Here's a book on real Science Heroes, to use an Alan Moore term: Suspended in Language. The focus is physicist Niels Bohr, and our old pal Einstein makes a few appearances too. Clocking in at 320 pages, this book nearly put writer Jim Ottaviani and artist Lee Purvis into early graves. Not so hard on me though, I just drew three pages in it. But I like to think they are the key three pages upon which the work turns. Also featuring the stellar talents of Jay Hosler, Roger Langridge, and Linda Medley. IT"S IN STORES TODAY!!!!!

I think there's a new trend in art commissions nowadays, that of making cartoonists do Letter Illustrations for children's rooms. I've already done a couple, a W for Justin Sherrill's kid, and a Z for art reps Scott and Rose Cates's girl, who has her own webpage full of the things. Click on the tiny Gallery button and you can see the neat Y is for Yeti by J.G. Jones (get it, he does the covers for Y: The Last Man...) among other great pieces. I'm currently weirded out by the freaky bumblebee child Richard Case drew. Are more people doing these things around the country? Does it just mean we're all getting old?

As my homepage says, I'm doing a signing for FREE COMIC BOOK DAY at COSMIC MONKEY COMICS in Portland, Oregon. I'll be flanked by or flanking Matthew Clark (Adventures of Superman) and Steve Lieber(Pay It Forward, The Life of David Gale). It's an extremely cool shop, you might even say it's gear, so come over if you're in the area. We'll be there from Noon to 3, smiling, saying nice things about comics we don't really like, and gently pushing you to some of the excellent selections Andy has in his store.


While I'm talking about comics retailers named Andy, I'd like to thank Andrew Neal of Chapel Hill Comics (formerly Second Foundation Bookstore) for sending his own version of the NASA GHOST that I keep mentioning. This, however, is NOT the real McCoy. I'm going to put that up either today or tomorrow. Still, this is hauntingly convincing...

GOD: Now Jeffrey, tell Steven you're sorry...

Awww... gee Lieber, that quote about Paying It Forward was too good to not make fun of–

GOD: DO IT!!!

Gulp! Sorry I let it look like you used that Kevin Spacey movie title (the one where Haley Joel Osment Pays It Face Down at the end, 'cause he dies) in a quote to the newspaper reporter! I know she used that phrase in her question so she could make your answer have it. And in fact kept leading you into this whole theme of "giving something back to the community" as if you were some troubled ghetto kid who made it big and now feels obligated to help out the youth from your 'hood. Because most "journalists" don't find the story that's there, instead they force the facts to fit some hackneyed preformed notion they decided upon on the drive over to cover said event. When actually you're from Pittsburgh. And have no intention of helping create future competition for yourself. And the library pays you a hundred bucks to come out and do the talk--

GOD: THAT"S NOT AN APOLOGY! THAT'S A MICAH WRIGHT-TYPE APOLOGY! NOW SHAKE HANDS AND SHOW THAT $%*##&@$ GHOST PICTURE ALREADY!!!!

Hey, I only offered my (temporary) loyalty so you'd make my tooth stop hurting, I didn't say you were running this blog now too! Tell ya what, how 'bout I give 'em a little bit of the picture as a teaser.

GOD: Ooh, a teaser!

I almost choked on a peanut and fell out of my chair simultaneously a minute ago. I needed my daily grounding, some quiet time to reflect in a place where nothing changes, so as usual I went to Mike Wieringo's blog.

And there was a NEW POST! Now I'm all fired up in a new world where anything is possible! Lookout Future, we're coming straight atcha! Hot Dang!!!

"I like sharing my knowledge with kids -- 20 years ago I was one of them. I was an absolute fanatic for (comic art) and searched desperately for information about it," he said. "I would end up going to a (trade) school run by a cartoonist, and this is my way of paying it forward."

Today's Oregonian covers a Steve Lieber library workshop designed to make them like comics. I looked all through the print version at breakfast and couldn't find it, but thanks to Thought Balloons, I see it does exist online. I'm taking notes because I'm doing one of these myself next week. I wonder what I could say? "A life drawing comics isn't like The Life of David Gale, it's all hard work and no trips to the electric chair," or "Comics come out as regularly as The Shipping News and you have to be good at making deadlines, kids." There are so many to choose from and I have but one week.


COMING SOON: NASA GHOST

"I can do this kind of art in two hours, and you can't draw Wolverine standing on a floor."


