Up at the top—that’s me and my buddy Laura guarding The T-Shirt Station yesterday at PIPEFEST III. There were two huge buckets full of shitty beer next to me. I guess we were guarding those too. But from whom??
The blood running down my face, by the way, came from my brain. I suffered extensive brain damage yesterday on account of how cool Pipefest was, and so my body reacted accordingly.
The T-Shirt Station ruled. There were shirts . . . and zines! Now, that’s a word that usually gives me pause, and makes me nauseous on a molecular level. But as far as those things go, I think these particular zines were just fine. My good friends Mitch and Leyla made them, bless their little hearts. If you bought a T-shirt, you got a zine. I’m the Pipefest figurehead, so I got em both for freeeeee~
Cole, who is standup guy, and who printed those T-shirts for us, he told me: “I’ll make a black one for you if you want.” And I said to Cole: “Bless your little heart, my sweet boy.”
The thing started off slow, which is usually how it goes. I reckon I like that part best: when there’s only like fifteen people milling around. I did my fair share of milling around and glad-handing, and so on. I hugged everyone and I tickled them too. In return one big guy picked me up and had me cross my arms and he did that thing where he leaned back with his big-ass arms around me and cracked my back right good. It was great. What a guy.
There were strawberry cupcakes and lemon cookies. I had me a good ol time with both of em.
Soon there were many people, and so I introduced some bands:
As usual, the crowd stared blankly and near-hatefully as I made terrible jokes!!!
I found my friend Emily in a tree. She had green hair now. I can’t remember what color it was last time I saw her. She told me to come over to her mom’s house and hang out with her kittens sometime. I told her I would! She said: “I remember how much you love ‘Moby-Dick’,” and I said, “Right on!!!”
Minutes later a British dude who used to come to the Wolfhound Pub approached me and said: “I remember you. You’re the doorman who loved ‘A Confederacy of Dunces’,” and I said, “Yeah baby!!!”
Hell of a thing, being in Oakland and surrounded by people who I remember and who remember me! Under the sun we Fested and remembered each other and ate strawberry cupcakes and lemon cookies! We liked each other! (My god, in Portland there was nothing like that . . . what a rotten catastrophe that place is, now that I think about it. . . .)
Anyway: It ruled. It ruled so hard that blood kept gushing out of my nose.
Here is a picture of some of my buddies and me on the stairs of the Pipehouse: