For those attending tonight’s Social Science night at the Perot Museum, see you there. For everyone who can’t, that’s why the gallery is hosting a Groundhog Day open house on February 2. Either way, it’s time to hit the road.
I was warned. “The weather may keep a lot of people from attending,” they said. “The crowd for the holiday popup is a fraction of the spring popup show,” they said. “Parking can sometimes be an issue,” they said. Oh, if only other shows this year had gone so well. Many thanks to everyone who came out, asked questions about the carnivores, and took home carnivores and dragonfruit, and expect a return for the spring show. If the last non-gallery Triffid Ranch show of 2018 is a harbinger for next year, 2019 is going to kill me.
Okay, so Swizzle’s Hawaiian Holiday Popup at Industry Bar was a risk. Several tiki bar enthusiast friends had good recommendations, and since any good tiki bar really needs plants for the ambiance, why not encourage a Nepenthes pitcher plant as an addition to the flora? Between this and the unmitigated disaster of the previous Triffid Ranch show, Saturday morning was spent loading up the van for a jaunt into Dallas’s South Street Station area, with no expectations whatsoever.
The last few days after the end of the Dallas Fantasy Fair revival have led to a lot of soulsearching and evaluation of life and business needs. This includes an evaluation of the differences between being an attendee and later a guest at the tail end of the Twentieth Century, and being a vendor and business owner and operator in the Twenty-First. This includes looking past lots of good memories of the shows and remembering that while I attended back then mostly to see friends and cohorts that now are all over Facebook, both those friends and I were there also because we could afford admission and not much else. This includes a note that since science fiction, fantasy, and comic conventions have evolved drastically in the era of eBay and YouTube, vendors shouldn’t get nostalgic for the days when dealers’ rooms were dependent upon the latest fads and speculation bubbles. The last Dallas Fantasy Fair ran in April 1996, just as the big mid-Nineties comics speculation boom was collapsing (it’s hard to believe today with Avengers and Spider-Man movies released seemingly every month, but Marvel Comics was very close to Chapter 7 bankruptcy this time 22 years ago, and the idea of the whole of Marvel’s comic characters being sold to the WWE as wrestling characters was pretty reasonable at the time), and things have changed a LOT since then.
Not to beat on the Fantasy Fair revival: attendees were happy, it was good to run into people I hadn’t seen for nearly half my life, and those seeking vintage comics seemed to find exactly what they were looking for. It’s just that a combination of too many related events in the same month (friends who have been involved in Dallas fandom for 40 years related that they’ve never seen so many events scheduled for a November before, across the DFW Metroplex and north to Denton) and a lack of name recognition with anybody under the age of 40 led to, shall we say, a much smaller crowd than had been promoted.
Right now, the talk about the Fantasy Fair is optimistic, with one once-influential retailer talking about how the show may be a must-attend event in another ten years, and may even regain its place as second only to the San Diego Comic Con as essential attendance for anyone in the industry. I truly wish well of everyone involved, and hope that these predictions come true. In the meantime, though, with the exception of Texas Frightmare Weekend, it’s time to move away from conventions. It made sense a decade ago, but it’s time to move on.
It took long enough, but summer is dead. Deceased. It’s not pining for the fjords. Its leavetaking proves that there’s still room in Hell. It’s GONE, MacReady. The heat is gone, defunct, bereft, and on its back and kicking like a dying cockroach. We won’t have to start worrying about oppressive heat in the Dallas area for another five months, and for a couple of weeks, we might need coats after the sun goes down. We’re gonna FREEZE!
Seriously, this November is shaping up to be a typical one. No unnatural heat the way we had in 2016, but also no significant chance of snow and slop the way we had in 1993. (Subfreezing temperatures and sleet on Thanksgiving evening and nearly impassable conditions for Dallas the day after: that was a wonderful mess.) We came close to snow last week with the cold front that passed through North and Central Texas. Even that was sporadic and fleeting, and we went back to our typical windy and sunny before anyone realized the bitter cold was gone. For those of us with fashion sense that includes motorcycle jackets and heavy boots, it’s been a little touch of heaven, and we still have December and January to go.
