Seminar: Living Well with Cancer, April 19

I did such a swell job publicizing the last event hosted by the Washington Cancer Institute in Washington DC that they asked me to do it again. This looks like a worthwhile series of free seminars and I'm happy to comply:

Living Well with Cancer – April 19, 2008

Washington Cancer Institute at Washington Hospital Center invites you to its second FREE Living Well with Cancer seminar of the year featuring Alice Matthews Beers, BSN, an oncology nurse and expert on cancer patient recovery. Beers will provide information and guidance on how to communicate effectively with your doctors and other health care providers about post-treatment issues. She will also address the importance of a healthy emotional recovery by discussing how to recognize and manage anxiety, depression and fatigue.

The event will be held on Saturday, April 19, from 9 a.m. to Noon at the National Rehabilitation Hospital Auditorium located on the Washington Hospital Center campus, 102 Irving St., NW, Washington, DC 20010. To register, please call 202-877-DOCS (3627) or register online at www.whcenter.org/livingwell

MoCCA Exhibit Extended

Forgot to mention.... I got an e-mail a few days ago from Jennifer Babcock, curator for the Museum of Comic and Cartoon Art (MoCCA) in New York City, asking if she could hold onto my Mom's Cancer originals a little longer. Their exhibit, "Infinite Canvas: The Art of Webcomics," was supposed to wrap up more than a week ago, but now they'd like to extend its run through March. I guess it's going well.

Flattered, I replied "Hell, no!"

Aw, not really. As I remarked while dining with the folks from the Norman Rockwell Museum, my stuff looks a lot better hanging on their walls than sitting in an accordian folder beside my desk.

I'd still love to hear from anyone who's seen the MoCCA exhibit, since I'm not planning to get to New York in the next couple of months. It sounds like a great show for any comics fan.

Seminar: Navigating Cancer

A couple of days ago I received an e-mail asking if I would pass along the information below, concerning an informational seminar in Washington D.C. later this month. Happy to do it, this looks good. Here's the press release:

Washington Cancer Institute at Washington Hospital Center invites you to the first in our series of free Living Well with Cancer seminars to be held throughout 2008. The first event, Navigating Life after Cancer: A Road Map for the “New Normal,” will feature two speakers, both well-respected experts in working with cancer patients and the challenges they face. Brenda Hubbard, RN, an oncology nurse and patient educator at Washington Cancer Institute at Washington Hospital Center, will address some of the physical, psychological and spiritual issues that come with a cancer diagnosis. Patricia Smith, an attorney, will focus on navigating employment and insurance issues.

The event will be held on Saturday, January 26, from 8 to 11:30 a.m. at the National Rehabilitation Hospital Auditorium located on the Washington Hospital Center campus, 102 Irving St., NW, Washington, DC 20010. To register, please call 202-877-DOCS (3627) or register online at www.whcenter.org/livingwell.
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In Which My Drawings Lead a More Exciting Life than I Do

A few days ago, I received a very nice letter from the Norman Rockwell Museum asking if they could hold onto the eight pages of Mom's Cancer artwork they're exhibiting a bit longer than planned.

Curator Stephanie Plunkett wrote that the show, "LitGraphic: The World of the Graphic Novel," has been a big success--enough so that after it closes in May, they'd like to make it a traveling exhibition and loan it to other museums. Not every exhibition is so honored; apparently they've already gotten a lot of interest from big-time institutions.

Since Stephanie bribed me by enclosing a great book full of Rockwellian arty goodness, I said "yes."

If all goes as planned, I won't be reunited with my artwork until June 2010--unless I go visit it, and even then they probably won't let me take it out of the frame and mess around with it ("it's all right, I'm just fixing a little mistake...."). My drawings will visit parts of the country I've never seen. I'll be an old man by the time they come home. Still, as I mentioned to my wife, I guess if I miss them that much I can always redraw them.

So look for LitGraphic, coming soon to a museum near you (tour details will follow as I learn them). If you see my stuff, say "Hi" for me.
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The Trip Report

The Mighty Housatonic
(I hope to someday learn how to pronounce that)

One of the nice things about travel is it makes you appreciate home. My wife and I are happy to be back, although I return to face a mountain of work that has to get done before Thanksgiving. You may judge how eager I am to tackle the mountain by the length of this post. Let's see how well I can procrastinate.

Elaborating on my previous post's highlights:

1. Western Massachusetts and Connecticut. The Berkshires. Beautiful country, perfect little villages full of nice people. If there is a single home in the entire region that doesn't look like it belongs in a painting by Grandma Moses, Currier & Ives, or Norman Rockwell, we didn't see it. Ordinary houses well off the beaten path have all the clapboard, dormers, gables, cupolas, cornices, finials, and flying buttresses you could hope for (maybe not flying buttresses). Beautiful brick construction of the type we simply never see in northern California because ours all fell down in 1906. We're pretty sure everyone keeps their one-horse sleighs locked up in their garages until the first snow falls, because that was the only detail missing.

We met several locals who were almost apologetic about the state of their trees' leaves. Leaf tourism is a big deal, and we were alternately told that we'd missed the best colors by a few weeks, that we'd see better color a little farther north, or that the colors were bad everywhere this year. As we explained to a few folks: we're from California. Our standards for fall leaf color are pretty low. However, I don't see anything wrong with vistas like these:

2. Opening of the LitGraphic Exhibit at the Norman Rockwell Museum. What a beautiful facility. I only realized as we drove to it that the reception was scheduled to begin after sunset, and it was pitch dark by the time we arrived at 5:45 p.m. So of the building exteriors and surrounding landscape, I can only say that the photos I've seen look very nice.

The interior, I can report first-hand, is terrific. Galleries are arrayed around a small central rotunda featuring Rockwell's "Four Freedoms" paintings. Many of Rockwell's huge, stunning originals are on display, in some cases accompanied by the sketches or studies he used in their creation. It's not an enormous place; I'd call it appropriately intimate, in an architectural style that seems to reflect a Rockwell aesthetic without calling attention to itself at the expense of the artwork.

The LitGraphic exhibit occupies three galleries in the back, with one dedicated to "historical" work by artists such as Eisner and Kurtzman, and the other two to more contemporary pieces. A tiny side gallery--almost a corridor--has benches facing two TV monitors that looped five-minute interviews with six of the exhibit's contributors, including me.

Me and my wall.

Watching myself on TV.
Because I'm just that vain.

