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Cartoonists Jeff Parker and Steve Lieber attended the large Chicago comics convention. Both sat at their Artist Alley tables too much to independently produce a decent convention report. So, in a world-shattering confluence they've joined forces, and used photos as filler, to offer this recount of that weekend . . .
Parker/Preshow
On the 4th of July I wasn't sure my plane would be taking off. Earlier in the day, as you may have heard LAX was mostly locked down when a gunman opened fire in the El Al terminal, killing two and getting killed himself. On the radio, Mayor Hahn and the Feds were reassuring everyone that the situation was under control, and despite the shooter being Egyptian and the targets Israeli travellers, this was not a terrorist incident. There are no sharks in Amity, folks, the beaches are safe! The international terminal was closed off, but my flight that night took off on time. I even met Tom Kinney of Mr. Show on my flight (he's also the narrator of the Powerpuff Girls, if that's more familiar). We all arrived safely in the morning.
Lieber/Preshow
I arrived in Chicago early in the afternoon. O'hare
was its usual tangle of rushing travelers and wretched
signage, but I eventually found my way to ground
transportation area one, where I could catch the hotel
shuttle. Phil Noto and Georges Jeanty were there
talking shop, and I tried to weasel my way into the
conversation. Soon the shuttle arrived, and the
driver, ignoring my repeated warnings about how heavy
my bags are, nearly ruptured himself hefting them into
the van. He got the bulgy eyes of a latex monster mask
and made a weird "nngk" noise. I tipped him an extra
buck.
The hotel was full of Palestinians, and the space,
oddly enough, felt a lot like a Haddassah meeting. I
recognized all the types from my days at Beth Shalom
back in Pittsburgh. I was reminded was how frivolous I
felt worrying about comic books in a room full of
angry middle aged men and over-dressed women
discussing weighty matters while college-age kids send
sex vibes at each other and negotiate the evening's
assignations.
Enough, enough. I retreat to Knuckles, where I order
an iced coffee. Waitress has never heard of this
before. "We don't serve that."
"Do you have coffee?"
"Yeah."
"Do you have ice?"
"Yeah."
"Here's the recipe. Take one. Pour it over the other."
"I'll have to ask."
Later it's time to chat with Charles Brownstein.
Over the past few years, Charles has gone
from fanzine publisher to the industry's best reporter
to head honcho of the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund.
As his workload increases, he seems to get more
energetic. Any one aspect of his job at the fund ought
to be a full time position, but the guy somehow
juggles them all. The energy comes across in
conversation. He's leaning forward in his chair,
excited about an interesting development or a new
fundraising possibility. He's writing essays in the
air with a lit cigarette while he establishes links
between wildly diverse aspects of the biz. The Fund is
at the nexus of "team comics" so we talk industry more
than art, but there's still plenty to cover.
Grafitti Designs' Bob Chapman passes. He's headed
towards the habitrail that connects the Hyatt to the
convention center. It's about a five minute walk from
one to the other. Ten minutes later, Bob's coming
back. No one told him that the convention hall was
closed for July 4th.
A few minutes later, another friend is headed towards
the habitrail. Ten minutes later, he's coming back.
Then another. Then another. It occurs to me that I
ought to say something, but no one can hear me over
the Palestinian clamour, and most comic book guys
could use the exercise anyhow.
Here's Jamie Rich and Joe Nozemack, creative and
financial heads of Oni Press. I spot Joe first. Joe's
hair is vastly different, and despite knowing him for
almost five years, I don't recognize him. This is
embarrassing, but I've been embarrassing myself in my
dealings with Oni for years, and they’re still willing
to talk with me, so what the hell.
Ford Gilmore arrives. This is going to be an odd con
for him. He's writing one of the hotter properties out
there, "Thundercats," and knows that the crowd at the
con is going to be: an interesting mix of his fans,
fans of the show who want to meet him, fans of the
show who want him disemboweled for the sins against
their beloved characters they assume he's going to
commit, and some of team comics more intense
activists, who want him dead for sullying the purity
of this great medium by working on an eighties
nostalgia book. Ford's got the right attitude towards
all of this. "I'm just gonna keep writing." He's also
brought his digital camera, and is on a mission: He
wants pictures of costumed con nuts holding copies of
my self-published comic book, Me and Edith Head. At
his last con, he got photos of a Storm Trooper, Darth
Maul, some guy in a skull mask and purple fright wig,
a couple of Russian Penthouse models, a guy dressed as
Wolverine out of costume and an ersatz Silent Bob.
