Work is life, friends. Whether it's a Friday evening or full-on weekend, I'm out there chopping it up. For this reason, in order to find balance within this necessary dichotomy, I drink constantly. Just joking. I don't know how I do it. On Friday I stopped by KGB for the Mad Hatter's reading. I was pleasantly surprised to find that someone was actually wearing a "mad hat". It was a feathery bouffant number with purple sparkles threaded in the mix. Well suited for the reading. I desperately wanted one of my own. Hats aside, the readers were tried-and-true old pros. Delaney read from his latest novel, due out in 2007. Di Blasi, despite a cold, read beautifully. And Silliman, oh Ron, I dare say, kicked ass. He read, correct me if I am mistaken, from ABC -- a work he has recently revisited and "fallen in love with." The randomly related rolodex (yikes) of images the poem depicts was vivified by Ron's spirited voice and flinty enunciation. I stayed with the poem the whole time, which is rare; I usually drift off, prompted by disinterest or opacity. I would have remained completely engrossed if it weren't for a pair of noisy listeners. At first I thought they were rapping along with the poem, snapping their fingers when things got groovy. But a few overhead sentences suggested they were "haters." Not cool. I'm not sure who they were, but the guy's poncho-esque leather jacket was not flattering. As for the wool-clad woman, I have one compound plural, mothballs. And yet the indomitable Silliman charged on. Unwavering, he nipped and tucked his poem away, concluding a wonderful evening at KGB.
*Note of advice: if you show up too early for a reading at KGB, they will kick you out -- no matter how charming and polite you are. I'm not sure who exactly suffered that embarrassment, but whoever it was, he kind of liked it.
Tomorrow coverage of the Brooklyn Book Festival.
- MS
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