Bawdy Storytelling

So, first of all: Not Providence will go up tomorrow, though perhaps not at the usual time; I didn't get a chance on my lunch break to get the edited update converted for Web viewing, and may not finish it before the 9-5 starts tomorrow morning.

And why, do you ask, did I not finish that tonight? Why, Tyler? Why would you strand us like this?

Two words for you: Bawdy Storytelling.

Some of you may have heard of this, and if so, and you like it or aren't in the SF Bay Area, feel free to move on and not read this post. If you haven't heard of it, then read on.

Bawdy Storytelling is exactly what it sounds like: perverts getting together and listening to perverts talk about being one, in the form of 10-ish minute stories told up on a stage at a nice bar in the Mission.

Bawdy Storytelling is also some things that are not apparent from the name: Bawdy Storytelling is an honest and friendly community; incredibly, sides-clutching funny; encouraging of newcomers; and a showcase for some really, madly, deeply talented storytellers. There are performers at this show who have blown me away with their skill at facial expression, powerful delivery, and just plain balls-out honesty. Bill Hicks would be proud.

It's late, and I recently took some Alka-Seltzer Cold (the night-time formula, because I'm wild and uncouth); so it is entirely likely that my words are not encompassing the true worth of Bawdy. So I'll tell you a story.

I have attended Bawdy Storytelling twice.

The first time, when giving my ride directions to my office (the show starts at a time such that we needed to hurry there right after I get off work), we miscommunicated about the road, and she wound up five miles east of where I was and unable to see a street sign. We fought traffic the whole way. And when we got there in time for the inspirational opening ukelele piece (oh yes, it's true), we were ecstatic.

The second time, my ride got held up at home, and then took an incorrect exit and wound up headed north instead of south; she arrived at 6:30 instead of 5:30, when we had been told that it started an hour early, at 7, instead of the usual 8. We were not the most cautious drivers on the way there, but were safe. And when we got there at 7:20 and discovered it indeed not only planned to start at 8 after all, but wound up starting late, we were pleased. And as soon as we knew the date for the January show, we immediately started making plans to be there.

Something about Bawdy sabotages our days (though mine was pretty gentle to me, I expect due to the Sick taking care of the bad luck already), and yet, we always find time to be there. I was dubious for months, but now I can't imagine missing it for anything that doesn't involve blood or wedding rings. When I say Bawdy Storytelling is amazing, I mean it; if you can put up with some nasty words and some very frank discussion of sex (and I mean frank in all caps, twenty-point font, letters of fire), it is some of the best performance I have ever had the pleasure to see, and especially for the $10 entrance fee.

Now, the organizer of the show very strongly encourages us to spread the word and help Bawdy Storytelling grow; so if you are interested, please, check out their website at bawdystorytelling.com, and see if the topic and timing for next month's show interests you. I might be there; who knows, I might even be onstage.

But not if you attend, Mom; there are some experiences that I think we're both happy keeping separate.