It's hard to estimate how many people attended the opening reception. More than 100 for sure. Several were museum patrons and members, though the museum staff told me there were many new faces they didn't recognize--presumably people just drawn by the subject matter--and they were thrilled with the turnout. The first person we recognized shortly after we arrived was curator Martin Mahoney, who came to my home to interview me. I also reconnected with Jeremy Clowe, who ran the camera and did a fantastic job editing all the interviews into a great presentation. He worked very hard to find five minutes that did not make me look stupid. We also enjoyed meeting their friends and loved ones as well.

3. Meeting Artists. Dave Sim, Peter Kuper, Howard Cruse, Marc Hempel, and Mark Wheatley all had work in the exhibit and attended the opening. I spent a few minutes and had good conversations with each, during which we said nice things about each other. Dave was great, and Peter and I turned out to have a mutual friend in Editor Charlie (not as big a coincidence as it may seem; Charlie knows everybody). Even artists much cooler, better, and more experienced than I admitted that showing their work in the Norman Rockwell Museum was something of a career highlight, which made me feel a bit less like a freshman at the senior prom.

With "Cerebus" creator Dave Sim.

4. Terry and Robyn Moore. I mention Terry Moore of "Strangers in Paradise" separately because we had a little more time to talk and, maybe, connected in a less superficial way than usual at an event like this. We really had a good visit about writing, the creative process, family, all sorts of stuff. As I wrote in my last post, Terry and Robyn seem like especially nice people I look forward to seeing again whenever I can.

Terry (center) and I chatting with a museum patron who was very proud of the comic-themed tie he'd worn for the occasion.

Dinner following the reception was held at the palatial (literally) Cranwell Resort in nearby Lenox, where I got to know more of the museum's staff, curators and administrators. I was impressed by how excited they seemed to be about hosting the exhibit. They talked about the emergence of a new narrative form and the continuum of telling stories with pictures that linked Norman Rockwell to us. Good food and better company. It was after 11 when we finally parted.

5. Guy Gilchrist. Guy began his professional cartooning career at age 14. Mentored by "Beetle Bailey" creator Mort Walker and often working with his brother Brad, he's had an impressive career that's included "The Muppets" and "Nancy" comic strips as well as many books and commercial art projects. Now he works out of Guy Gilchrist's Cartoonist's Academy in Simsbury, Connecticut, which serves as his studio, a school, and a summer day camp for kids.

The first impression any fan of comics and cartoons would have when entering Guy's academy is jaw-dropping wonder. The walls are covered with original art, some by Guy but most by other great pros: Milt Caniff, Stan Drake, Curt Swan, Cliff Sterrett, Jack Davis, too many others to count or recount. As I told Guy, I think young cartoonists can learn more from looking at original artwork for 10 minutes than they can from a shelf full of books, so he's done them a tremendous service right there. The academy is also outfitted with desks, art supplies, light boxes, and computers for the students to make their own comics and flash animations. It's quite an undertaking.

Guy very graciously treated us to lunch and spent about two hours of his day off with us. He's known a lot of the old-guard East Coast cartooning elite and is quite a raconteur. He's also very generous. I won't embarrass Guy (or me) by revealing how generous; let's just say I'm pretty sure if I'd expressed admiration for his microwave oven, he would have unplugged it from the wall and carried it to my car. All in all, it was one of the nicest, most interesting, insightful and engaging conversation I can recall having with any cartoonist. Thanks, Guy.

Talking cartooning over the foosball table. Guy's students do animation at these computers, hence the cels on the wall for them to study.

6. Historic Boston. Not much to add here, except that we spent a day walking the "Freedom Trail" and seeing all the highlights. A couple of hours were spent in the company of this delightful man, who led a group tour and enhanced our understanding and enjoyment enormously.

My wife Karen and I flanking Revolutionary-era hat maker Nathaniel Balch.

We spent some time exploring the Common, the Public Garden and Beacon Hill, and Boston seems like a perfectly fine city that well deserves it reputation for nighmarish traffic. Now, I expected that in the heart of the city, laid out 250 years before the invention of the auto. Jumbled narrow streets are part of the charm. My real puzzlement and frustration was with the modern stuff, which was a lot more baffling than it ought to be. Tunnels you can't get to, streets with five names within four blocks, interstates to nowhere. And the Massachusetts Turnpike: seriously, what the hell? I'm familiar with the concept of toll roads, but this thing's got booths that take cash, booths that dispense little tickets with teeny Excel spreadsheets printed all over 'em, booths at every exit manned by three guys who collect $1.10 from the six cars per hour that wander through. We went through one booth whose entire purpose seemed to be circling us around to a different booth. To misappropriate an old saying, this is no way to run a railroad.

However, it's a poor guest who leaves badmouthing his host, so I'll wrap up by saying we had a wonderful time in Massachusetts and Connecticut, and only regret we didn't have a chance to see everyone we wanted to. Also, I have never seen so many Dunkin' Donuts franchises in my life.

UPDATE: At the request of exactly one person, I've linked the first four photos above to higher-resolution version of the same. OK, Sherwood?
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Mini-Memo from Boston

Weather Report: Chilly but clear, perfect for our Nor'east trip so far.

Highlight #1: Western Massachusetts and Connecticut.

Highlight #2: My work on a wall at the Norman Rockwell Museum. Holy cow.

Highlight #3: Dave Sim, Peter Kuper, Howard Cruse, Marc Hempel, Mark Wheatley.

Highlight #4: Especially Terry Moore ("Strangers in Paradise") and his wife Robyn. Nice, nice, nice people. I feel like I made new friends for life.

Highlight #5: Two hours with cartoonist Guy Gilchrist, a kind, generous, and entertaining gentleman. And he bought the pizza.

Highlight #6: Historic Boston. Never been here before, and I love going someplace and having my perspective rearranged. The places in the history books are real, many within a short walk of each other. Cool.

Pictures and more maybe late Wednesday.

Quick Reminder...

...about two worthy causes this weekend that I'm sure would appreciate your physical, financial, or moral support.

On Saturday in Tonawanda, New York, a 5K run and after-party will benefit Lindsay's Legacy, with funds going to the Rhabdomyosarcoma Research Laboratory at the University of Pennsylvania School of Medicine and to Carly's Club, Roswell Park Cancer Institute's pediatric fundraising division.

Sunday in Los Angeles is the National Lung Cancer Partnership's "Free to Breathe" walk-run. My thanks to my friends and readers who already donated to Nurse Sis's fundraising team, "Mom's Heroes." It's much appreciated. 5K and 8K runs will begin at 8:30 a.m., followed by 1.4-mile and 5K walks at 8:35 a.m. Same-day registration opens at 7 a.m. The event happens at Lake Balboa Park in scenic Encino, where Interstate 101 hits 405.

