Prince among the angels

Like the rest of the world, I've had Prince on the brain, so thought I'd revisit this intensely magical experience of seeing him in San Jose in 2011, from the introduction to RUNX TALES #3. Even then, he existed among the angels, those lucky bastards ...

DPC @ VA/BF

The Drift Plain Collective is representing once again this weekend, as they bring a bunch of chapbooks, zines, broadsides, and prints to the 2015 Vancouver Art/Book Fair. They'll have copies of RUNX TALES and Catholics on hand, as well as some spectacular books and ephemera by Elizabeth Boyne, Karen Carcia, Cody Gieselman, Kimberly Maher, Elizabeth Munger, Kalmia Strong, and more. A culmination of Vancouver's Artists' Book Week, the Vancouver Art/Book Fair is hosted October 17–18 by Project Space, and is free and open to the public.

Drift Plain Collective at St. Louis Small Press Expo

I'm excited to have work included among the fantastic roster of artists represented by the Drift Plain Collective! The DPC will be tabling this Saturday, September 26th at the St. Louis Small Press Expo, taking place at the public library's Central Branch. From the DPC's website:

The Drift Plain Collective cooperatively distributes hand-crafted artist's books, chapbooks, zines, broadsides, and prints. Our offerings emphasize collaboration and innovative modes of storytelling that take form and materials as a crucial component.

Rob Kirby's Round Up

Rob Kirby reviewed RUNX TALES 3 over at his blog last week, along with great-looking work by Sar Shahar, Sasha Steinberg, Eric Kostiuk Williams, and Sophie Yanow. Rob is a force—not only a talented cartoonist, but an unceasing champion of queer independent comics. While you're over there, check out the sneak preview of TABLEGEDDON, an anthology Rob is editing about comics convention culture. 

RUNX TALES #3 now at Quimby's!

The legendary Chicago bookstore is now stocking RUNX TALES #3 (along with a lot of other awesome stuff). Learn more here . . .

More Artist Book Sketches: Pedestrianica

I made more artist book sketches by incorporating a Baudrillard quote into two different book structures (to learn more about this Artist Book class assignment, read this post). 

I was in the middle of returning to my Letter from Pedestrianica posts, working to adapt them into an essay that, because of the way a pedestrian interacts with a cityscape, seemed apt to take place in an artist book format. The Baudrillard quote—"When your driver's license goes, so does your identity"—was in my notebook and haunting me, and I figured playing around with it would help me understand the physical shape this essay might take.

In both books I used yellow-orange—one of my favorite colors—appropriate because of its yield-sign solidarity, convenient because it meant I could utilize recycled manila envelopes. In both sketches, I used old RUNX TALES drawings of my face to represent the identity a driver's license photo attempts to capture. The paradox in both sketches is that, as the reader moves through them, the face becomes less obscured—in the first, through transitioning from the pedestrian icon's head to a more detailed face (before ending in a festive image of violence); in the second, through the subtraction of strips of paper.

                        

                   

                        

I'm still thinking about how these structures and concepts could be worked into a book designed to contain (and interact with) a longer essay. 

Lost in San Jose

Here's an excerpt from RUNX TALES #3, which is going to the printers this week! Thanks to everyone who contributed to the Indiegogo fund. Sorry for the delay—you'll be getting your copies of the comic book in the mail in March and April. Meanwhile, here's me and Nora Benson-Glaspey at the Winchester Mystery House: 

The Next Big Thing

I began studies at the University of Iowa Center for the book last August—around the same time, funny enough, that posts around here started tapering off. But now the talented Amanda Davidson has inspired me to resurrect this dormant blog to “self-interview” for The Next Big Thing series.

I’m choosing to talk about a project that’s just getting started—a wedding-themed novel in ten parts. But I want to take a minute to plug a couple other things. Brooklyn Arts Press will publish a collection of my short fiction this fall (the title is still in negotiation). And I’m now inking the last page of the third issue of my comic, RUNX TALES, so look for it in April.

Also stay tuned for my Next Big tag-ees for February 27: essayist and poet Lisa Wells and cartoonist (and my former collaborator!) Amanda Verwey. 

Here goes: 

What is the working title of the book? 
The Hitch: An Agamist Manifesto 

Where did the idea come from for the book? 
Fascination/torment. From being a guest and working as a caterer at weddings. 

What genre does your book fall under? 
Right now I’m envisioning it as ten separate chapbooks that could be read in any order. Some lean more toward fiction, some toward nonfiction, some are image+text. There is narrative overlap. Despite being created as ten separate books and called a manifesto, I’m thinking of it as a novel. 

