I think the event was called “McPoetry”? Don’t ask me. Wrong person to ask what the name of it was. I walk in scheduled to read at 6pm. I’m late, it’s 6:30 I read by 9pm. That’s kind of like what the dentist does to you. You come in late, everyone that came in on time goes before you.
This time I didn’t mind, I got to listen to Suzanne Lumis. Seriously? Google that. She is Literary Royalty. Know why I remember her name? I had dinner at her home. Me. I had dinner with a group of Los Angeles poets… 20 years ago, at
the home of the hilarious and gracious poetess Suzanne Lumis.
What a landfill of Class. That was the Lumis dinner. And she’s a great writer from a long line of great, great, great writers. Los Angeles Authors. Suzanne Lumis is a name, okay?
They’ve been grinding since 9am was it? Someone famous kicked it off. I can’t remember the name, but if Rafael said the name which of course, he did, then it was a name drop and it had to be someone special.
So, like, name dropping fallen on deaf ears turns into name dropping fallen on name dyslexic poetess who mistakenly calls people “Yvonne”, her own name.
Overtime I’ve talked to Rafael about this event, he said the name but that’s worse for my special kind of name dyslexia, if you repeat the name over again, it acts as an erasure for the first time the name was dropped.
I am not trying to be hipper than thou, acting like I am soooo Lala that I don’t get excited when a famous person, poet, celebrity or you know, a name that everyone knows is mentioned.
Okay, I don’t excited I admit it. Once, ONE TIME I asked for an autograph and it was Michael Jordan at the pool hall and the autograph was for my son who was 11 years old at the time. And Jordan said NO, adding that if he signed ONE autograph he’d get stuck signing for ever.
Other than Jordan, I’ve never bothered. when you live in Los Angeles, you enter bathroom stalls some star just walked out of. You wipe their trickles of piss off the seat before you sit.
I do not disrespect nor do I envy. I simply live in Hollywood. Bottom line. One person’s Star is another’s forgotten name.
I remember faces. That I do. “Heeyy…!! We’ve met before, I know you, right?” I jut and point.
I have a name dyslexia. It’s at a very serious level.
Names. In one ear, out the other.
Sometimes, between the ears, it’ll roll off my tongue before bolting out the other ear. Gone. Never to return until I am told the name a 2nd time. Then – the name is with me but only to catapult the main function of my special name dyslexia, which is to forever ban the knowledge of the name from my entire psyche and being altogether.
Here’s the redeemer: The only way I remember a name, is when I actually, physically say words to ask and seriously inquire, “What’s his name?” , or, “Who?” But I only ask when I sincerely want to know.
When names are dropped, I go blank. I think it’s an L.A. condition. I seriously do. When you’re a Native here, you are a bit deprived. The deprivation is the unfettered you. You, as a Native Angeleno are just not impressed. It’s like a multi quadrillionaire who has resorted to scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast because he is just plain OVER the eggs Benedict, the lox ‘n bagels with capers, the lobster Newburgh omelette and the Foix gra crepes.
Okay. The poetry Marathon, or whatever the name of it was. I’ll finish this post when I get back from a picnic at the park: