I could not get tickets for tonight’s Salon of Shame. You have to be quick these days — they sell out in minutes. But I’ve been to the Salon and it’s a blast; Seattle grownups, many under the influence of a fortifying adult beverage, stand up in front of strangers and read from their teenage diaries or letters.
And we all laugh, cringe, howl and oh no! together. Great fun.
The shows are ASL interpreted by some of the best performance interpreters in Seattle (including the fabulous Pam, Jeff and Anne — you’ll see Jeff in the video below). Pam and Jeff taught at my ASL program, and what they do is very much a road not taken for me. In an alternate universe, I’m interpreting Salon of Shame too, and rock concerts, and plays, and slam poetry events, and spending way more time with Deaf friends. Living in more than one language, more than one culture; I think I would have enjoyed that life too.
And one of these days I’ll probably have to sign up for my turn on the shame stage. I kept a sporadic journal in high school, and am mostly struck by how uninteresting I was able to make my own life seem on paper (grin). But perhaps there is a nugget or two in there that is embarrassing enough to turn into a bonding experience with total strangers. We’ll see…
I certainly never had the nerve to write down anything about sex. What if someone read it? *shakes head* Salon readings tend to divide up between those who thought when we were teenagers that whatever was happening was only happening — and had only ever happened — to us, and if someone found out, we would just die. And then there are the kids like Patrick (in the video) who just put it all down on paper… I wish now I’d had the nerve, which is ironic when you think about it: wanting now to share enthusiastically that which Could Never Be Shared! when I was a kid. Perhaps this is that thing they call perspective.
Here’s a taste of the shame to come. Not Safe For Work. The camera work is shaky in places, and the ASL is clear.
Enjoy. And I’ll go back to reading that journal…
Here’s a tip: folks who show up alone around 7:45 often get squeezed into the empty seats… 😉
Also: http://twitter.com/ianfoo/status/3384501846
Ariel, welcome! Thanks for the tip — and thanks for all the shame you’ve brought to Seattle, you rock. 🙂
Very funny stuff. What a great idea.
Keep reading that journal. I bet there is some highly entertaining stuff in there. I’m sorry I never kept a journal just because memory fails me on so much.
Ok, I’m reporting back because you got me hooked on theses things. Now I’ve just listened to several of these while I’m printing some stuff. Here’s one I thought was pretty funny. I’m pretty sure I never thought these kinds of things. Weird.
I find this sort of thing, though humorous, stupidly self-indulgent. Another sign of how we’ve become overly obsessed with the importance of our own self-observations. And, I think to a certain extent it minimizes the process.
Or, maybe I’m just in a bad mood today. I guess I want to ask, why can’t you feel your shame in the privacy of your own home, with your own sweetie? I don’t get it.
*Snort* Robin, you are in a bad mood. But mileage varies and SOS is definitely not everyone’s chocolate ice cream (well, chocolate ice cream isn’t even everyone’s chocolate ice cream, she said in her recursive metaphor-loving way). For me, it’s not actually about feeling shame. it’s about the chance to share a class of experiences that were, at least for me, the epitome of private, non-discussable, too embarrassing or confusing or revealing to share at the time. Or maybe it’s just that I was a very private kid, already pretty “ruthlessly autonomous” (someone’s description of me in my 20’s) without any reference points to help anchor me. I had no idea if other people felt what I did, had the same kind of wacky thoughts, did/said things they didn’t understand… they all seemed so glossy and confident to me, even the weird kids. I felt so… young.
So for me the Salon of Shame is a chance to know that other people were young too. Some of those people are self-indulgent, and some of their experiences aren’t compelling, but I still like it. I like being part of a group that I don’t have to do anything about the next morning. Sometimes that’s just the ticket.
In order to have written about sex, I’d have to have been having some . . . : P