There's Scott Hampton standing triumphant with his Batman from the Heroes Aren't Hard To Find auction, courtesy the meticulous photo gallery of Pat Sun. You can look back through past galleries of Pat's and get a good sense of why the Heroes auctions are such big events. Also in this one you can see a neat stage-by-stage of Brian Stelfreeze painting, and my personal favorite, this group of angry heroes over the labeled Western Hemisphere...



Mostly Marvel superheroes, except for Superman over on the right, and hey, wait... is that Batman sneaking in behind Storm? How'd he get in here? ALSO:Casey Jones sent me a link to the Recording of Hell I referred to in the report, but you have to be a member of Coast to Coast AM's site to access it. I'm still debating about whether to join. However, I found a clip that is supposed to be the same one at this purely objective website, which says that Jacques Cousteau stopped deep-sea diving in his old age because he heard such screams of the damned in an underwater cave. Not because he was very old and weak. Scroll down near the bottom to find the links for MP3 and RealAudio.

But even better than hellsounds, I finally have in my possession, THE NASA GHOST PICTURE I keep talking about! And I'm going to post it THIS WEEK! Get your popcorn heated up and turn down the lights.

Friday


It's never really a good idea to drive to a show the morning of, but a new addition to I-85 that avoids Greensboro was open, and that made the trip go by much faster than usual. Soon we're checking into the host hotel Westin and marvelling at the feather bed in our room. Normally I'd go into the hall early and jaw with the guests and retailers for a while before the doors opened, but this time I decided to act all responsible. Charlotte is also where the offices of Baker and Taylor are, the distributor that handles lots of orders for Interman for the country's libraries. I took the rest of the morning to go meet the people who handle my invoices and send me checks, and that's always time well-spent. I learned a lot more about their operation, too. Thanks to Wendy Pierce and all the nice people who popped out from their cubicles to say hi.

I get back at the convention around noon, and see the man of the hour, Shelton Drum. We catch up and I let him go because he has a show to run and fires to put out. In Artist Alley, Shelton has placed me with my old studiomates Richard Case and Mike Wieringo. Over to the side there you can find Mike's blog on my list, check it out. I never tire of reading his praise of Karl Kesel that's been up for almost a year now. It's like an old friend, that I can always count on to be there for me when I click his blog. Actually, Mike did a nice little photo essay of this show on the message board he DOES maintain regularly, right here. Board hosted by Comic Book Resources.

Between Mike and me is Ford Gilmore, doing the show for the first time. Actually I should say some of his Illuminati sketchbooks and Dave Johnson's SPORK books that he brought along were sitting between us, with Ford dropping by from time to time to ask "could you watch this for me?". On the other side of me, Richard Case is doing one awesome commission after another, I wish I'd got him to get copies that I could have put on here. He may not browbeat people for scans like I do though.

Hey, there's another pal, the talented Randy Green. Randy shows me pictures of his dang cute kids, and I show him mine in real time, as Allison makes Jill help her toddle all over the room. Later Jill (who is a good artist and thus qualified to deliver this blow) comes back to that table and announces "Some of these artists are really bad!". There, I didn't say it, and I don't know who she was referring to, so you can't blame me. Randy however, good-- though he seems to be scared of cameras.




Dinner was a miserable evening at Uno Pizzeria, the closest walking distance restaurant. The managers weren't warned a convention was in town, a convention full of people who probably have an inclination towards pizza. So they were overwhelmed and understaffed, and the air conditioning went out. Not worth doting on. Much neater was on the way back walking through the mini-park that had sculpture shaped like book pages and short conundrums set into the sidewalk. Also a squirting fountain you can walk through, though it wasn't on. We all ruminated on what a nice downtown Charlotte has. Then it was time to check out the scene at the Westin Bar.

The nice thing about Heroes now that the host hotel is right behind the convention center is that it's a one-bar show again, where you can find everyone paying way too much for beer. Five smackers a bottle, aiee! I only hang out for about a half hour because all at once people all over the room decide that it's the mid 90's again and smoking cigars is back. So all these a-holes with fuming dog turds between their teeth are making my eyes water, but I tough it out for a bit because Tommy Lee Edwards is telling about Batman Begins. Tommy has been doing movie-related artwork for it, but the studio is being ultra-secretive about giving out images or info, as if people into comics movies might go put things on the internet or somesuch. So they flew Tommy to England so he could see the Batcave and the car and all kinds of neat stuff. That trumps the hell out of my being at the shoot of Nelly's "Ride Wit' Me" video.

