Life in the village of C.C. Part 1

I'm on my second week in D.C. My only regular pattern is work. The things I want to do I can't yet exactly, but I'm working on it.

Work's fine. Settling into things. I'm mainly writing and reading--which is what I wanted, but I wonder if there's something that I'm missing. Still, it's only the first week, so we'll see.

My employer is a nice,  small publishing company, so I get to see how all the gears work. It's also an office--and most likely an industry--dominated by women. Everytime I walk into the office I imagine my co-workers in some kind of WWII era weapon factory. Except the weapon is a book. Every one that rolls off the presses was made possible thanks to generous grants(warbonds), elbow grease (Paper work), and an office full of Rosie the Riveters. 

My ma raised me, so I guess it makes sense that the world's books would be supplied by women. I wonder how it turned out that way, though. Maybe I'll ask sometime.

My overarching project--the marketing plan to push our books to University and College students hasn't come into material form yet. Just ideas floating around in my head that I'll talk about sometime.

So, now, about the city.

Last night I went to D.C.'s famous Bus Boys and Poets Cafe for their open mic. It was my second time going, the event always sells out, it's always packed, and there is always poetry(and more). 

The first time I got stuck on the stage watching other people perform with fellow latecomers who hadn't paid for tickets. This next time, though, I came prepared. Got my ticket early. Four bucks for two hours of poetry seemed fair.

I arrived on the spot an hour early to make sure I could get on the open mic list, this was, of course, after I scribbled poems I'd written into a notebook so I could read--one day I'll scribble them inside my head. A few minutes were spent browsing their awesome bookstore(which I need to hit up next payday, f'serious. They had some awesome books...) and then the doors open. People started heading for the door like pilgrims going to Mecca. I joined the ranks.

I pass by a room full of hip, twenty-thirty somethings, most of them Black, then the Kitchen. First the sounds of people enjoying themself hit y ou on the right, and the smell of soul food and ethnic spices hit you from the left. And all the while people are shuffling around the place, waiters are weaving through the crowd. Saw alot of strange people--poets are a strange crowd after all-- and a lot of beautiful people as well. 

When I got through the doors I was in the Langston Room, immediately across from you is the Wall of Peace. It's a huge mural decorated with faces quotes and photos of famous activisits, geniuses, and alot of other figures who've redeemed society's shortcomings, the rest of the room has this dreamy effect thanks in part to the lighting, and the heat coming off everyone when we crowd into the room. Then the door closes, the tech crew set up the stage, and it begins.

I made the mistake of sitting in the backmost, corner table. A booth. My company was a white couple, a group of kids my age from either Jamaica or East Africa(Or both), and an old MC named Lurch(Lerch?). Lots of interesting characters rocked the mic, but none better than the Emcee for the night, Bomani. Cat was mad funny, a Hip-Hop father with a good sense of humor. He starts off the night promoting his own, comical brand of "gangsta" hip-hopoetry as the unspoken sacrificial lamb and starts rapping about his childhood shortcomings. 

What followed was a series of all a village's members: from the elders, to the fools, to the outcasts.

The best part about it is that everyone had a voice before the rest of us(the tribe). 

More to come in Part 2.