My Last Nerd Convention of the Year: A Story in 23 Gifs

I don’t know about you, reader, but I plunge into a sadness spiral the second after leaving the convention floor on a Sunday afternoon. I refer to it as Post-Convention Stress Disorder. For me it’s C2E2, Anime Central, and then Chicago Comic Con (in that order) and then I’m financially tapped out for the year.

Sure, it seems logical to leave your favorite nerd convention after the second or third day of walking around and spending money, but then the revelation hits: YOU WON’T ATTEND ANY MORE CONVENTIONS FOR A WHILE.

And that sucks. Reality is the worst, isn’t it? I’ve detailed my intense feels for you below, from start to finish.

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Vinyl Veins Music Reviews: Pink Floyd

Artist: Pink Floyd

Album: Meddle

I am feeling very nostalgic today, kids. So I wanted to nerd out about one of my favorite bands, but I didn’t want to choose one of the obvious albums. Instead, I chose Meddle, one of Pink Floyd’s most underrated albums in their catalogue. I’m always surprised at the reaction of most people when I mention this album, and usually people give me confused looks.

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Artist Interview: Erika Swanson on ‘Bellossoms,’ Creative Inspiration, and More

I randomly met a bubbly and delightful person named Erika Swanson at an IMAX 3D showing of Pacific Rim on opening weekend. After finding common ground regarding Slurpees and zoos, we eventually started talking about comic book conventions. That’s when I discovered that Erika is more than a fellow geek: She’s an artist and the creator of Bellossoms, a gorgeously illustrated children’s book series!

Naturally, I had to ask her for an interview, and she was kind enough to oblige with out-of-this-world responses. Read about Erika’s influences, creative processes, favorite fandoms, and current projects right here! She’s fantastic — really — and you’re going to love her.

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Vinyl Veins Music Reviews: Abigail Washburn

Artist: Abigail Washburn

Album: City of Refuge

Today, I want to talk about a remarkable woman. I’m always amazed to find out the history of artists that fascinate me, and this native of Evanston, Illinois has a particularly interesting story. She wasn’t always a banjo/folk enthusiast. No, in fact, she was once going to become a lobbyist and practice law in China, which is not the typical path of folk singers. Then she discovered the banjo and folk would never be the same.

Abigail Washburn’s album, City of Refuge, is so intriguing and comforting. Its beautiful and delicate sound is so pleasantly inviting. The album’s prelude is the perfect welcome to the sounds of familiarity that follow in each track thereafter. The first plucked chords on the track “City of Refuge” are brilliant and pair wonderfully with the gorgeous vocals and lyrics:

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Alive?

By Jill Zero

The wall outside the library is my favorite spot to smoke cigarettes. I like the coolness of the brick, which seeps through my shirt onto the surface of my skin, and I savor the rough texture against my fidgeting fingertips. It’s a silly privilege to lean there alone. No one bothers me. My mind drains the drivel and focuses solely on things that matter, such as senses and stars and solitude. Fine details manifest more rapidly when they’re unhindered by distractions.

Tonight is unfortunately not free from distractions, however. A group of people scatters and lines the sidewalk, fresh from the sports bar across the street. Two couples lean on each other in an attempt to disguise their level of drunk – unconvincingly, I might add – and one woman leads them beneath the streetlights like a pied piper who’s never worn three-inch platform heels. Her shiny silver shoes clomp and clack and bend her ankles at unsightly angles. I watch her with a sort of disgusted curiosity, wondering how she’s remained upright for half a dozen steps and estimating how many more steps it will take her to remove them and walk barefoot instead.

Ten, tops.

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A Navigator’s Guide to the Abyss

By Jill Zero

It’s impossible to see clearly in the abyss. Darkness swallows everything it touches. Once, there might have been crevices and crooks to grip. Once, a path may have emerged from the depths.

No longer.

Pitch blackness now consumes the light as if driven by insatiable hunger, the byproduct of heavy thoughts and broken dreams. The feeling is maddening to all who begin the decent; a complete lack of light will send the senses into a terror spiral quicker than anyone could imagine. I know the sensation well because I’ve been there before, thus earning my self-proclaimed navigator title.

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