An Art Festival...or Not

Yesterday was day one of a three-day trade show. By the end of the day, my feet ached, my knees were angry and beligerent, and my commitment to two more days of the same had waned dramatically.

I'm approaching today as though it's an opportunity to gather materials for some of my long-delayed writing projects. I'll make mental notes about the heavily-tatooed screen-printers who use the trade show floor as a canvass to show their body art to the masses. I'll carefully observe the mannerisms of the embroiderers, some of whom wisely show off their work by wearing it on their shirts...and ohers who apparently are not so comfortable (and not so smart) and so hide any evidence of their craft. The sales people who staff the booths of the bigger companies will have a special place in my mental notebook, where I'll keep my observations about people who are present at the show purely and immediately for financial gain. They are the ones who look at everyone on the show floor as a prospect, not for a sale but for providing funds for a new pair of slacks or a new car.

I have to admit it. I'm there primarily because I want my presence to turn into money. It's a nasty acknowledgement. I'd rather not make it. But I've already done it now and I can't take it back.

THe question, of course, is whether any of the reasons I will use to justify my trip to Fort Worth will be sufficient to justify the hassles of traffic and parking during the downtown art festival.