the medusa v. the odalisque
I could not have asked for a better reading last night. Marlowe's introduction was a takeoff on "Howl" which I really ought to post here if I can get a copy, though it won't be the same without the beret and the turtleneck and the whiskey and cigarettes and hand percussion. I was fortunate in that a) the story I read was short so nobody got bored, and b) I'd just done a tune-up to send it to magazines, so I was familiar with the prose. Reading it was like reentering a comfortable room. I haven't felt this good about something since that play I wrote two years ago.
And then we walked a few blocks to see Nickel Bag of Funk (Justin Feinstein: percussion), who seem to get better every time they play. The bassist can rap like Dre, which is just weird. And I went home and swallowed some melatonin, which worked like a charm though I know it's all controversial and I'd be leery of extended use.
Speech gene! Speech gene! Chalk one up for generative grammar. I feel sorry for the British family unable to inflect verbs, though; it sounds like a Monty Python skit.