What actors would you choose to play the part of your characters in a movie rendition? 
Ellen DeGeneres and Portia de Rossi 

What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book? 
Typical wedding stuff: heavy symbolism; tension between the mystical and the carnal; often comical attempts at idyll; Bacchanalic reveling that can tip that idyll over the brink into the realm of the sinister; the bizarre commingling of people from vastly different strata of the happy couple’s lives. 

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest? 
Its characters include a control-freak wedding planner; his romance-novelist mother; a tyrant bride; a victim bride; a groom who is really a tattered newspaper clipping; a cynically poetic caterer; and me. All of these characters are fairly easy to inhabit. 

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?
It will first be printed in limited letterpress editions over the next couple years. I'd like to later adapt it to a trade edition. So ideally, both, although it doesn't seem like something an agent would take on.

Down to the wire . . .

Only one week to go to help print RUNX TALES #3! Spread the word!

Check out this new video I made for the campaign, with the help of woodworker/dramatist/silver drummer girl, Jessie Smith. Click here to see the campaign!

RUNX TALES needs your help!

I just kicked off an Indiegogo campaign to help with printing costs for RUNX TALES #3! The third issue of this autobio/informational comic will feature a letterpress cover and full-color spread, and I need your help to make it happen! In addition to an interview with Jincy Willett, a metaphysical tour of San Jose, and a memorial to a mythic drugstore, there is a tell-all about two different sugar daddies I had. Here is a detail from the title page:

Click here to learn more about the campaign!

RUNX TALES #3 Preview!

Just finished letterpress printing the cover to RUNX TALES #3. Hopefully, this will inspire me to get crackin' on the contents! Also working out a way to pay for printing costs. The new issue will feature a piece in collaboration with Nora Benson-Glaspey (of "Nora Stories") on the metaphysical underbelly of San Jose. It will also include the story of two less than lucrative sugar-daddy relationships I had. Check out the following links for sneak peeks at a tribute to the old Super Longs drugstore in Oakland and an interview with writer Jincy Willett. 

Sneak Peek at RUNX TALES #3!

Here's a glimpse at a comic I'm working on right now: a visual take on an interview I did with writer Jincy Willett. Jincy's books are drily humorous yet compassionate, and when I talked to her, she discussed her view of the universe as inherently slapstick. Joining me for the interview was my friend Jennifer Derilo, pictured here with Jincy and I as an ominous pie hangs overhead. This piece will be included in RUNX TALES #3, which I hope to have out this summer!

The Business of Staying Alive.3: Chat-pocalypse with Kyndall Mason

Kyndall Mason and I are both Inland Northwesterners, which means we come from a place that people think is either really rainy or—if they’re somewhat familiar with the Northwest—really creepy. It’s actually a semi-arid region known for its conservatism, and not only is it creepy, if you’re from there (and queer), it’s a little hard for it to really feel like home. Kyndall and I have traveled there together to visit our families (as detailed in “Coeur d’Alene Stories” in Runx Tales #1), and much of our friendship is based on this cultural bond. There aren't many people who understand what I mean when I say, “At least I didn’t grow up in Moses Lake.”

Kyndall and I both live in medium-sized American cities now and mostly keep in touch via online chatting. As natural (and man-made) disasters keep hitting harder and faster, and political forces seem bent on world annihilation, our chats often veer into planning for the worst. Sometimes we fantasize about setting up post-apocalyptic housekeeping in eastern Oregon. When Kyndall had the idea of organizing our chats into some sort of zine, I thought it might be good to test them out as part of The Business of Staying Alive series. Since Google probably already has all our chats filed away somewhere, I figure there’s no harm in letting the rest of the world see them too.

me: old people keep telling me how important it is to have kids so you have someone who gives a shit about you when you get old. it freaks me out. i'm hoping either the world ends first, or i die by 70, or i have enough good friends around who are still alive so we can form some sort of old folks' commune

kyndall: yes! i sort of have dreams about an old folks home for myself and friends. maybe at my grandparents’ homestead in e———!

me: yes! let's do it.....do you think the world is ending soon?

kyndall: no. unfortunately. we will just get to watch it get worse. but not end

me: yeah, you're probably right. i wonder how high ocean levels will be when we're old. e——— might be a good place to be

kyndall: oh, it will be perfect. i think north portland will be ruined by the river, but the coastal cascades will save most of it. then eventually even portland will be under water. but we will be totally safe in           e———, and by then the climate will change and will have perfect long growing seasons (my grandma told me most of this btw)

me: yes! your grandma sounds rad. do you think we'll have to arm ourselves?

