Category: ECCC

Announcing Stepto and Friends LIVE at the Triple Door Seattle

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I’m crazy excited to announce my very first headliner show at The Triple Door in Seattle April 10, 2016: “Stepto and Friends: Just Let Me Finish This Level.”

As many of you know I had a health scare over the summer when I fell into a coma. Thankfully I recovered and that recovery is going well. While in the hospital I had the chance to reflect on a lot of things, note some unique aspects of being in a bed for three weeks with a “NO INTERNET” rule in effect, and tied together some lessons learned. All of this has combined into this show, which is a mixture of readings, stand up comedy, and music. Molly Lewis and Marian Call will each be providing musical sets, and the Seth Boyer will join me as musical accompaniment to a dramedic (it’s a word!*) reading of my experiences.

It takes place on the final night of Emerald City Comic Con, 7:30pm April 10th (doors open at 6:00PM) at one of my favorite venues in all of Seattle, The Triple Door. I’m excited, nervous, excited, scared, and excited to bring this unique show to you and I hope you all buy tickets and join me there.

Or I swear I will coma again.

 

*It’s not a word.

And the Smell of Ink on the Air.

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The grounds require a license. You’ve paid it, with a snarl to show contempt that hippies would even try to enforce some type of conservation here.

In this time, it’s primal.

In this place, it’s nature.

Only so many people, the bleeding hearts say.  Only so many at a time, the mewling babies believe.

But you hit the grounds, sights ready, and it’s a target rich environment. No one’s hunting the easy targets, you can walk out of here with a signed piece of paper easy.

Rows stretch out from the entrance. Paper.  People.  Pizza.  The three P’s of the game. Long Boxes hide prey, Top shelves and obscured prices are bush and high grass to the prize. Prey hide behind dealers “oh that? no that’s available only at our store” the mock call goes. “We just sold the last one, let me take that down,” the bright captured stag is pulled down in front of you.

The hunter is strong.  He has walked here before.  Weapon at the ready like a taut bow.  His arm aches from patience.  His legs weak from tracking.  He hunts a specific prey, and stops along the wayside where pilgrims sip Powerade to ask, “Sin City Hardback Volumes 1-5?”

They stare back most of them. Used to requests about small prey, moderate prizes.  Big game?  That belongs in the realm of the Internet, not such private and close quartered as these.

”Have you seen it?” our hunter asks, scanning the top rows of the racks for some hint of his prey.

The hunter is not without alternates, though he might keep them to himself.  The grounds might feel fallow, but any hunter moves with a purpose bent on both trophy and survival. 

To the side, a poorly dressed Wonder-woman inappropriately adjusts, and through hairy arms a prize is glimpsed. Time matters here, the hunt is as much about targets of opportunity as it is about the hunting list.  No Sin City to be found, instead a treasure is ensnared and the hunter cries out triumphant against a sea of fellow gatherers who both do and do not know the game:

“Bloom County Archival Editions ARE MINE!” the hunter screams as he spears three across the heart as trophies.  The passing horde stops for a moment to admire the kill, but moves on, each on their own hunt. 

Their hunt in the fields of paper and art, with the smell of fresh ink upon air.