…that after a delightful weekend at retreat, and an extremely less than delightful flight back (2.5 hours on the tarmac, 3 understandably distressed toddlers, 1 elderly couple loudly concerned about the possibility of their cruise ship leaving without them) I have returned, not home, but to the studio.
And speaking of the studio, and thus of comics, you, yes, you over there in the glasses*, have you turned in your Stumptown table registration? The show is happening earlier this year, the weekend of September 29th and 30th, and registrations are due August 31st.
I quote from the website: “We’ll still be accepting registrations after that, but we can’t guarantee your choice of placement, or a listing in the official Fest Program, so please get your forms in asap! Table prices are still at a low $110 for a full table, and $70 for a half table, and the registration forms can be found here.”
*Glasses are not mandatory for Stumptown, merely, based on my observation last year, pervasive.
I am sitting next to a group of salesmen in bright blue shirts. They are talking loudly and enthusiastically about football and the various no-hopers currently populating their teams of choice, who apparently do not perform up to expectations once they’ve secured their massive salaries.
“They just figure, hey, I got the contract, why do I have to do anything now?”
“Oh no. It’s not like that. No, I’m telling you, every single player in the NFL’s got quotas to make. Yardage per game. I’m telling you.”
“Quotas. Just like us.”
They stare at each other briefly, glumly. It’s only another few seconds before one asks another how many deals he made yesterday, and they return to Glengarry Glen Ross-style weaponized conversational gambits. If they’d ever really departed.
The church across the street is having an event that’s louder than many neighborhood parties.
And that’s saying something.
Good thing I’m going to be up late packing anyway…
Brave Mr. Elephanter by Lark Pien is sweet and delightful and you should really see the elephanties.
I have sort of a shopping cart now. If you go to Publications and click on one of the minicomics covers, you will see. This would have happened sooner had I not forgotten my Paypal password, like, ten times in a row. I am kind of shocked that Paypal even let me set up the cart after all that, to tell you the truth. If people want to be able to order signed copies of the novels, let me know and I can set that up too.
The cat will not stop biting me, in an affectionate but persistent way. It is vaguely endearing but painful.
I’m going out of town again Thursday. I am excited but it seems like I just barely got back from San Diego. In fact the suitcases are still splayed out, open, in the guest room, as though they are exhausted, too. At least we finally got all the laundry out of them and did it.
I finally read Fugitives and Refugees and encountered the Katherine Dunn quote about Portlanders: “Everyone has at *least* three identities. They’re a grocery store checker, an archaeologist, and a biker guy. Or they’re a poet, a drag queen, and a bookstore clerk.”
I sure do. Have three lives, I mean. Maybe more. Sometimes I get mental whiplash. But I don’t think it’s exclusive to Portland.
What are your three lives?
Sad, sad news today — the death of a friend. I found out via my LiveJournal friendslist, between two posts about the amusing things people had done over the weekend. I’ve written before about juxtaposition and context online, and how I don’t think there’s anything to be done about the often massive shifts in subject matter and tone as you move from post to post.
But it made me think about something else that happens when bad news hits you online: the way denial manifests. I found myself hoping that the post about the death was just wrong, so I started searching for anything that would refute it. Instead, of course, I found confirmation, and the first few of what I’m sure will be many tributes.
I didn’t get to spend much time with him. I’m glad I got the time I did. My condolences to his family and all of his many friends.
Nothing else to say.
I will be around, with minicomics and some Rules and Empresses, sharing space with Erika Moen and Kip Manley. Come say hey and buy things from them! (And me.)
Personal to gordonzola and anarqueso (and, I suppose, anyone else who is cheese-interested) Today I ate two shockingly great cheeses: Anomalous, from Vermont, and Isle of Mull (from, as you might guess, the Isle of Mull). Apparently it is rare for Anomalous to make it this far west.
What have you tried recently that was better than you expected?
All the readers were fabulous. Subjects and features in brief: dogs, cute and dogs, annoying; things to do in Portland when you’re a smart kid (in puppet show form); rollercoasters, iPods, trivia regarding rollercoasters and iPods; elementary school antiwar protest organizing; street art.
Rhythm, who did the street art zine, also brought stencils he’d made, and spray paint and paper, so we could make our own. (Outside.) He demonstrated first, and various folks, including his mom, asked process questions. Best moment:
Mom: So, can we just do this on the sidewalk?
Rhythm: Sure!
Mom: That was the wrong answer!
Here’s the one I did. The photo didn’t come out fabulously, but it looks great in real life. Gold with a black overlay.
Read More!
All the readers will be at the Zine Symposium this weekend, so go buy their zines!
(Will I be there? Still debating. I don’t have a table, but I might see if I can hijack part of a friend’s…ganatronic, if I go, I’ll find you and we can do a trade.)
Come on over to Reading Frenzy tonight to hear the Zine Camp ‘07 graduates!
I love Nicole Georges’ illustration above.
And perhaps I will bring some of the new minicomics…
Those of you who were curious about the “Comics Are Not Literature” discussion at Comic-con, check out Zack Smith’s report over at Newsarama. Thanks, Zack, for writing it up!
- I’ve jumped onto the Scrivener bandwagon. So far I am intrigued but feel sort of dumb about how best to exploit all its fascinating capabilities. Any of y’all who are using and liking it, please tell me your favorite things.
- I finished Can You Forgive Her? and am now looking forward to filling my life with more Trollope. Why I am liking him so much, in brief: the precision and sensitivity with which he describes both characters and landscapes. Here’s a passage that really struck me, from Chapter 31:
It was a delicious afternoon for a winter’s walk. The air was clear and cold, but not actually frosty. The ground beneath their feet was dry, and the sky, though not bright, had that appearance of enduring weather which gives no foreboding of rain. There is a special winter’s light, which is very clear though devoid of all brilliancy — through which every object strikes upon the eye with well-marked lines, and under which almost all forms of nature seem graceful to the sight if not actually beautiful. But there is a certain melancholy which ever accompanies it. It is the light of the afternoon, and gives token of the speedy coming of the early twilight. It tells of the shortness of the day, and contains even in its clearness a promise of the gloom of night. It is absolute light, but it seems to contain the darkness which is to follow it.
The idea of slowing down enough to give the reader a landscape like that is intriguing.
Speaking of slowing down: I won’t be, any time soon. I have two more trips coming up in the next few weeks. I’m excited about them, but Snag is not.
Despite Snag’s strategy, his sitting on the suitcase will not prevent me from packing it again.