Evening Portlanders. Cereal Man here. Bringing you the ultimate in Portland spy ware. Tonight brings us to Powells on Burnside where Daniel Clowes, God of hipster lingo, 50's deco art, and some of the most beautiful hand drawn characters ever to splash into our lives in a blaze of black and white, light browns, and aqua, is promoting his newest work in graphic novel genius: Wilson. All eyes are on Sir Clowes tonight, including mine. Providing me with a distraction from the sea of hipster carnage invading the pearl room like a new wave prohibition. How could you not be excited getting to listen to a hero of yours since the age of twelve? But then again a lot of you argue with a myspace page over why there's a hero section, so perhaps I shouldn't preach. But instead leave on a footnote in that through Clowes' monotone poise and voice, he delivers a hysterical view on the world that is all his own in the graphic novel realm.
Making my way towards the book signing line has placed me center amongst a sea of kaleidoscopic flannel. Politely, which is not often in my nature when, "people" are involved, I mind my own business. Taking my notes, and measuring my anticipation with drooling excitement. When a hipster douche with some shitty promo t-shirt for his traveling band of homos looks my way. I speak in gruff words now, dear bloggers, only because what happened after was a true act of the bratty trust fund baby bitches of the city. In that after he vocally took notice of my outfit, and only then mind you AFTER I very nicely and excitedly explained did he bounce back with a vial shit eating grin and a cartoonish voice to say: "Oh yea, yea I get it now." Ugh. Victims of spineless wit will agree with me when I say this dickfuck was not being nice. For a brief second I was that cowering child in elementary school again before turning away to wag my tongue at my friend who is acompanyi me tonight. I'm not going to bother with a guy who wasn't even standing in line (!) Poser probably wanted to make an entrance.
Finally it is my turn. I have let my friend go first, having to listen to him small talk with the man about Voodoo Doughnuts. And I approach Mr. Daniel Clowes with a bit more ease than earlier. For through his cold demeanor when he is not talking, he is in fact a sweet man. Who you can tell appreciates his fans. Unlike others. (This means you, Kathy Foster!)
I tell him that out of respect for his time, I picked the most important thing for him to sign (my eight year old copy of Ghost World) but he's agreed to sign my copy of David Boring as well. As he is signing I briefly mention that Ghost World has been an important work of art to me since I was twelve, only to follow with, "But, I've had always had kind of a crush on David Boring." (True fact, bloggers and Clowes fans. But for us literary and graphic novel barons, when do we not fall in love with certain characters?) Clowes wasn't taken aback by this statement so much as appreciative when he responded, "Oh well that's good. Not everyone likes David Boring." With that it was a left hand handshake, and what must have been five thank-you's trampling out of my lips like circus clowns late for a gig. And we were gone. Passing by the artist's wife who looked exactly like the girls in his comics. Go figure?
*There really is nothing else to say on the man. Sometimes it's best to just smile. :)
That's all for today, my audience of zero. Date night tonight. Here's praying I get lucky. And by that I mean I don't get my heart crushed.
Until next time, Keep Portland Weird.
Cereal Man, draining the bowl.
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