier cocktails nightly. (They wont let us say "free drinks". I guess it sounds sleazy or something.) Anyway, we've spent the past two days at a two-day "Last Stop Slam" invitational in Boston, in which teams from around the country converge for a last-minute competition before Nationals. We had about twelve teams (five of which were made up of SlamAmerica poets,) and a whopping buttload of individual competitors. And you'll be happy to know that your friendly Nerdy Redheaded Poetry Pal took second place overall in the individual competition. They liked me! They really liked me!

I can't believe I just wrote that last bit. How cheesy. Eegh.

Okay, so anyway, we spent our last night in Boston getting kind of wrecked in Team Fucko's room (Danny, Shappy, Eric, and Matthew). A few beers here, a little fine scotch there, and before you knew it I found myself with a can of Shappy's hair pomade in my hands. (You know, that old gooey slimy crap Grandpa used to use to keep his pompadour shiny. Shappy has a sense of style like Grandpa, only drunk and wearing a Velveeta t-shirt).

So I'm all, "hey, what's this here?" And Danny's all, "let's see what it does to YOUR hair!" It didn't seem like a bad idea at the time. After all, there's nothing like discovering new hair care products to keep my 'do from going all Ronald McDonald on a humid day, know what I mean? So Danny and I start scooping out the substance and plastering it on my head. Danny, not satisfied with it's spreadability (this ain't butter), he brings out a hot towel and distributes it a little more completely. So now my head is completely saturated with the next best thing to beeswax. You could have dropped Shake and Bake on my head and fried it up like chicken.

Still not satisfied with the results, we soon realized that my hair was now malleable, kind of like Play Doh. Mohawk. Cupie-Doll. Elvis. In a span of fifteen minutes, I've never looked so alternately hot and horrifying in my life.

Of course, since it was Team Fucko's room there was also a container of tequila salt. So we dumped a little of that in there for texture. My head felt like a Nutty Buddy, and smelled like paste.

I washed it three times yesterday morning, and then again today. There's still a sticky patch right above my forehead that I can't seem to dilute. Not only that, but we spent today in Falmouth, MA, at the beach. So now my head is sticky, sandy, and salty, and a shade lighter since I spent all day in the sun. I also have a pinchy sunburn on one side of my face and back, because I fell asleep on the beach for a couple of hours after taking a swim. Thanks for covering me up, everybody! (Gary brought a box of refreshments to the beach, so we were all kind of snoozy today if you know what I mean.)

So here I am now in Providence, RI, happily settled into my room for Nats. No one is sleeping much, and Team Fucko has 60 beers in their mini-fridge. The rooms are pretty nice, except you can't smoke in here. So we don't spend a lot of time indoors.

Hey! Nearly forgot! Run, do not walk, to your nearest store and purchase Newsweek. In the Periscope section, you'll see my friend Danny Solis! He and I were on the 1995 National Poetry Slam Championship team together, and he's featured! Whoo-hoo! Fame and . . .um. . .just Fame! I'll yak at you tomorrow. It's review day, and I've been eating ROAD FOOD! (That would be a hint.) Toodles.