Good-bye Adcock

Joe Adcock, the Seattle PI's theater critic for the last 26 years, is retiring for a life in Virginia with his family.

Brendan Kiley has a great article about Joe and the state of art criticism in this week's Stranger too.

TOMORROW: "Cheap Wine and Poetry"

That's right, folks. Tomorrow night, May 29 at 7 p.m., "Cheap Wine and Poetry" celebrates its three-year anniversary with poets John Burgess and Jourdan Keith, solo performer Jennifer Jasper, and "The Stranger" columnist David Schmader.

You should be there!

TONIGHT: "Ballads Under New Regime" 7:30 p.m. at Richard Hugo House

Poet (and my good friend) John Burgess gets around. I see him at damn near every poetry reading in this city, supporting all the good work going on in Seattle's scene. And now tonight, it's his turn to hit the stage. Or maybe, I should say, it's yours-- your turn to support his work.

Tonight at 7:30 p.m. at Richard Hugo House, John will be performing as part of a poetry and music collaboration with Jed Myers, on guitar and harmonica, and David Rizzi, on percussion. John will read from a new set of poems, "Ballads Under New Regime," which is part of his new collection, "A History of Guns in the Family."

"Ballads..." acts as John's response to "the Bush era madness. The indifference, uncaring for the people and environment and our world, the war and hatred years we've experienced." He says this performance is his way of taking a public stand.

John Burgess performs as part of a poetry and music collaboration, "Ballads Under New Regime" with Jed Myers and David Rizzi tonight 7:30 p.m. at Richard Hugo House.

If you can't make it tonight, see John Thursday at the three-year anniversary of "Cheap Wine and Poetry."

Vote for Barker

My good friend and "Cheap Wine and Poetry" stage manager Steve Barker was recently nominated for Farmhouse Magazine's Reader's Choice Awards.

Read Steve's story here and vote for him here.

TOMORROW: Come see me read!

Tomorrow night, Wednesday, May 21, 7:30 p.m., I will be reading as part of the Jack Straw Writers Program Reading Series at Jack Straw Productions (4261 Roosevelt Way NE in the U-District).

I will be reading from new work that is a bit different than what you probably know me for: the self-deprecating average American male who can't seem to leave the seat down. This new work is less on the humorous side, focusing more on class, gentrification, and other issues of urban life. More than likely though, the seat will still be left up; no matter what the poetry is about.

Joining me on May 21st will be prose writers Janna Cawrse, Waverly Fitzgerald, and Ghida Sinno, all writing really interesting work about sailing around the world on a honeymoon, exploring flowers in Capitol Hill, and 9/11, respectively.

For a preview of what to expect from the reading and Jack Straw's podcast series on the Writers Program, check here.

For more info about Jack Straw: www.jackstraw.org.

Paychecks, Pints, and Pergo

About two years ago, I made the decision to forgo my hopes of pursuing an MFA in poetry and started working full-time. I had applied to MFA programs the previous three years and hadn't had any luck, and once I began working at Hugo House, I felt like I wanted to stick around there for awhile. After reading The Three Ps of Post-MFA '08, I think I made the right choice.

Trina, Kelly, and Laurie recently graduated from the University of Montana MFA program (where Richard Hugo taught) and are now living the post-MFA life of PhD's, publications, and panhandling-- the three Ps. They write of their uncertain lives with honesty and sincerity, and as the jealousy of their MFA experience in me grows, I can remind myself that at least I got to celebrate St. Patty's Day.

Actually, in the last 2-3 years, I have done a lot: got married, bought a house, even have my own office now (Freshly primed today! I have the latex in my nail bed to prove it!). But I still don't have that MFA. Damn.

Uh Oh

Nate Lippens, local freelance critic and former staff writer at "The Stranger," has been accused of plagiarizing several reviews written while on staff there and while freelancing for the PI.

Brian with an I recognizes that plagiarism is a very serious accusation, and therefore, we (as if this blog is run by anybody but me. Psst.) will not pass any judgment on Nate until all the facts are in.

Truthfully though, haven't we all stolen something?

Burnside Review Announces 2008 Chapbook Competition

Burnside Review-- a journal that I have submitted to a couple of times, but have yet to be published in (Fuckers!)-- seeks submissions to its annual poetry chapbook competition. The judge is Paul Guest, and the deadline is June 30th. Full guidelines and more info can be found here.

If you've never seen an issue of Burnside, it is a quality small press journal, and the editor, Sid Miller, is a nice guy. We shared table space at a press fair a couple of years back, so I got to check out the journal thoroughly and was impressed. I will submit again-- and hopefully you will too.

Put Back Some of the Cheap Stuff with Us at "Cheap Wine and Poetry" on May 29, 7 p.m.

"Cheap Wine and Poetry" celebrates its three-year anniversary on Thursday, May 29, 7 p.m. with features David Schmader, Jennifer Jasper, Jourdan Keith, and John Burgess.

You should be there. Here are the details.

Fuck Freehold Theatre

A few months ago, I took a class on solo performance with Marya Sea Kaminski at Freehold Theater. Marya was amazing, one of the best teachers I’ve ever had. I’ve told her this before; she has forever changed my work as an artist and my approach to art-making by forcing me to think about what my action is as an artist and within each piece and what I want from my audience as a performer. Simply put: Marya is someone any fledging performer should work with.

During the class, I developed several ideas for solo performance pieces I wanted to write, and in the end, I set about writing a piece called “I Still Haven’t Fucked an Asian,” a story beginning with my recent marriage and my disappointment with never having had sex with an Asian woman and then foraging off into our society’s stereotypical view of Asians and other races and the violence— physical as well as verbal, psychological, and other forms of violence— we do toward each other in our everyday relationships. Yeah, quite a heavy topic, I know, but something I felt inspired to tackle, mainly because of Marya.