(And on the subject of motorcycle jackets, I bought mine 21 years ago this month, and it’s a little jarring to realize that I have friends and customers whose main interests were cell division and limb gene expression when I purchased it. I had at least four people ask me what I did to get it that wonderfully broken in and character-ridden, and I had to tell them “Just get one and wear it until it’s old enough to buy booze in the US.”)
Out come the jackets, in go the temperate carnivores, unfortunately. As of now, don’t expect to see any Venus flytraps, temperate sundews, or Sarracenia pitcher plants until at least the beginning of April, and even that may be delayed with last-minute blue northers hitting in February and March. The spotty frosts we’ve received over the last week have stopped any new growth in the flytraps and pitcher plants, and they’re now taking a much-deserved rest to recharge for spring. If we get just the right combination of sun and cold for the rest of the winter, next year’s blooms, especially with the purpurea pitcher plants, will be spectacular.
Just because they’re asleep doesn’t mean that everyone can’t have fun with carnivores until spring. The tropical carnivores are still busy and a bit obnoxious, so we’re going to be focusing on them all winter long. And oh, they’re going places.
The first place they’ll be going is to the revival of the Dallas Fantasy Fair, running November 24 and 25 at the Irving Convention Center. November is already a month packed with fannish events (I haven’t seen a month like this in Texas, and my memory of related events goes back 35 years as of this weekend), but setting up a booth at the Fantasy Fair seemed both like an opportunity to run into people I haven’t seen in two decades and give them a chance to see a cross-section of what the Triffid Ranch is trying to accomplish. Either way, look for booth #406: in a room full of comics professionals, a space dedicated to carnivorous plant enclosures is going to stand out.
Next, the Nightmare Weekends Before Christmas open houses at the gallery are going to be a little truncated this season due to conflicting schedules. Instead of running every Saturday in December before Christmas, we’re going to have two: December 15 and December 22, both starting at 6:00 p.m. and ending when everyone’s done. In addition, anyone purchasing an enclosure at either of the open houses gets free delivery within the Dallas/Fort Worth area if you really want to surprise someone. (Note: between prior commitments and the open houses, time for custom enclosures will be at a premium, so get requests out NOW.)
After the holidays are finally over, it’s time to go back to a venue we haven’t visited in three years. The Perot Museum in downtown Dallas still has its bimonthly Social Science 21+ late-night events, and the Wild World event on January 25 includes viewings of Nepenthes and Heliamphora pitcher plants and other carnivores. The contract is still being negotiated, but expect to see a redux, with North American pitcher plants, for the Social Science “Science Fiction” event on April 26. Apparently that’s the one where I’m going to get alternate movie quotes thrown at me about triffids.
And on a last note, the touring Oddities and Curiosities Expo runs in Austin this weekend: as tempting as it was to head back to Austin for a weekend, my loyalty lies with the Blood of Texas Crew for the Horror For the Holidays event. You can imagine my surprise at discovering that Oddities and Curiosities is hitting Dallas on March 30, and of COURSE the booth fee has already been paid for it. Look at it as a teaser for Texas Frightmare Weekend on May 3 through 5, including having special news for Frightmare attendees who are also hitting Free Comic Book Day at local comic shops that weekend. Details will follow.
And that’s about it for now. Staying warm?
And that’s about it for the 2018 Horror For the Holidays: now the only problem is waiting for the word that the 2019 show is seeking vendors. It’s like the day after Halloween.
16 years ago, my life changed when I accepted a job interview with a tech company in Tallahassee, Florida. It was a fly-in/fly-out interview, but what I saw was enough to risk moving across country for something that might turn back into pumpkins and mice at any moment. (That’s about what happened, and several former co-workers regularly re-apologize for my getting laid off just before Christmas. I tell them that they have nothing to apologize for: if not for those four months in Tally, my life would be drastically different today, and much less satisfying. Hell, I might have returned to writing for science fiction magazines.) I had a lot of entertaining encounters in both the Dallas and Tallahassee airports, but one of the most interesting was from a Miami native who was switching flights in Tally before heading home, and he asked why the HELL would I want to live in the Florida Panhandle. “South Florida: that’s where the action is!”
