Is It My Turn Yet?

I attended an open mic night at Dalva's on Thursday to hear the featured performer, my friend Xandra, do her magic with her voice and guitar. And as I sat through a grueling hour of angst-filled poetry, I was struck by the realization that thanks to this blog, I am NO BETTER than all those vaginal-centric poets.

A blog is the open mic of the internet community.

Anyone can have one, just like anyone can put their name on a list to stand in front of a room of strangers and emotionally puke on them. If someone's got something to share with the world, what do they do? They start a blog or they read poetry in a dive bar. All of us--bloggers, open mikers, poets and artists--have something in common: we all want to say something. Put something big out there. If the world is our stage, the blog is our megaphone and the 'post' button our airhorn.

And I'm not gonna lie: it's quite a startling fact to find out that you have something in common with a man in a beret talking about licking cabernet from the voluptuous body of his lover. And to be quite honest, I didn't discover my womanhood by responding to a double dog dare as an eight year old. I didn't get high on my birthday, I am not a Marionette Under the Muni Wires, and I have never done a performance art piece using my cell phone and a boombox. These are the blog-quivalents of sentimental journal postings, unoriginal rants and raves, tv show reviews, pictures of pets on furniture, and discussions about Bay Bridge traffic.

Open mics and blogs are showcases of egomania running full throttle. And here I am, one of Them. I have the good sense to be self-conscious about my presence here, but that doesn't make me the Diamond in the Rough, either.

Then take Alexandra. As she got up with her guitar at the very end to play a set and close the night, the crowd silenced. They've seen her in action before: it's a pretty small subculture, really, touring the same spots each week, just as bloggers cruise their networks. And when goosebumps rose on my skin at the unharnessed power of her voice, it made the entire night worthwhile. I would listen to hours of someone talking about their phallic carrots in their orgy stew if it meant hearing Alexandra play a set. And at that moment, I took reassurance in the fact that my blog MUST be the Alexandra of the blogs. I mean, REALLY. Look at this talent! Nigh-unsurpassable!

Speaking of, have I ever told you how one of my mother's dogs used to hump my leg when I was young which gave me an awkward concept of how love is communicated? Just let me get my interpretive flags out...and I'm going to need one volunteer from the audience to act as Little Sharona...