Who's Afraid Of a Shout Out

Well I'm 'Charles in Charge' today.

That's right. I'm a one man band today at the SHOUT OUT. I know I can do it, I just wonder how. I mean, I'm going to get through this, I just wonder, from this end of the tunnel, just how it will all turn out. I have everything down pat. Setting up, breaking down. The breaks, the time. I have the whole thing done and practiced.

So why the worry? Why the fretting?? Because it wouldn't be me if I didn't. That's why I'm on a ton of medication, because my nerves are useless. I've taken a dose of LYRICA, but it still hasn't done anything for me really. Or it has and that's why I'm not here freaking out this morning. Probably because I got some pretty good sleep last night.

I've committed myself to going in and going in alone. DJ has just sent me an email: "I saw your blog. Do you need help today?" I think it over. This would be a tremendous help for me today. Right on time too. But then, would I be helping myself? If I do this and succeed, the confidence that I would get from it would be immeasurable. That's how it works, and it sucks. To get confidence, first you have to DO the thing that you fear, face them, and then AFTERWARD you get the confidence. It should be that by just thinking about it you should get it.

I used to rely on 'liquid confidence', in alcohol, years ago. I used to do anything that I wanted, without fear, especially if I was tanked up, or planning to be. But now, I do things in relative sobriety. Now I have to make decisions with a clear head. I did. I declined DJ's generous offer. This time I would swing it on my own. Top to bottom. I would use my excitement as energy, as jet fuel to do a job well done. I know that there will be mistakes and things will not go all that smoothly, but this will get done and done right.

That I am confident about that.

That was until I got on the Way.

Of course, expect the Way to have a bigger erection than you when it comes to fucking. There is no downtown 3 and 4 trains. I had to take the 1 local. Not a problem. As long as the L train is running I should get to the SHOUT OUT in time. Well, guess what kiddies. THE L IS NOT RUNNING. Yeah, that's right, the L has left me in the fucking cold. There are signs everywhere. TAKE THE M14D BUS TO GO ACROSS TOWN. Nice. I leave the Way. Upstairs is the M14D bus that will take me to across town to OTTO's . And guess what? When I come out of the underground the M14D is there waiting. IN FACT THERE ARE TWO M14D's waiting for me! What luck! A FUCKING BLOCK AWAY. Bad. I run for the bus and they both pull off into the street. I look down the avenue and there isn't another fucking bus in sight. Unless one drops from the sky, it will be some time before another stops at this station. I look at my watch. It's 3:40. Fuck me.

I get smart. I hail down a cab. I hop in. AVENUE B dood! The cab pulls off and into crawling traffic. CRAWLING. I sit back and close my eyes. This is beyond a doubt the worst day of my life. We reach Lafayette street. The traffic breaks. The cab driver takes advantage. He skids, turns, accelerates, skids again. This motherfucker wants to earn his tip. He's a driving machine. I look at the clock, and it's 3:55pm. It's almost time for the SHOUT OUT. This bastid pulls up right in front of the building at 4:00pm. I tip him three dollars. Why? Because I'm a goddamned HOBO. I don't have any fucking money.

I'm standing outside with my gathering fellow poets until Lindsay comes. Not Cyndi Lauper. What the fuck did I do to deserve her? Lindsay is the best fucking bartender this side of the fucking Planet!! I am happy. She opens up and lets us all in. Lindsay and I get to work opening the place up for the poets and before long the SHOUT OUT is ready to go.

Now a little primer for you who aren't in the know. Our reader today is Jay. Now Jay is an elderly man, with a tremendous talent for poetry, and humility. He is an honor to have, and it is a dream upon dream to have him come to read.

Then there is ORION. This dumb as shit fuck comes to the SHOUT OUT because we are the last place that will have him. He is caustic and abusive and bitter and although I like some of his poetry, he thinks the sun shines out his ass. This motherfucker hates Jay.

He happens to be in the audience today. I look at this and I have this creeping feeling that something bad will happen. I should ask ORION to leave. But I think he'll respect this HOUSE. How dumb can a motherfucker be? I ask you? Can an evil bitch sit in silence and enjoy for the rest of us?? NO. For all of you out there that need a primer in this, I'll give you one. NO.

Jay does a masterful job, he is over the top with his work. He is amazing.

Suddenly this bastid, ORION goes into a state of glossolalia. He starts calling Jay all kinds of mother- fuckers, and while the words were in his mouth, I rise to the occasion. Well, not me, but something in me. I tell ORION TO SHUT UP. But he pipes a little further. Now at this moment I'm carrying a pint of Pabst Blue Ribbon in my hand. So the words just come out of me. DON'T MAKE ME THROW SOMETHING AT YOU!! He does two takes. My resolve and the glass full of beer in my hand. And he grows silent.

Jay is allowed to finish. He does a masterful job. Hands down, he rocks the house. There is a thunderous applause. The rest of the SHOUT OUT goes without a hitch. It is a great show. I'm pleased. Everything is over quickly after that. I wrap it up and head out. I'm exhausted. It's an amazing show.

I hit the brutal cold of the New York night, stopping at KENNEDY FRIED CHICKEN, to...well, you know. Get sum. And I take it home. Going in, there is a liquor store RIGHT NEXT DOOR to THE SPOT (can you believe that shit?), so I stop off and buy a bottle of cheap table wine to celebrate. Not being much of a drinker anymore, the wine knocks me on my ass. The chicken sends me over my diet, but I've been VERY good this week so a treat is not out of line.

The room moves. It's time for bed. I sleep like a corpse.

Hobobob