Years later, after visiting Tampa and making friends I still hold dear, I understood what he was getting at. At the same time, in this line of work, a bit of quiet is exactly what I need to get things done.
It’s the same situation with Austin. “Look at all of the events out here! Look at the clubs, and the galleries, and the bookstores! Why, Dallas doesn’t even HAVE bookstores! You stand around staring at two-story buildings and ask if they have those newfangled indoor toilets!” Okay, so we’re not as relentlessly exciting as Austin, but we’re not completely uncivilized: the Adolphus Hotel in downtown finally took down the big “Free HBO in your room!” sign about a week ago. And if we don’t use indoor toilets, it’s usually because we’re really angry with a neighbor.
This isn’t a slam against Austin (two decades ago, if you’d told me I’d be defending Austin instead of riding a nuke into downtown, I’d have questioned your sanity, but times change), but it’s just not a town conducive to what the Triffid Ranch is trying to do. The secret to Dallas is that we’re not the hidebound, stick-in-the-mud business city popularly presented: we’ve got a wide-ranging music community, one hell of an arts community, and a lot of unorthodoxy that’s not advertised. That’s for a reason: the longer we can keep the contingent of SMU brats away, the longer a venue, locale, or community can last. It starts with a few of them coming in seeing if anyone knows any good coke dealers, and like roaches discovering spilled sugar, they leave scent trails for their friends. Before you know it, developers discover that artistic sweat equity made a locale particularly desirable, and it’s gentrified out of existence. The SMU brats who wanted to live there because it was cool leave because they don’t have a place to slum, the developers follow, and everyone else tries to rebuild elsewhere. The longer we keep quiet, the longer what we have lasts.
This means that Dallas runs on a different artistic cycle than most cities. Nobody cares if you’re an aspiring writer or painter: the only people who think this matters are yuppies who assume that crowing “Well, I’M an artist!” will get them into loft spaces otherwise inaccessible to those with neither brains nor soul. Respect comes from finishing the projects you say you’re going to finish, no matter how lonely or bored you are in the interim, and then producing more. Dallas is a tough teacher in that regard, especially since the city in general only notices successful artists after they’ve become successful elsewhere, but it also produces people who don’t quit halfway through because they’re not getting enough attention. And for some of us, that lack of attention is a greater motivator than getting attention, because it makes us strive that much harder to prove we can do it. Distractions just prevent production.
And that, in a nutshell, is why I can’t live in Austin, or Houston, or New York, or New Orleans. Please note that I said nothing about dragging out enclosures and visiting.
One of the minor issues with attempting new shows outside of the Dallas area is the sheer surface area and volume of Texas. Anybody growing up here doesn’t think twice about a two-hour drive to get somewhere, because that’s usually the only option. My friend Stephen Dedman came out to Dallas from Australia at the beginning of the decade to visit, and picked a hotel between Dallas and Fort Worth so he could visit both cities within a given day. The poor man had no idea as to how a “quick trip” between Dallas and Fort Worth could take up a good portion of the day, and that’s on a day without traffic congestion or foul weather. And getting anywhere else? Texarkana is nearly a six-hour drive away, and both New Mexico and Colorado are about eight. Only in Texas could a company like Southwest Airlines get started: for years, Southwest’s main business was in commuter traffic between Dallas, Houston, San Antonio, and Lubbock, and $99 weekend flights to Houston are still a significant portion of the company’s business, because it’s cheaper to fly than to drive.
(In 2010, I visited Boston to do a presentation on carnivorous plants for a science fiction convention west of town, and planned a Friday trip to visit Black Jungle Terrarium Supply smack in the middle of Massachusetts. My hosts were beyond horrified to discover that because of Massachusetts’s notoriously poor highway signage, I overshot my turn and kept going, only turning around when I started picking up radio ads for concerts in Saratoga Springs, New York. I’d traveled the length of the state that afternoon, something many natives never do, and back, and was completely nonplussed at the drive. These same friends were frothing and chewing the walls when I told them that I probably would have kept going just to see what I could see if I didn’t have to be back that evening: I haven’t been in Saratoga Springs for 40 years as of this month.)