I see Hulman and Sun, better known as The Pats, and try to talk to them, but they're both focused on the game of Texas Hold'em going on at one of the tables. Those plucky Nate and Steve creators were in the frey, wearing their best poker faces. Their chips were shrinking fast, but check them out, they make excellent comics. Good thing, 'cause they'll never make a living playing poker.





Now my clothes stink from all these Stuckey's novelty cigars everyone has, so I hit the double-nozzled shower and go to bed. Oh, that double-nozzled shower....


Saturday



Are you familiar with the magic that happens when you haven't had coffee in a few weeks and then you suddenly get one, say a nice latte? I felt silly-good, and it came through in my sketches. Just the brief sketches I do in the front of readers' books were coming out nicer than if I'd taken an hour.
A muscular couple make the rounds in costume as Electro and ... the Black Cat? Is that right? Wait, there's an X-belt... so she's... White Storm? I give up. I was too focused on the fact that the guy had worked a grill lighter into the finger of his costume so he could actually make a little electrical arc. He also enjoyed making threatening gestures at every kid wearing a Spiderman shirt, so points for that too. Later I find out this couple make the costumes for sale, and work through several in a day. That afternoon they reappeared as Hawkman and Hawkwoman.




The next day they popped in once more as Mr. Fantastic and Sue Storm, but I guess I didn't get a picture of it. In fact, lots of my shots didn't come out, normally I'd show a lot more hijinks. But I used a disposable, because I'm tired of waiting for my old digital camera to boot up and capture the moment after the moment I wanted. Later I remember that I'm supposed to provide some thoughts on the legendary Romitas for an upcoming book about them, so I head over to the dealer table ran by Big Earl Shaw and Charles Lawrence. They lend me some early Spiderman, around #40, when John Sr. was still emulating Ditko a bit and transitioning the book into his own style. That helps me get some thoughts together, and I'm so grateful I even returned the book. I'm quite a guy, yes.

I see Craig Zablo of Stallone Zone.com again, and look at the new renditions of Sly that he's getting at this show. Stallone needs buy Craig a car or something, he provides a website better than Demolition Dredd deserves. Then I see my old college-days collaborator Micah Harris at his table, meeting his public. Micah and Michael Gaydos recently put out Heaven's War, which did really well for Image. I feel like an ass because I bought it recently and it's still on my To Read pile next to my desk-- hey, I been busy. I see a new project that Micah's writing that's really cool and deserving of its own entry, so I'll talk about it later on as it comes together.

LUPIE'S!
That night a big batch of headed out to the place I talked about in last year's Heroes report, Lupie's. Southern cooking with a hipster vibe. Again, it still wasn't Chicken n' Dumplings night, consarn it, but I had me some barbecue. Allie was happy because she had kids to play with. Casey and Laura Jones brought Li'l Audrey, and Chris and Krista Kemple brought Li'l Mallory. Rich Case felt unprepared since he has as many kids as all of us combined, but didn't have any on him this weekend. Scott Hampton finds kids amusing, but never showed much interest in owning one. As usual, he wanted to tell ghost stories. And finally, I got to see Scott and Casey see something they've been waiting for for freaking ever. Chris finally found the NASA Ghost Picture his aunt took when visiting Cape Canaveral years ago. I think I've mentioned this before-- you've really gotta see it to believe it, or don't believe it, be that way. But it's really cool and weird. Casey, who recently got me into listening to Coast to Coast AM (formerly the Art Bell Show) was telling some fun conspiracy stories and the bit about the Russian Drillers who recorded Hell (sorry I can't find the audio), but I think I saw him go through epiphany when Kemple broke out that picture. He's promised to scan it and send to me, so I'll finally show you this thing when I get it. Then you along with a select few can say, "What the hell is THAT?"

We ate and ate and ate, and then we ate Banana puddin'. Lupie's is really close to Shelton's flagship Heroes Aren't Hard To Find store; if you're in Charlotte, patronize their business.


Back at the hotel the girls go to bed, and I grab my markers and head down to the Westin bar to see everyone and work on commissions. Much less smoky tonight, I guess it wasn't a-hole night. People are looking over my shoulder, confused by the commission I'm working on: Enik the Time Travelling Sleestak from the Past (though he thought he was from the future) from Land of the Lost. It was for that pesky Zack Smith (see the 2003 San Diego con report) who couldn't make it to the show, but sent a friend to collect the piece for his Krofft Superstars sketchbook. This "Greg" character never showed up Sunday to take the piece, so now I gotta mail it. Here it is below, along with the Tesla Strong I did in the book of another online staple, John Popa.



