We slipped down to Cliff Bell’s last night for The Moth. The theme for the night was “Karma”… and none of the stories really had anything to do with it. After last night, I’d guess most of the population doesn’t really understand the concept. One woman mentioned something about Buddhist monks at the beginning of her story, and then went on to talk about a serial mystery pooper (she tied for first). One guy got up there and began his story by point-blank admitting it’s not about karma but about the true history of the United States (bourbon). And then there was the awful, terrible story that earned a 0.2, 0.5 and 0.0 from the judges: Suffice to say it involved “hate sex” and tried to make rape funny. It was a disgusting story and I cheered when a woman yelled “get off the stage!”
It was a pretty depressing night for Detroit story-telling.
It happens to all of us. You’re driving down a road and you see a dead opossum on the side. It’s innards aren’t spilling all over the place and it smells ok. But those fat cats in the government say you can’t eat it. Well, Michigan, that could be changing for you.
the property sale is moving along nicely, birthday plans have come together with minimal stress, our Florida getaway has been booked, work is under control… I feel like I’m at the point in a Joss Whedon plot where things are really looking good and therefore impending doom is pending.