Friday, August 29, 2003
anyway, my mother also talked about other cousins of her's in Iowa who are trying to raise money to buy the rollerskating rink in Clinton, where she grew up. she found out from my sister's big mouth that i'm about to drive to California with Maggie Zurawski, and wanted me to drive through Clinton, stay with my insane born again christian family, take photos of the rink for her. i told her that was impossible. which it's not, but i'll make it so if need be. anyway, i told her, they have cameras in Iowa, have them take you your pictures and mail them, why do i have to drive out there and do it?
but i had a dream after all this phone conversation that i had made some bad --very bad-- decisions somehow, and was working at this damn rollerskating rink. and i wasn't too happy. but i decided to have a poetry reading series there. and it was almost the Philly Sound revisited, only, it was Iowa. but there were these poets reading, poets from out there, that LOOKED sort of like Frank Sherlock, hassen, Chris McCreary, and even one really skinny guy who looked like Molly Russakoff. geeze, i hope this doesn't piss you off Molly, this is not to say that YOU looked him, a guy, but to say that HE looked like you, a woman. he's was kind of sexy, if that helps. but they weren't the actual poets i know here. and there was that kimball organ music playing that i remember as a kid from the rinks. at one point in the dream my aunt came up to us when we were in the back room where all the vending machines are lined up, and she was angry because this Molly-looking guy had read a poem against the war in Iraq. only now, he really is Molly, because when he's speaking he sounds exactly like her, and he did a great job calming my aunt down with a lot of diplomatic understanding of her feelings, and sharing some snack food from the machine.