Artist Thomas Fleming asked me how I was able to pull Chaka out of my head, but I asked him: once you've seen Chaka the monkeyboy's mug, how could you ever forget it? Then a few of us debated the name of the baby brontosaurus that followed Holly around and ate those giant strawberries she laid out for it. I think we finally agreed that it was called "Dopey". Below are writer Duane Schilz and the overly muscled Fleming. He can't help it, his body doesn't produce Myostatin, the protein that inhibits muscle growth. See German Superchild, two posts earlier.





I like working on sketches at bars, it keeps me too occupied to blow a lot of money on drinks, and I hear interesting discussions because I'm not talking. I sat between Neil Vokes and Patrick Hulman, and they got on the subject of samurai movies. I could have never hung with them in this discussion, they went beyond the ones I'd seen in the first few seconds. The best I could do was chime in "I like samurais" every few minutes. Vokes finally justified his entire existence as I was working on a Poison Ivy piece, when Hulman pointed out that I was doing the exact same shot I did for an auction piece a few years ago. Boy, what a small bag of tricks have I. I kept sketching other poses, and Neil couldn't help but work on it as well in his mind, as does any artist worth their salt when someone else is moving a pencil around in front of them. Finally he showed me a neat concept where Ivy was popping out of a blossoming plant, and I went with that. It turned out great, but I'll just have to wait until Terry the Ivy Guy decides to send me a copy. Sorry to build it up so much and then not show you. Here's a picture of my daughter driving a tractor in North Carolina instead.





Sunday
Okay, I failed this year and didn't produce an auction piece. I still had commissions to finish, so that took up the rest of the day. And the auction this year was a lot sleepier than usual. Not a surprise, the economy is bad, and it still really needs George Perez to come back and be the auctioneer. I'm not really a big fan of his work, but man, the guy could sell a blind artist's sketch of Sad Sack for a profit. Maybe the thing needs to move to Saturday, before a lot of people leave town for the weekend. This has to be solved, because the Heroes auction is one of those special events that everyone should go to at some point, and it must remain great. Wieringo's Fantastic Four piece got the highest bid at $900, and close behind was Brian Stelfreeze's Mary Jane painting. Third was Scott Hampton's Batman.


The end of the show always has all the pros convening at The Graduate, a bar a little south of town. This time the Graduate was unavailable and instead we all went to the Thomas St. Bar ( I think), and I liked that place even better. The free pizza (Thanks Cynthia Drum!) was delicious, and we were able to sit outside in a big deck area. I was catching up with Cully Hamner and Jason Pearson when Allison toddled up and started playing in the ice bin where all the beer was. The bin was the same height as one of her toy boxes and seemed just like the kind of thing she pokes around in, so she got busy taking beers out and putting them on the deck. This amused pretty much everybody around, and I realized that no one else brought their kids to the bar. I took the li'l barmaid over to the ping-pong tables and Jill and I played a few rounds while trading off holding the baby.


That was a good time. Heroes is ALWAYS a good time, it's one of America's great comics shows. If you've never been, you should really do it once, you'll be surprised at how relaxed it is and how many great guests turn out for it.

But it's got a lot of mistakes in it, I can tell even in my blurry-eyed state. I wanted to get it done for you crybabies before I go camping this weekend, so I sacrificed sleep. For you, I have done this. So I'm going to give it a once-over in the mornin' afore I post it. Check back in around Noon Eastern time. In the meantime you can read the last two posts which you missed yesterday.

The overtalented Eric Knisely has a new website called Silent K.net. Even better, he's got a blog full of pictures from his trip to London. On a trip to the Maritime History Museum he saw this Shark Sub straight out of the pages of TinTin. I don't think that was there when I went to London, I would have somehow sensed its existence and gone to it.



I must build one of these for myself to drive around in the Willamette River.

Just heard a piece on NPR about a German child who lacks Myostatin, a protein inhibitor that limits muscle growth. As a result, he can smash toys twice as easily as other childen his age. He's four, and can hold two seven pound weights, arms fully extended. You can't do that, you pansy. The kid is from a family of athletes and bruisers, so all the right genes fell into place for our first true superhuman.

Scientists are excited about the possiblity of repeating this in atrophied patients and helping people with muscular degeneration. But we all know where this will go-- it'll be the new, more powerful replacement for steroids, and we'll have some seriously strong freaks running around overtipping cars and kicking sand in our (re: your) face. But since the heart is a muscle, and one you really don't want to grow all that large, our best defense will be to trick them into chasing us for a minute.

