Here we go. Page one of the story I’ve been talking about. I’ll post more commentary on it as it goes, but for now I think I’ll let it remain a little mysterious. I will say, though, that I liked the reaction it received when I read it at Space Galley on Polk. The first read-through went fine, but the crowd was a little bit smaller, mostly just the other artists.
After we finished, the venue decided to bring in some people to liven the place up, I don’t know if it was some sort of rent-a-crowd or what, but this group of 20-ish 20-somethings all poured in at about the same time, so the bar was much busier and Dylan thought it would be a good idea if we started the readings again. Drunk as I was, I thought it just might be a good idea, too. It wasn’t. They asked us to stop part way through my sencond reading of the story because, they said, it was interfering with the music they were playing. OK then.
My roommate, Ignacio, was upset that they told us to stop, so he decided to flip ahead to one of the most pornographic panels in this story (And there are lots to choose from, if you’d like a little tease about where this particular misadventure is headed) and he left it up there, projected on the wall about six feet tall, bright on a white wall in a dark room. I had no idea what was up there until I started hearing some or the random guys around me muttering.
“What the fuck is that?” “The fuck?!” And so on.
A few of them really seemed like they were starting to get pissed by the time I went up there and changed the panel. So, there you go, I have the ability to offend people at a relatively trendy San Francisco bar in a pretty young, progressive neighborhood. I take that as a pretty big compliment.