So craft fairs aren't sexy, or fun, or interesting. Craft fairs are something you're forced to attend because you're trying to appease your mother, or because you're trapped in Branson for the weekend and you swore you'd never go to another Baldknobbers performance, so help you God. But trust us, the Rock <\#213>n' Roll Craft Show isn't your mother's craft show—it's a mutha of a craft show. Haven't you always wanted a handmade, Barbie-size fashion doll of mope-rock icon Morrissey? Hell yes! Is there another craft show where you can find electric thumb pianos (mbira, to use the proper name for this traditional African folk instrument)—tuned to specific keys? Hell no! Do you dare to dream of looking up from a sheaf of limited-edition art prints in time to witness a human-size Sock Monkey dancing to the get-your-motor-running strains of the Hibernauts? You, gentle reader, are ready for the Rock <\#213>n' Roll Craft Show. But wait, there's more: It's not just the awesome wares that make the R&RCS so sweet—it's the people. Twice each year, in spring and fall, all the young dudes and dudettes who make this city so interesting congregate in a south-city parking lot to laugh, rock out and show off what they can do. Ten years from now, when these twenty- and thirtysomethings have stolen control of this city from the boring stiffs who currently run it, and everybody's wearing hand-knit scarves and high-fiving Mayor Sock Monkey, we'll owe our coolness to the founders of the Rock <\#213>n' Roll Craft Show. Remember to thank them with a nice, handmade card—you know where to find 'em. (The next R<\#213>n'RCS is slated for mid-October.)