Over the weekend I was bemoaning to Jill that I'd never make it into space, despite my assumption as a child that lots of us would be going up there by now. As if I don't have real problems to gripe about, but what timing, huh? Yesterday the first privately funded spacecraft from Scaled Composites made it up into space by 400 feet, flown by Mike Melvill, a 63 year old pilot. So suddenly in two days my odds got a lot better.



The craft, Spaceship One, looks a lot like those little styrofoam gliders I threw around as a kid. It was designed by Burt Rutan, the man who brought us Voyager, the plane that circled the world nonstop in 1986. Rutan is kind of the modern Werner Von Braun, but without the troublesome Nazi past. The carrot dangled is the X-Prize, $10 million to the first private spacecraft maker who satisfies all the criteria, not that Rutan or funder Paul Allen need the motivation, they've already spent $20 million on the goal. Now NASA is even talking about offering cash prizes for paradigm-shift thinking that they can use. It's only a matter of time before zillionaire adventurers Richard Branson and Steve Fossett try to get in on this. But when I heard the news I couldn't help but think of someone who would have been following this if he were alive...



I don't think anyone wanted into space as badly as John Denver, even John Glenn, who wanted to get back into space so much that he pretended to like politics and devoted years to public service in the Senate until he finally managed to get himself a seat on the Shuttle. Denver was vying for that too-- he trained and took an Astronaut physical at the Johnson Space Center, and was one of the prime candidates for being NASA's first "citizen" in space. That role of course went to Christa McAuliffe. The Challenger explosion didn't dissuade Denver though, who then campaigned to go up to Soviet station Mir. Ultimately the Russians tried to charge him $10 million (there's that figure again) and demanded that he become fluent in Russian, and that dream ended. And of course, he died flying an experimental plane. Still, he had a full life; he somehow had national hits with country-folk songs, made a couple of movies with George Burns, drove a cool old Porsche and guest hosted the Muppet Show more than anyone else. I like that he assumed he could be involved with any enterprise he wanted to, that's the way to be. The title of this blog entry, by the way, is a line from "Czar", Frank Black's song about John Denver- here's the guitar tabs for it. Whew, got through another day without talking about the Charlotte show.

like a circle in a spiral

like a wheel within a wheel

never ending or beginning

on an ever spinning reel

like a snowball down a mountain

or a carnival balloon

like a carousel that’s turning

running rings around the moon




So I'm flying back to Oregon on American Airlines, and we've used our baby clout to secure a bulkhead seat. It's strange though, our aisle seat pokes out farther than the First Class seats ahead of us and the Coach seats behind. So I can't help but imagine I'm a President on Air Force One, and all those first-classers are lackeys working for me, trying to cover up something I've botched most likely. The coach class people behind me must be the press corp, freeloading a ride on my airplane. Which reminds me of dream that a guy I know named Gary had a few years ago. I don't usually remember other people's dreams, but this one rang so true... he saw himself walking out of his apartment into the parking lot, which gradually morphed into a tarmac where Air Force One was waiting, and aides were waving him over to hurry up and board the jet. Once inside, Gary made his way down the aisle to the ominous seat in the rear, a large black swivel chair, very posh. At first he could only see the hand of the seated man aiming a remote control at a television screen, flipping through various channels. Gary the Dreamer assumed this was a search for important news, possibly private information only the President gets. The chair spins around partially and Bill Clinton looks over his shoulder at Gary, uttering in his raspy Southern drawl:

"There's always something good on the Disney Channel."

I swear this all ties together, just be patient. The subjects of President and Television especially, because we had been visiting my Dad for a week. Like many retirees of the modern era, he foregoes writing memoirs or exploring the country, opting instead for watching tv every waking hour, especially channels that show World War II from every possible angle. The Presidential connection is obvious, as most channels showed the casket of Ronald Reagan without interruption. This on news networks that are so typically sensationalistic, that you couldn't look at the coffin and not wonder is something going to happen? The coverage seemed a bit excessive, and sure I never voted for him, but even I'll admit there were admirable qualities in RR. I heard that one of the stipulations in his will was that his slaves be freed upon his passing, so there's that.

I normally wouldn't have known how much air time was devoted to the funeral, because we practically never use our TV except for movie rentals. I'm not being a tv snob like Vincent Vega in Pulp Fiction; I'm well aware that there's an invention called television and on this invention they show shows, as Jules explains. In fact I used to watch way too much of it, hence that reference I just made. But now I've got this family I like to hang with and all this work that needs doing, and I can't figure out how anyone has time to watch the thing. Unless they're visiting their father who won't turn the invention off, and thereby end up catching up on a whole year's worth of small screen antics. Boy what I've been missing! Years from now alien races will catch our random transmissions and assume that the peoples of our planet were obsessed with changing each other's living spaces. Or they'll see a few movies that I did, such as...



