Gotta admit I had kind of a horribly depressing lonely time at the PDX zine fest. Not heading back next year. Guess I just don’t “get” the scene.
It’s like this celebration of idiotic business practices and purposefully lame entertainment ideas. What the fuck? Do you really want to read/write hundreds of words about your ass? Do you value some crazy person’s unfunny, half thought out, and poorly drawn political cartoons? Do you always walk around saying “wowwww. that’s sooo rad. i like totally luvvvvv it. wowwww,” like a stoned moron?
Anywho. this is probably 90% sour grapes. And add a dash of extreme exhaustion. … And jealously that so few of the attendees appreciated what i was offering, or even cared to stop and look at it. I felt like i should be wearing a costume so that i might be taken seriously.
Today. this is all a rant about today. I have dimly fond memories of how the first day went. eep.
Before I rant further in this whiney diary sort of post, i should note two really cool people i’d like to promote. There were other cool and/or friendly people of course, but these two in particular offered the highest quality things for me at the show.:
www.tangledwilderness.org – offered the first zine i’ve EVER truly wanted with a passion, just by looking at the cover. and it was free! Also agreed to trade me for their steampunk magazine thing (the same publication that was at the maker fair? the same people?)
www.gingerlandcomics.blogspot.com – super talented nice guy who sat next to me, and mildly comforted me by just being a good human being. though i felt like his girlfriend was constantly giving me sour looks. maybe i smelled really bad. maybe they were cannibals. i dunno. whatever. this guy is super talented and you should check out his work.
back to whiney diary ranting of no importance.
I didn’t get to sleep much last night. I sleep with my windows open when it’s hot. And around midnight some crazy whore started screaming “don’t touch me! I can’t believe you left me there!” over and over, in the parking lot outside my window. that is, about 30 feet from head. I woke up with a start, 20 minutes after going to bed, thinking there was an emergency. Someone needs help! Then i looked out and saw some drunk moron sitting on the pavement yelling at two nearby people who were trying to walk up to them. over and over. the screaming and the attempted approaches. kept repeating.
Then I remembered i live in a shitty apartment complex full of selfish scum. Weirdly wide awake, I wandered around for a while. Talked to my roommates. eventually figured it was safe to try and go back to sleep.
But these three fuckers were now standingaround on the balcony across from my window, drinking beer and talking shrilly in some other language. it’s about 2am by now, but these bastards don’t care. It’s time for them to get drunk and screech at each other. One guy in particular had an amazingly loud high pitched voice. of hellish pain. I tossed and turned. I yelled out random phrases. Out of my mind with anger. I fantasized about owning a gun so i could muster the courage to walk out and ask them politely if they could please be a little less drunk. I turned on my radio, full blast (playing Michael Jackson’s “Beat It”. which i decided might actually have been strangely appreciated). I turned my radio down (thinking of my roommates, and other neighbors who might now want to kill me.) and switched to a classical music station. I have this theory that drunk people don’t like classical music. SHOT DOWN! I went out and smoked. I paced. I sat and stared at them for minutes on end, hoping they might notice and be creeped out. And just go back inside their damned apartment. christ.
Nothing worked.
around 4:30am I closed my window and sweated myself to sleep. They were less loud as well, admittedly (perhaps the classical had some effect).
and then it was up at 8:30 for a shitty day at the zine fest. Nobody bought anything. Except an old friend who stopped by and quickly left, leaving me more depressed that I’d ever suggested he might like it. Tons of hipsters, pretty girls, obese people, and freaks walked by. Many said “hi” if i made eye contact. but less than 5 out of hundreds stopped to look for more than a nanosecond. most seemed to look at me rather than what was on the table, and move along with their nose in the air. where are my people?
Anywho. the dude next to me was suprisingly cool, and some friendly gothics/punks in one booth were giving away a free transcription of a telephone interview they scored with Alan Moore – which was the highlight of the show for me.
This is probably too much information, and far from professional. but fuck it. soooo tired and angry.
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Check back for the official show report at http://www.solidfuelstudios.com ! Yay!
With even more dirt and details! woo hoo!!!