Not Your Average Birthday Gang…

So, last Saturday my super terrific friends threw me a birthday party--The Liz Jubilee! (Thanks Rachel and Katie!!)

And it was not your run-of-the-mill party with balloons and cake.

Nope! It was a Beatnik Poetry Slam party!!

That’s right. All the attendees had to present an original poem, read in front of the whole group with a spotlight in their face and bongos punctuating their words. (And in my case, beret on my head.)

Needless to say, it was awesome!!!! (I’d post some pictures, but I, of course, didn’t have my camera. (So, Rachel and Laura, when you get a chance, could you send me some?))

I laughed. I cried. I felt loved and appreciated—exactly what you want on your birthday, right?

And to join in the fun, I wrote a poem to share with the group. The subject of my poem was all the fantastic tidbits of knowledge I’ve collected over these years. You know, the stuff that’s made me really, really smart, and all.

I was asked to post it, so here it is: (Oh, and all the bolded words were sung. Yes, sung. So, sing along—I know you know the tune…)

The Brainless Barrage*
By Liz Wolfe, 2009

I need
some punky power
this hour.
This 3 hour tour with my skipper
and Flipper has morphed
into a
Schlemiel, Schlimazel and
I’m
puzzled.
How many Happy Days, ayyyyyy
have slipped away
as I have filled my mind
with what, what I
could find?
So, let me
rewind, Rerun,
And say, Here’s the story of
a lovely lady,
sailing on the Love Boat
waiting for the Mork
to her Mindy.
Let me just wiggle my nose
and magically expose
my own A-team
for hire, and it’s dire.
Cause I care about
who Joanie loves,
And those on 21 Jump Street.
So, gimme a break,
I’ve learned if you take the good
and take the bad,
what you have
is a mixed bag
where everybody knows your
name, and so
I ask where’s my invisible
plane?
And are you sure a paper
clip, rubber band, and a match
can get us out of here?
Here where eight is enough
and de plane, de plane
can take us out of the land
of the lost,
where we’re
saved by the bell, but
barely.
You say
“Bad news, bears!
It’s a small wonder
you’ve got anything else in
that head of yours.”
And I say what chu talkin’
about, Willis?
Who’s the Boss?
Me!
Let me have my
wonder years,
and dance of joy,
joy that helped me
through my
growing pains of
a full house.
Believe it or not,
I’m walkin’ on air
was not
my theme song
of youth.
Truth?
More like
I prayed for my
highway to heaven
and took it one day
at a time.
So I don’t need
you to worry for
me cause I’m all right.
And like Charles, I’m
in charge, and
in a half hour, all wrongs
will be righted.
You say, “Pleeease,
turn off the TV, and be.”
To that,
I say
kiss my grits!
It’s too late…


*I referenced 36 different TV shows in my poem. Can you find them all?