I Never Meant For It To End This Way

Waiting for Dustin, one of the fine individuals working for HeroesCon, to finish his announcement in the public address system booth before he and I rode the escalators up a couple flights to our pending panel, I occupied myself with a nearby exhibitor's wares. This started the avalanche.

An original page from "Angel" was propped behind the proprietor, with the original pencil layouts attached by rusted paper clip. I asked to see it, was pained by how nice of an original it was and, seeing Dustin emerging from the booth, hurriedly asked how much the piece was, expecting something involving hundreds of dollars I didn't have. Just above a yawn, the man drawled, "Eh... fifty bucks?" To me this thing was an original on par with a Kirby page, or whatever else he was selling for a couple thousand dollars, so I threw the money and ran, practically sprinting and giggling to the panel. I should probably see someone about this response, it can't possibly be healthy.



Emboldened by this, I went shopping for oddities after the panel (which Dustin moderated and to which Chris Pitzer, Chris Staros, and Mahfood lent their wisdom on the indie comic world and its workings) had finished (and thanks to the overly indulgent Scott Rosenberg for manning my table while I thumbed through decaying newsprint). I came up with some prizes, the first among them this original:


And then, the assortment of comics made by those of questionable sanity:











Those beauties in hand, I talked with Scott through the remaining crumb of the convention, and, after a short exiting discussion with Kyle Baker regarding our mutual respect for the aesthetics of Filmation, another three day geek fest drew to a close. So long, HeroesCon. Thanks to everyone who made it a pleasant stay, especially the staff and Scott "Paul Ought to Be Paying Me Commission For This" Rosenberg.

The View from 603

O Charlotte! I sat among your concrete for nine hours! I ate of your meatloaf sandwich and butterscotch cake! I answered your questions and let you put your shit on top of my shit while looking at your program book to figure out where anybody with the decency to not be me was sitting! I steered table 603 straight and true! And what did you give me in return, Charlotte?

You gave me that prized booty: costumed adults.

In some cases you gave me booty in the ass sense, but I really didn't ask for that, Charlotte. Seriously.

The responses of convention-going children to these costumed adults was often less joy than fear and dismay, at best shock. No wonder I get along so well with kids. They know disturbingly strange when they see it. Sample the stunned dismay of this little girl when confronted with two (admittedly decently suited up) Spider People:
Like all humans pursuing some ideal, there were those that committed fully, and those that phoned it in. Who ya gonna call? Not the lady who just threw on a cape and called it a day. Come on lady, bring it!
But, then again, this lady brought it way too much... to the delight of eager photographers and the turned stomach of this documentarian who temporarily wished he hadn't just eaten a meatloaf sandwich.
To be completely honest, the meatloaf sandwich was amazing (I know it sounds revolting, but it was amazing, trust me), and graciously provided by the perpetually kind Rob Venditti of Top Shelf. The sandwiches and cake were made by Rob's mother and she is to be thanked. My thanks to her? She did not have to see that chain mail rump in person. Consider us even!

In Charlotte's Concrete Belly, In Chicago: Jonathan's Dreaming

Day One of HeroesCon 2007 started with two words: rectal exam. Or anyway, that's what I thought I overheard as I carried in the last of my soon to be not sold wares. Do I often mishear things? Yes. Do I purposely use my misinterpretations of reality as fodder for narratives, or paranoid delusions, often both? Absolutely. So I accepted the four syllable commencement speech, found my table in the sprawling basement that is the Charlotte Convention Center, and sat down for to color Wolverine.

Wolverine, a commission for Jason H. to be delivered today, was drawn and inked last night in the hotel, between marveling at the addictive properties of "Law and Order" and air conditioning. I was mildly satisfied with the rendering of the clawed hot head, but I thought his skull or mask a bit lopsided and he looked to be mid poop. Ride it out, Wolverine, it could be worse.
I dreamt nothing that I can remember, though apparently everybody's favorite Messinger dreamed of me. I woke, drank coffee (which I am only and oddly compelled to drink when in the crisp stagnancy of hotels), and hefted, sweated my way past the throngs of waiting collectors and costumed enthusiasts.

Costumed? Did I say costumed? Oh yes. Will there be pictures? God, let's hope so. I will try. My head was too busy dropping my mouth open today to think of working the camera. Tomorrow I will be desensitized, once again, back in convention form: camera poised.