Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Rock On

Just the very briefest of explanations for tonight's doodles. I'm coming quickly to believe that the less I like the music, the better I like the fans. We had yet another rock star come to do a book signing. I did not stay for the event. I did however field phone calls for the past few weeks, as did all my coworkers, from people genuinely excited about coming to the bookstore. That was happy news. They came from far and wide. No lie. Some of them drove for hours, others flew into to town just for this. Two girls camped on the grand staircase from just about the time we opened the doors this morning. By the time I left, the line was already snaking through the store. Everybody in line was happy enough, polite, and having a surprisingly good time. Couldn't imagine how, but believe me, they were. No idea how many hundreds of books were sold tonight, but I do know that the Cafe sold out of Diet Coke. (Also, Earl's, across the street, seemed to be doing a brisk business with folks who had stepped away for just a minute or two, for something more relaxing, and maybe a smoke.)

Last night I actually listened online to a little of the music that inspired this kind of devotion. Not something, clearly, I will ever understand. Matters not one whit. Based on my experience at the store today, and the last signing we hosted for a real rock star, let me just say, bring on the rock stars, and bless 'em. I love these people.

True, I drew some of 'em standing in line, which I hope no one will mind, as I do that all the time anyway. But then I only draw interesting people generally, so remember that, please. If any of these good people had been boring, I would have been doodling someone else.

True, I don't remember the last time, if ever, I saw a grown woman wearing a teeshirt that read "fucktard", and I can't say that every style choice made otherwise inspired admiration, but these people; young and old, large and small, dyed or shaved, were uniformly quiet, excited, nice to each other, nice to me, and queued without a murmur like Soviets in line for the last loaf of sawdust. When I think of some of the behavior I've witnessed in large crowds at more traditional literary events, let alone from collectors on line -- to say nothing of the bitching on the phones from persons in remote places who can not be made to understand that the author may not wish to sing happy birthday to one's elderly mother -- don't laugh, that happened once -- well, then all I can say is --


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