Friday, 18 June 2010

The stupid stink of impending success and a distinct absence of actual reasons

Oh man I've got the stupid stink of impending success fouling up my nostril hair. Like Spencer said, 'welcome to the small time', or maybe I said that, don't suppose it matters really. The point is I'm doing a crapload more press stuff than I thought I'd have to. Interviews, radio stuff live on air, email interviews, questions, meetings, blah blah puke sick blather. I even had to interview myself. It's good really, I mean I couldn't be more pleased that people seem to like the mag. I'm excessively excited about it, to the detriment of my friends, who may wish to kill me just a little but there is one big problem.

It seems that everybody wants to know what was the driving idea behind making a new magazine. I keep saying things that are not untrue but aren't the whole truth either. The real story is I drank too much beer at The Annandale one night, stood in three inches of beer swill in a state akin to awe while The Kill Devil Hills* played and suddenly thought, 'I'm going to make my own magazine'. So I did. I just did each step as it needed doing until suddenly it's welcome to the small time and hello massively large financial risk.

I don't really know what I was thinking or why I was doing it, it felt like I needed to, in the same way I'll get up in the middle of the night and write about something I only newly imagined, or sometimes just to do a wee. I'd pay about $5 for a can of instant articulate right now.

Oh and about the radio thing. Holy shit. They said I'll be talking to them for twenty minutes. That is way too long, bound to say at least twelve hundred stupid and embarrassing things in twenty minutes.

* I think it was during the song 'Drinkin Too Much'.

Sunday, 13 June 2010

For sure

I've just spent the last two hours trying to interview myself. I found myself to be uncooperative. Not only did I not think of any questions I was unable to come up with any answers. If this is an elaborate hoax now would be the time to jump out from my cupboard and yell surprise. When the excellent editor of RHUM suggested that I pretend to be interviewed by someone else I very stupidly announced that I would in fact just interview myself. She liked the idea, we said goodbye and hung up our telephones. I spent the next two hours drinking tea and scribbling 'feck' on pieces of paper then rubbing it out again. I love erasable pens.

I took a short break to collect my trousers from the trouser repair lady (an unfortunate incident with a fork, a bottle of wine and gravestone resulted in the need for major repair work) and to buy frozen yoghurt. I am sad to report there is not frozen yoghurt in Slammatown. None. Not even the apricot kind which we all know is the inferior time warp stuck in the 80's froghurt and is therefore no good.

In my quest for the answer to how to interview myself I turned to the most likely source of wisdom, Oprah. Turns out Oprah mostly interviews other people but she does seem to ask everybody to answer a 'what I know for sure' question, so here goes.

What I Know For Sure - in list form:
I do not like dog poo
There is no frozen yoghurt within two kilometres of my house
Oprah has a very big website


It has now been another hour, The Peachettes have blown the fusebox twice by having two heaters on at once and I have pretty much given up on interviewing myself. I phoned Spencer and he offered to interview me for me. That ought to simplify things.

Friday, 11 June 2010

Launch it + fund it



Come on down! I might be drunk or wearing a tie or doing a dance or all three at once.

RSVP to the Fspazbook event here.




For media and publicity enquiries, please contact:
Rebecca Lee Williams, Publicist, PAN magazine | e: rebecca@panmagazine.com

Dead reckoning

Lately I've been feeling a lot like an optimistic but failing meringue. The kind of meringue where the sugar goes in before peaks form., this is probably why I've been experimenting with navigation.

Determining longitude by comparing local apparent noon to noon GMT is more tricky than it sounds when you feel like an optimistic but failing meringue. I've never tried to make a magazine before and its left me feeling the useful kind of lost. Not lost like 'oh what shall become of me I need a brand new hobby', more like, 'I have a backpack full of important war documents that will save the Allies. I've parachuted into this foreign forest now all I need to do is get out my compass and tiny pencil* and make my way to the hidden Special Captain of War Things and everyone will be saved'. That kind of lost.

Yesterday I tied a stick to a piece of string and cast it over The Peach Deck to determine how far I'd traveled since I last fixed my position on a map. Today I will be staring at the sun using a stick. I am quite sure this is going to help.



*Always use tiny pencils in  an on-foot navigation situation.

Thursday, 10 June 2010

Hey look it's Spencer! Sometimes more than one of him at once...



It's The Holy Soul, in case you didn't know. They're playing at the Pan Launch Party + Fundraiser, should be a wild night, I'd get out my diary and pencil it in if I were you...

Recommended viewing snacks for the above music video include licorice allsorts and a nice cup of tea.

Thursday, 3 June 2010

Allsorts

Yesterday I was lounging attractively in my club. I was working out a new scheme to ensure my success as sheriff of Area 5 while the clientele ogled me appreciatively, but not without fear, when suddenly. Wait that wasn't me, that was Vampire Eric. Yesterday I was sitting on a bus eating licorice allsorts, the big ones you can pull apart with your teeth when suddenly, well nothing actually. Suddenly nothing. I was sitting on the bus in the pouring rain eating licorice allsorts on my way to the bookshop when nothing happened.

This has been yet another interesting update from Slammatown.