Okay, yes, Clyde Edgerton and the big book festival have packed up and left town now. But that doesn’t mean we can’t learn a few lessons, grasshopper, on how one should go about “doing” a big three-day event.
Maybe you thought you would drive to the venue and find a great parking place. Next time, take whatever public transportation is available in your neighborhood. I learned my lesson from last year when I pulled into a parking garage that was FULL and had to pay five bucks to get out. So, this time around, I was smarta and took MARTA.
And don’t whine because you arrived extra early (like I did) and stood in line (like I did) so that you could see your favorite author, Bailey White (like I did) only to find out that there was no room left in the venue. Because you’re bound to find another author, right around the corner, just as funny (like I did)! In fact, I found three authors: John T. Edge, Clyde Edgerton and John Egerton. And seriously, those guys were a hoot and a half! (I think I just got a little paradoxical there.) So don’t get all bent out of shape if you can’t see the one you love. Love the author you’re with, grasshopper. Like I did with good old John Egerton, there. Or is that John T. Edge? Um, well, that guy in the picture, whoever he is, was darn entertaining!
And do not judge a talk by its title. Because, frankly, I was not too keen when I saw “Of Hissy Fits and Hairdos.” But Celia Rivenbark made me laugh out loud. And Doug Crandall, who was stuck in that room with all that estrogen, made me laugh out loud, too.
And if you were silly enough not to wear decent walking shoes for trekking up one end of Decatur to the next… well, honestly, grasshopper, that’s exactly how a hissy fit gets started. Right, Doug?
I can’t get your comment “stuck in that room with all that estrogen” out of my head. Glad you had a good time!
It could have been much worse. Doug could have been stuck in a room with “all that testosterone.” Then you would have had a bunch of beer bellied, belching behomoths all talking football and racing. Not that any of us “anonymous” posters resemble that remark :-).
You know, I’ve told my daughter a thousand times, “Nobody likes a beer-bellied, belching, race-talking behomoth gal.” But maybe there’s hope with Mr. Anonymous Poster. Like calls to like, my momma always said.