I imagine that there are dozens of similar events happening in communities near you that would love to have your help, support and participation as well. Look for them!

LitGraphic at the Norman Rockwell Museum

Lions released from a zoo in war-torn Baghdad; a mother's battle with lung cancer; an American expatriate searching for her identity in Mexico--serious subject matter for any medium, but particularly so for a new wave of critically acclaimed and commercially successful long form comic books. In these illustrated stories, called graphic novels (a mostly grown-up version of the comic book), themes explored include culture, society, and current events, and topics range from heart-wrenching to thought-provoking to risqué....

Norman Rockwell Museum Press Release

Next weekend my wife and I will be taking our first trip to Massachusetts for the opening of the "LitGraphic" exhibit at the Norman Rockwell Museum in Stockbridge. The show opens November 10 and runs until May 26, 2008, and has nine pages of original art from Mom's Cancer among other work by Jessica Abel, R. Crumb, Howard Cruse, Steve Ditko, Will Eisner, Milt Gross, Peter Kuper, Harvey Kurtzman, Frank Miller, Terry Moore, Dave Sim, Art Spiegelman, and many more.

These Rockwell folks are the same ones who flew a camera crew across the country to interview me and sent an 18-wheeler to my house to pick up nine sheets of paper, and they impress me as a first-class organization all the way. I'm also impressed by the many activities the museum is planning in conjunction with the exhibit throughout its run: children's programs, workshops, artists' visits, symposia for educators. They're not just hanging drawings on the walls, they're doing something with them. Cool.

Of course I'm thrilled and honored to have my work in the exhibit. Also puzzled, but I'll try to act like I belong there. When we were exchanging paperwork, the curator mentioned that there's a decent chance this exhibit will travel to other museums after it closes next May. If so, it could be years before I get my pictures back. That's all right. I'll just be jealous if they end up better-traveled than me.

My wife and I are making a little vacation out of the trip, spending a couple of days in Boston afterward. As you might imagine, we're watching the weather pretty closely; hope Hurricane Hugo is long gone and all the electricity's back on by them. We're also getting more invitations from friends in the Northeast than we can possibly accept. I hope there are no hard feelings when we can't see everyone. It's very nice to be asked, thanks.

Pictures and stories will follow I'm sure.
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Walking & Running vs. Cancer

There are two cancer-fighting events coming up that, if you're disposed to support such things, could use your participation or contribution.

The first I wrote about in August: an organization called the National Lung Cancer Partnership is holding four "Free to Breathe" walk-runs across the country this fall. This is their first year and it'd be great if it were successful enough to do a second one. Their first walk-run happened in September in Connecticut; future events are November 3 in Raleigh, N.C., November 4 in Philadelphia, and November 11 in Los Angeles. My sister Brenda ("Nurse Sis") is helping organize the L.A. event. Sign-up information is available at the link above. Brenda has also set up her own fundraising team called "Mom's Heroes." That's the link I'd click if I were you.

The National Lung Cancer Partnership is a non-profit lung cancer advocacy organization founded by physicians and researchers to increase understanding of how the disease affects women and men differently. Its mission is to decrease lung cancer deaths and help patients live longer and healthier lives through research, awareness and advocacy. Although I avoid endorsing anything, I can vouch for this group. They helped me help Mom.

The second event is a 5K run for Lindsay's Legacy in beautiful Tonawanda, New York on November 10. Lindsay MacIver died from alveolar rhabdomyosarcoma at the age of 21, and this run memorializes her life and struggle by raising money for childhood cancer research. Funds raised will be donated to the Rhabdomyosarcoma Research Laboratory of Dr. Frederic Barr at the University of Pennsylvania School of Medicine and to Carly's Club, Roswell Park Cancer Institute's pediatric fundraising division. And there's a party afterward!

I learned of this effort through Lindsay's stepfather, Frank Mariani, a cartoonist, designer and illustrator I met through an online cartooning forum. This is the third year for Lindsay's Legacy, and I'm proud to vouch for Frank as well.

Through the generosity of Editor Charlie and my publisher, Harry N. Abrams, I was able to donate signed copies of Mom's Cancer to both events for them to use as their organizers see fit. These are all good people doing good work. I wish them perfect weather and great success.
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Mo MoCCA

Friend of the Blog Amanda ("Shrinking Indigo") replied to the previous post to point out that my work is on the poster for the MoCCA exhibit. Why, so it is.

She also promised to check out the show and let me know how it looks. That'd be great! ...and same goes for anyone else in the vicinity of 594 Broadway in the next few months. Right now I don't plan to visit New York City before next January, but y'never know. I like the town and it would be fun.

Thanks, Indigo.

MoCCA: Infinite Canvas

I see that New York's Museum of Comics and Cartoon Art (MoCCA) is promoting the exhibition Infinite Canvas: The Art of Webcomics, to which I've contributed four original pages from Mom's Cancer. The show will be up September 14 through January 14, 2008, with an opening reception on September 13. Unfortunately I won't be there, but I know some people who might make it and report back to me.

"The exhibit explores three aspects of online comics," reads MoCCA's blurb. "The unique format and design of webcomics, their appeal to niche audiences, and the transitions between web and print comics." Curator Jennifer Babcock further explains, "webcomics are free of the space constraints and editorial censorship to which printed comics are often subjected...." I agree with that sentiment completely. I also think that freedom to break all the rules doesn't necessarily carry an obligation to do so.

Let me back up to explain that the exhibition's title, "Infinite Canvas," comes (to the best of my knowledge) from Scott McCloud's notion that the Internet provides just that: an infinite canvas. Online, there's no need to restrict a comic to three or four panels, stick to traditional comic book page layouts, or draw in black and white. No need for most of the artistic constraints imposed on comics by 19th-century printing press technology. No need to avoid words that might emotionally scar five-year-old Suzy or give Grandma the vapors. We're finally free. Free!

So why do so few cartoonists take advantage of the limitless space, time and language available to them? Why do so many webcomics look exactly like their print counterparts? Why did mine?

I can't speak for anyone else--although I have some notions--but I put considerable thought into how I wanted Mom's Cancer to interact with the electronic medium that transmitted it. First, I designed the pages to be proportional to a least-common-denominator computer monitor. I wanted anyone on any computer to be able to read each page without scrolling or clicking. That in turn mandated the size I needed to draw to produce art that would be clear and legible at on-screen resolution. My decision was a deliberate break from the infinite canvas idea, which can obviously demand significant reader interaction (and allow the cartoonist to play with story flow as scrolling reveals and conceals information). Those were features I willingly gave up so that my readers could apprehend each individual page as a unit of story--a thought, an idea, a chunk of time. I did that on purpose.

