![Channeling Spirits with V.D. Cards, or, Why We Didn't Make It to the [Medicinal] Cannibus Cup in L.A.](/images/c/channelingspiritswithvdcards.gif)
He kept pushing the VW Kombi Bus in my direction, and even though it was only a model, I felt like he was really trying to run me down with the goddamn thing.
Valentine's Day at Winnings Coffee was a very upbeat occasion. Except for the vagrant with forceful sale tactics standing over my shoulder (not to mention the very real possibility of suffering burns on account of his flammable breath and the flicking lighter in my pocket), everyone kept to their own quiet corners of Side A on the partitioned entrance, while the hosts of ABQ's ZIne Fest set up in Side B for their 7pm feature:
When the mini-Volkswagen salesmen finally left me to my reading and Mocha Chai Shake, I looked up to see that people were finally migrating into Side B, stopping at the entrance table to pay the $5 donation for tickets. Dj Mello displayed an exceptionally diverse collection of late 80's/early 90's taste, adding to a general atmosphere that closely resembled the apex of a pre-Clinton era. None of that RuPaul / Soul Asylum top-hit-bull-shit either. Just heavy petting and lucrative, self-assuring smiles. New projects/businesses forming.
When I bought my ticket, I was given a dirty valentine (which turned out to be a... I'll come back to that later) and a secret word that would be part of a drawing for different "prizes" during the event. No one was turned away for lack of funds and everyone got to participate in the drawing. My word was PUMP.
Andrew Lyman (one of the performers) and local MC Marya Errin Jones expressed their joy with the impending addition to the ABQ family.
"We have a confession to make. We're pregnant! With a Space!"—more specifically a location for a future/much needed zine library here in Albuquerque. Without prior knowledge, I clapped along with the rest of the audience, all the while spastically adjusting in my seat and forgetting about my secret word, until Marya drew the first stub from the hat.
"PUMP! Who's got pump?!"
I had to have been the most floundering winner in the history of any contest, as I approached first the corresponding table, then redirected, the microphone, very cautiously, as if I were about to be scolded or hazed in some way.
Walking away with what I thought was a $10 gift card for soft serve ice cream, I scurried back to my seat in the 4th row, and tried to regain a sense of being indiscreet. Out of elements and such, and ready for the show to begin.