The reasonably flat vistas of Texas are both blessing and nightmare for long transport trips: we took extraordinarily well to the implementation of the interstate highway system, which means that barring breakdowns, food and fuel are extremely accessible. Even the so-called Hill Country of central Texas is gentle rises for someone used to the Rocky Mountains or even the Adirondacks, which saves on fuel consumption but also leads to our famed constant wind out of the south. The flatness also means that west of Tyler, depending upon rain or trees for shade on the highway is a fool’s hope, and it’s very easy to overheat when caught in traffic jams on a major highway. Fact is, doing out-of-town shows in Texas makes the thought of doing shows outside of the state a bit rougher: I was recently invited to be a vendor for a big convention in Salt Lake City, and the biggest reason for turning it down was the thought of having to drive through the Rocky Mountains, with or without chains, for most of the way. (The snowstorm that hit the area the day I would have been driving back was confirmation that I made the right decision.)
At the same time, years of shows at Texas Frightmare Weekend have introduced me to a throng of wonderful folks, both customers and friends, who hop on commuter flights to Dallas from the rest of the state. It’s going to be a while before I get the chance to see them all in their home turf, but I’m working on it.
When it comes to carnivorous plants in Texas, the middle of November is a problematic time. The temperate carnivores, particularly the Venus flytraps and Sarracenia pitcher plants, are ready to go to bed for the season. They’ve already stopped growing new traps, and the existing ones are only good for photosynthesis until the next spring. However, they’re still green, and customers demand to see at least one flytrap. On the other hand, the temperatures can drop enough that tropical plants such as Nepenthes pitcher plants might have issues with the relative cold inside a transport van. The latter are easy to deal with: crank up the heat and try to keep time outside to a minimum. The issues with the former, though, mean having to inform customers that as beautiful they are now, the plants have to be allowed to go into dormancy over the winter, or else they’ll wear out and die. After all, who wants to buy a plant that they won’t be able to enjoy watching capturing insects for another five months?
The trick here, of course, is no trick: it’s all about being completely honest. Yes, that big clump of Sarracenia is about ready to start pining for the fijords, but the best time to repot a clump into a permanent bog garden is when it’s dormant. Yes, that flytrap has lost its narrow summer leaves, but the ones remaining are going to spend the winter capturing every last photon they can and convert that energy into starches that allow the plant to come back with a vengeance in spring. See the colors on the traps right now? This is what you have to look forward to 11 months from now, when the pitcher plant grows fresh traps at the end of the summer. Oh, and if you like them now, wait until they bloom at the end of March.
Part of the reason why I started the Triffid Ranch a decade ago was because garden centers selling carnivores fell flat on their faces as far as imparting proper care and preparation to new customers. “Don’t worry: you can make tap water safe for carnivores by boiling it.” “Flytraps at Christmas? Let me ring you up.” “Yes, you can use flytraps to control insects in your house, ESPECIALLY bedbugs.” It may disappoint some customers to warn them about a new plant’s life cycle, especially when that cycle interferes with their need for some green. The trick isn’t to downplay that life cycle as a bug, but to celebrate it as a feature.
When twentysomethings ask me if science fiction and horror conventions were better back when I was their age or today, I practically shriek “TODAY!” As a vendor, online promotion of events beats attempting to mail envelopes from a mailing list via First Class USPS, and don’t get me going about Eighties-era credit card processing machines. The biggest innovation to the live show scene, one that even out-there futurists like John Shirley and Ernest Hogan wouldn’t and couldn’t have predicted thirty years ago? Food trucks and GrubHub. These kids don’t remember the days when the only options for food within walking distance (or, with some shows in Austin, driving distance) were a horrible and horribly overpriced hotel restaurant, an even more horrible concession stand within the hall stocked with surplus rations from the Whiskey Rebellion, or a lone fast-food pit whose food quality would have been improved by setting the place afire with the owner in it. I remember shows where the meal options were so poor that running across a major highway during rush hour was a viable option, and the restaurants on the other side taunted those of us without easy access to transport. As a vendor, this still applies, especially when considering “Do I give up this this great parking spot and risk not finding anything in an hour, or do I settle for grazing in the hotel front yard?”
