Drawn in and Spellbound
A belated follow up to last Friday’s Moth Story Tour, at which 5 1/2 storytellers got up and spun their tales in Miami last weekend. The 1/2 was Andy Borowitz who got up, told a couple jokes that I saw him do 3 months ago at the Miami Book Fair, and then sat back down. The real story tellers included: Jonathan Ames, Boris Timanovsky, Jeffrey Rudell and Miami’s own Jim DeFede (who, unfortunately Eira and I didn’t get to see because I had to pick my brother up at the airport and this thing was out in West Bumblefuck (ie The Village of Palmetto Bay) don’t even get me started on that place, it’s a whole other post)
The performances were amazing and took me completely out of the frazzled-angry mood that the nightmare rush-hour journey to The Village had put me in and brought me to a variety of much more interesting locales…
Jonathan Ames told this crazy too too real and personal story about just how far you can go over the edge and still come back into the sunshine. I realize that the previous sentence is a little short on tangible details, but, relating the actual events wouldn’t do them justice, which, I guess, is the whole point of why you need to see/hear the story directly from the storyteller. In any case, I had never heard of him before but he was compelling in a very Dennis Hopper you’re-such-a-lunatic-but-its-so-cool kind of way.
Jeffrey Rudell related his experience of coming out to and subsequently being completely disowned by his parents. Forever. And the fact that it took a really long time for him to realize that they really weren’t going to come around. And what it did to him and is still doing to him. And Jeffrey meant it. Which is to say that the delivery was a little overly dramatic (the material was of course dramatic too, but I don’t think there was any way around that), but it made me feel better about my family. Which I know isn’t the point, but still.
Boris Timanovsky told a warm-blanket of a story about the ways in which your mother can get inside your head and the relationship one has with dead ancestors and dead people in general which was funny and very very Russian and made me feel like I was slowly nursing a cup of tea strained through a cube of sugar tucked in the small pocket under my lip, a pocket which exists solely because I have been drinking tea in this manner, although, of course, no such pocket exists since I have never drunk tea in this way. Which, again, is the point.
Miami, being Miami there was an open bar and merriment and a VIP line of sorts
Andy Borowitz held court over various fawning fans.
Meanwhile Eira roamed the weird and weirder halls of the Town Meeting Center of the Village of Palmetto Bay which is exceedingly bright and contains numerous works of art chosen with the poorest of taste