|
Friday
Downtown Philadelphia was bustling Friday morning, people walking around its beautiful architecture and wincing at that funky smell that blows through periodically.
In the grand tradition of convention centers booking unlikely events along with comics shows, the Sistahs con was representin' this weekend too. Your eyes couldn't help but mist at the idea of Green Lantern fans and Proud Black Women bonding. I go to claim my badge and table space.
Holy work to do: I have to introduce retailers to my upcoming book The Interman. It's tricky finding folks with real, physical stores, but once I do it goes well. Everyone is helpful and encouraging. A few that stand out at the moment are Sharrod from Bedrock City and Chris from Graham Crackers. Building momentum...
I'm catching up with Savannah-area artist Shawn Crystal when Humanoids editor Paul Benjamin magically appears to show us the work of great European artists, presumedly to make us feel bad. He kindly invites us to submit material to the new Metal Hurlant, which is very different from its Biker Porn U.S. cousin.
Swinging by the DC booth, I'm stunned to see Event Manager Fletcher Chu-Fong at work. Not surprised to see him working, but rather at DC -- last year I was equally shocked to see him at the Marvel booth in Chicago, and now he's back at DC? He tries to explain but I walk away, not wanting any more confusion.
Wizard has the basketball court set up again, and luminaries such as Marvel's Joe Q and Axel Alonso are working on That Spalding Touch. Hulk not make basket.
Nearby is the Diamond booth, where I give the Interman Roughcut to Todd Scott, and we talk industry. Todd tells me of shops that really made use of Free Comic Book Day, like some enterprisers who handed out flyers the night before at the Spiderman premiere. Smart. Oh yeah- as you'd imagine, every conversation eventually got around to the movie. Between every paragraph, mentally add me and whoever I mention making Ditko "thwip" gestures.
Back in Artist Alley I walk up to Neil Vokes and see gorgeous samples from a book he and Mike Oeming are putting together. I'm about to fawn over him, and the first thing out of his mug is that I seem to have put on weight. Voke you, Neil!
In need of sweeter people I find Carla Speed McNeil, who is full of good publishing advice, and suggestions for printers. She congratulates me on being in an Eisner-nominated book, Fallout, a gentle way of reminding me that she's nominated for at least four Eisners all by herself. Through her I meet independents Rachel Hartman, Jamar Nicholas, and Steve Peters. Miss Indypimp goes on to tell me horror stories of boxes of flooded comics and trades held captive by LPC, and I forget how this was supposed to egg me on with self-publishing.
After joining art-dealin' buddy Phillip Anderson and friends for fried food and a couple pitchers of Yuengling Lager, a fine local brew, I go with the magical Paul Benjamin back to the hotel bars to find people. No people. I retire to the Hilton and watch Powerpuff Girls when Fordycat Gilmore and Tomm Coker arrive to lure me out to the Marriott. Now, everyone is there for some reason. Tomm introduces me to DC VP John Nee, who I like immediately when he buys me a Yuengling. Next to him is Graphitti Graphics' Bob Chapman, dutifully keeping the bar from floating away. Which could happen, in theory.
This is when I run into two notorious women of comics, one an editor/journalist, the other a colorist. They for some reason decide that having a male audience of me is a good excuse to launch into a barrage of "monthly" humor- suddenly they're the Hope and Crosby of menstruation. Out of respect, I'm not going to use their real names, we'll just call them, oh, say... Spidey McFondled and Fish Gulpakill(I had one that rhymed better and was much funnier, but I promised not to use it). I can deal with their "period piece"-their joke, not mine- but then they start in on my longer hair and how much they hate, hate, hate it. Can't I just shave my head again. That's so not working. And so on. What's left of my ego limps back to the Hilton and passes out.
A Mystical Breakfast-- At the incredible indoor market across from the con, Tomm Coker, Meow-meow Gilmore, and I sit down to some great food when a woman named Cathy offers to sketch us for a dollar. A bargain anywhere. As she rattled out a manifesto about art and photography, she drew a piece that we found a lot stronger than many sketches being done at the show. I think I'm the one on the left, Tomm, then Panthro.
