Marvimon House

Last night I went to a poetry reading event organized by fellow MPWer Lisa. I had spent Thanksgiving visiting relatives in Modesto, so making it to this event in time involved driving 8 hours and skipping 2 meals. I was envisioning about eight attendees crammed into a smoky basement (the invitations had talked about the importance of RSVPing due to “venue constrictions”), and I wanted to be there to show my support and fill out the audience. It turns out I needn’t have worried. The crowd was more like eighty than eight, and the place was the size of a cathedral. It was actually one of the most surreal venues I’ve ever seen. After much to-ing and fro-ing I finally located the address, but was sure I must have the wrong place. It was in the middle of nowhere up on North Broadway, and the modest frontage was dark, nondescript, and covered with swirls of grafitti. But stepping inside was like entering another world. I swear it was bigger inside than out, and contained a cavernous auditorium, a sprawling kitchen/lounge/art gallery, and an open-air courtyard with a wood-burning stove. There’s a picture here, but it doesn’t really capture the magical otherworldliness of first stepping inside. The crowd was very trendy and very L.A. (Leopard-fur coats and, as one of my friends put it, “a whole lotta F.M.B.’s.” (“F***-Me” Boots.) I was reminded strongly of the scene in The Player when Tim Robbins takes his lover to a surreal spa somewhere outside Hollywood. “Do places like this really exist?” she asks, and he replies, “Only in the movies.” After starving all day, I gorged on free wine, cheese, and crackers. The poetry was fantastic, and I ran into a surprising number of people I knew. All around a great evening.