Or so I thought.
I went to go hang out at my parents’ house on Wednesday, to eat some food that was definitely not good for me, go swimming, and enjoy my parents’ company, which I honestly do. My dad told me some funny stories about drug testing people at work (relevance: I had gotten randomly pulled for drug testing at work that morning) and my mom, as usual, is just absolutely delightful (hi, Mom!) and has been sketching some character portraits for me for Scurvytown. So far my favorite is the mannequin she drew, though her outline of Poke is pretty darn awesome as well. I need to scan the drawings I’ve borrowed (with the sole purpose of scanning them to share them here, der!).
Anyway, while I was checking my email and such before dinner, I got a message from my friend Roy, who said, hey, write something for the Jazz Festival. All I had to do was look at one of his paintings and do a reaction to it. So later that night, from the comfort of my parents’ basement, all snuggly with my favorite penguin/Christmas blankey, I fleshed out a little something. And I sent it off to Roy, who sort of blew a gasket immediately about how good it was. But by the time I read his reaction, I was halfway through a second part to the poem. And then, because why not go completely apeshit at that point, I made it a trilogy.
And if you’d like, you can read it here, and see an image of the painting.
I am heading downtown in a few minutes to read this in front of people, and I am a little sorry I just ate dinner because I am feeling super nervous about it.
Wish me luck!