 Once inside I actually sit down and tell people about my book. I've finally figured out how to make a simple and easily transportable display to take to shows. It's only taken me years. Across from me is the arena where Ray Park is demonstrating plastic swordfighting to the crowd. I'm very happy because I thought it was going to be some Backyard Wrestling thing. It's actually very quiet. I'm next to Temple Studios, an enthusiastic collective of squeaky-new creators with matching red shirts. They're friendly and full of hope and ambition, eager to show the world their stories. Come, look away... it'll just get ugly. People from The Internet start to appear--oh yeah, I'm supposed to be selling Me and Edith Head for Steve Lieber(It's Eisner-nominated!). One of the first sales is to Peter Rose, co-conspirator with Warren Ellis in ArtBomb.net. He's just what I'd expect, a perceptive type who doesn't suffer fools and is genuinely interested in the health of this medium. More importantly, he's forbidden from parts of the Philippines by local witch doctors. It's true- ask him about it sometime.
 I take a brief break to circle the room, and in the corner I find Kevin Tinsley, the author of Digital Prepress for Comics the only book that tells what you need to know to get your comics files ready for going to the printer. I bend his ear with technical questions, and he's very helpful. See kids, there's real useful knowledge at these shows... Over at the Top Shelf booth I meet Box Office Poison's Alex Robinson, and publisher Chris Staros finds me the book where my pal Bo Hampton drew a story about him (in Expo 2001). Kristen Siebecker tells me of her trials with arranging the MOCCA show next month. It sounds great, and high-class. If I can find just the right sportcoat, I'm going. Back at the table, people are listening to my spiel and signing my mailing list. And then it gets better. Diamond's Jim Kuhoric came over and said people had been bringing him the Interman Roughcut, and that he thinks it's something they can sell. He tells me some info and options I need to know. Lack of sleep be darned, I'm filled with energy again. That's a great moment for any cartoonist in America. That night I run into Peter again, and we meet up with Spidey and Fish, and 14 of Spidey's closest friends. We find Chen's in Chinatown, and they give us an upstairs room so we can be as obnoxious as we'd like. Tons of fun people, but I can only remember the ones who had cards on them, like Comicology editor Stefan Blitz (how cool a name is that?) and Inker-man Mark Lipka. Mark and I have important things in common; we both don't find Will Farrell funny, and fondly remember the commercial for the game Connect Four. "Diag-nally." The room inspires us to try doing a Dean Martin-style roast, but we don't get far. For once, everybody put in enough money when the check arrived. This to me, is a good sign of the future health of the comics industry. Back at the Marriott, the bar is really hopping, and stocked with Yuengling. I get introduced to Jimmy Palmiotti for the 30th time. He's always glad to meet me! I blab at length with Neil Vokes, who is much more pleasant today and meet the talented Mike Manley. Suddenly, Lawrence Welk-style bubbles start to appear... and the source is Mark Waid. Somehow he's got this new kind of bubblestuff that doesn't pop when you poke the bubble. It's weird. Bubbles start ending up in everybody's hair and once smashed, have that snot-on-corduroy look. Fish looked like someone sneezed in her hair--but I should talk. Yuenglings. Peter was talking to Dave Elliott, Brit behind A-1, Tundra UK, Penthouse Comix, and now back to Atomeka. I horned in to hear some of Dave's interesting ideas about promotion, retailing, publishing; He's also publishing a very interesting portfolio this summer that I think is supposed to be a secret for now, so I'll shut up about that. Some orange woman then whisked him away. So exhausted. Must find the Hilton. Finally going to get a decent night's sleep. Or am I?
 3:30 AM
Some little bastard pulled the fire alarm. This was misery on a level I can't describe. The strobe light and claxon just ate through your soul, and the people speaking over the intercom finished the job. Catwoman artist Darwyn Cooke told me the next day that he slept through it, but I can't see how. You out there- if you pulled that alarm, and any of us find out it was you... you're going out a window. Oh god, my head.
I don't remember much about Sunday. See little picture of fire alarm again.
There. My first con report. Maybe I'll do it again for Chicago, who knows. Can people live vicarously through me? Should I eat better when they do?
Jeff Parker, somewhere in California
|
He's walking trepidly to a Wildstorm panel where he'll be announced as the writer on the new Thundercats book. This is when a good pal tags along to give moral support. Instead I make for my Artist Alley space to set up my display so I can not sit there for the rest of the day.