...and so, after coming home from This is a Hijack (see below), I finished the layout for the new ESR, and after three hours sleep, I printed a run of the new issue to take to the spring edition of the Small Press Fair. This time, the fair was being held at the Miles Nadal Jewish Community Center, a block east from the usual location at the Trinity-St. Paul church. The space was much bigger and -thankfully- air conditioned. After the political strife that had erupted between small pressers last fall (and I think escalating into a bloody mess that neither side wanted), I was nervous about the tempo of this fair, but that fear was short-lived, as at first, I had a greater sense of urgency. There was zero traffic for the first couple of hours, and I trembled in my soul, thinking that promotion and PR had flown out the window.
However, serendipitously, the early lull turned out to be a strange blessing. Throughout the morning, I had fueled up on coffee like a crazed beatnik in order to stay awake. (Plus, I still had a bit of adrenaline from the giddy atmosphere of the previous night's screening.) I had experienced a moment not felt since those precocious days of first-year college, when exuberant amounts of coffee, coupled with oxygen deprivation in the brain (caused by lack of sleep), resulted in my finding surreal observations to scribble about for the next poetry session, which I would unleash upon my poor classmates in English the following Thursday. And as such, during this two hours of silence at the fair, in that same half-asleep mode of whimsy, I began scribbling my random thoughts in a notebook (a practice I have not done this century). One of the current topics of conversation with my fellow small pressers was the blue sheet handed out to vendors to share their thoughts on the fair, and how to improve it. One fellow vendor, who will go nameless, suggested "Hot dog vendors". And that was enough to keep me laughing for half an hour straight. You had to be there. (People must have thought I was stoned.) But for the next couple of hours, I scribbled down any random observation or idea, while waiting for customers to show up. And if I ended the day with zero sales, I vowed to print it all in one feverish, stinking dirty rant on this blog.
Well thankfully, I didn't have to result to such drastic measures. In the early afternoon, presumably after the locals had had their fill of bagels and brunch, the place began having a steady flow. It was nice to see some regular customers coming by to say hello, pick up the new issue and shoot the breeze. Having done dozens of trade shows in seven years, I always enjoy how they turn into a social hour. Barry Smight popped by and we exchanged horror stories about the stupid industry we both work in. It was also nice to see my pal Laura, who I used to work with, and my on-air comrade from the previous day, Stuart "Feedback" Andrews came by to shop, and also introduced me to a couple other film writers. So in all, it was a nice melange of seeing old friends, and possibly making new ones who became interested in all things ESR that day. After the show, I picked up my tickets for Leonard Cohen, and Dion's "Shock and Awe" festival, and then somehow found the stamina to travel with Kitty to see Roller Derby before finally crashing at one AM.
It fascinates me how things in the underground-small press community always happen in bursts, never constant hums. In one 24 hour period, or two calendar days, I did a screening, a radio interview and a trade show-- and then, this crescendo will be followed by a very long diminuendo. But after a long period of inactivity, it felt good for me to be back in business, and if I may be so immodest, I also feel proud at the fact that I didn't let other crap in my life become a deterrent from me not accomplishing what I wanted for this lovely weekend.
Above: fellow small presser Jen Finlayson and her trusty assistant/mascot, Buddy.
Oh to hell with it. Here's the stuff I scribbled down that morning-- you tell me if it's any good. (Complete and unabridged-- God help us.) It even has a title: "Random Thoughts At the Small Press Fair While Waiting for Buddha to Put a Bullet In My Brain"
-How come I didn't get a blue sheet? Aren't I literary enough? (as I stroke my goatee and twiddle with my neckerchief)
-Ways to Improve Fair #1: hot dog vendors (I won't name who thought of this one, for fear of incrimination)
-Ways to Improve Fair #2: free balloons for seniors. (I'm taking credit for this one.)
-couldn't they splurge for a microphone?
-I didn't know this was going to be in a gymnasium-- my groovy boots are killing me-- I should phone home and have my wife bring my Scooby Doo slipper socks.
-Things To Do: count how many times I turn and look at the door longingly
-...should've gone to the drug store and bought a couple of skin books to pass the time.
-Ways to Improve Fair #3: country and western band.
-I should carry a book with me more often to write random shit like this, instead of sitting at the keys in the twilight, waiting for inspiration.
-Things to Do: take pictures of myself until I ask myself just how fucking vain can I be?
-Ways to Improve Fair #4: bongos!
-For kicks, publish "A Collection of Angst-Ridden Twentysomething Garbage I Wrote Back in the 90's" and see if it sells more.
-The sudden realization that I may be even more fun to be around when I'm tired and pissed off. (And if any of this shit stills seems funny tomorrow, I'll publish it.)
-Thought while waiting in line at the 7-11: "Is this guy making a will?"
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