kyndall: they have guns. but we should get more, just in case. and ammo. i feel like apocalyptic planning is on regular rotation for our conversations

me: ha!

kyndall: you should just make a block print zine with all our gchats

me: yes!!!!! but then everyone will know our plans. it sounds fun, kind of, like coming full circle and ending up back in the inland nw and having to shoot rednecks to protect our crops

kyndall: i'm down! gays get their revenge, finally

me: is there a good water source?

kyndall: yes! there are little creeks that run all through the valley

me: they run all year?

kyndall: there is a glacier lake that is more than 200 meters deep and tons of little lakes in the mountains. yeah! all year!

me: it sounds so nice there

kyndall: some spots they are more than 20 feet wide. it's amazing. here’s a picture of the view from my grandparents' porch:

me: DANG!!!!! I want to be there right now

kyndall: right? i haven't been there since the summer i moved to Pittsburgh. and it's awful, i have been there every summer since i was a kid and then sometimes in the winter too

*****

me: how often do you think about death?

kyndall: um, well, a lot of young people died around me when i was in high school, so in my early 20s, i thought about it a lot. but now i feel like i mostly think about how short life is, or can be. i just don't want to burn to death. what about you?

me: i think about it a lot. do you have a disaster kit?

kyndall: no. like batteries and water and shit?

me: yes. i want to interview people about emergency preparedness. there's this book called thinking in an emergency by elaine scarry where she talks about how people are deliberately kept ill equipped for and uninformed about disasters, so that the powers that be can make us feel unsafe and limit our rights

kyndall: i would buy that. the only thing i feel like i should have is water. the rest i would kill for or steal. if shit really went down i would drive my car as far as i could, then hop a train to my grandma's house. what would you do? i know we talked about meeting at my gma's but if there was like a major earthquake or something and shit was crazy there?

me: hmmm, i would def try to get out of town. that would be my first priority. i do have a lot of water and canned food and 5-gallon buckets full of tools and toiletries and matches and stuff

kyndall: buckets? how many buckets? you gonna just carry a bunch of buckets with you as you walk out of town? or are you just going to put it in a backpack?

me: hmmmm, me and d——— each have a bucket. they are good to shit in if the plumbing isn't working. i also have a large waterproof backpack to be mobile with

kyndall: why don't you just shit outside?

me: in the city?

kyndall: yes. do you really want a bucket full of shit in your apartment? i mean where are you going to put the shit?

me: ummm it's obviously a temporary solution

kyndall: i'm thinking long term here. like where does the shit go?

me: ok, ok, i'm sure we would figure it out. i’m just thinking if there was crazy chaos outside, i wouldn't wanna be shitting out there. also, i don’t have a backyard

*****

me: so do you have a disaster kit right now?

kyndall: no, i just think about how i should have one all the time

me: what would you put in it?

kyndall: water, first aid kit, some kind of weapon, batteries, flashlight, rope. i should probably have some kind of freeze-dried snack too

me: i need to re-stock mine. it has energy bars that have probs gone bad by now

kyndall: do you think they go bad? i mean it's hardly real food

me: true. they have exp dates tho

   

kyndall: everything has exp dates. just so they can get you to buy new shit

me: true. i stockpile cans of beans too. like a mormon

kyndall: so like a mormon. i have some homemade canned fruit, which i am afraid to eat. what about spam? i bet that would be like a delicacy during the apocalypse

me: totally. i feel like i've been kind of remiss in thinking about morale boosters. i haven't put any booze in because i feel like I will want to be able to think on my feet

kyndall: are you kidding me?! you will want some booze

me: i know. i'm delusional

kyndall: and weed. maybe you should put drugs in there that you have never tried, just so you can try them once things start getting really bad

me: uh. that sounds horrible

kyndall: yeah, it does. the last thing i would want to do is shoot up when the world is ending. but i would probably want a drink and a joint

me: oh yeah. well, maybe opiates would be okay if i knew everything was fucked. i was just thinking of hallucinogens

kyndall: oh, yeah, i would never want to hallucinate

me: what other kinds of seemingly superfluous things do you think it would be nice to have?

kyndall: tampons, toothpaste

me: you think those seem superfluous?

kyndall: tampons are, i think. i suppose i should switch to the diva cup. i would like cheetos puffs

me: those shits will keep FOREVER!