We'll see what he's able to come up with in Chicago.
Or Rosemont, I should say. One of the big downers of
the show is that it's such a pain in the ass to
actually see Chicago. It's an hour each way on the
train. A couple of years ago, I had a great ride into
the city sharing a seat with Frank Miller, but it's
usually just long and boring, eating up what little
free time you've got.
So it's Rosemont, and that means a choice of a few
decent restaurants. The most convenient ones cost a
fortune. For many people the strategy is this: Get the
buffet at the Hyatt, and eat enough there to get you
through the rest of the day, supplementing your intake
with whatever you can pocket. I've seen people sneak
out bagels, muffins, cookies, sausages, hunks of
cheese, even a Ziploc baggie full of three-bean salad.
Jesus.
Parker/Friday
Nearly as long as my flight was the wait for the Hyatt shuttle to come to the airport. While waiting I met a cool group from Jeffrey's Comics in Gardena, Ca. And the woman known at shows as Countess Vladimira, a former Vampirella. She had a lot of costume luggage for the show, with which she gets into character and promotes her books. Though apparently she's now getting into the sci-fi genre because, as she put it, "the whole horror thing is dead." Sorry, horror publishers. Don't look at me, I'm just the messenger. **A Ford Gilmore extra: later that night the Countess raised some ruckus when her friend, Artist Nelson, was ejected from Knuckles for doing his best "plumber" imitation on the dance floor. She said something unrepeatable once out the door, then in some odd show of solidarity, also briefly dropped trou. Good timing for a teenage Palestinian boy walking by and getting an eyeful!
Eventually I get to the convention center and set up next to Rachel Hartman, as pleasant a tablemate as you could hope for. Her mom, also an artist, was there to see just what kind of career Rachel has carved out for herself. I have a lot of respect for those of you who bring your parents to shows. You're a better lot than I, Gunga Dins. About twenty yards in front of me was a huge skateboard area, where young hipsters sneered at gravity as they gleamed the cube (a skate term that never caught on). I thought this was going to be a noisy miserable affliction, but it was actually pretty cool. Out of the corner of my eye I kept seeing kids fly off the ramp, and they played the Pixies, Ramones, and Devo, music I would actually draw to anyway. As a result I was getting the kind of good sketching done that doesn't happen when seated close to the Chaos booth, say.
I wished a general bon voyage to Zander Cannon, who's going to go live in Japan for an indeterminable period of time. I can't wait to see how this warps his style of artwork. He's still working on an upcoming America's Best Comics miniseries (Smax), and hopefully will eventually be able to put out more of his own creation, Replacement God.
That night I went with friends to Maria's, a Mexican restaurant two blocks away. At another table there was a "drink-up" as the kids say, of notories from the Warren Ellis forum. But I have to say, they couldn't match the gaggle of ladies at the next table for sheer raucousness. The male waiters were walking by their table in an artful manner to protect their bottoms. My group felt pretty tame in comparison as well, but we didn't have drinks the size of kiddie pools in front of us either.
Back at the Hyatt: Again, in the tradition of comics shows being paired with unlikely events, our hotel played host to this year's gathering of the American Federation of Ramallah Palestine Convention. Palestinians . . . Chicago style. No one issuing fatwas, just a bunch of good-looking middle eastern kids showing off their stylish clothes and having a pool party. Of course, they also took over the usual comics hangout for the con, the hotel bar known as Knuckles. I was happy to not hang out in there, myself. The Chicago area mandates bar and restaurant-goers to smoke a carton of cigs during patronage. I did hear rumors of bomb threats and police intervention during the weekend, but I never saw any hijinks. 
 The delightful novelties our lads peddled for two dollars apiece. Lieber/Friday
Through the habitrail and into the
show. The pro-registration lines are a snap, and soon
I'm on my way to my table. I see lots of people I
recognize, and meet some for the first time, like Pat
Quinn and William Christensen, mere moments apart.
They were once close to suing each
other, but these days they've got other things on
their minds. Good.
