I wanted to wait until I could provide a full and exhaustive list of all the stuff I bought before "filing" my "full" "report", but eff that. In a few days no one's going to give a shit anyway. So, here, unexpurgated (word?) is my recollective report of SPX 2004, my first time ever behind an Exhibitor's Table.
DATELINE: THURSDAY NIGHT.
George Bush is getting shellacked on my telelvision. My bags are packed with some pajama clothes, way too many button down shirts, tons of photocopies that will never get used (had I only known) and not nearly enough promotional materials. Mike Rosenzweig pulls up outside the house. He gives me the directions. And we start a five hour trek to Virginia at 10:45 PM. The first of many miscalculations, as I will be following Michael (pronounced Mike-Showalter-of-Stella/Wet-Hot-American-Summer-style) in my spiff beyond belief Scion Xb. Also, Mike shows me the fruits of our labor. Our very own self-published comic fucking book.
Even though I was behind the wheel of an automobile that has to weigh at least a couple of hundred pounds while almost completely unconscious for the final thirty minutes of the trip, I somehow arrive at Mike's Dad's apartment complex in one piece. I open the box of Interstate ! buttons that I had had delivered directly to Virginia, discover that I had not converted the "!" to outlines and that what should have been an exciting Comicraft Monster Mash exclamative is nothing more than an oddly placed Helvetica joke, and then crumple to the ground in exhaustion. (Not entirely true. I did have enough energy left to tell Mike that his father needs to find the remote to his DVD player and reset it to output an Anamorphic signal if he wanted to get the most out of his ginormous 16:9 display. [I failed to add that he really at this point could just spring for the $60 Samsung DVD Player I have and some Component cables, I mean, if you are going to have a TV that blocks out the sun.])
DATELINE: FRIDAY MORNING.
I wake up on the floor of a living room and race through the morning's necessities. At this point, the excitement is palpable. I can't wait to fucking do this. I get to my car (once again set to follow Michael [once again pronouncing it like Mike Show, I trust all of you have seen Stella]) only to discover that the V8 Splash that was sitting in front of the passenger seat has at some point in the night leaked. The smell is fucking staggering. I open both windows and drive.
We arrive at the Holiday Inn was surprisingly little fanfare, but the starstruckedness starts early as Jim Rugg signs in right in front of us. Yes. That Jim Rugg. In what was probably the last remnants of my inexplicable shyness in front of comics professionals, I say nothing. We set up, eat breakfast, and then alter the set up of our table about four or five times before the 3 PM start of the show. We won't really be satisfied with the table's layout until tomorrow.
It doesn't take very long for the show to reach its highest peak in my estimation as I meet a fan in person for the very first time. My disbelief that someone might actually recognize my work is quickly squashed as the conversation turns to my comical usage of Boston Terriers. We have a nice conversation about how awesome my work is. It's probably one of the best things ever to happen to me, professionally, at this point. On Sunday I give the guy a free copy of my book. It is, literally, the least I could have done.
After that, my recollection of the show is a blur of passersby and shop talk, and here are the best parts, ocurring at random intervals throughout the weekend:
- I talk at length with Rob Ullman about the necessary Photoshop techniques used to create faux old book covers and comic book covers. He tells me about a great way to maintain creases above the art you're placing into the image.
- Erika Moen erroneously trades comics with me, thinking that I am in fact Drew Weing. There is a comical conversation about the mistaken identity, but we bump into each other a few more times over the course of the weekend. There are plenty of laughs, especially when I explain to her what "Small Press Comics" are Saturday Night. (You had to be there?)
- After a day of apprehension, I introduce myself to the Failure gang next door and the following occurs (in no particular order); Drew Weing introduces me to a fantastic new brush pen (The Niji Waterbrush, which I had missed in my ceaseless search for Brush Pens because it's actually designed to be used with watercolors), Antar Ellis and I discuss, at length current under and overground Hip-Hop releases (it is here that I learn, astoundingly, that the new De La Soul album would be dropping this week, at long last putting "Much More" [from their storied Chappelle's Show appearance] into my iPod at CD quality).
- Jason Lex shows me the most secret and hilarious Jeffrey Brown comic I've ever seen. It is a big secret filled with big laughs. If you've seen it, you know what I'm talking about, and I hope that you have. He also shows me his utterly humbling "sketchbook" which is actually the most beautiful tool kit ever fabricated, containing any and all cartoon parts he needs for his comics within its pages.
- I meet and talk shop with Roger Landridge and a childhood dream is at last fulfilled.
- I also briefly but excitedly talk shop with Josh Neufeld, Jim Rugg, Dean Haspiel, Lauren Weinstein, Toby Craig, Scott Mills, Raina Telgemeier, and Bryan Lee O'Malley.
- R. Stevens, Jeff Rowlands, and I regale each other with the quotes of Dr. John Zoidberg.
- I mercilessly talk Logan DeAngelis' ear off about my excited plans for using the shit out of ComiXpress' poster offering capabilities this year and the next.
- I track down Heidi MacDonald via her bright pink backpack and give her a copy of the mini. Who knows what may happen next.
- Jeffrey Brown, James Kolchaka, Kevin Huizenga, Josh Neufeld, Dean Haspiel, Mike Rosenzweig, Jeff Rowlands, Antar Ellis, Rose Crowe, Drew Weing, Eric Powell, Jim Rugg, Jason Lex, Farel Dalrymple, Bryan Lee O'Malley, Hope Larson, Roger Landridge, R. Stevens, and Anders Nilsen all draw on a White Label Mr. Lif Record I brought with me and contribute to the best Birthday Present ever given to a girlfriend by her boyfriend.
Oh, and also, we sell ten copies of our mini-comic. And I hand it out and/or trade with several other people.
In closing, the entire experience was fucking incredible. And I will be at APE. By hook or, also, if necessary, by crook.
Here are things I can remember buying/trading for.
Jeffrey Brown's Bighead.
Jason Lex's Gypsy Lounge.
Roger Landridge's No More Mrs. Nice Nun and assorted minis.
Dean Haspiel and Josh Neufeld's Lionel's Lament.
Raina Telgemeier's Smile.
Farel Dalrymple's Pop Gun War.
Antar Ellis' Liner Notes and other mini.
Drew Weing's The Journal Comic and two minis.
All of Scott Mills' Superheroes and Seamonsterses.
Eric Powell's first Goon trade.
Bryan Lee O'Malley's Hopeless Savages book.
Hope Larson's Stung and Sex Rainbow.
Allison Cole's Science Fiction Affliction.
Erika Moen's Love Letter To My Pants (see above).
More if/when I think of it.
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