kyndall: i know! and i love them soo much. way more than regular cheetos

me: ha! maybe in a pinch you could use them as tampons

kyndall: you are NASTY

me: sorry

kyndall: it's funny though

me: they seem absorbent, right?

kyndall: no. they don't. when you suck on them, they melt

me: ew

kyndall: you still think i should use them as tampons

me: uh, no

kyndall: what kind of treats do you want in your disaster box?

me: hmmmmm. weed seems like a good one. paper and pens!!!! i need to put that in there. warm socks?

kyndall: warm socks is a really good idea. paper and pens would be pretty good. that's the sort of stuff that i would forget about and spend most of my time looking for during total destruction

me: money! small bills. and maps

kyndall: maps, yes. good one. so.......how big is a disaster box supposed to be?

me: i think it's relative. it's probs better to have several throughout your house. like a couple more stationary stashes with gallons of water, etc, but also a bag or something filled with supplies that would be easy to pick up and carry if you needed to leave in a hurry. someone told me it's better to spread supplies throughout your house in case part of it collapses. then you're screwed if everything is in one place and it becomes inaccessible

kyndall: damn, i never even thought about stashing shit all over the house. that's a good idea. where would you go if you had to leave in a hurry? i mean in the immediate, not long term location

me: emergency shelter. or who knows why you might suddenly need to leave town?

The Business of Staying Alive.2: An Interview with Nora Benson-Glaspey

Not only is Nora Benson-Glaspey a recent graduate of CORE (Citizens of Oakland Respond to Emergencies), she’s also a good friend of mine. Her storytelling skills are legendary, and it’s been a pleasure collaborating with her on “Nora Stories,” a comic featured in Runx Tales #2. Nora and I are now working on a new “Nora Stories,” one that started with a trip to the Winchester Mansion, and is beginning to turn into something bigger: a project where we hope to explore the role of the psychic in modern America.

Nora, who has lived in both pre- and post-Katrina New Orleans, currently attends San Francisco City College, where she’s pursuing a certificate in Trauma Prevention and Recovery. I talked to her recently about Hurricane Katrina, the transformative power of disaster, and the problems with getting to know your neighbors.

Matt Runkle: Do you want to start by talking a little about CORE? What it is, who organized it, how you found out about it, why you decided to pursue it?

Nora Benson-Glaspey: CORE was started in 1990, in response to the Loma Prieta earthquake, by the Fire Department’s Office of Emergency Services. Basically their goal is to train as many people as possible to be better equipped to deal with large-scale disasters, whether it be earthquakes, fires, chemical accidents, severe weather or, yup, terrorism, too. After Loma Prieta, first responders were swamped—there just wasn't enough people trained to help everyone who needed the help. Kinda scary to think about. I found out about the program from a friend who took it while I was living in New Orleans. I was bummed cuz I didn’t know of any equivalent where I was at. It just seemed smart.

CORE consists of five classes and one practice disaster, and happens over a six-week period. Topics include personal emergency preparedness, community organizing, disaster first aid and triage, search and rescue, damage assessment, and disaster psychology. The great thing is it's all free: CORE members, firemen and EMT's all volunteer their time to skill share. There are lots of reasons I decided to go—living in New Orleans post-Katrina, I heard enough stories about survival that if I had the chance to learn more about it, I’d better! I also like its focus on community—the idea is to get to know your neighbors before everything goes to hell.

MR: I think a lot about my neighbors, how in a city, you just kind of end up next to these people you have no history with, and what it would be like to weather a disaster with them. I’ve pretty much failed at fostering relationships with my neighbors here in the Bay. Do you feel like CORE gave you any kind of tools to create pre-disaster communities?

NBG: Yes and no. CORE can be used as a legitimate conversation starter. It looks official, it's registered with the city—that really appeals to certain folks. Some people, though, don't want anything to do with the government! CORE also really encourages people to start neighborhood watch groups, participate in Night Out Against Crime. I'm uneasy about all that—I don't want to forge vigilante relationships like that with my neighbors.

MR: You’ve talked a little bit about how CORE was this place where a funny mix of people collided (disastrous pun intended). Do you have any “Nora Stories”-style anecdotes you want to tell from your experience in CORE?

NBG: This one woman I spoke to admitted to me that she worked for FEMA, but she didn't want anyone to know—she whispered it in my ear after I told her I moved here from NOLA. At first I thought she was funny, but the further our conversation went I really kinda hated her. She told a group of us that she thought that people who stayed for hurricanes probably deserved to die. Not like I haven't heard that before.

