You might be a slam poet if…

…the only team you’ve ever been on included 3 other poets.
…you prefer judging someone silently, in a corner and pouting, rather than with numbers.
…you call running away from responsibility and commitments “going on tour.”
…you think your homemade book of poetry might be worth more than $5.00.
…you think someone will actually read said book of poetry.
…you have made a pact to never date another poet, but break that pact at the drop of a pants.
…you think 8.5 out of 10.0 is a low score.
…you bank all of your vacation time each year to go to the National Poetry Slam.
…you tell everybody at the National Poetry Slam that you’re on vacation and getting paid to be there.
…you wouldn’t dare go to the National Poetry Slam if you had to pay for it yourself.
…you are planning a tour as an excuse to move to another city.
…you sign up at literary readings and open mics to “blow them away” with your “performance skills.”
…you hope that [insert poet name] is going to be at [insert event] because they complimented your work that one time and you were sure they were hitting on you.
…you think a viable career path is: 1. Make a slam team; 2. Win Nationals; 3. Get record/movie/TV deal; 4. Become friends with celebrities; 5. Return to perform at local slam as a huge favor to the scene.
…you love conscious hip-hop AND some country.
…you’ve beaten other people in a competition of words with a poem about unity and peace.
…you’ve met Mos Def.
…you’ve bragged to others (who’ve never heard of poetry slam) that you’re on a slam team.
…you have many recipes for ramen noodles, cheap booze and own a counterfeit monthly bus pass.
…you think your poem about oral copulation can not only win a poetry slam, but also change the world’s view on sexuality.
…you think performing in three to ten venues a year is getting your work “out there/making a difference.”
…you are proud of your lowest score ever.
…you have cried for losing a poetry slam.
…you want to be the next Bukowski, Ginsberg and/or Kerouac.
…you are the next Plath.
…you are seeking fame and notoriety through pretty/vulgar three minute rants.
…still have a Myspace account because it’s where people can listen to your “tracks.”
…the old slam guard won’t acknowledge you.
…you wrote poetry at a coffee shop instead of going to college.
…you have five memorized poems and three of them “do well.”
…you’re “looking” for an agent, but don’t do stand-up, play an instrument, do magic/hypnosis, sing or juggle.
…you slept with anyone in Berkeley, California between 1998 and 2006.
…you’ve toured through Los Angeles and lost money.
…you watched Shane Koyczan’s Olympic performance on YouTube.
…two meals in one day and free drinks is “livin’ it up.”
…you can’t remember that one poet’s name, but you just love them to death.
…you complain about Starbucks, McDonald’s, or WalMart, but can be found at one at some point throughout the year.
…you have Kinko’s/copier experience and have been called “a connection.”
…you have tried out for every team in your region because people are expecting to see you at the National Poetry Slam.
…you wonder how your poems would fair in a New York/Boston/Chicago/Berkeley poetry slam.
…you look forward to traveling with people you can’t stand to an event full of people you can’t stand.
…you snap your fingers when something is good or someone is screwing up.
…you prefer your poetry scene to your own family.
…you’ve ended a full day at an all-night diner with a plate of fries or mozzarella sticks, a glass of water, surrounded by poets, all excited about the event you just left, and thought, “Man, what a great night.”

I guess I am a slam poet.
———
Word to the nerd.

Goddamit! I don’t know how long I have on this planet, but the jukebox is playing Hotel California and, to me, it is also Hotel Worcester…Hotel Vancouver. It is the loudest, most necessary thing in my ears. I have new, young friends who found some truth in my words, funny or not. They are celebrating this life with me in the cold, beautiful mountains of Southern Colorado.

I will finish this Scottish ale and love Lionel Ritchie, who has taken over for Don Henley. I want to party all night long too. I want to know who paid for this song to play!

I was asked to accompany a woman to her hotel room last night. I thanked her and declined. I think she deserved more. Fuck! But I am so alive now. She will cross my path again. That’s how it works in my world.

Come see ny world.

FUCK! YES! Fuck is the best of meanings!

Thank you, Thoma, for reminding me to post.

This is Mountain Time. Come on and sing aalong. All night long. All night.

I miss you. Let’s live and post from loud bars. Let’s fucking be awesome.

YES!
———
Word to the night.

Goddamit! I don’t know how long I have on this planet, but the jukebox is playing Hotel California and, to me, it is also Hotel Worcester…Hotel Vancouver. It is the loudest, most necessary thing in my ears. I have new, young friends who found some truth in my words, funny or not. They are celebrating this life with me in the cold, beautiful mountains of Southern Colorado.

I will finish this Scottish ale and love Lionel Ritchie, who has taken over for Don Henley. I want to party all night long too. I want to know who paid for this song to play!

