Manuscripts were being exchanged like mad, business cards flying left and right. Once you're inside it really looks like any other League Of Poets' den of inequity; dozens of well-scrubbed, well-dressed young professional-types slurping away at their Manhattans and imported beers, poets talking loudly over one another with an evil eye on the grants, post-feminist types huddled around each other for warmth, whispering, practising their "offended" routines until one of the robbies finally musters the chutzpah (usually brought about through an admixture of inebriation and lust) and publishes them. "Gosh, Maggie, i didn't know you smoked .... cigarettes?"
e mërkurë, 4 korrik 2007
robbie priest mclennan schmoozes one of the many power maggies at harbourfront
Manuscripts were being exchanged like mad, business cards flying left and right. Once you're inside it really looks like any other League Of Poets' den of inequity; dozens of well-scrubbed, well-dressed young professional-types slurping away at their Manhattans and imported beers, poets talking loudly over one another with an evil eye on the grants, post-feminist types huddled around each other for warmth, whispering, practising their "offended" routines until one of the robbies finally musters the chutzpah (usually brought about through an admixture of inebriation and lust) and publishes them. "Gosh, Maggie, i didn't know you smoked .... cigarettes?"
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