This show, Horror For the Holidays didn’t have any food trucks because of the vendors setting up booths outside, but it has something every year unseen at other shows: a Bloody Mary bar. I can’t drink, so the alcohol content has to stay below “virgin,” but consider the situation. You’ve spent the last two hours hauling heavy tubs full of glassware and plants across a parking lot, across a back stage, and to the booth location. You get finished just as the first customers come barreling in, and the crowds don’t slow down for the next six hours. Eating anything of significance just isn’t an option, especially if that anything of significance requires two hands. A nice big glass of tomato juice and celery salt, with a handful of blue cheese-filled olives, gots a long way toward replacing the seven kilos of salt you burned through during setup, and a second glass takes away a lot of the deep muscle pain inflicted during breakdown. No matter where Horror For the Holidays goes in the future, the Bloody Mary bar has to continue, because we vendors depend upon it.
After a decade of Triffid Ranch shows, the most appropriate truism about outside shows is that the more horrific the path getting to the show, the better the actual show will be. Take a look at Texas Frightmare Weekend. The day of this year’s show, I wrenched my ankle while loading the truck, slowing me so badly that arriving in time for the Friday opening was impossible. The year before, my truck was hit by lightning, causing the staff to nickname me “Sparky”, and I broke a differential rod on the truck while leaving DFW Airport and had to be towed back to the gallery. Without fail for the last ten shows, something Interesting has happened right before the event (including finishing up an extensive move the weekend of the 2010 show, where we discovered the housecleaner hired to take care of the final cleanup of our old condo had done absolutely nothing and the Thursday before was spent frantically sweeping, mopping, and scrubbing) where a little voice in the back of my head kept saying “Jump…jump NOW!” Ignoring that voice takes effort, but that action always yields rewards. Now, it’s the shows where setup is easy, the vehicle starts every time, and the booth is ready an hour ahead of schedule…those are the shows where staying at home and watching television would have been a more productive use of the weekend.
That’s pretty much the way every Horror For the Holidays show goes as well: this time, the big menace was an impending cold wave. Getting subfreezing temperatures this early in November isn’t completely unheard of, but it’s rare, and the last big one threatening snow came through in 1993. (Oh, Black Friday in Dallas was a mess that year.) Complicating matters was Interstate I-35, which connects Duluth, Minnesota to Laredo, Texas and splits to pass east and west branches through downtowns Dallas and Fort Worth. Because of its value as a trucking and shipping route, and because it’s the only remotely efficient route between Dallas, Austin, and San Antonio, it’s perpetually under construction on a scale unseen this side of Interstate I-5 passing through Seattle. North, south, doesn’t matter: out of the 200 miles/322 kilometers separating Dallas from Austin, approximately a quarter of that is construction zone, with the road narrowed to two lanes, big concrete barriers on either side, and no shoulders and therefore almost no clearance. Try that in the dark, with mist starting to fall and a north wind picking up, and the idiot who got on the highway in front of you is bobbing and weaving across both lanes, well under the speed limit, while towing a trailer with half of the lights out…yeah, “white knuckle trip” is as good a description as any. Coming back to Dallas, feeling the temperature drop through the windshield, was fun, too, as it coincided with a further cold front that kept promising snow. Just don’t look away from the road, slip while reaching for a drink, and make absolutely sure to have a selection of only music that the driver likes (you do NOT want the driver to snarl and attempt to throw the radio out the window when the only terrestrial radio station available has a classic rock format consisting of Tom Petty’s “Free Falling” playing six times an hour), and you might get through alive.