Also, I always had hopes that Mom's Cancer might see print. I didn't know how, I couldn't imagine who would publish such a book, but I wanted to keep my options open. I drew in black and white, colored in the cyan-magenta-yellow palette needed for press, and saved high-resolution versions of everything (not high enough, I later learned, but that's another sad story). I think that same hope motivates more web cartoonists than would admit it, and partly explains why so few break out of the shackles of print: they want it. Print still matters.

For similar reasons, I wrote and drew Mom's Cancer to be as all-ages as possible. It's an adult story, but I wanted it accessible to readers from young children to great-grandparents. There's not a dirty word in it (I actually thought long and hard about the "My God" on Page 99 but couldn't conceive of anything better). I fought my first impulse to draw it dark and gothic with scritchy-scratchy cross-hatching, partly because I wanted it to look as friendly and familiar as a 1950s' comic strip. I wanted people who'd never read a comic or graphic novel to get comfortable and ease into the story, where I hoped to hit 'em between the eyes. The web gave me complete freedom--including the freedom to approach the audience however I wanted.

Still, I share McCloud's frustration (as I perceive it) that almost no one has grabbed webcomics by the horns and exploited the new medium's potential to create something never seen before. Literature done in a new visual language that couldn't have existed until today. Why do so many webcomics consist of tiny, repetitive, static panels of talking heads when they could be ... ANYTHING? I would very much like to see that someday--maybe even try to do it. But that's not what Mom's Cancer was intended to be. I've always seen it less as a webcomic than as a comic that happened to be on the web, and never pretended it was anything else.
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Ends and Odds

I neglected to mention that I recently received copies of the Italian edition of Mom's Cancer--titled, oddly enough, Mom's Cancer. The last time I mentioned the Italian edition, I said I was surprised they didn't translate the title. Editor Lorenzo from my Italian publisher Double Shot-Bottero Edizioni was kind enough to reply that they "talked very much between us if we had to translate the title or not. At the end, we decided for the original title, because the word CANCRO still (frightens) people, and because the book was famous with its original title." That's a nice explanation.

Now that I have it in my hands, I'm happy to report that Lorenzo and his partners did a terrific job. I'm very happy with the look, feel, and quality of their work. Again, my thanks to them; I appreciate the risk they took and hope it's a success for them.

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I think I've decided, with regret, to miss the Baltimore Comic-Con next month. It's not an easy decision. I'm honored, humbled, amazed to have my work nominated for three Harvey Awards, and believe that if someone pays you that kind of respect you should reciprocate by showing up. It seems like the least you could do. But the fact is I live on the other side of the country, the date conflicts with other commitments, and the cost of what would be a cross-continent hit-and-run round trip is pretty high. Editor Charlie is planning to attend and can represent me if I improbably win. I just don't want to leave any impression I take the nominations for granted, because I don't.

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Wednesday should be interesting. A curator from the Norman Rockwell Museum in Massachusetts is coming to my home with a cameraman to film an interview that will, as I understand it, accompany the "LitGraphic" exhibition I'm participating in later this year. A couple of weeks ago I sent the museum nine of my favorite original pages from Mom's Cancer, which they'll display with the work of several other writer-cartoonist types. Although "sent" isn't quite the right word; the Rockwell people constructed a specially padded portfolio just the right size for my pages and dispatched an 18-wheel truck to pick it up. (To be fair, the truck was also picking up a lot of other art for other museum customers on its way cross country. But I'm greatly pleased to imagine they sent it just for my nine sheets of paper.) In short, the Norman Rockwell Museum is obviously a first-class professional organization used to working with a much better class of exhibitor than me. But I could get used to it.

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Free to Breathe

The National Lung Cancer Partnership is a non-profit lung cancer advocacy organization founded by physicians and researchers to increase understanding of how the disease affects women and men differently. Its mission is to decrease lung cancer deaths and help patients live longer and healthier lives through research, awareness and advocacy.

I discovered the group when Mom was diagnosed and it was called Women Against Lung Cancer, and found it to be a tremendous source of reliable, useful information. Somehow my sister Brenda ("Nurse Sis") got involved with them and recently, almost to her surprise, found herself helping organize one of several "Free to Breathe" walk/runs the group is holding across the country this fall: Glastonbury, Connecticut on September 23, Raleigh, North Carolina on November 3, Philadelphia on November 4, and Los Angeles on November 11. Brenda's working on the L.A. one.

Right now, she needs two things: volunteers to help put on the event, and corporate sponsors to help pay for it. If you have some time or funds to give to a good cause, please e-mail the National Lung Cancer Partnership at info@NationalLungCancerPartnership.org or call them at 608-233-7905. Smaller donations and pledges are also welcome.

I usually avoid endorsing particular groups or organizations. I don't feel I have the expertise or time to make sure all of their information and services are legit, and I'd hate to steer anyone wrong. However, I'm happy to vouch for the National Lung Cancer Partnership and the work they do, and think the "Free to Breathe" campaign is a good way to contribute. Besides, Nurse Sis could use the assist.
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Originals Shmoriginals

This post might be a bit too "inside baseball" for some, but I know a few people who'll appreciate it. If you're not one of them, thanks for your indulgence.

The nice folks at the Norman Rockwell Museum e-mailed me a wish list of the original art from Mom's Cancer they'd like to include in their "LitGraphic" exhibition, which opens this November. I was sorry to inform them that, of the eight pages they requested, four of them suffered from a minor problem called "not actually existing."

I am a proud cartooning dinosaur, drawing with brush, pen, ink, and a strong aesthetic that if paper was good enough for McCay, Kelly and Schulz then, by Zeus, it's good enough for me. But something I noticed in the many months it took me to draw (and live through) Mom's Cancer was how my relationship with digital art--specifically Photoshop--grew and evolved in that time. For example, on Page 10 of my book, I drew a picture of Mom metaphorically drowning in a sea of medical jargon.

Now, I actually did that: the jargon was printed onto a sheet of paper that I carefully trimmed to size, glued to my two-ply bristol board, and painstakingly cut around the shapes of Mom, the waves, the bubbles, and the caption. That's what the original looks like.
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But that's insane! The way to do that panel right (which is to say, the way I would've done it six months later or today) is to create Mom, the jargon, the captions, and the bubbles as separate elements and then layer them atop each other in Photoshop. It'd take one-twentieth the time and look much better. The only downside is that there'd be no original ... just scattered bits and pieces, half of them ephemeral electrons on a hard drive.

