Tuesday, August 05, 2003

So we met up around 4 on Sunday at the Oxygen Bar, everybody lined up in cushy chairs along the wall like contestants in some corporate game show. We waited a bit for poor Cassie, who finally appeared dragging an enormous black suitcase absolutely stuffed with books of postcard poems, many created just that weekend.

Stephanie had a fantasy of complete sets of vacuum-sealed postcard poems, arranged horizontally and rigid as a good piece of smoked salmon. Cassie made her dream come true, more or less, having invested in a vacuum-sealing machine (who knew?) that sucked all the air out and made sealed packs of pure poetry, complete with labels that said "safe for boiling, freezing, and microwaving." We tried dropping them on the ground and they made a nice solid whack.

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