What a great show. The word of the night seemed to be, diverse.
The evening opened up with a great story from Ken Brezinsky about fracking that reminded me of David Holmes’ Fracking Song.
And the night continued on to talk about religion, mothers, missing fathers, lost loves, and games of scrabble. It was a fun night, we got to see Amanda Rountree transform into a typical Dick’s shopper. I think that’s likely to be my biggest belly laugh of the year.
It was a really full crowd for an early January. We had a stellar points turn out too, super-crazy thanks to the thirty-three who dropped your email on us. If you missed the email sign up, there is a place to do it in the sidebar to the right.
Hi friends! Hope that everyone’s surviving the hustle of the holiday time, and that each of us gets some rest and rejuvenation somewhere in its midst. I’m in Arizona, where the rocks are rainbows, and anemone-colored cactuses and rusty treasures spill across people’s front yards like shipwrecks. It is surreal and beautiful, and even this far away, I am filled with love for Chicago, and for the wonderful people there. Wherever you are, Chicago or farther afield, I hope you feel loved and included like I do in the community we all are making.
Even with all the work-hecticness and travel and events and endings and beginnings of December and January, I am looking forward to the next show! In case you’re looking forward to it too, here is a glimpse of the people we’ll be featuring at our show on January 6th. They are beautiful humans, each. And great artists as well.
Last night I opted to be in the best possible place during an election that was scaring me a little too much: safe inside the Young Chicago Authors home base, surrounded by the passionate genius of poets, rappers and performance artists mostly under 21. From the rainy street, the high glass box room over Division and Milwaukee was a beacon; lit up with laughing, relaxed bodies and pumping hands and cheers, a bright spot of peace in community amidst a misty night, and a murky political moment.
Inside, people were singing, rhyming, truth telling, sooth-saying, making each other laugh and call out and sigh. Folks were aware of the hinge of the hour… songs and stories touched on personal beliefs and politics sometimes… but there was no sense of anyone holding their breath; no sense that the calm, clear connectedness that was there in the room was pending or predicated upon anything outside.