I'd regret that. But I'd still do it. Sometimes it's nearly unavoidable. For example....

One of the originals the Rockwell people asked for was the two-panel image of Mom on Page 47 that we also adapted for the cover. Now, Mom's Cancer began life as a Webcomic. Here's how that original looked:


A year later, Abrams agreed to publish Mom's Cancer and Editor Charlie picked this image as the one he wanted for the cover. Two problems: I needed to get rid of the captions--which meant I had to draw what was hidden "behind" them--and I frankly thought I could draw it better. Best to start from scratch. So I drew this:


Obviously the captions are gone. The large space to Mom's right that I inked black in the first version is now blank, to be filled with color as we choose. And there are also no stripes on Mom's shirt. I wasn't sure we'd want the stripes for the cover and I was thinking about trying some fancy color separation stuff so, using a light box to trace over the drawing above, I drew those on a separate sheet of paper:


Then, combining the new drawing of Mom with the separate stripes and captions cut-and-pasted from the Web original gave me the published Page 47:

Combining the same elements differently, cropping, and adding color gave me a book cover. The only thing this process didn't give me was, again, an original that looks like either Page 47 or the cover.

There's a tiny subsequent irony. When we were getting ready for my book's debut, Abrams wanted to make buttons using Mom's profile. The problem was that in my new art, I'd still drawn her with a panel gutter bisecting her head. So for the button graphic I had to digitally erase the panel borders and fill in the missing details. If I'd been smart, I would've drawn it without the panels in the first place. Yet another non-existent original.

As I say, I'm not entirely happy about this state of things. Original cartoon art is very, very cool and I've always gotten both pleasure and education from studying it. I'm afraid we'll have volumes of great original hand-crafted art from the 19th and 20th centuries that will last forever and then nothing from the 21st century onward, as more and more of it is done digitally on media that won't survive a couple of decades (anybody got a 5.25-inch floppy drive?). That's a great loss.

I think the best I can do is value hand-crafted physical artwork and continue to do as much of it as I practically can, within the bounds of modern reproduction requirements and sanity. Although I've become much more proficient with, and even dependent on, Photoshop, I'd much rather spend hours hunched over a drawing board than a computer monitor. Originals matter.
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By the way, I gave the Rockwell Museum a good list of alternative pages that do exist. We'll see what they like.
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Hanged or Hung?

A few days ago I got a letter that made my week and I suspect will leave a warm ember glowing inside me for quite a while.

The Norman Rockwell Museum in Stockbridge, Massachusetts, contacted me about an exhibition they're planning to run between November 2007 and July 2008 called "LitGraphic: The Art of the Graphic Novel." As the letter explains, "This innovative installation will examine the historical use of sequential art as a significant form of visual communication, placing specific emphasis on the art and evolution of the contemporary graphic novel. We are currently exploring the possibility of making this exhibition available to other cultural institutions worldwide."

And then they asked if I'd mind terribly contributing some original work from Mom's Cancer.

Yeah. I think I can come up with something.

The Norman Rockwell Museum....

How cool is that?
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I Got a Rock

My wife and I went to the Charles M. Schulz museum on Saturday for an afternoon of special events. First was a showing of "It's the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown" in the museum's swell little theater. As we sat down, we both realized it'd been years since we'd actually watched the show, and the experience of seeing it projected large with a hundred or so other people was unexpectedly entertaining. There's something very cool about watching it with a crowd that laughs and says "Aww" at all the right parts. There were also a lot of very cute children--some costumed for the occasion--and, for some reason, a full TV camera crew skulking about taping everything. We never quite figured that out.

After the screening and a quick snack at The Warm Puppy Cafe at
Mr. Schulz's ice rink next door, we made our way to the event I was most interested in: a panel discussion by four professional cartoonists on their work and the impact of "Peanuts" on their lives. The guests were Keith Knight ("The K Chronicles"), Darrin Bell ("Candorville" and "Rudy Park"), Michael Jantze ("The Norm"), and Paige Braddock ("Jane's World"). I didn't take notes for a detailed report, but I did walk away with two or three new thoughts about the art and craft of cartooning that made it a good day for me.

Keith Knight, Darrin Bell, Paige Braddock, Michael Jantze

I was excited to meet Darrin face-to-face. In addition to his paying job(s), Darrin operates Toontalk, one of the few places where professionals and amateurs can meet on the Web to talk about cartooning. So I wanted to thank him for doing that, he had some nice things to say about Mom's Cancer, and we had a good three-minute conversation before he had to go sign books.

I'd briefly met Keith before, at the Alternative Press Expo (APE) in San Francisco, after exchanging a couple of e-mails with him. I reintroduced myself and met Keith's wife Kerstin, who was terrific. Kerstin had a potentially cancerous health scare a while ago (I'm not divulging anything personal; Keith wrote about it in his comic), which is why I got in touch with him in the first place. Kerstin's tumor was large and serious but benign, she looks great, and while the cartoonists were put to work my wife and I enjoyed several minutes talking with her.

All in all, a couple of hours well spent.

The Quill Awards: Why I Don't Feel Entirely Like a Big Fat Loser

NEW YORK, NY October 10, 2006 – Reed Business Information (RBI) and the NBC Universal Television Stations have announced the winners of the second annual Quill Awards, named this evening during a star-studded ceremony at the American Museum of Natural History in New York City, hosted by NBC News’ Lester Holt, with special performances by Fantasia, Lewis Black, and the Tony Award-winning cast of Broadway’s “Avenue Q.” Celebrity presenters included Anderson Cooper, Liz Smith, Donald Trump, Stanley Tucci, Harry Connick, Jr., Dominick Dunne, Sue Monk Kidd, James Patterson, Judy Blume, Janet Evanovich, Mary Matalin, Suzanne Somers, Rhea Perlman, S. Epatha Merkerson, Judd Hirsch, Ann Brashares, Marianne Williamson, Dana Delany, and Daniel Handler (aka Lemony Snicket), among others.

--From the Official Press Release

I could post 20 pages about the 12 hours between 11 a.m. and 11 p.m. Tuesday. But I don't have time to write it and you sure wouldn't want to read it. Here are some bullet points, most drafted while sitting in airports on the way home.

