Spitballin' At Quenchers Saloon

After 39 years beloved local watering hole and venue Quenchers Saloon will soon close it's doors. After 8 years of Mondays experimental variety show Spitballin' ended last night. As a frequent contributor I had the privilege of performing in the final show. Along with some poems I read this piece.

When I was six years old my grandfather, who I adored, passed away of esophageal cancer.
The experience was difficult to understand at such a young age, the concept of death hard to
grasp. Having to grapple with that when I was barely aware, only pseudo conscious shaped a
lot of the boy and man I became and am still becoming. We all come to a point where we realize
what death is and come to terms with it to varying degrees but I had to do that earlier, younger
than perhaps is typical. And as a result I realized, with some heartbreak and over time, that all
things end. It’s not only natural it’s correct. Couples break up, friendships fade away, jobs are
lost and left, people die. Everything is finite, so what can we do, we can take joy and satisfaction
in the time we have. We can find grace in the ephemeral. We can enjoy and celebrate and this evening we have together. The ending of something beautiful and rich, not to be forgotten and not to be lamented. This is the way things are. All things must end.

I’ve always had a passion for writing, an impulse to put words on paper but I never had much
direction or an outlet. I took a creative writing class in high school and another one in college but
the interest those classes cultivated never went much beyond that, interest. Some years later
after two successive girlfriends who were amateur poets reignited the interest in me I began to
write more. I started a blog, I set a goal for myself to write a poem a week. But after awhile it felt
a bit hollow, sending stuff out into the void, I wanted to share my stuff in a more direct way.
Summer of 2014 I knew about Spitballin’ but I had never been to the show, never performed at
it, I was afraid I wouldn’t be welcome, assumed it was insular or exclusive, so I never came or asked to be apart of the show. Out of the blue Mike Brunlieb, our benevolent curator, asked me to do a reading, anything I wanted. I was surprised and delighted. Me and a college friend Chloe read a scene from Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? and it was really fun and gratifying and different. The other acts were much more experimental and eclectic than I thought they’d be, the audience much more receptive and open and encouraging than my fearful judgement had assumed. After that I asked Mike if I could read some poems and he graciously let me. It went well and I’ve been reading poetry and prose here at Spitballin’ ever since.

What Spitballin’ gave me was opportunity. It’s a space where I could come share my poetry and
prose with a degree of acceptance. Seeing others experiment and bravely do weird things made
me comfortable to try. After it didn’t go over poorly I was inspired to write more, to share more.
What Mike, Thomas, and Scott gave me was permission. Permission to share who I am and
what I was working on in an environment totally unique in this city as it was not only devoid of
judgement but also of expectation. Anyone can do anything at Spitballin’ it may not go well, a
couple people might dip into the bar to grab a drink, they may have to compete with whatever
game is on TV, but whatever performance piece, sketch, reading, song, stand up set,
what-have-you had a place at Quenchers Saloon.

This place, this show, over time, made me a poet. I wrote poetry before but there was a self
consciousness about it, a fear, a duplicity, because I thought people would think it was lame or
stupid. But being allowed to come here and read my work, seeing people react on the spectrum
from indifference to enthusiasm but never contempt, put to rest all that stuff, helped clarify and
solidify my desire to write, gave me confidence in my identity. I’m a poet and there’s no shame
in that.

In Norse mythology there is an event, the end of the world, called Ragnarok and it is inevitable.
Reading the stories it is unclear if it has already happened, if it will happen, or if it is
continually happening. Regardless after it, after the end, the story continues. Something new and green is born. A major and repeated theme in Norse mythology is the cycle of life, death, and rebirth. The cycle of nature itself. This wonderful, fruitful, delicious, grotesque, torturous, transcendent show will come to an end shortly. But the people and the energy and spirit will live on. Dissipate and reform in other divisions and permutations and grow and evolve and move forward, move on. The cycle will continue. This is not something to grieve but to rejoice.

I want to say thank you to Mike, Thomas, and Scott who encouraged me. This place which
welcomed me. And this show which inspired me to be more the person I want to be.