But you know what? Once inside and set up, the trip was worth the adventure.
It’s been two years and three shows since the Triffid Ranch booth first polluted shows outside of Dallas, and attending shows run by the Blood Over Texas crew in Austin makes it worthwhile. This November is particularly noteworthy for the number and variety of events in the Dallas area, but they’ll have to wait. Horror For the Holidays, now finished with its fifth year, gets precedence every single time.
Heading to Austin for the Blood Over Texas Horror For the Holidays bazaar on Sunday: if you aren’t heading out that way, don’t wait up.
And because I’m from Dallas, I expect to hear this all weekend:
A quick note for those planning a relaxing Saturday around carnivorous plants in Garland, Texas who haven’t caught the latest weather report. As of this writing, a massive cold front spreading across North America is on its way to Texas, with the end result being a solid weekend of potentially dangerous thunderstorms through the Dallas area. Because of that, the decision was made last night to cancel the Garland Urban Flea event on October 13. That means that if you’re willing to risk Dallas thunderstorms (and our storms can be impressive) to come out to the Triffid Ranch tent, you’ll have to turn around because nobody will be there. Well, nobody without gills: we’ve already had ridiculous rains, even for an October, so nobody is likely to be in downtown Garland on Saturday afternoon without a spare SCUBA tank.
And in the spirit of gallows humor, things could have been a LOT worse. This weekend is also the weekend for Fear Con in Salt Lake City, and the organizers waited until two weeks ago to solicit my becoming a vendor at that show. Even under absolutely perfect conditions, Salt Lake City is a two-day drive from Dallas, so hauling out plants to Utah with two weeks’ notice wasn’t a practical option. Remember that cold front? It may be producing thunderstorms in Dallas, but it may produce snow in the Texas Panhandle, which is a spectacle best experienced from a distance, such as 1993. (1993 was the last year we saw subfreezing temperatures in Dallas on Halloween: for the first time for most of us, we saw autumn leaf colors in November that weren’t pastels.) Considering the likelihood of that front dropping considerably more snow further north, just contemplate the fun of driving a van full of heat-loving carnivorous plants through the Rocky Mountains for two days out and two days back, while wearing tire chains. Just call me “Neo“.
Ever have one of those parties where you’re so tied up in getting everything ready that you don’t notice that it’s time to open the door until you’re in the middle of vacuuming? Where so many people you’re glad to see are waiting at the door, and that they keep piling in for hours? Where the only reason you don’t do this every single week is because the gathering requires a week to prepare and a week to recuperate? Where you look at the calendar for the next event, calculate “I have six weeks to get everything done,” and automatically cut off anything that gets in the way of that deadline, like sleep? Yeah, that pretty much sums up a Triffid Ranch gallery show, at least from this side of the display table. The July 7 Late Canada Day show was our largest one yet, not just in general attendance but in enthusiasm, and it was worth the sleep deprivation.
Just as a friendly reminder, since we don’t have any outside shows scheduled for August, the next Triffid Ranch gallery opening is on August 18, from 6:00 to whenever everyone stops coming through the door. This one is an accumulation of special occasions, all stemming from it being the third anniversary of the very first gallery show at our old Galleries at Midtown location. Among many other things, it’s time to celebrate the birthday of Caroline of Tawanda! Jewelry, the hottie holding court in the front of the gallery space, and it’s also a matter of celebrating two old and dear friends who first formally met and got together at that first show. Watching them after three years makes most people fall to the ground clutching their guts and screaming “Ow! My pancreas!”, so they deserve a party as well. And don’t even get me going about the new enclosures on display for this one.
