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'.