Come to think of it, there were quite a few people who expressed defensive attitudes about who deserved help—mostly intended at their neighbors already singled out as undesirable. I got the impression it was because they didn't know them—or they were renters. Homeowners don't seem to like renters. Attitudes like this scare me more than anything: they're bred out of fear, are cruel, and can incite violence. I was subjected to similar attitudes in New Orleans, neighbors who thought I was squatting repeatedly called the police and threatened to steal my dog. I was shocked no one ever directly asked me about it. We were renting, so they couldn't get rid of us.

I unintentionally met one of my accusers at the bar; she was a wreck of a yuppie, hell-bent on squatters. She told me, “Don't worry you're on the ‘good list.’ People on the ‘bad list,’ if they don't comply, their bodies will end up in the Bayou. I have a gun.” It was really sad and strange. You see, she snapped. Before the storm, her personality and lifestyle were similar to a Berkeley lady—a middleclass, save-Tibet, Volvo-driving liberal. The stress of living through a catastrophic disaster has the capacity to completely transform us, in ways that we never would have expected—for better or worse.

MR: Can you talk a little more about Katrina? I think you had actually just moved back to California prior to the storm, right? What this was like, experiencing from afar this horrible thing happening to what had become your home?

NBG: Well, I started smoking again. Watching the news was maddening, listening to people talk about what they thought about the news reports was disturbing. Not knowing if my friends were safe was terrifying. I knew from my experience in New Orleans that the media was hyping up the violence. I'm not denying violence by any means, but the way they framed it was so freakin’ sensational. Highly disturbing. It set up dialogues I still hear today that echo the FEMA lady at CORE—“they” just weren't acting right, so “they” don't deserve help. According to a few looping FOX news reports, it almost seemed that New Orleans was full of baby-raping, gun-toting looters, and it was their fault response was slow. What the fuck ever! Years later the media has been called out for racializing looting pictures—white people were “scavenging” and blacks were “looting.” The whole conversation sidestepped the point that our country's infrastructure sucks, and that the government reacted inadequately. The media facilitated this insidious outlook on our nation’s largest disaster, in a way that condoned how our institutions were responding.

MR: Rebecca Solnit wrote an essay for Harper's a few years back, pre-Katrina, I believe, but I think it was actually published around the same time the storm happened [it later became the book, A Paradise Built in Hell: The Extraordinary Communities that Arise in Disaster]. It talked about how, contrary to the myth of the stampede and the panic, communities form in the wake of disasters. It’s become clear, it seems, that the real panic occurs within the media. I’m just curious about this idea of communities that are born out of disasters. I know the final phase of CORE involved a simulated emergency. Did you feel a stronger sense of community forming as you participated in this simulation? If so, is this something that will continue into the future?

NBG: I haven't read Solnit's essay but I have read a handful of studies which indicate that directly following a disaster it is more likely that people will help each other out; however, the longer communities go without basic resources the more likely violence is to increase. In the first few months after Katrina, I witnessed way more people coming together and helping each other out than not. There was this intense momentum to get the city back up and running again; rather than wait for the government, people started getting done what they could on their own. Over time, though, the strain created by lack of resources and aid to the city really took its toll on people.

To answer your question, yes and no. I made some connections with some really great people, none of whom lived in my neighborhood. As far as I can tell, there are not many CORE groups in my neighborhood. The simulated disaster is very chaotic, partly due to learning how to operate within the CORE framework, a hierarchical Incident Command system. People are split into groups to survey damage and find victims, and required to report back to an elected Incident Commander who then, either by foot or radio, reports back to the Emergency Operation Center—usually a local fire station. In our first exercise, information bottlenecked and all I felt was panic. The second exercise went smoother and people were working together. In one respect, it’s easy to see why response can take so long—there is so much paperwork! I hate paperwork, and at one point in my life I would’ve flipped off the whole concept of CORE because of its bureaucratic model, but now I feel more comfortable knowing their protocol so I can make more informed decisions.

MR: I’ve noticed there’s kind of a stigma to being prepared for emergencies, like, “What’s up with ole Doom n’ Gloom over there?” When I talk about putting together a survival kit, some people have been excited about it, while others act like maybe I’m being a little paranoid. Have you encountered this at all?

NBG: Yesss! Mostly, it's “Oh, well that will never happen here” mentality. It's too bad really, cuz there is no harm in having a few more of this and that around the house if something were to come up. I think there is this idea that when and if something happens, there will be people there to respond with supplies. And there will be, but depending on the magnitude of the disaster, it might take time. The government suggests having enough supplies to last for 5-7 days. That's a long time. I get it though, not wanting to think about it.