A month after Texas Frightmare Weekend, and things in the gallery are finally under control. New and reworked enclosures are going strong, the propagation area is full of new and exciting species, and the deep freeze in the back is full of frozen blueberries. (Take this from a longtime resident: about the only thing that makes summer in Texas livable is the explosion of East Texas blueberries in farmers’ markets and grocery stores, and the only thing that makes July and August tolerable is knowing that June was spent filling every refrigerated space in the vicinity with June’s and April’s and Melissa’s blueberries. By the time the blueberries run out, the local craft stores are full of Halloween stuff, which is usually enough to get through the last few weeks of baking heat before things start cooling off. This routine works until the day it’s possible to live like an African lungfish and aestivate in mucus and mud cocoons until the rains return.) This is the time of the year where everyone knows firsthand what a grasshopper on a griddle feels like (there’s a very good reason why sheepskin car seat covers were popular in Dallas in the days of vinyl car seats, especially for those fond of shorts), so the idea is to offer events and activities either indoors or after dark, and preferably both.
One of the advantages of emulating a Gila monster in the summer heat (living underground, emerging only to suck eggs and swallow baby bunnies whole, and dealing with interlopers with a venomous bite) is having plenty of time to organize for the days when the sun’s default setting drops below “supernova”. 2018 has been interesting in that regard: this year’s Deep Ellum Arts Fest was an anomalous combination of torrential rains and near-freezing temperatures, so registering for the 2019 Fest wasn’t even a question. This is also the year to see about admission to the famed Cottonwood Art Festival down the road from the gallery in October, as well as a lot of smaller shows and events through the area. The first showing at the Deep Ellum Art Company was a hit, and that may be a regular showing venue as well.
As far as the traditional Triffid Ranch shows are concerned, things are lively. Texas Frightmare Weekend’s open call for vendors starts soon, with notice on acceptance usually arriving in August. That’s also about the time for applications for the Blood Over Texas Horror for the Holidays show in Austin in November, and two weeks after Horror for the Holidays is the two-day revived Dallas Fantasy Fair at the Irving Convention Center. That last one is going to be the most interesting, especially since I was a regular guest during my writing days through the first half of the 1990s until the original convention imploded in 1996. On one side, even the kids who were at the last few Fantasy Fairs are in their thirties and forties now, and nostalgia from the older fans might not be enough. On the other, Dallas still has precious little to do on Thanksgiving weekend that doesn’t involve movies or malls, and the Thanksgiving Fantasy Fair weekends in the Eighties and Nineties made that weekend a lot more tolerable for those of us without family plans (or those with families they had to escape for a while). Either way, let’s see what happens.
(As an aside, while it’s great to get invitations to attend other shows as a vendor, please understand that being able to attend is a combination of logistics and scheduling, and those can collide with interstate regulations, weather patterns, or the laughable concept of “personal life.” Please also understand two things, the first being that my having to reject a vendor request almost always isn’t personal, but that every show requires about a week before the show to prepare and a week after to recuperate and reorganize. Therefore, every two-day or three-day show effectively cuts out three weeks per month that could be used to create new enclosures or perform essential maintenance at the gallery, which is why we schedule the regular gallery shows for the months where we aren’t running an outside event. The second thing is that whining, guilt trips, or pushiness, especially of the “don’t you owe it to yourself to come to our show?” type, WILL guarantee a blacklist on even the remotest possibility of coming out to future events. This is a roundabout way to recommend not following the lead of Fear Con in Salt Lake City and taking a lot of care with vendor contact information. Unsolicited entry into a mailing list is bad enough, but texting when the mailing list wasn’t getting an immediate response? Oh, that’s a blocking.)
And for the regular gallery showings? Scheduling conflicts kicked in for the end of June, so the next Triffid Ranch gallery opening has been moved to Saturday, July 7. It’s a touch late for Canada Day, but as a chance to see Michel Sarrazin‘s namesakes in the pulp, it’ll still be worth the trip. Expect details in the very near future, as well as a few surprises, and some might even include blueberries.
And that about closes it out for Texas Frightmare Weekend 2018. 350 days to go before Texas Frightmare Weekend 2019, and I can only hope to top this year’s show.(Maybe next year, I’ll be hit by an asteroid.) Many thanks to everyone who came out for this show, innumerable thanks to the staff and crew at Frightmare, and a sincere promise of reparations to the fellow vendors who had to listen to me all weekend long. I truly apologize for your pain.
To be continued…
To be continued…