My commissioned sketch list fills up quickly. All at
once, I'm working on the sketches, scribbling free
doodles, talking about WHITEOUT and ME AND EDITH HEAD,
answering questions about my work process, describing
how to make your own zipatone, chatting with old
friends, joking with Francesco and Charlie Kirby, my
table-neighbors, posing for snapshots, making change,
answering questions about Detective Comics, and
explaining why I consider the move from a top-twenty
book to self-publishing a mini comic a positive thing
for my career.
The day passes quickly. I'm seeing tons of people
clutching INTERMAN bookmarks, so clearly Parker is
doing something right. I've made a good start towards
my goal of selling the 200 copies of EDITH I brought.
Comics-forum royalty Lauren, Jeremy and Sabrina are talking filth. Lauren
declares her interest: She just wants to "smack some
shiny ass." A few minutes later, there’s a big hairy
guy dressed as Xena at my table. I consider
introducing them, but let the opportunity pass.
Now it's time for dinner. Me, Parker, Ford, Texas
retailer Adan Salazar, art dealer Phillip Anderson and
his wife and their infant daughter all skip the cab
and take a long walk along the highway's narrow
shoulder to find Maria's Restaurant. Cars swerve out of their lanes to avoid us,
and the traffic noise is incredible but the baby
doesn't wake up. What a great kid.There we join inker Sam DeLaRosa, and Tom Fleming and Bill Artis from Fanfare in Kalamazoo.
**A Ford detail we all forgot-- The waitress took a look at the baby and went to ask the manager if our group could be served drinks. As far as we can remember Baby Elizabeth didn't try to order one. If she was concerned about the possibility of inebriated parents, that's understandable. But the Andersons are extremely responsible folk, and even if they weren't, they're Texans. It would take half the liquor in the building to tank them.
Lieber/Saturday
Day two is all business. I sit and shill
and schmooze and sketch, blowing off friends and
sending out little psychic alerts that say "I am
working here. This is not a good time to chat." True
friends understand why I sometimes turn away from them
mid-sentence to talk up my book to a stranger. Jane
Irwin is wandering the floor, handing out copies of
her fantasy book Voegelin.Peter Gross is wandering the booths, shaking the
trees on behalf of his students at the Minneapolis
College of Art and Design. Now that's dedication.
Chris Ware was supposed to make an appearance today,
but didn't. I'm sorry, but it's probably for the best.
This is clearly not the sort of place he'd enjoy
spending an afternoon.
A little talking and I find I've lined up another
distributor for my book. Almost justifies the trip
right there.
Parker/Saturday
Busy, busy day. Though I did make a few walkthroughs to see what was going on outside Artists' Alley. First I saw Jeff Macey standing at the Dark Horse booth, and rushed over to tell him that he was confused and to return to the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund table. Macy explained that he was indeed a DH employee now, and living in the Northwest. He then proved it by handing some jelly-faced kid a Hellboy poster.
I saw Wizard editor Jim McLaughlin manning the booth of A.C.T.O.R., which is an amazingly valuable organization dedicated to helping comics industry veterans in need. He reminded me that they'll be needing art to auction off at the Florida Megacon. A good man to have on your Board of Directors.
In the afternoon my old college buddy Andrea came to the show. It's good to have a non-comics person around to see the show through their eyes. You realize you take a lot for granted that should really amaze you. I keep reading online where people complain about the shows having lots of fanatical geeks, eccentrics, and nuts in costume. But I would argue that the shows also have fanatical geeks, eccentrics, and nuts in costume! Just think of the last party you attended and had to listen to someone's Dilbert existence and the Top 40 music they enjoy. An environment of people who make pirate recordings of the most obscure stuff on the planet and battle over rare toys is better- it just is. The costumes are often a riot, and some are just plain ingeniusly crafted. It takes a lot of guts (often, literally) to walk around a crowded venue in character. I showed my pal one of the best displays I'd seen at any show . . . a giant blister pack at the Hasbro booth you could stand in and pose as an action figure. With a light saber of course it was a Star Wars display. The idea was so simple and now, obvious, that it made almost everyone envious that they didn't think of it first. After snapping ourselves, two guys got me to take their picture, which employed the Jedi knight's weapon of choice in a lewd manner. As I laughed I heard the booth security guy say "Heyyy!!!" to the guys as they bolted out of the giant package to get their camera.