I decided to do the show extemporaneously, meaning no script. Just me, some notes, and my stories strung together by the threads of love, race and violence. I had 10 weeks to “write” and rehearse and then perform 15 minutes of the show for our class’s public recital. So, not a lot of time.

The performance itself went fine; I felt like I did a good job on stage for a first-time solo performance, but more than that, I felt like I had grown as an artist— as one whose work sought to challenge, to ask questions, and ultimately, make people feel uncomfortable, which I more than accomplished.

As I was on stage, I could see the discomfort in some of their eyes; sure, many laughed, and several came up to me afterwards expressing their interest in my work or thanking me for putting so much of myself out there. But just as many didn’t laugh; they squirmed in their seats or stared at me with disgust. Some even looked to the back of the room at a small group of Asian women— all laughing—as if to ask, “Is it okay for me to laugh too?”

So this morning it came as no surprise when Robin Lynn Smith, Freehold’s artistic director, called me personally to say that my show wouldn’t be included in the taped copies of the recital sent out to the rest of the students in my class. In fact, it was sort of a victory for me, as she explained that people had complained about my work being objectionable, which was my action from the outset, to make my audience feel uncomfortable. I had accomplished something, albeit at the expense of being censored.

But then the conversation degenerated into an argument— this post is called “Fuck Freehold Theatre,” after all— as we discussed race and its context in my piece and the views of race in Seattle and our country. Robin accused me and my work of being racist and stated boldly that I had no place talking about anyone’s race other than my own, especially coming from a place of privilege as a white person. As you can imagine, I found this blatantly racist and offensive.

Robin, basing her judgments about me from stereotypes, assumed because my skin is white that I am, in fact, white, but I am not. I’m of mixed race; my mother’s family is Irish, Spanish, and German, and my father’s family, whom I have never met and have had no contact with, is Puerto Rican, making me a “mick spick,” what I was often called growing up. When I explained my heritage to Robin, she could only muster an “oh” and then backtracked talking about how Freehold supports all races through its Diversity Scholarships. She may not have realized it, but she was at fault for the same exact thing she was accusing me of: perpetuating stereotypes of race, making assumptions and judgments about me based on the color of my skin.

While Robin may not know this, being of mixed race is a challenge in our black and white society. We try to box people in; countless forms ask us to choose: white or black or Hispanic or Asian without consideration for those of mixed race. And within each race, there is a hierarchy; light-skinned Black folks vs. dark-skinned Black folks or fresh off the boat/over the border vs. second, third, and fourth generations. Even in my own experience, I grew up in a mostly Latino or non-white neighborhood, but I was never able to feel accepted within the Latino culture because I don’t speak Spanish, don’t have a connection to my Puerto Rican roots, because my skin is light, because I’m a “juero” or a “gringo,” because I’m not full blood. Makes you think of that whole 3/5ths thing, eh? And Robin is coming from that same stereotypical line of thinking by telling me I can’t make art about race if it’s not about white people. She put me and my art in a box too— and closed the lid.

Furthermore, as artists, our goal should be to challenge, to ask questions, to make people think outside of the box, another one of my actions through my solo performance. This has been a goal of art for centuries— from Aristophanes to Karen Finley. Why make art that doesn’t challenge? Then aren’t we all just Britney Spears or some other homogenized, yet “socially acceptable” crap?

In the end, I would have no problem with Robin’s comments or Freehold’s censorship if it were strictly about my work, but when she made it personal and accused me of being a racist and told me what I can and can’t speak about based on her own assumptions about my skin color and ethnicity, I knew I had to take a stand.

That’s why with this post I am renouncing Freehold entirely and telling anyone who’s interested in the organization not to bother. Their director Robin Lynn Smith is a racist, even more racist than I am, apparently. And because of that, I urge you all to say fuck Freehold. You won’t see me take another class there again— even from the very great Marya Sea Kaminski.

Bush-- In Support of Troops-- Gives Up... Golf?

Another what the fu... moment: Bush hasn't played golf since 2003 in support of the troops, reports the Huff (The Huffington Post, for you newbies) from an interview with Yahoo.com.


Blogger's note: Brian with an I isn't a political blog at all. I'll leave the poli-medy to John Stewart and Stephen Colbert. But this story was too what the fu...; I had to let you all know. Thanks to hot tipper JT Stewart.

THIS THURSDAY: Jack Straw Kicks Off Its Writers Program Reading Series

This Thursday, May 15th at 7:30 p.m., Jack Straw Productions kicks off its first of three readings as part of its Writers Program Reading Series.

The first reading features poets Merna Ann Hecht and Kevin Kraft and prose writers Wendy Call and Jennifer Munro. I am very familiar with Wendy's and Jennifer's works and promise you they will be a delight.

The second installment of the Jack Straw reading series is on Wednesday May 21 at 7:30 p.m. and features Janna Cawrse, Ghida Sinno, Waverly Fitzgerald, and Brian McGuigan. Wait, that last name there is familiar.

And finally, the third installment is on Thursday May 29th, and as much as I'd love to promote the final reading, it is the same night as the three-year anniversary of "Cheap Wine and Poetry" featuring The Stranger columnist David Schmader, solo performer Jennifer Jasper, and poets John Burgess and Jourdan Keith, and truthfully, I know you all will be there instead.

So, to recap: this Thursday, I will see you at Jack Straw. Next Wednesday, I will see you at Jack Straw again. And the following Thursday, I will see you at "Cheap Wine and poetry," and hopefully, you will be as drunk as I am.

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.