In one of my classes at City College, we were assigned the task of adding a supply to our disaster kit. Coincidentally, the Fukushima disaster happened that week, so it occurred to me maybe vitamins and iodide tablets wouldn’t be a bad add. Next class we shared what we got with one another, I was scared to mention what I bought and even almost lied. People were very upset, some didn’t even know there had been an earthquake in Japan, others thought I was foolish and some just thought I was ridiculous for thinking something like that could happen here. I never ended up getting my tablets due to a shortage caused by mass buying. My favorite was seeing a couple whisper-fight in Rainbow Grocery about what was better: pharmaceutical or natural iodine.

MR: Did CORE cover nuclear fall-out situations at all?

NBG: Mmmm . . . not so much, but it did come up. Basically their advice was “shelter in place,” which obviously didn't sit well with anyone in the room. There was definitely a quiet “we're gonna run like hell” vibe in the room. The firemen assured us that all nuclear facilities in the state of California were being checked, refitted and super safe. There was a handful of cynical comments and we moved on to the next subject.

The Business of Staying Alive.1

My terror of death has gotten worse lately, and it’s surprising—I guess I assumed the end would become easier to accept with age. Not so much with me. So, let me start by saying I’m sorry about how angsty this post is. Something practical will follow, I promise.

Underpasses have become harder to walk through, the threat of an earthquake a dull rumble from both above and below. I’ve always been conscious of reaching the underpass’s halfway point, knowing that the moment I feel the earth move, I should run forward rather than backward to escape the collapse—irrational, I know, especially after a Loma Prieta story I heard: a man told me the sidewalk was rolling along like the surf.

Somebody else told me an obsessive fear of death is the result of a Catholic upbringing. This could be true, although I’m not looking for pity here. I realize such fear is a luxury. I asked my grandma (who wasn’t, by the way, raised Catholic) how often throughout her life she’d thought about death, and she told me never—she’d worked so much, she never had the time. These days, though, 80-something and retired, she mentions death in most conversations. Which is healthy, I think, at her age, but I’m in my 30s.

Sometimes I wonder: would the world be a better place (i.e., people not be assholes) if we all knew what was going to happen to us when we die? Really know, I mean, through rational thought, not blind faith. Would there be less fear in the world, the source of so much human suffering? So many resources and such tremendous scientific effort are put into prolonging this life, but little go toward trying to answer the question of what comes next. The big question no one wants answered. But maybe I’m being overly curious here. Every year it seems like fewer mysteries remain in the world, and I know there’s something to be said for not having all the answers.

But back to that escalating terror, which it seems now is in the very air, it’s become such an effort not to absorb it. Could the places I pass through daily (subway tunnels, wastelands under the interstate) cause me terror merely through their repetition? Is that why they’re getting darker and less stable as I age—are they literally becoming the stamp of death? Haven’t I always expected it to end this way, in collapse, those same subway station tiles imprinting themselves on my forehead, finally, with the finality they’ve always promised? The constant unpredictability of cataclysms—as well as the effort it takes to stave them off—can be numbing.

Numbing or not, I like being alive, and so there’s something to be said for being prepared. Last year I put a lot of work into assembling disaster kits for both my boyfriend and me, and there was something nice about the control it made me feel. Part of this, of course, is illusion: as my grandma pointed out, it’s hard to brood when you’re busy. But it also doesn’t hurt to be prepared.

There is, though, a lot of denial around the need for such preparation. That’s why I’d like “The Business of Staying Alive” to be a semi-regular feature here, one small avenue for casual conversations around emergency preparedness. Now that I’ve got that angst off my chest, it’s time to get out the waterproof matches. Or put them away, rather, and wrap them in plastic, and remember where it was I put them. Tomorrow I’m going to post an interview with Nora Benson-Glaspey, who I’ve collaborated with in the past in the Runx Tales feature, “Nora Stories.” She’ll talk about her experiences going through CORE (Citizens of Oakland Respond to Emergencies) training, as well as her time living in New Orleans both before and after Katrina.

To be continued . . .

Recommended Reading: Junot Diaz, “Apocalypse: What Disasters Reveal”; Naomi Klein, The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism; Rebecca Solnit, A Paradise Built In Hell: The Extraordinary Communites That Arise In Disaster; Elaine Scarry, Thinking In an Emergency