I put in some more time at the table, doing free bookmark sketches to promote my graphic novel The Interman (due out later this year!). I was supposed to have posters to sell at the table, but there were some misadventures at the printer I was using, and now I won't have them until Comicon in San Diego. I can't disclose it here, ask me in person. You know all the good stuff can't be put in print.
At day's end I promised several people I'd go to dinner with them, but Lieber had an even better idea: fall asleep. Ford also saw merit in this proposal, and the Hyatt walls rattled with our snoring for a couple of hours. Result? We were all fresh as daisies at the Wizard party at 9pm. I painted pictures of how past magazine shindigs were loaded with buffet and snacks. Well that's in the past, but they did have an open bar for an hour. Industry movers and shakers were moving and shaking. Ford disappeared, and I still haven't gotten a straight answer out of him to where he went. Dave Johnson, sporting a fake pipe, finally came clean with Wizard staffer Mike Dolce, whom he had been sending doctored pictures of himself to. I often wonder whether the popular cover artist of 100 Bullets and Micronauts has a conscience, and it's good to know he does. Dave is literally Hot Stuff grown up, sans diapers (sometimes). The clever photoshop work showing the false poundage was done by artist Craig Gunderson, whose wife Elise was having a spirited discussion with artist Rodney Ramos in the corner.
Lieber introduced me to Mary Carter and Roger Ash of Westfield Comics. They're mail order retailers, and darn nice people. So nice that we gave them our complimentary "Invisible Beaker" muppet figurines that were the party gift for those who arrived early. When the lady at the door handed them to us, she didn't say anything remotely like "these are extremely rare and will be going for $140 on Ebay in a few days". So we just handed them over, as surely as if we'd made a check out to Mary and Roger. Enjoy them up there in Wisconsin!
I saw Miami-area artist Greg Kirkpatrick and we made fun of our betters. Greg's a real talent, and maybe the only comics guy in that part of Florida.
Luckily at the Doubletree there's an excellent restaurant called Gibson's, and Starvin' Steve and I went in there, where luckily again, we found friends to eat with. The Homecoming Queen and King of Comics, Jann and J.G. Jones. We celebrated their closing on a new home, and talked lots of trash about common friends. Jann is the smiling face of DC Comics at most shows, where she and fellow sales-lad Stuart Schreck wheedle sketches out of artists who always feel pressured by some awesome piece J.G. drew in their books earlier. Stuart collects drawings of the little-known character Airwave. Tee-hee. Our smug waiter was pleased that we practically polished our plates, and we parted company with the Joneses. Back at the room, we actually got work done for the next three hours. Maybe 11pm is the new ideal time to have dinner?
Sunday Steve
Sunday is slower. I've completed my commissions,
traffic has eased off and I can relax a bit. I buy
four great pages of original FINDER art from Carla Speed
McNeil, happily blowing much of Saturday's take.
So what. This is great stuff from one of my favorite
cartoonists working today. I play show and tell the
rest of the day, basking in all the oohs and ahhs.
Watching me, you'd think they were talking about
something I'd drawn, rather than something I bought. I
keep pulling the pages out and looking at them. I
realize that I might've done good business at this
show as a publisher and a cartoonist, but it's these
pages- something I bought as a fan- that make me feel
good about the weekend. I hope I can hang onto that.
Sunday Jeff
Everyone as usual is sleep deprived and punchy on Sunday. Some entreprenuer even tried to sell a nearby dead mouse for five bucks. Lieber, who did well at his table, made an offer on it (see header picture back at top). I went to the CrossGen section just to see what's up with all this affiliate comics stuff they're getting press for. Chris Oarr led me Stooge-style by the nose to Ian Feller, who outlined the differences between Code 6 and being a CG Entertainment member. He then gave me a document that's too secretive to talk about, though most of the info is available everywhere online. So I'll be mulling that over. Of course all the real mulling will be by CrossGen, who are no doubt being courted by dozens of creators wanting to be involved with them. I once again gave up on saying hi to Steve Epting, who always has a longer line than I want to wait in at shows.
Back at the table I met artist Jim Mahfood, who seems way younger than someone that good should be. We traded books and I felt cool by association. Then came the always kind of sad close, where union folks pop out of the walls and start folding tables, rolling up carpets, and chasing us all out with forklifts. At many shows we get screamed at by the convention hall staff. For more on that, tune back in to the San Diego Comicon report sometime after August 5th.
Later, Chicago!
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