Homecoming, for the first time.

I'm in New Jersey for a long weekend to visit with my family before the flurry of holiday mess (Thanksgiving and Christmas on Columbus Avenue, while typically delightful, are also incredibly overwhelming) and last night I decided I should continue my slow and steady exposure to venues beyond those I regularly attend. So, in spite of having driven the three hours from Amherst to my grandma's, I again hopped in the car and drove a little while longer so that I could see some friends at Loser Slam, which happens every Thursday night at the Inkwell in Long Branch.

Long story short, after much silliness (involving Muppet sex haiku throughout the open mic, among other things) and the feature (I swear, by the time the year is out I will be able to do Erich's set in my sleep, simply because he ends up being the feature every time I go anywhere), a slam was pulled out of the air.

At Loser Slam, they reverse the traditional method of scoring slam so that 0 is the best possible score and 10 is the worst, which is fun and exciting and ludicrous and exactly what I needed after getting knocked out of the Cantab slam the previous night in the first round (as seems to be my lot in life). I read "Running With the Downcity Furnace" first, which seems to have become my fall-back poem whenever I slam unexpectedly because it always gets solid scores and did well enough to make it to the second round. I was up against four regulars, two of which have featured at Hampshire in the past few months, so I was pretty convinced I'd not have a chance. But I made it to the second round, where I did a newer poem called "Conquest" that is still on page and in on-going revision. Surprising myself (albeit pleasantly), I took the slam.

This win may or may not mean that I am qualified to compete for the Loser Slam NPS team. This may or may not mean that I may or may not consider living in New Jersey for the summer. This is a gray area I am refusing to discuss with the part of my brain so set on life in Providence that it is trolling for writer's grants. This is a happiness I doubted the weekend would bring.

The Inkwell felt so home-y. My mom's family has a reunion in Long Branch every August, which probably contributed to that feeling, but the beach isn't really the beach in November. No, this could just be the start of something entirely different.