Perhaps the worst reading of my life monday night. I bought out a piece about Walden Pond that I thought could be a refreshing little belly-roll for the attendees at the Fire and Water cafe in Northampton.

Instead I gave a full hearted and animated reading to a bunch of sleeping 45 year old men who were waiting their turn to play their street folk songs.

Actual opening line:

I see a girl in a bar,

I see her, from my car.

Tonight Ben and I are going back. The plan: if the audience doesn't like us, the joke's on them this time. Plan A: while Smith freshwomen go up on stage one at a time and ryhme their hearts out, ben and I will go up intermittently with a single peice of paper. On the paper (or napkin, receipt, etc) will be the first line of an unwritten poem.

Our job is to make the audience beleive that what we read is real, from the heart, and enjoyable.

Question: which is more fun? Convincing them that we have created a perfect forgery? Completely fucking it up so that it's obvious that we haven't done anything? Or three: turning this into an improv game so that we can regain the shallow respect and admiration from total strangers that we crave?

For a good time, stop by at 8 in Northampton.