Monday, January 6, 2014

Bookshelves, Gay Bar, Clown Car

Yep. That title roughly sums up yesterday.

I spent the day doing what I've been doing this whole month so far--writing, reading, running. (Determined to be in good shape for the Color Run 5K in late February.) But then I got a message from my friend Sacha, who is in town with some of his friends--they were going to a gay bar, and would I like to join them? Would I ever. After being largely secluded in my apartment for days, I was dying for a little human interaction. (Not that talking with Lulu is not human interaction--it's just that she's been a wonderful, supportive roommate and has been leaving me alone so I can get work done.) Upon discovering that the gay bar in question, The Garage, was a mere four minutes from my apartment, my mind was made up.

Lulu came with, and we had a blast. It was great to catch up with Sacha, first of all, and his friends were very nice as well. The vibe of the bar was interesting. When we first got there at around 10 it was standard gay bar--dancey pop music featuring mostly female leads, we were the only ladies there, etc. But as the evening progressed, it morphed into more of an average local town type bar--huge mixed crowd, classic rock, and so on. It was still hopping when we finally left at 2:30 a.m. Sometimes I forget that places in Las Vegas don't close.

The funniest part of the evening came when Lulu and I drove Sacha and his friends back to their hotel--Hooters, to be specific. How many delightful gay men can you fit in the backseat of a VW Beetle convertible? The answer is four, my friends, assuming those in the front of the car move their seats as close to the dash as is physically possible. Despite the discomfort, we got them there safely, and they all piled out of my impromptu clown car. A good night was had by all.

You are probably wondering about my poem-of-the-day. Do not fear! I have written it. That's where "bookshelves" come in. In order to write this poem, I took one word from the spine of each book on each shelf of my bookshelves and arranged them to have some sort of possible meaning. Only in three instances did I use words that were not in the titles of the books (the publisher's name or promotional quip, etc.), so I was proud of myself in that regard. The words in I are from the books on the top shelf, the words in II are from the middle shelf, and the words in III are from the bottom shelf (including the articles and prepositions). Why did I choose to write my poem this way? I have no idea. Probably because I was staring at my bookshelf, freaking out that there are so many books to read in life and so little time. Enjoy.



to turn American tales
witness complication
keep an invisible
lash astonishing stories
game reason
plot the pajamas of
complete adventures


in American tales
a metamorphosis
magicians catch king
omens neverwhere
theory over paradise
the project of


brief women
vintage man
from secret empires drain history
in the ballad for monsters
life seller
poor atonement
time to
show animals
kill bodies


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