I was asked to accompany a woman to her hotel room last night. I thanked her and declined. I think she deserved more. Fuck! But I am so alive now. She will cross my path again. That’s how it works in my world.

Come see ny world.

FUCK! YES! Fuck is the best of meanings!

Thank you, Thoma, for reminding me to post.

This is Mountain Time. Come on and sing aalong. All night long. All night.

I miss you. Let’s live and post from loud bars. Let’s fucking be awesome.

YES!
———
Word to the night.

Originally published at Mike McGee Town. You can comment here or there.

HER CAT MUST BE AWESOME
© 2010 Mike McGee

She has to get home to feed her cat and I’m thinking, ‘Your cat is fine. It will survive a night without you.’

She says, “He can’t be alone overnight.”

I tell her I feel the same way all the time. And I actually have something to offer the world.

She says her cat’s special. It sounds like he’s saying ‘Reno’ when he meows.

“Reno?” I ask. As in “Reno, Nevada?”

“Yep.” She says emphatically. “Reno.”

“All the time? As in every time it meows?”

“No, only every once in a while, like when he’s really craving attention or needs to be brushed.”

“Oh.” I say. Oh.

I tell her that when I’m craving attention, I take my shirt off, exposing the Katherine Hepburn-shaped birthmark on my stomach and make it talk: ‘Hello, everybody! Got any more tequila?’

I just met you and I by now you must realize I am human and I have needs and I can love you, actually love you. I’m not jumping the gun here, but I am capable of real love, not this programmed feline, ‘you’re the keeper of the food, so I guess I’ll stick around,’ bullshit.

Does your cat have the ability to make a room laugh without it having anything to do with its own failure? Can it use a QWERTY keyboard? Does it understand how to code even a modicum of HTML? Can it Photoshop images of you to look like you have a handlebar mustache? I don’t thinks so!

I can do half of those things while I have soup cooking on the stove. See these thumbs!? Do you? DO YOU!!? These mean I win.

“You’re right.” She says coyly. And we boned right there at Taco Bell. Nine months later, we had 8 kittens.

They run my website now.
———
Word to the nerd.
Bunny up.

HER CAT MUST BE AWESOME
© 2010 Mike McGee

She has to get home to feed her cat and I’m thinking, ‘Your cat is fine. It will survive a night without you.’

She says, “He can’t be alone overnight.”

I tell her I feel the same way all the time. And I actually have something to offer the world.

She says her cat’s special. It sounds like he’s saying ‘Reno’ when he meows.

“Reno?” I ask. As in “Reno, Nevada?”

“Yep.” She says emphatically. “Reno.”

“All the time? As in every time it meows?”

“No, only every once in a while, like when he’s really craving attention or needs to be brushed.”

“Oh.” I say. Oh.

I tell her that when I’m craving attention, I take my shirt off, exposing the Katherine Hepburn-shaped birthmark on my stomach and make it talk: ‘Hello, everybody! Got any more tequila?’

I just met you and I by now you must realize I am human and I have needs and I can love you, actually love you. I’m not jumping the gun here, but I am capable of real love, not this programmed feline, ‘you’re the keeper of the food, so I guess I’ll stick around,’ bullshit.

Does your cat have the ability to make a room laugh without it having anything to do with its own failure? Can it use a QWERTY keyboard? Does it understand how to code even a modicum of HTML? Can it Photoshop images of you to look like you have a handlebar mustache? I don’t thinks so!

I can do half of those things while I have soup cooking on the stove. See these thumbs!? Do you? DO YOU!!? These mean I win.

“You’re right.” She says coyly. And we boned right there at Taco Bell. Nine months later, we had 8 kittens.

They run my website now.
———
Word to the nerd.
Bunny up.

Originally published at Mike McGee Town. You can comment here or there.

I’ve always had this view of my role in the spoken word/writing/poetry communities that I am privy and privileged to be a part of, that my style of work and my stage persona (if you will) is one of Spoken Word 101. I am a beginner’s guide to poetry and spoken word. I am a gateway drug into the world of poetry slam and performance poetry.

I hear often from fans, new and old, that my body of work was their first introduction to spoken word/poetry slam. Thanks to videos online and the sheer amount of mp3s that have circulated, along with my web presence and outlets like Indiefeed and Slam Idol, I have had a lot of promotion. I understand the accessibility of what I write and say. I want it to be that way. I want people of all ages and locales to be able to get even the tiniest grasp of what I need to convey, no matter the language of their ears.

Sometimes I ponder the value of my more serious work. I am a comedian who feels very detached from the stand-up comedy world. I am a comic who lacks a routine. I think there are a lot of us who’ve adhered to and been adopted by the poetry and spoken word universe. We’re lucky. I think there are still more out there who could use this environment and grow from it.

