I went to the Monti StorySlam last Thursday night. The theme was romance so I told the dude-swims-a-river-to-talk-to-me story. That’s a romantic story, is it not? But of course I ended it with something like, “I’ll tell the rest of the story when the theme is All-Time Worst Kisses.”
The crowd, as usual, dug it. The judges did not. Again.
People kept coming up to me at intermission and saying, “You was robbed.” Not sure why I went over like a lead zeppelin with the judges yet again. One idea I had: going second is the shit position in the line-up. I went second when I told the Turducken story too. And I don’t know, I think the judges rate the first story pretty high, if it’s good, which Thursday’s was. But the second storyteller, they’re thinking, “Damn. We’ve got six more people after this. Better set the bar low.”
One of my friends offered another theory: the judges seemed to dig the “and here she is in the audience with me thirty years and two wonderful kids later” ending.
And that’s a lovely ending. But that was not the ending to my romantic story. The ending to my story was grossness and discomfort. So that’s the ending I told.
Whatever. Jeff Polish, the director of the Monti, said late in the evening that he was going to choose a story to go on All Things Considered (local version, of course) on Friday. And guess whose story he chose.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
Suck it, judges.
(WUNC edited the hell out of it, taking out all my profanity* and chopping the ending completely off, but who cares! Seventy thousand people heard me tell a story.)
(*I also forgot to tell you that when I had that little stepmotherhood daydream, my mom emailed me to say, “If you’re thinking about becoming a stepparent, you better clean up your mouth!” Ha! I fucking love my mom.)
I fucking love your blog.
I wanna go with you to storyslam! That sounds fun. I will drink a billion cappucinos and do Cornholio.
i wanna go too!
i want you to tell us stories when you come up.
I long for the days when songwriters could come up with a line like “All at once you’re using language that would make a sailor blush.” (My Fair Lady, “Why Can’t a Woman Be More Like a Man?” in case no one besides me is old enough to remember that line…) And I love you too! but without the expletive…
umm, as a fucking step mother, i never cleaned up my act. and my two wonderful step daughters have much worse potty mouths. i think they may have been influenced by their father.
Catherine, I fucking love you.
Justin and Margo, I’ll try and post next time I have tickets to the Slam, but just because I go and put my name in the hat doesn’t mean I’ll get drawn.
Mom, I repeat, I fucking love you.
Nina, I’m so glad nobody made you clean up your act. And absolutely, it’s all Mark’s fault.
how about another ask amy?
dear amy,
i know that you can tell a male dog is jewish if he is circumcised (ie:fixed) but how do you tell if a female dog is? i know she would be if her mother was jewish, but it’s hard getting that info from the shelter.
and if they aren’t jewish, should i buy them a bunny for easter? and what if the bunny is jewish?
confused in confederateland
I fucking love women who swear. I do, I fucking mean it. I don’t much care for fucking women, though.
Bloody hell, the Monti Grandslam is already sold out. If you know any scalpers, kindly point me in their direction.
Margo, it’s truly hard to tell unless the dog is Hasidic. You may just have to ask her. Awkward, I know, but less so than giving her a Cadbury Creme Egg.
Paul, I fucking love you.
Kyle, talk to my friend Phil. He knows a guy. (Phil! You hear that? Call your guy.)
PS–how can we hear a sound clip of your radio debut?
Kyle, how many do you need?
Hey Phil, thanks for responding, I was just about to stalk the shit out of you and give you a call. 2 tickets would be fantastic.
So I’ve been to one Monti Story Slam… and was pegged as a gullible dope from the first minute I walked in the room. Jeff asked me to be a judge. I was “honored.” 5 minutes in… I was horrified. Worst. Job. Ever. I wanted to shrink into the bench I was sitting upon and disappear. I imagine the Montis are super fun if you’re just spectating. Or even story-telling. Next time, I’ve gotta figure out how to look cooler than a judge. They pick the dorks, right?
Where’s Alan Ginsberg when you need him?
Mom, I’m not sure. If I find a link, I’ll post it.
Kyle, don’t say I never did nothin for ya.
Other Amy, I don’t think they pick the dorks. I think they interview people at the door. “Do you hate Amy Scott and all she stands for? Yes? You’re hired!”
Granddude, alas, dead and gone.
Hey, this is awesome, Amy! Congratulations! Not the part about the judges. Judges suck, especially the wrong ones.