I went to the Pete's reading last night. Took the bus, sprinted, fell down (once, almost twice) and arrived late. Despite the trauma or in spite of the trauma, I enjoyed myself.
Yes, the poets were fine, but what caught my attention was the host, Ms. Browning. Countless have been the number of times I have attended readings where the host introduces a writer by either reading a shiny list of publishing credits or offers some too-personal story: a recollection an embarrassing anecdote; or leaves for the audience a thicket of author praise to extricate themselves from.
To the point: I found her intros to be more interesting (in some cases: especially the fox) than the poems themselves which isn't intended to insult any of the writers, but to heap some praise sugar on Pete's true sweet, Ms. Browning.
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