Tonight the Smartgals Speakeasy stages a poetry slam pitting poets who died a natural death against those who offed themselves. It's their first Dead Poets event, which asks members of the audience to guess who wrote what as live actors and writers read from the works of, say, Sylvia Plath (We cast our skins and slide/into another time), John Donne (We have a winding sheet in our mother's womb, which grows with us from our conception, and we come into the world wound up in that winding sheet, for we come to seek a grave), or John Berryman (Life, friends, is boring). I would imagine that Dorothy Parker will make an appearance, although whether her death is considered natural or suicide by drinking I can't say.
Speaking of drinking, the Speakeasy, which is in the bottom of a church in Los Feliz and requires a password (this time: "stop rhyming and I mean it"), includes a spiked punch of some sort. Other beverages are also on hand; bring more than the $7 entrance fee if you want to purchase the limited-edition bookmark or become a member.
Because it still tickles me, and is appropriate, here is Dorothy Parker's Résumé:
Razors pain you,
Rivers are damp,
Acids stain you,
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful,
Nooses give,
Gas smells awful.
You might as well live.
