Maybe it’s the weather…endlessly gray and chill, with a dull flat sky like a dirty blanket and a surly cold wind. Maybe it’s being at home for days on end in freelance limbo. Whatever it is, depression is crouching on my chest while I'm longing for love and sunshine and gainful employment. Of course, sitting around whinging does no good, nor does weeping in the shower, so after a day of both uselessly self-pitying activities, I put on some lipstick and dragged my sorry ass over to Park Slope’s Lucky 13 bar for Cheryl B’s monthly Atomic reading.
Just walking in made me feel better. With the Chinese red lanterns over the bar, skull lights strung along the walls and a painting of the Pope with devil horns, Lucky 13 looks like every funky rocker bar where I spent my twenties as a cigarette-and-candy girl, a go-go dancer, a lounge-party promoter and the girlfriend of the drummer.
And then there’s the work, which is so good—especially the pieces by Sara Seinberg, who I used to know back in the days of SisterSpit, and Janice Earlbaum, who has a book coming out called Crash, about her days living and volunteering at Covenant House, the runaways shelter in Hell’s Kitchen. Both their work is sharp and funny and poetic and heartbreaking, and I want to sit wrapped the warm red light and listen all night. Walking out, 5th ave feels like that stretch of Mission Street where it turns by Bernal Heights,windscoured and chilly with that perpetual April weather that San Francisco has, with a 24-hour panaderia and little restaurants with yellow plastic tablecloths and Spanish menus.
Okay, I know, 10 posts and NO PIE. Coming up SOON, the insanity that is Banoffee Pie. Bananas, toffee, and Mr. Whippie. Stay tuned.