The Wordstock Diaries

[April 26th, 2006] Despite the challenges of great weather and bad parking, Portland's second annual Wordstock fest garnered sellout audiences this weekend as more than 22,000 word junkies flocked to the Oregon Convention Center and other venues to hear distinguished scribes such as Joyce Carol Oates whine on about the lack of "intimacy" and radio god Ira Glass confess his utter devotion to the OC. WW's own staffers were among the rabble, and like good little bookworms, a few scribbled down their own Wordstock diary entries during the event.

Scroll down to the end of the story to post your own Wordstock memory.

^SATURDAY, APRIL 22

11:36 am, Borders Stage: Bill Lee, former pro baseball pitcher and author of Have Glove, Will Travel, lets the crowd in on a little bullpen humor. "Do you know why the pitching mound is higher than any other point on the field?" he says to an eager silence. "Because there's more dirt there." Ba-dum-bump. Then he bemoans the fact that "You can't drive drunk anymore" and the fact that "There are cops everywhere. Everyone's a cop now." And then I remembered that Father's Day is coming up. Thanks, Bill. MARK BAUMGARTEN.

12:50 pm, Oregon Convention Center: The convention center bike racks are put to use for the first time. I feel kind of embarrassed to be one of these people, all of us with our bikes, moderately hip outfits, self-consciousness and Moleskine journals. Then I see the people who are there for the Body, Mind, Spirit conference, and don't feel as bad. SHOSHANNA COHEN.

12:51 pm, Powell's stage: Colson Whitehead tells a crowd of 100 that he came up with the concept for his novel about a "nomenclature consultant" from a New York Times article about the people who named Prozac. "That's basically what the book is," he says, explaining the origins of Apex Hides the Hurt. "Oh, and then I had to come up with the stories too." The passages he read earlier, filled with gaping holes and missed opportunities, illustrated the pitfalls that come with regarding stories as an afterthought to a concept. Class dismissed. MARK BAUMGARTEN.

1 pm, McMenamins stage: Mark Acito presents recycled material. It's OK, since I am probably the only person there who was also at the local Ecotrust Earth Dinner he wrote it for. I am struck by the revelation that even naturally talented people still have to work hard and don't just produce stuff out of their ass at the drop of a hat. Speaking of which, his next story, about the lancing of a groin boil, is hilarious. SHOSHANNA COHEN.

1:40 pm, Benson Hotel Stage: Dick Weissman, author of the folk-music history Whose Side Are You On?, answers a question on the state of Portland's current music scene thusly: "Every single place I've lived—with the exception of a few years in New Brunswick, N.J.—thinks it's the hippest place around at the time. Every time I look at the music section in Willamette Week, it's, 'Did they pass the hip test?' I don't care what they look like or what stunts they're trying to pull—I come from a different generation, I guess. I don't care what they're doing, except for their music." Dick Weissman is awesome. KARLA STARR.

2:10 pm, Oregon Convention Center: I bump into a man in tattered jeans who works in the music industry, who tells me he thinks Colson Whitehead—having never read a thing he's written, and having only listened to him read a few pages—sucks. For unknown reasons, I withhold making the analogy that you shouldn't judge the whole of Death Cab for Cutie based on a crappy rendition of "I Will Follow You Into the Dark." I just smile and nod, and think, man, is he wrong. KARLA STARR.

2:30 pm, Wordstock Book Fair: Wandering the stalls, I realize I'm just looking for tables offering free candy, and that I would rather just be at home reading a book. SHOSHANNA COHEN.

5:30 pm, Powell's Stage: After cheerfully completing his marathon 90-minute autograph session, Dave Eggers was stopped in his tracks by Elizabeth Burnett of Literary Arts. The program coordinator of the Arts & Lectures series explained that Joan Didion had just been confirmed for a Portland appearance on Oct. 5. Burnett envisioned a night with the two of them in conversation, which wouldn't be the first time: a lively 2003 conversation between Didion and Eggers at a lecture series in San Francisco is included in The Believer Book of Writers Talking to Writers. Though Eggers said he'd do "anything for Joan," he was unable to confirm an appearance, citing his infant daughter, the fall release of his next book, and the extensive workload from his own nonprofit, 826 Valencia. Yeah, but is he really doing anything? KARLA STARR.

^SUNDAY, APRIL 23

11 am, Powell's stage: Maria Dahvana Headley reads from The Year of Yes, about going out with every guy who asked in a desperate attempt to find Mr. Right. She's gorgeous, so it worked out eventually after some, you know, hilarious misadventures. Like with Kerouac, it sounds suspiciously like the work of someone who does stuff because it's going to make good stories later. Not that there's anything wrong with that. SHOSHANNA COHEN.

Noon, Wordstock Book Fair: Perusing booths selling fantasy heroine art, calligraphy lessons, even Scientology, it seems bizarre for a festival to be organized around something as broad as books. Doesn't everybody read? Thinking back to my visit to Lloyd Center Mall the previous afternoon, no, maybe not. SHOSHANNA COHEN.

12:30 pm, Powell's stage: Steve Almond, much more than a candy historian, presents an unpublished tirade (his editor vetoed it) on the annoyingness of pretty people and how most good writers are inherently ugly, self-loathing and lonely, which sends the WW peanut gallery in the back row into hysterics. Internal monologue: "Yes! I'm not alone!" then, "That must mean I'm a bad writer." SHOSHANNA COHEN.

1:15 pm: Burgerville. SHOSHANNA COHEN.

1:45 pm, Wordstock Book Fair: I actually learned something. The Oregon Library Association offers 24-7 live reference assistance via Internet chat at www.oregonlibraries.net. That is so cool. They had good candy, too. SHOSHANNA COHEN.

2 pm, Wordstock Book Fair: Portland State University's Ooligan Press was giving out Swedish fish because their logo is a fish. That's the second promotional Swedish fish I've received in one month. Ate them while watching Christopher Moore read a smart-ass piece he'd written just for the occasion about how he doesn't read publicly and hates it. It was a little smug, but the observation "She skidded off a sentence and landed in a nine-adjective pileup" was pretty funny so I forgave him. SHOSHANNA COHEN.

2:12 pm, Powell's stage: Christopher Moore drops the f-bomb. Librarians all over gasp and chuckle in delight. KARLA STARR.

4:43 pm, Borders stage: After suffering from several disturbing flashbacks of our 45-minute phone conversation the week before, I walk out on Gore Vidal. KARLA STARR.

6:50 pm, First Congregational Church: I meet Ira Glass backstage and promptly fall in love. He gets a call but doesn't answer it, and I get a glimpse of his black RAZR cell phone. I immediately decide to start saving money to buy one for myself. KARLA STARR.

7-9:15 pm, First Congregational Church: I continue to fall in love with Ira Glass for the next few hours—despite the fact that his use of an iPod in lieu of CDs make him feel like he "does his job with a Pez dispenser." (Note to Ira Glass: You can do your Pez dispenser thing anytime, my friend. Anytime, indeed.) KARLA STARR.