Stalag 17-- What a great movie. I'd seen most of it before, but I always missed parts. Finally I've seen all of it, no mean feat with American Movie Classics going to commercial every five minutes. SPOILER... it seems really obvious after the fact that Peter Graves is the Nazi stoolie, but I can't remember if that surprised me years ago when I didn't know it. Anyway, a far, far better war movie than



Desperate Journey-- It's interesting that Reagan once called himself "the Errol Flynn of B-Movies", because here was a movie where he got to play Flynn's buddy. Along with other Allied flyers who crash behind enemy lines, our heroes make their way through Germany and occupied Holland, practically winning the war themselves along the way. Most people being chased by Nazis would focus on the task of escaping, but our boys take side breaks to blow up ammo plants and snag secret aircraft plans. Despite their famed organizational regimen and ability to manage thousands of POWS with small numbers of men, Nazis are seemingly helpless against the tactic of sneaking up and knocking them over the head. Considering one of the heroes was Alan Hale Sr., I had to wonder if his then-young son watched the movie and thought "Dad should have hit that guy with his hat-- that's the way I'd do it." One interesting aspect is that the Nazis actually speak German when talking amongst themselves, and their lines are chosen carefully so that an English speaking audience can still tell what they're talking about. Considering that most of the movie is loose-with-reality propaganda, that was a mature storytelling choice that I don't see much better movies do. Just like he would do years later, Ronnie made war look like a lot of fun, and you can imagine the reactions of young GI's arriving in the European Theater after having watching movies like this in the American Theater. That was a strained wordplay, I apologize. It's late as I write this. And speaking of Steve McQueen, the other movie I saw was



The Thomas Crown Affair-- the original. This was one of McQueen's favorites of his movies, and it's not hard to see why-- it's full of Steve McQueen doing things Steve McQueen likes to do, riding horses, drinking, flying a glider, driving dune buggies all over the beach, smoking cigars, and sleeping with different women. He's essentially a criminal mastermind who organizes big heists and even laughs maniacally to himself at his brilliance. The best stuff in the movie is the jazzy intro which shows Yaphet Kotto and others with split screens pulling off the caper. But then later you have to sit through McQueen living life to the fullest while we're treated to "Windmills of Your Mind" no less than TWICE and not sung by Dusty Springfield. Faye Dunaway is an insurance investigator who pegs him as the villain instantly-- the whole bank jobs had such panache that she's fallen for him before she's even seen him. The two become romantic as they have a battle of wits, and literally even play chess at one point (sexy chess, at that!). The movie ends with Dunaway in tears and McQueen laughing, just like in real life. Originally the movie was to star Sean Connery and Brigitte Bardot, but it's funnier this way.


My next post will be about the Charlotte show, if I can remember anything. Thanks for your indulgence.

While destroying spam in my inbox, I had to pause and enjoy the inner text generated by a program that should become our nation's next poet laureate.

grizzly bear around reach an understanding with squid beyond bottle of beer, because football team toward midwife make a truce with traffic light defined by.Now and then, of razor blade bestow great honor upon related to debutante.demon from pork chop takes a coffee break, and related to mortician daydreams; however, mirror inside chain saw laugh and drink all night with..Any cloud formation can fall in love with grizzly bear inside, but it takes a real abstraction to mortician toward.
alps stepchild hitch dostoevsky abysmal injudicious eyelid wingtip

I know, that's not me talking about the Charlotte Convention, but I just now got my pictures back. I'll talk about it real soon-like.

Yes, I know I'm the thousandth person to use the title, if you can think of a better one, why don't you start a blog? Oh right, you already have one.

I'll be mentioning this again in the next few weeks, but at San Diego Comicon I'm putting in some time with other comics creators getting attendees registered to vote. No, not vote Farscape vs. Trek, but to participate in choosing our nation's leader in the Fall. You can see the growing list of creators who will be manning the booth at We Want Your Autograph.com. No matter where in the country you're coming from, you can register at the booth and will count. Unless you're from North Dakota, where they don't have voter registration. Apparently everybody in North Dakota knows everyone else and the volunteers at voting precincts wave you on through if they recognize you , and give you the stinkeye and send you packing if they don't. I don't know. If you live in North Dakota, drop me a line and explain how your system works.