What the hell was that, Laura Bush?
Seriously, you call that a book fair? My 5th grade cafeteria held a better book fair than that. I expected the tents, all divided by genre, to be a fantastic walk-through of kiosks filled to the brim with books Books BOOKS and talented and interesting authors glad-handing eager readers while we ask stupid questions like, "What's your inspiration??" But no. The tents were just rows of chairs for the speakers. We got there just as Charles Simic, the next American Poet Laureate began to speak, and left after some ludicrous poem about a fork.
After grabbing our free totes, we wandered around, figuring we could at least buy some shit or get some free schwag, right? Hell no. All the free shit was for the kids (including an entire pavilion made for kids to go around to each "state" kiosk and locate it on a map, wherein they'd get a stamp), and all the books were hardcover at full price (you'd only buy one for a signing), and worst of all, the line literally wrapped around the building after weaving in and out of a disneyland turnstile that filled up half the tent. There was a guy who's sole job was to stand at the end of the line and hold up a sign that said, "End of Line Here."
So we got out of there and tried to at least get a peek of Sanjay or Iron Chef Cora, but we finally just left and sat outside and got drunk instead. Stupid First Lady.
On the way to get beer we ran into the finish line of the Nation's Triathlon. Ew.
Crafty Bastards went much better. For some reason I wasn't in the mood to take pictures....probably because I was in the mood to shop, and came home with some awesome loot. Though seriously, I wonder if the rest of the planet felt the gravitational pull of all the world's supply of ironic t-shirts sitting in one block of Adams Morgan.