The Overlook Lounge: Years ago, in a pub that sits in the shadow of the Chrysler Building, a group of cartoonists filled a wall with drawings in lieu of paying their tab. The wall has been respected and preserved through changes in ownership, and the tradition revived with contemporary cartoonists today. So one of the first things I did after deplaning from my red-eye flight to JFK early Tuesday was meet my cartoonist friend Mike Lynch at the Overlook to draw on their wall. I took some pictures and will devote a whole post to this humbling honor in the next day or two. If you'd like a sneak preview, Mike's already written about it on his blog.

The City: With a few visits under my belt, I'm pretty comfortable navigating Manhattan and using the subway. This trip, my expertise grew to encompass the subtle distinction between "local" and "express." Also, the fact that "Rockaway Ave." and "Far Rockaway" are two different places.

I hadn't seen Grand Central Station since my first visit to New York more than 10 years ago, and I kind of stumbled on it by accident this time ("What the heck is this big building in my way--Oh!"). It is simply the sort of magnificent public space that has always distinguished the world's great cities from the wannabes. I wandered and ogled.

Iconic.

The weather was perfect and it's easy to understand how New York City can sometimes seem like the center of the whole universe.

Harry N. Abrams: No one at my publisher's offices could believe I'd never been there before when I darkened their door Tuesday afternoon. I'd met many Abrams people, but never on their home turf. It was one of the highlights of the day and, by itself, made the trip worthwhile. They expressed so much genuine warmth and appreciation for Mom's Cancer that I was a little overwhelmed (thank you, Sylvia). Somebody welcomed me home and that's kind of how it felt. Very nice.

Above: Editor Charlie Kochman and
me at the Abrams offices, 4 p.m.
Below, same guys at 7 p.m.
We cleaned up all right.

The Venue: The Quill Awards ceremony was held at the American Museum of Natural History, which, like Grand Central Station, embodies the ambitious architecture and purpose that help define greatness. From the dinosaur fossils in the entry hall to the diorama displays throughout, it is an iconic institution. Following a reception under the dinosaurs, we were directed to the Milstein Hall of Ocean Life, a large room whose focal point is a full-scale model of a blue whale suspended from the ceiling. Whoa. Comics journalist Heidi MacDonald noted that it would have been the perfect place and time for a supervillain to smash through the roof to threaten the pampered, overdressed elite of Gotham City, and she was right.

Above, attendees in Milstein Hall
under the whale (with TV cameras
and teleprompters beneath its snout).
Below, Heidi MacDonald and Charlie.

The People: The press release above lists some of the people who were there to present awards. I got a close look at a few of them. I shared an elevator ride with Rhea Perlman, with whom I made eye contact and traded a "How 'bout this?" smile. I saw a lot of Judd Hirsch--during the reception, we just always seemed to end up standing near each other. Anderson Cooper. Harry Connick Jr. Joan Didion. Many familiar faces I couldn't put a name to.

My favorite sighting of the night was crossing paths with Donald Trump, his wife Melania, and the man I know only as "The Old Guy Who Works for Trump on The Apprentice." I was going down an otherwise-empty staircase as they were coming up. Charlie later pointed out what a great service I could've done for humanity with just one small shove. I could'a made it look like an accident, too.

Location, Location, Location: The first omen that it might not be our night came when we were seated in the balcony. We reassured ourselves that was only because Abrams is a small publishing house that had RSVPed late. The view was nice. Had we won, it would've been a short, easy trot down a few steps to the stage. But, in fact, I observed over the evening that none of the winners emerged from the balcony. Thus, should you ever find yourself in a similar situation, I think you can rely on this rule of thumb: If there is a flight of stairs between you and your potential award, you ain't getting one.

My view of the stage, with
Lewis Black performing.

The Food: Surprisingly great. A salad of greens and cheesy-stuff, a perfectly grilled filet mignon, potatoes, green beans, creme brulee, all the wine you could drink. Organized service. Well done.

Deprived of a trophy to bring home, I stole part of my
table's centerpiece (left) instead. Charlie liberated the
book-reading chimpanzee from another table for me.
I added the inscription to the base with Sharpie marker.
Below is a photo of my prize as it appeared in situ.
.

Chip Kidd: One of the leading art directors and graphic designers in the world, famous for the book covers he's designed, presenter of the Quill Award for Best Graphic Novel, and a friend of Charlie's. I had opportunities to talk with Chip before and during the Quill Awards and--without betraying confidences that would reveal Chip's true thoughts about the allegedly humorous remarks scripted for him, most of the winners, and almost every aspect of the entire event--I will report that no one I've met uses the word "ghastly" with as much verve as he does. After the awards, Chip invited Charlie and me to his apartment, where we were joined by Charlie's girlfriend Rachel (whom I think the world of) and poet, literary critic, opera librettist, and Yale Review editor J.D. McClatchy. And the five of us sat on Chip's 17th-story balcony overlooking Manhattan sipping rum and saying spiteful things about other people until we all felt much better about everything.

Sour Grapes: Of the Quill results themselves, almost anything else I could say would sound like sour grapes. Had I won, I would obviously think they were the most perceptive, prestigious, and fairly decided awards around. Therefore, without expressing any opinion at all, I'll just offer three data points from which you may draw your own conclusions:

1. Approximately 200,000 English-language books were published last year.
2. From among that number, the Quill Award nominating committee chose 95 books (in 19 categories) whose authors included Frank McCourt, Doris Kearns Goodwin, E.L. Doctorow, Maya Angelou, Joan Didion, and the Dalai Lama.
3. From among that number, the voting public decided that the winner of the top Quill Award for Book of the Year was this:

.

Book of the Year. Can it

repeat at the Pulitzers?

My Bottom Line: I wanted to win. I'm disappointed I didn't. I think in this case the platitude that "it's an honor just to be nominated" is more true than usual.

As I told Charlie and Chip "Name Drop" Kidd, my hopes for the Quill Award were less about the prize itself than what it could've done to bring new readers to Mom's Cancer. I don't mean to sound like a big sap, but I really just want people who could maybe get something from it to find it. To that end, I met one or two people who might help us accomplish that anyway.

My trip could've gone better, but all I really missed out on was bringing home a bauble. Compared to everything wonderful that happened, it's not a huge loss.

Tucson

I'm back home after an extraordinary couple of days in Tucson, Arizona. Dr. Scott Bolhack, Paige, and their colleagues at TLC Healthcare couldn't have been more gracious or welcoming. As I wrote earlier, Dr. Bolhack first found Mom's Cancer as a webcomic and has been working a long time to make my visit happen. I got to know him a bit better before my talk and during dinner afterward, and was happy to find he's a real comics fan knowledgeable about the potential of the medium to tell serious, adult stories. Not a lot of men, let alone accomplished professionals, would be secure enough to share their passion for The Flaming Carrot.

