Last night ma and I went to Bardot to see LDM, or Literary Death Match, hosted by Todd Zuniga. Ma tried to pronounce his name all night be she just couldn’t do it because,to be honest, ma can’t really do much right. Not even when she’s asleep. We were rooting for our next door neighboress, Sandra Beasley, who read three poems as if 10,397 tigers roared from deep inside her gut. She read a poem that righted all the glossy endings of movies about tough subjects that Hollywood glosses over. Ma was glossed over at the amount of thought required to get what Beasley was getting at but that was fine. She enjoyed it anyway. Anyway, Ma and I were in awe. In defacto, ma was so much in awe she dropped her Vodka & cranberry on the floor. Don’t lick it up, I scolded ma, but she just looked at me as if she I were insane. She licked it. That drink cost me $9 bucks, she said. And I only got $2 bucks left.
Last night, like many nights, Literary Death Match ended in flames, but without any real casualties–except for ma’s pride which was left sloshing somewhere between the dance floor and the VIP section. As we left Literary Death Match, ma lit a match and set the match book on fire. Gotta live up to its name, ma said. Then screamed, run!
Read my Potty Mouth Interview with Sandra Beasley here.