Zine Day

On Saturday, did some zine-making over at magnation in King Street. Bird In The Hand Zine Shop organised it, and Bettie Brimstone plus friends hosted. The first act of my completely solo weekend went swimmingly. Everyone was friendly and there were no glue hogs or scissor hogs. (These used to cause me panic attacks as a kindergartener.) Some poor artist-in-crisis had dumped armfuls of arty goodness outside for collection, and quick-thining Bettie Brimstone brought it along. There was a giant ruby red manual typewriter with a dodgy ribbon that kept dislodging. But it was gorgeous! Typing on a manual typewriter is one of the most soothing motions. The punching keys noise is rhythmically uneven but everyone at the table agreed it was conducive to the ‘creative process’ or something. We sat in air-con. Suffice to say I was there pretty much the entire day.

Made the very first With Extra Pulp zine! It’s called “Characters for your next novel” and it’s filled with random type-written passages, torn out pages from my Moleskine diary and exquisitely pretty paper that some poor artist chucked out (along with their hopes and dreams). You could win it, if you enter my Blogiversary competition.

A Book Launch and then Amanda F***ing Palmer

Kinokuniya Bookshop hosted the launch for Solace & Grief, the debut novel by YA author Foz Meadows. I got a copy signed and told Foz I was her ‘Twitter-stalker” (most people get all weird around famous actors/musicians. I get stage fright around authors.) But she still signed my book. And got the spelling of my name right in the FIRST GO. Scott Westerfield MC’d. Just a quick question to any authors who may be reading this: Do you find it weird when someone comes to your launch by themselves? I’m curious.

Anyway. So some girls gave Foz a large yellow capscicum. And then I felt bad for not bringing along a garden vegetable. So after getting my book signed I left. Solace & Grief is about a teenage girl named Solace living in foster care who, as it turns out, is a vampire. She meets a faceless man and subsequently realises she can’t keep hiding what she is. Oh, and there’s some sort of strange underworld beneath Sydney’s Hyde Park. Urban fantasy Aus style.

My solo weekend wasn’t over yet. Amanda Palmer rocked the Opera House. She was accompanied in part by Lance on the marimba (plus four other instruments) and a rocking string quartet. But back to Amanda. She is hilarious. And talks to the audience. A lot. She completely fucks up her final song. (Everyone got their lighters out, old school style, and it made her laugh.) She plays an impromptu, slightly disturbing song with her support act, Mikelangelo, on vocals. She does a cover of John Cage’s 4′33″ and more than half the audience has no idea what the hell is going on. She has a gorgeous gothic half-skirt (as in, there’s no front half), that she arranges carefully on the piano stool. But she gets stuck every time she has to stand up. She pulls up random audience members (one of which has her own ukelele) and a man who has an iPhone, but when it doesn’t work she gives it back and lets him sit on stage watching and filming the whole thing from the freaking prime seat.

She opens with my favourite song, Astronaut. And finally succumbs to audience pleas at the end for Oasis. She sings a song about how her burning hatred for Vegemite. “I cannot hold a man this close who spreads this cancer on his toast. It’s the Vegemite or me.” She also refers to it as ‘foul death-paste’ as well as..oh just watch this video. She seems to think everyone in Australia loves Vegemite. The audience sets her straight.

Amanda encores, as per the usual standard. She plays NIN’s Hurt followed by a few more songs.

She answers questions from the audience and deftly fended off the stalker-ish girls. She flashes us her $9 Aussie flag undies, which were purchased in Adelaide airport. She laments about not being able to be with her fiance, Neil Gaiman, who is at the Oscars right this very second. But she assures us that she loves us. She spills her red wine all over her copy of her book “Who Killed Amanda Palmer” just as she is plugging it. She plays the Opera House Grand Piano with her FOOT.

The audience are hilarious hecklers. They really love her. (And one guy really loved Pokemon, as 4′33″ revealed). She doesn’t play Leeds United, another of my favourite songs, but it’s forgivable. She is an amazing performer and being engaged to Neil Gaiman has just made her even awesomer (if that were even possible). Amanda is so public about her life it scares me slightly. I’m surprised she hasn’t been kidnapped or something during her Australian tour. My fears of going by myself were unfounded. When you watch Amanda perform it’s like you’re the only one in the room. And the wooshes of crowd cheering and laughing are just part of the background noise. She’s a gothy, punky, scary woman who is brilliant.

This is my favourite song of hers.