Dr. Bolhack and his staff had invited hospice, palliative care, counseling, and related healthcare professionals from all over the area to hear me. Perhaps 40 to 50 came, and Dr. Bolhack made sure they all got a signed copy of the book. I put together a PowerPoint presentation and talk just for this audience that, like my Comic-Con talk, might have been more ambitious than I originally thought. Before I began, Dr. Bolhack asked me how long I thought I'd speak; I estimated 20 or 25 minutes. I think I actually went about twice that (I've really got to start rehearsing these things....). Couldn't shut me up. Luckily, unlike my Comic-Con panel, there wasn't anyone waiting for me to leave so they could take over the room.

I think this engagement was one of the most moving, fulfilling things I've done. These folks who help people like my mother live and die every day--physicians, nurses, chaplains, social workers--told me I'd done a good thing and done it right. A few said I'd made them rethink their approach to their jobs and given them insights they could apply to people they were serving now.

Which is pretty much why I wrote the book.

Which is as good as it gets.

With Dr. Scott Bolhack

In addition, I had the pleasure of visiting Tucson. I'd never been there before and didn't realize there are about a million people living in the city and nearby. Beautiful mountains all around, a nice summer desert rain shower the morning after I arrived ... it looks like a great place I'll have to come back to and get to know better.

When I approach a signing or speaking engagement, it's very important for me to know who I'm talking to. The story of Mom's Cancer has a lot of stories within it: how you create a webcomic, how you get a book published, how a family dealt with a crisis. At the San Diego Comic-Con, I talked about the creative and life experience that put me in position to write and draw Mom's Cancer, as well as the process of refining the story and working with an editor to produce a book. In Tucson, I said very little about creating a comic and more about my family's experience, trying to tease from the story threads I knew my audience encounters in their jobs. I like doing both kinds of talks but they're completely different. I can't deliver my message well unless I know who's there to receive it. It is hard for me to imagine a more receptive audience than I found in Tucson.

My thanks to Dr. Bolhack, Paige, and everyone who made this event happen and treated me so well. They're doing some wonderful work in the Southwest and this was definitely a lifetime highlight. I'm very grateful.

Guten Tag
I knew something was up when I checked my visitor log today, and reader Michael was kind enough to e-mail me and explain it. Mom's Cancer has received a very positive review in Der Spiegel, an immensely popular German periodical. I had no idea that was coming. My thanks to Michael and Spiegel writer Stefan Pannor, it is much appreciated.

Post Post 3: Comic-Con Buys

Third in a series summarizing my time at Comic-Con. Check out the installments below and then come on back.

Although I saw much to covet at Comic-Con, ranging from Golden Age comics to really cool movie props, I came home with just two new things. A lot of cartoonists are also collectors, I think. It's an urge I've resisted although, as I wrote a while ago, the first thing I bought with my advance for Mom's Cancer was a 1914 drawing by cartooning great Winsor McCay that I felt I didn't deserve to have until I could pay for it with "cartooning money." Fantastic, but not the start of a habit.

However, I have begun a small collection of original comic and cartooning art that I hope will grow. The catch is that it has to be drawn by, and acquired directly from, someone I've made a personal connection with. Not necessarily a friend--that would set the bar pretty high--but someone with whom I've spent a little time, had a nice conversation, shared a moment I valued. I expect that criterion to both keep my collection (and related expenses) manageable and give it some emotional weight. I'm collecting pieces that mean something to me.

Raina Telgemeier, "The Baby-Sitters Club."

I think very highly of Raina as a cartoonist and storyteller. She has a crisp, clean, expressive ink line that I really like. On Saturday, she and I spent five minutes discussing ink viscosity (she likes hers thin, I like mine thick). I haven't talked with her about her artistic aesthetic in any great depth, but based on her work I believe we share similar ideas about what cartooning can and should be. She's thoughtful, and deceptively good--moreso because she makes it look easy. I think those traits made her the perfect choice to relaunch "The Baby-Sitters Club" stories as graphic novels.

My page from "The Baby-Sitters Club." Raina pencils with non-photo blue and produces some of the most pristine originals I've ever seen. I love the expressiveness of the figure below from Panel 4, as well as the brick-work texture she uses to anchor both the beginning and end of the page. She makes good choices.

In my previous post, I wrote about the warmth and lack of cynicism I perceive in the cartooning of both Raina and her fiance Dave. It's interesting: as time passes I think I'm getting more opinionated and cranky, but at the same time I have less and less patience for cynicism. Cynicism is lazy. It's arrogant and anti-creative. It doesn't accomplish anything. As hard-headed a rationalist as I am, I increasingly treasure art and literature with heart. Heart is risky and takes skill to pull off. And Raina's work is always 0% cynicism, 100% heart.

Not very flattering, but the only photo I have of
Raina and me together, taken at APE in San Francisco.

Irwin Hasen, "Dondi"

I love the old guys.

The comics industry is famous for devouring its own. I know good, professional artists in their thirties forced out of the business for lack of work while thousands of eager teens line up with sketchbooks in hand ready to take their places. Short memories and fickle trends turn today's creative heroes into tomorrow's tired hacks. There's precious little appreciation or respect for the men and women who began and built the business--many of them still alive, some of them still working.

I've mentioned how I originally met Irwin Hasen in February at my book launch party at the Society of Illustrators building in New York. I saw him again the next day at the New York Comic-Con, selling prints of the old DC characters he drew plus originals from his long-running comic strip "Dondi." I only took the time to greet him briefly, and left New York regretting that I'd let an opportunity slip through my fingers.

.

This original strip from 1968 is huge, nearly two feet wide. No contemporary cartoonist that I know of works that large, mostly because the shrinking space newspapers devote to comic strips doesn't allow for the kind of detail Mr. Hasen drew, for example in Panel 1 below. (I don't know what the ® symbol is doing under the right word balloon--I suspect it was originally pasted elsewhere and migrated over the years--but that's the way I got it so that's where it's gonna stay.)

Last Thursday I saw Mr. Hasen again, set up in Comic-Con's Artists Alley. No one was at his table; in fact, I had to elbow my way through a line of fans queued up to meet the Hot Young Artist at the table next door to get to him. I reintroduced myself and we had a nice conversation, when I looked over his table and noticed only the prints. No originals.

"Oh, I remember you had some Dondi originals in New York," I said, disappointed. "I was really hoping to see them."

