To see Mighty Mighty during the day is like being in Metro on a Sunday morning and seeing a very attractive women you’ve only seen at night before, under fluorescent lights and without makeup. The toilets are particularly grim.
It was a good and consistent crowd. There were no lulls from 12 to 5, although because it was so overcast I quickly lost sense of time. It was like a Sartre play where you could have been there forever. Because we hadn’t heard about it in time to book more tables, there were the works of about six cartoonists crammed onto a single table. I didn’t sell as many copies as I thought I would, but at least I sold copies. I’m taking the rest in to Graphic on Wednesday.
The Wellington zine community are a quiet, reserved bunch. Some of them could do with a hot pie and a good walk in the fresh air. Some of the customers were fairly priceless – there were a few times I wish I had my camera to send photos to Look at This Fucking Hipster, the same feeling I got yesterday when walking home from Havana with a box of coffee and I was passed by a special flower expressing his unique individuality by dressing in light blue and yellow (like an ’80s icecream) and riding a tiny white fold-out bike. Bless.
I didn’t think it was possible to top that, but seconds later I saw another hipster wobble by on a unicycle. If there’s ever another war and we have to draft the 18-24 year-olds, we’re doomed.
Anyway, the event went well, and I think people liked the book, but is it too much to ask for me to appear in public and not have to deal with people who emotionally incapacitate me? It’s frustrating to try to express something important as clearly as possible to someone you care about – and knowing that you basically have only one chance to get it right – while you’re massively, massively sleep deprived.
