Writing books can be hard, but danged if some of the words and pictures inclined contributors to CREATIVE NOT FAMOUS: THE SMALL POTATO MANIFESTO didn’t crank out a metric heinieload of ’em. We’re making it easier for you to grab some of those titles from an indie bookstore with a BOOKSHOP affiliate link.
The bitter irony is that I can’t add CREATIVE, NOT FAMOUS to the list ’til the big gorilla distributor gets its mitts on it on MAY 10, our official publication day, but don’t let that stop you from toddling over to have a rummage in the potato patch.
Comics! Erotica! Essays! Graphic Novels! Magic! Memoirs! Zines! History! Scripts and Scores! Sci-fi! YA! A picture book, even! Anthologies galore!
Contributors J. Gonzalez-Blitz and J.T. Yost modeling this spring’s must-have accessory!
Join us at 7pm EST on the last day of this bad old historic year, for the world premiere of the Chief Primatologist’s newest annual 1-second-a-day video.
Give a yell in the chat if you see someone you know. It’ll be midnight somewhere!
I resisted the urge to flaunt my insider Hoosier knowledge in my Book and Film Globe review of the new documentary, Kurt Vonnegut: Unstuck in Time , but I will just tell YOU that my mother ALSO co-edited the Shortridge High School Daily Echo, the classmate who calls Kurt “Walter” at the reunion may be thinking of his cousin Walter Vonnegut, who was my dad’s neighbor late in life, and the words Kurt writes on the chalkboard (the goblins’ll getcha if you don’t watch out) are from “Little Ophant Annie” by Hoosier poet James Whitcomb Riley, a favorite of my grandparents.
You’ve no doubt already heard the story about me realizing that the beautiful India A, who I met on a photoshoot with baby India and who babysat for us a couple of times(then have a mess of beautiful babies herself) is Kurt’s granddaughter, whilst reading in a New Hampshire hammock on my day off from summer camp…
It was a thrill to be in the first audience, on the 99th anniversary of Kurt’s birth. Read Ayun Raspberry-17 Halliday’s review here
I know some of you nice people already pre-ordered my forthcoming book, Creative, Not Famous: The Small Potato Manifesto, but for those of you what didn’t, you can be one of the first to get your mitts on a digital or tangible copy by kicking in the same amount as you’d wind up spending in a bookstore to our Small Potato Kickstarter campaign.
One hell of an impressive roster if you ask me! I bet if you totted em all up, you’d be looking at over a thousand years worth of advice, observations, field reports, and battle scars.
A recent, long overdue rummage in our allotted storage space in our mercifully non-flooded basement led to a discovery of some extremely rare back issues of the East Village Inky, as well as some t-shirts and onesies that date to a time when Inky herself could fit in the 4T t-shirt she’s posing with at bottom right.
The elastic’s fresh, they’re free of mildew and earwigs, so I figured what the H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks, I’ll slap em up on Etsy and be done with it!
Which was a great idea, except shirt wise, it left some interested parties outside the US facing some extremely daunting shipping fees, just one of the things I was bitching about in our most recent, mail-themed issue.
A few gentle nudges from some ladies flying the Canadian flag led to the discovery that the company that printed these shirts way back in 2003 is still in business, and has affiliates that will print on demand outside the US, and ship far more affordably.
If you are in the US, ordering from me on Etsy is a good way to go, though in the name of full disclosure, there are more styles and sizes to be had on this printing company’s US site…I don’t rake in as much lettuce, but hey, if you are willing to rep my zine with the image of our first-ever sticker on a pair of thong panties, far be it from me to quibble over pennies.
The Chief Primatologist of The East Village Inky is DELIGHTED to be joining Charming Disaster, one of her favorite bands, for their weekly Quarantine Livestream, Friday September 17 at EST.
We’re gonna spice things up with a live collaborative project as we listen- illustrating Heart of Brass from their Spells + Rituals album. Grab a phrase and come prepared with a black pen and a piece of standard white printer paper, folded in half, portrait style (or the digital equivalent thereof), and for those who favor collage, a glue stick or rubber cement. FUN!
The lyrics are here, but I’ll paste em below, too.
If you’re worried about your artistic abilities, fret not. Whatever you make will be wonderful.
If you’re STILL worried about your artistic abilities, I took the liberty of snagging some images from the public domain of some of the jolly items namechecked by the song: a dirigible, a diving bell, laudanum… that sort of thing. Access them here!
Print em out and be ready to embellish them during our time together – collage, drawing, handwritten words…it’s all good!
Or go hunting in the public domain for images that speak to you.
In the dirigible’s gondola, the clouds fog up your monocle You wipe it with a handkerchief embroidered with a monogram Looking for lost continents, you’d better check your pocket watch We won’t be home for luncheon but they’ll keep the platters warm
CHORUS: Not as pure as gold (a captive of the scientist) Not as sharp as glass (he practiced his/her experiments) Not as strong as stone (flesh and blood will never last) My baby’s got a heart of brass
Underneath the diving bell, return to the submersible Before the lonely nautilus can wrap you in its tentacles Moistening your handkerchief to polish your discoveries The needle of the compass doesn’t point to any north
(Chorus)
Quince paste laced with laudanum will get you through the tedium Of waiting to be rescued from inside the sanitarium The esoteric brotherhood suspect you’re up to nothing good The ampule in your handkerchief will put them all to sleep
We’re all some kind of machine We’re only cogwheels, pistons and steam All of us powered by water and heat It makes our tick-tock hearts beat beat beat beat Beat beat beat beat beat beat beat beat
The automaton forever sits, its hand upon the writing desk Gently grips a fountain pen that circumscribes an arabesque Deciphering the messages encrypted by the alchemist A handkerchief will wipe away the secrets that it keeps
(Chorus)
Floating down the Amazon, we wonder if we’ve gone too far and Plunge into the whirlpool at the basin of the waterfall Scribbling this chronicle, the fog clouds up your monocle A handkerchief can stopper up our message in a bottle We have left it gently bobbing on the surface of the water As we sail around the spiral into mystery or miracle Cry into your scry glass, inquire of your oracle Squint into your spyglass, you can see us wave farewell
