Friday, September 19, 2008

Yesterday I was the little social butterfly.

I met for lunch with a poet friend who's back in the States for a couple weeks from Cairo. She gave me something to ward off the "evil eye" and I was all what, no scarab?

Then I met for drinks with another poet friend visiting from Minnesota. We were walking down the street and I saw a local poet acquaintance I met 3-4 times. Feeling like a hot shot I was all 'Sup, poet acquaintance I met 3-4 times. But he didn't seem to know who I the hell I was. I am always amazed when people don't remember me. I am incredibly good looking. How could anyone not remember? One time up at Bennington there was a woman who'd introduce herself at every residency, by the third residency I said, Look bitch, you need to write yourself a note or something, because we're waaaaayyy beyond the 'Hi, my name is _______ stage.'

Anyhow, my Minnesota poet friend and I were joined for dinner with a bunch of international journalists and I was like What a coincidence, I'm an international poet! I can see a soccer field from my house.

Also, I learned how to say "asshole" in Hindi. That is really going to come in handy.

Today, my voice is completely gone. I can barely whisper. This happens from time to time. Sometimes God says Ok, I think that's enough for a while.


At 10:14 AM, Blogger Shann Palmer said...

This comment has been removed by the author.

At 10:17 AM, Blogger Shann Palmer said...

repost with corrections-
I hope I would remember you if we meet again- you ARE incredibly good looking- but in my own defense, I have done that very thing because time passes and I meet sooooooooo many people! And I'm old and don't see very well, and ..... all sorts of other excuses!

At 6:37 PM, Blogger Charles said...

I always assume people will not remember meeting me, especially in the course of my job. I'm the one standing in the back of the room waiting for the fire sprinklers to suddenly go off, or for the pie to fly out of the audience and into the writer's face.

But I am often surprised and humbled by the people who do remember me, because it says more to me about them than it does about myself.

Wait, did that make sense?


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