Sunday, May 15, 2005

I've decided to trash a draft I started yesterday about this seemingly serious poem about racism written buy an anonymous black pupil of King Edward VI school of Birmingham which is being passed around the internet as a joke. I'm all for having a sense of humor, even on seemingly serious issues, but it just seems scary to me that someone could write something so subtle, stylistic and beautiful and a bunch of redneck honkies (including the person who forwarded it to me, my father) could post it at a site like Maniac Ultimate Jokes and Games and various others, all with considerable misquoting.

The poem reminds me of one of my favorite poems ever, We Real Cool by Gwendolyn Brooks. If you can get your computer to play the audio of her reading it, do so. I've heard it before, it's good.*



Serena and I went to the Outright Prom the other night. The slightly Asian chick I've been obsessing about since I first saw her there two years ago was not there, which was a disappointment, as I was determined to finally kiss her (with the kind permission of my husband.) I put some real effort into my outfit and got the unsolicited approval of a transvestite with with glow sticks and dance moves that had that singular brand of feminine grace so pure as to only come from a drag queen, as Eliza Doolittle's eloquence was too perfectly formed to come from an English Lady.

I wonder how many of you were able to follow my train of thought in that last sentence.

The Prom, in general, was nothing compared to previous years, as Serena and I were the only people available to attend, and I was not at my peak performance, having just come off of eight hours of fast food duty. Next year, being the last year that most of our previously established group can legally go (As outright is intended for 16 to 22-year-olds), we have vowed we will reunite the veteran Gay Promenaders, bring in some new and really do it up, possibly getting a limo or a room at the hotel. But the sad realist in me doubts this will ever happen.

The night before the prom, Serena and I went shopping for outfits and accessories to wear, and Jenn, who happened to be in town (as she prepares to move in), was invited. She blew us off for some guy she is apparently dating who I had not heard about at all, which we accepted. Later that night, after she had finished seeing "David", as he is called, I hadn't yet dropped Serena off and we decided to go to Applebee's. Jenn was invited then, too, but blew us off for the mere prospect that David might call. She said she'd have plenty of time to see Serena over the summer, and when I argued that Serena would be spending the entire summer (starting from the day after the prom) back in Orono, she said that her and I would most definitely be taking a road trip up there. This is obvious bull. Living here or not, Jenn and I have not had time for more than a few hours together since I got married-- well before that, if you don't count preparations for the wedding itself.

I tried, in the arguments to bring these facts to her attention, to bring to her attention the obvious way that time has worn at our old high school clique, but she's in straight denial. Oh well.

Serena and I talk about that sort of thing quite a bit. Serena and I tend to have very good conversations when we speak or see each other. She lends a more-understanding-than-most ear to what I have to say about the whole situation on vaginismus, and apparently finds it most refreshing the way I come off as being non-judgemental when it comes to her private life. I've heard this sentiment before, from Emily and others, that I am good because I don't judge what other people do. I don't want to take too much credit though, I believe it's not so much that I'm a genuinely understanding person as that it simply would never occur to me to judge someone for those kinds of things. Christ, we're all adults, and those of us who aren't, well, that's even more of an excuse, isn't it?

Do what you gotta do.


I should have more to say and, what's more, I'm sure I do, but it just doesn't have the will to come out right now. It's been a very trying day and I, for one, found today's episode of Family Guy rather disappointing, though I was very pleased with one genuinely laugh-out-loud moment in the Simpsons, which I would reference if I thought anyone would know what I was talking about. No one watches the Simpsons anymore.

Laugh-out-Loud. LOL. There's something you don't see too much anymore. Thank god.

I think, to end the night, I will sit here a while and soak in some of my older MP3's, for instance Jann Arden's interpretation of "You Don't Know Me", a song that used to bring me to tears for foolish reasons, simple ones, but reasons that were pure of heart and unconvoluted, anyway. That's something I've very much come to miss.


"I never knew the art of making love,
Though my heart ached with love for you."


Today's reasons for appreciating the lyrics are deeper and possibly more mature, but infinitely more foolish. It's no longer girl loves boy, boy rejects girl. It's...ugh. It's a mess.

I don't think anyone really understands how much of a mess it all is. That's meant in a very general sense.


"Oh, you will never know
The one who loves you so,
'Cause you don't know me."


On with it.



*Poets.org has updated their site, which is why many of you got a dead link on that. It's a nice update which makes it easier to listen to the poem spoken right from the page, but I kinda recommend reading it without audio (now featured below) first. The poem is one written so concisely written that it lends itself to many different interpretations, many of which I've enjoyed, and she describes what she meant pretty specifically in her audio commentary. Go back to that after the words, by themselves, have had a chance to sink in.


--
THE POOL PLAYERS.
SEVEN AT THE GOLDEN SHOVEL.



We real cool. We
Left school. We

Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We
Die soon.

--

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