Monday, December 29, 2008
Craft Fairs
A further thought on the craft fair. I love craft fairs. Whether in the high school gym full of mostly very-hand-made stuff, or happening upon one on the town green in somplace's little fall fest, I love to browse them, be at them, find them, wander them. Cup of coffee. Sundays. Saturdays. Maybe buy a bar of soap. Call over to whoever you're walking with to come see the little tiny wrinkled apple thingys that the 80-year-old lady has knitted little hats for, and they're just awful but completely charming in a way too. Farmer's markets, large and tiny. They're a part of common experience - who hasn't been to a craft fair? They're the tamest of all tame creative happenings, but one day they're there, then, the next day - just a town green or high school gym again. A very ridiculous kind of Burning Man. But people are doing something, and getting out there. So, a toast to the craft fair, and its inhabitants.
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3 comments:
"A very ridiculous kind of Burning Man."
Props.
No, no. Don't back off, BSD. You threw down against the craft fair. You slammed it up against the banks of Lake Marie. "Craft fair," you said, "you are stupid."
Don't go slinking away from your words now.
Yeah, that's just like me slinking away from my words again.
I was giving "props" (blacktalk) to the phrase, "A very ridiculous kind of Burning Man." Good shit there. I put the craft fair stuff out of my brain for a reason:
Craft fairs are dick. I fucking HATE craft fairs. I'd rather blind myself with rusty ice picks than browse a craft fair (or worst, "Craft Faire").
Unless I was seriously stoned the last place I'd like to be would be a craft fair looking at something something some old lady knit. Craft fairs are my form of hell.
But....
If Betsy loves the craft fair then so be it.
I can't control the weather. She can go to a goddamn craft fair and buy those things you hold ears of corn with. I will stay home and masturbate to competitive sex wrestling.
Individual differences.
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