Mr. Hasen gave me a conspiratorial nod, pulled a portfolio from under the table, and slid out a dozen "Dondi" strips. We continued to talk as I flipped through them, figuring out which one I wanted to buy. At last I chose my prize.

"You've got a good eye, you S.O.B.," said Mr. Hasen, eyes twinkling. "You picked the best one."

With Irwin Hasen in New York, February 2006

Two pieces of art that will always remind me of the creators who made them and the time I spent with them.

Post Post 2: Comic-Con People

This is my second post about my long weekend at the San Diego Comic-Con. You'd do best to start with the first one and then come back here, I think.

I am always impressed by how nice people in the comics business are. I know there are also prima donnas and raging egos, maybe more than you'd find among the general population, but the pros I meet--who tend to be either friends of friends or people whose work I respect--have been warm, gracious, and generous with their time. I can't think of an exception.

The first person I sought out when I arrived for Preview Night on Wednesday was Otis Frampton. Otis created the "Oddly Normal" character for a series of Viper Comics books and has done hundreds of officially authorized sketch cards (like cartoon trading cards) of characters from Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, and Marvel Comics. He's a great guy with a very clean, stylized line I like very much. Unfortunately, we only had a few minutes to catch up before he had to get back to working his table.

Raina Telgemeier and Dave Roman are two very good cartoonists engaged to marry each other later this year. The comic they drew together describing their courtship and engagement is one of the warmest, least cynical things I've ever read. I'll write a bit more about Raina in the next post, but for now suffice to say that I had a couple of occasions to chat with them both and consider those moments a highlight of my Con.

Jeff Kinney spent eight years developing his "Diary of a Wimpy Kid" webcomic, which Editor Charlie recently acquired for Abrams. In other words, he's almost exactly where I was about a year and a half ago. We'd corresponded a couple of times and finally had a chance to meet during the Con, where we sat on the floor next to a trash can surrounded by screaming kids while I spilled my guts. I hoped to paint a clear and honest picture of the months awaiting him; judging by his tearful anguished sobs I succeeded. I was happy to provide whatever small experience-based advice I could and I really hope his book is a huge success. If people bought books based on the author's niceness, Jeff would be J.K. Rowling.

Jeff Kinney, Charlie Kochman, and me

Without Jerry Robinson, Batman wouldn't have had either Robin or the Joker, at least as we know them today. Along with Bob Kane and Bill Finger (arguments still rage about how much credit each deserves), Robinson created Batman and his world. I actually met Mr. Robinson last year, but only briefly at his Artists Alley table, long enough to say hello and thank him for his work. At this year's Eisner Awards, I got a proper introduction from Charlie and had a very nice conversation with him.

With Jerry Robinson

I'd also met Irwin Hasen before, at my book launch party in New York in February, and had a chance to reconnect with him last weekend. Mr. Hasen is another industry giant, drawing the original Flash, Green Lantern, and Justice Society of America in the 1940s and later starting the comic strip Dondi. I've got a short story about Mr. Hasen that, like Raina, will wait for the next installment.

Mark Evanier has had a long career in comics and show business, working as an assistant to Jack Kirby, a writer/producer on Welcome Back Kotter and dozens of other programs and specials, producer of the Garfield animated series, co-creator of "Groo the Wanderer," and much more. He's also a terrific, prolific blogger whose News From Me is a daily stop of mine. Mark was sitting with Jerry Robinson at the Eisners when Charlie introduced me to both, and I was floored when Mark said that not only had he read and liked my book, but that he'd lost his only copy by lending it to a friend. I think about the sweetest words a writer can hear is that someone liked your work enough to give it to a friend. I'll be sending Mark an inscribed replacement as soon as I can.

Brian Walker is the son of cartoonist Mort Walker, a writer for Beetle Bailey, and a respected comics historian in his own right. As with Mr. Hasen, I'd met Brian in New York and had a brief conversation with him there. I certainly had no reason to expect him to remember me when I approached him after the NCS panel at Comic-Con, but he did. He added that he'd recently spoken to a group about webcomics and used me and Mom's Cancer as an example of one avenue of success available through the medium. I was both astonished and grateful, though I think Brian may need to recalibrate his definition of "success."

Standing beside Brian after the NCS panel was Jay Kennedy. Mr. Kennedy ("call me Jay") is the comics editor for King Features Syndicate, the company that distributes comic strips like Blondie, Beetle Bailey, Popeye, Family Circus, Zits, Sally Forth, Bizarro, and a bajillion others throughout the known world. Although I haven't done so for several years, for a long period of my life I regularly sent comic strip proposals to King Features and the other syndicates. Jay was one of the first to send me anything other than a standard rejection letter. Later, when I submitted an idea he kind of liked, he spent quite a bit of time providing detailed feedback about what worked, what didn't, what he wanted to see more of, etc. That idea eventually died but ever since I've hoped to have the opportunity to thank him in person for his encouragement and unique approach to new talent. So I was stunned and frankly incredulous when Jay looked at my name tag, said he thought Mom's Cancer was great, and added that he remembered my work and liked it very much.

I can't stress too strongly that I'm not being falsely modest or disingenuous when I say I'm surprised that people like Mark Evanier and Jay Kennedy know my work. I had absolutely no expectation that they would. Zero. It never entered my mind. Which is why I froze, stammered, and said stupid things when they informed me otherwise. Now they'll remember me as that babbling idiot who drooled on their shoes.

And now....

Pictures of People I Didn't Meet But Got Close Enough to to Take Their Picture

John DeLancie, "Q" on Star Trek. I actually had a brief conversation with him but he lost interest quickly. I could tell we were done when his gaze moved past me...not onto anyone else in line (there was no line), but at a molecule of air five feet beyond me that was apparently more fascinating than I was.

Erin Gray (from Buck Rogers) and Nichelle Nichols (if I need to explain, get off of my blog). Ms. Nichols looked quite wonderful, while Ms. Gray very much reminded me why I would have killed a hobo for her if she'd asked me to back in 1980 or so.

Also seen up close and personal: Richard Hatch (from the real Battlestar Galactica), who should be gently told that gym shorts and a sleeveless sweatshirt stopped being a good look for him a while ago. Greg Evans (Luann), still sporting the best head of hair in cartooning. Richard Anderson, the Six-Million-Dollar Man's Oscar Goldman, looking very distinguished and dapper but hot and bored. Marc Singer, the Beastmaster, who left me with no particular impression. Plus, a gorgeous six-foot-four Supergirl who might have been a guy but at the moment I didn't care.

Plus all these people:

If that's you in there, drop me a line and let me know.