*Bleep*ing Daphne
So I'm hanging out in San Francisco for three weeks, transitioning from artist and arts professional to full-time scholar. The process largely involves a great deal of reading, followed by a great deal of drinking...rinse and repeat. But I sacrifice for my career.
I am wandering along Haight (I'm living in Lower Haight while I'm here), and stumble into a bookstore tucked away along the various T-shirt, hookah shops and tattoo parlors. They have no romance novels (infidels!), so I browse the list of upcoming authors to do signings.
Her name caught my attention first; a clang from my Slam past (is it ever a past, or does the Slam urge just lie dormant?). She had two new books out; one a collection of poems and shorts, the other, a collection of erotic stories featuring her as a character. Some were true, some pure fiction. Intrigued, I decided to attend the reading.
I don't often get tongue-tied around celebrities, but I revert to my screaming New Kids On the Block days when I meet "famous" slammers. Patricia Smith, Roger Bonair-Agard, StaceyAnn Chin, Sarah Jones...you get the point. Daphne Gottlieb ranks up there for the awesomeness of her presence alone. Her locks, her height, the style that says "f&^% you clothes, you serve me-" she bowled me over. She gave away prizes, and I wound up with plastic birds, not plastic handcuffs.
I dragged along another woman from the Institute, a Mainer who is as Tri-Delt as I am boho. We both noticed how human Daphne was; she was nervous through the entire reading. Her voice was really warm, like she'd be a great hostess and offer you cookies and extra blankets. We'd both bought the stories about her, me to see what kind of bravery is takes to invite people to write about screwing you, and E (the woman I was with), because she met one of the book's contributors in the store.
As she signed books at the end, I, blushing, stammered how I'd come to know her name ("I slammed in Ohio-" akin to Baby's "I carried a watermelon" in Dirty Dancing, and dropped a few names she might recognize (she did recognize them). And that was it, until I read the inscription. "You didn't have to come all the way from Ohio to meet me, but I'm glad you did." Aww... see why I have great big poet crushes?
And the book, titled F&^%ing Daphne, is really good. Fan-tastic. Get it.
I am wandering along Haight (I'm living in Lower Haight while I'm here), and stumble into a bookstore tucked away along the various T-shirt, hookah shops and tattoo parlors. They have no romance novels (infidels!), so I browse the list of upcoming authors to do signings.
Her name caught my attention first; a clang from my Slam past (is it ever a past, or does the Slam urge just lie dormant?). She had two new books out; one a collection of poems and shorts, the other, a collection of erotic stories featuring her as a character. Some were true, some pure fiction. Intrigued, I decided to attend the reading.
I don't often get tongue-tied around celebrities, but I revert to my screaming New Kids On the Block days when I meet "famous" slammers. Patricia Smith, Roger Bonair-Agard, StaceyAnn Chin, Sarah Jones...you get the point. Daphne Gottlieb ranks up there for the awesomeness of her presence alone. Her locks, her height, the style that says "f&^% you clothes, you serve me-" she bowled me over. She gave away prizes, and I wound up with plastic birds, not plastic handcuffs.
I dragged along another woman from the Institute, a Mainer who is as Tri-Delt as I am boho. We both noticed how human Daphne was; she was nervous through the entire reading. Her voice was really warm, like she'd be a great hostess and offer you cookies and extra blankets. We'd both bought the stories about her, me to see what kind of bravery is takes to invite people to write about screwing you, and E (the woman I was with), because she met one of the book's contributors in the store.
As she signed books at the end, I, blushing, stammered how I'd come to know her name ("I slammed in Ohio-" akin to Baby's "I carried a watermelon" in Dirty Dancing, and dropped a few names she might recognize (she did recognize them). And that was it, until I read the inscription. "You didn't have to come all the way from Ohio to meet me, but I'm glad you did." Aww... see why I have great big poet crushes?
And the book, titled F&^%ing Daphne, is really good. Fan-tastic. Get it.