Bumbershoot and the Cheap Stuff

It's official: "Cheap Wine and Poetry" is doing Bumbershoot!! We'll be hitting the Leo K stage on Labor Day weekend for a full program of poetry, cheap wine, and other hilarities.

Unfortunately, because of Bumbershoot rules and that damn liquor control board (Narcs!), we won't be able to serve the cheap stuff in the theater. We will persevere though; we only ask that the true "Cheap Wine and Poetry" fans hit the three-buck-Chuck beforehand. You know we will!

Stay tuned for more details about "Cheap Wine and Poetry" at Bumbershoot.

What happened to a toilet paper roll and a piece of foil?

Even worse than a guy who makes a PBR can casket, three kids who make a bong out of a severed head. A bong. Out of a head. How?

Now I'm not saying I've ever seen a bong, like, up close or anything, but based on what I've read on Wikipedia about bongs, I can say it'd be pretty fucking hard to smoke pot out of a severed head. This wasn't just any old severed head either. It was cut from the body of an 11 yr-old boy who died in 1921.

Back to Wikipedia: according to the Operation section of the bong entry, one needs to form a "seal" with the mouth in order draw the smoke in and get a "rip" from a bong. And, like any other bong, a severed head would need to be properly sealed with one hole for the mouth, and perhaps another for a carb. Looking in the mirror, I count 7 holes in my head, and if my head were detached from my body back in 1921 and buried for almost 90 years, there'd be maggots and worms and other things creeping all over the holes. These three kids must have been pretty damn desperate to get stoned.

And then there's the question of where to put the water, so the bong provides proper smoke filtration. My guess is the skull where the brain would be, but it would have to be completely sealed or else the water would leak and the smoke wouldn't fill the skull properly.

Not only would the kids need some kind of putty (I suppose gum could work.), they'd need water to fill the skull, and if they were real deal stoners, a few ice cubes for an extra cooling effect. This head-bong thing just ain't adding up.

Look What I Can Do!

Last week, I was a guest teacher through the Writers-in-the-Schools program. I was invited to do a one-hour performance workshop for two classes of 8th graders in preparation for a reading that each 8th grader would give for their classmates, parents, and faculty. A recital of sorts.

I went in thinking, "I can do this," and I walked out wondering if I should ever procreate. Sure, I've worked one on one with teenagers as a writing mentor and coached writers before performances, but I wasn't ready for this: girls running up and down the halls in all types of slutlery; jeans that looked like they'd need the jaws of life to get on and off and little tops that- if these girls were old enough to have boobs- would be showing enough skin to get them employee of the month here.

And to top it all off, in the middle of my lesson, a young girl got up and strutted her performance chops by stuffing her entire fist in her mouth. Whole fist. In her mouth. In front of the whole class. Kind of like this. Only the 8th grader had a smaller hand and a bigger mouth.

Since then, I have really contemplated whether I even want to have kids. It sent me into such a deep spiral I was hopping up from the dinner table declaring to my wife, "No make-up until she's married! And that's that!"

I began blaming myself. After all, I am a Playboy subscriber (5 years and counting!), and in my college days, I prided myself on my keen ability to turn just about any statement into sexual innuendo at the disgust of my then-girlfriend (Now wife. I think she secretly liked my sense of humor.). I look at women all the time, and not the glasses wearing word nerds lining the independent bookstores of my dreams, I look at those women in slutlery, the ones who can put a fist- and a whole lot more, I'm sure- in their mouths. But the guilt became too much; they were once 8th graders too.

And then I found this article by Steve Almond. Not only did I laugh my ass off, but I realized that there are others out there like me, men who look at the Lindsays of the world with both desire and disgust. And most of that disgust is with ourselves as men.

What the Fu...

Often I find myself asking what the fu.... And I'm not censoring myself here. I'll say fuck if I want. This is my blog after all. But what the fu... comes when whatever has happened is so astonishing that I never get a full fuck out. This is one of those moments. What the fu...




Best part here: FOUR HEART ATTACKS! And he's still drinking PBR!

Filter Literary Journal Accepting Submissions

Just a couple of days ago, I submitted a few poems to Filter, a local literary journal produced by poet (and now editor) Jennifer Borges Foster.

Filter is a pretty unique literary journal. It is completely handmade, as in Jennifer, like, sews these books together herself, and the journal comes in a limited run of 200, spicing it up with a preciousness that many small presses hope for.

The first issue of Filter debuted last year with poems from Rebecca Hoogs, Kevin Kraft, and Kary Wayson, among other Seattle poetry heavyweights. Filter also publishes prose (fiction, nonfiction, essays, etc.) and art; although the art is typically solicited, Filter will consider unsolicited art submissions of high quality (Stick figures and macaroni necklaces are a no-no, I think.).

Filter is currently accepting submissions for its second issue. Submissions can be sent to ed.filter@gmail.com. The deadline is May 15.

Cheap Wine Lover

Seattle University's The Spectator gave "Cheap Wine and Poetry" some love for our National Poetry Month reading on April 24.

C'Mon Jeff Bezos, Give Us Starving Artists Some Money.

Paul Constant has a great story in this past week's The Stranger about Amazon.com's lack of support for the Seattle arts scene.

What a Dick!

Not too long ago, I discovered Dickipedia, a Wiki of dicks, and we're talking dicks like this dick, not dicks like this dick. Just to clarify.

Dickipedia has several laugh so hard you get a bloody nose entries. Highlights include the insufferable golden boy Tom Brady (Go Giants!) and the always disgraceful Flava Flav. Funniest though is Dickipedia's penchant for slandering politico and pop culture puffery, such as the Beckhams and, best of all, the Pilgrims. Because, really, aren't they the OD'S, original dicks?

A Step Towards Being "Seattle Famous"

Jack Straw just released the preview for the Writers Program podcast series, and I am one of the three folks chosen from the program to be featured in the podcast, along with Rebecca Hoogs and Kevin Kraft.

What the Hell, Brian?

About two months ago, I took over a new job at Hugo House, and over that time, my blogging has become less and less frequent. I know; I know; I'm full of excuses.

Anyway, I'm back by popular demand and- also by popular demand- I will be posting more stuff. I hear it a lot, I checked out your blog, but none of your work is up there. Or how come you only post people's events? These folks want more from brianwithani.com. And now you will have it.