I think that I have been so wrapped up in “living the experience of being a poet” that I’ve forgotten my roots in humor. I will put aside ideas for funny poems in order to dwell on serious, heart wrenching, and sad writings, when my greatest strengths are in the funny work. It’s easy for me. It’s the one thing I can think of I can say that about.

Tony Brown really made me think about all of this. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since our conversation. It was so helpful and complimentary. While I sit and wonder what it takes to write the most in depth poetry possible, wondering how Mojgani does what he does, how McKibbens does what she does, Khary Jackson, Shira Erlichman, Brian Ellis, and all of the Browns, they may wonder how writers like me do what we do. Maybe.

I have to own what I do and do it better than I did yesterday. I started doing this in 1998 because Trenchard and Feff believed in me so much that they wouldn’t settle for me doing it socially anymore, that I had to do it all the time. I found a small niche in the San Jose Poetry Slam, then the Bay Area scene and I realized that not only was I welcome to keep on it, but that it was expected.

It’s hard sometimes when I follow a funny poem with something from my guts, and the audience laughs in the assumption that it’s more comedy. It’s a strange feeling, but I have dealt with it hundreds of times.

Tony mentioned the film Stardust Memories by Woody Allen, which I have yet to see, but it is about a filmmaker who wants to be taken seriously for his dramas, but he’s so much better at comedy. People dig his comedy.

Most comedians just want to be seen as artists since what they do is an art to them. I believe this even more now this morning. I am an artist. I am a funny artist and I will own this from now on.

Thanks so much, Tony. So very much.

Love,
McGeefer Sutherland
———
Word to the nerd. No, really.

I’ve always had this view of my role in the spoken word/writing/poetry communities that I am privy and privileged to be a part of, that my style of work and my stage persona (if you will) is one of Spoken Word 101. I am a beginner’s guide to poetry and spoken word. I am a gateway drug into the world of poetry slam and performance poetry.

I hear often from fans, new and old, that my body of work was their first introduction to spoken word/poetry slam. Thanks to videos online and the sheer amount of mp3s that have circulated, along with my web presence and outlets like Indiefeed and Slam Idol, I have had a lot of promotion. I understand the accessibility of what I write and say. I want it to be that way. I want people of all ages and locales to be able to get even the tiniest grasp of what I need to convey, no matter the language of their ears.

Sometimes I ponder the value of my more serious work. I am a comedian who feels very detached from the stand-up comedy world. I am a comic who lacks a routine. I think there are a lot of us who’ve adhered to and been adopted by the poetry and spoken word universe. We’re lucky. I think there are still more out there who could use this environment and grow from it.

I think that I have been so wrapped up in “living the experience of being a poet” that I’ve forgotten my roots in humor. I will put aside ideas for funny poems in order to dwell on serious, heart wrenching, and sad writings, when my greatest strengths are in the funny work. It’s easy for me. It’s the one thing I can think of I can say that about.

Tony Brown really made me think about all of this. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since our conversation. It was so helpful and complimentary. While I sit and wonder what it takes to write the most in depth poetry possible, wondering how Mojgani does what he does, how McKibbens does what she does, Khary Jackson, Shira Erlichman, Brian Ellis, and all of the Browns, they may wonder how writers like me do what we do. Maybe.

I have to own what I do and do it better than I did yesterday. I started doing this in 1998 because Trenchard and Feff believed in me so much that they wouldn’t settle for me doing it socially anymore, that I had to do it all the time. I found a small niche in the San Jose Poetry Slam, then the Bay Area scene and I realized that not only was I welcome to keep on it, but that it was expected.

It’s hard sometimes when I follow a funny poem with something from my guts, and the audience laughs in the assumption that it’s more comedy. It’s a strange feeling, but I have dealt with it hundreds of times.

Tony mentioned the film Stardust Memories by Woody Allen, which I have yet to see, but it is about a filmmaker who wants to be taken seriously for his dramas, but he’s so much better at comedy. People dig his comedy.

Most comedians just want to be seen as artists since what they do is an art to them. I believe this even more now this morning. I am an artist. I am a funny artist and I will own this from now on.

Thanks so much, Tony. So very much.

Love,
McGeefer Sutherland
———
Word to the nerd. No, really.

Originally published at Mike McGee Town. You can comment here or there.

This is my new shirt at CafePress. It’s not entirely my idea, but certainly a joke I’ve had in my head for sometime. I was reminded of it after seeing an avatar in someone’s journal.

Click here to see more.
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Shane Koyczan reads this journal from time to time. Yesterday was his birthday.

EDIT: Happy Birthday to Jack McCarthy and !
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The weather here in San José, California is exemplary.
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Word to the nerd.