So early yesterday morning that it might more truthfully be called Friday night, Brodie, Andrice Arp, Jesse Reklaw, and I suddenly (drunkenly?) decided to attend the Olympia Comics Festival, which, like most things in Olympia, is puny but heartfelt. At 8AM we rented a car, packed a cooler with beer from the previous night's Dominion game, played Scrabble for the whole drive, and upon arrival commandeered a table among our friends. Books were sold, bonds were strengthened, Vietnamese food was ordered, and the beer was sipped from tall Starbucks coffee cups vandalized to read "FUCK OFF". And I traded creepy stickers with the lovely Savannah Horrocks. I love conventions.
Unfortunately, after the show I stopped by Last Word Books to see if they had sold any more copies of "How Life Became Unbearable", and was admonished that the store had no record of my zines, and that they had probably been destroyed, which was infuriating. Nobody had even tried to contact me, they just fucking threw them out. I think I'm not going to bother with consigning anymore.
This morning I wept my way through the new Vincent van Gogh episode of Doctor Who and thought it good. Tomorrow there will be Wolverine comics and delightful news.