Never miss a post! 
My SDCC 2006 - Part Five
Okay, so it's Friday afternoon and I've done my business and socializing. The only thing left is the Eisners at 8:30, but I've checked a suit at the coat check, which closes at 7:00. 7:00 is also when friends Marc Mason, Joe Rybandt, Matt Maxwell and some others are meeting for dinner, so I decide I'll try to meet them and get over in time, and it's not like I can't be a few minutes late to the Eisners. The reason for the suit was that I was a judge of the awards this year and they were seating me near the front and I kind of felt I had to represent, even though I knew most of the comics people would be in their usual cargo shorts and aloha shirts and t-shirts and lederhosen.
As many did, I laid down on the Convention Center's carpet and took a look at my wares, resting my legs a bit after all that standing. Text messaging wasn't working. Took a picture with my phone. Finally, it was about 6:15 or so and I couldn't wait any longer. Got the suit and went to change into it in the men's room. All the stalls were occupied, and the one I was waiting for contained a tallish black man, judging by the dreadlocks I could see above the door. He was in there a long while, and I was really worried this would be my most awkward meeting with Kyle Baker ever, but fortunately it wasn't him. I very slowly and gingerly changed from my clothes into the suit, careful not to let any part of my body touch the floor or toilet, which were both disgusting. Somewhat unnerving was the fact that the electric eye flush mechanism had too long a range, so the toilet flushed every ten seconds or so. I finally emerged in a dark blue short-sleeve linen shirt and tan silk suit, looking not too bad, though the humidity had really messed up my hair.
Took the jacket off almost immediately and waited for the time to cross the street to meet Rybandt at the Omni, but I already started sweating and knew the linen shirt with no undershirt was a mistake. Asked him if I could borrow one of his shirts and he was gracious enough to say yes. At the Omni, I met G.I. Joe writer Brandon Jerwa and his lovely wife Jessica, but didn't chat much because I had to get that shirt changed tout de suite. By the time I made it to the 13th floor (the Omni does have one, though oddly, no 3rd floor!), I was soaked and in danger of sweating through the back of the suit jacket as well. Yuck, I know.
So I picked out a shirt that went even better with the suit, but it was long-sleeve, so I also had to take one of Joe's undershirts as well, and a beer from the mini-bar, which I left him $7 for. Aside from paying for the beer, I was like instantly the worst, most presumptuous friend ever. But by the time we walked to dinner, the sun was starting to set and the temperature beginning to cool.
No so much in the restaurant, though. Mason had picked Joltin' Joe's because it was the one place he remembered not being crowded during last year's Con. There's a reason for that, maybe two or three. First, it's hot in there, which really throws off the cool billiard club/swanky lounge thing they're going for. Second, there are about six items on the menu, yet the waitress hadn't gotten them quite down. I think she ended up dissuading Matt from getting fish and chips because she described the chips like steak fries, but someone else got a burger and the fries were just fries, actually more like shoestrings. Third, there didn't seem to be any drink specials, not enough big screen TVs, and some utterly boring and repetitive reggae that wouldn't have sounded good to me if my side dish was ganja mashed potatoes.
As for the food, the garlic mashed potatoes were perhaps breathed on by a garlic-eating chef, but that was as far as it went; the steak was good but no better than Outback, not prime beef, and the steamed vegetables had fucking cauliflower dominating over broccoli and carrots, which should never happen. Cauliflower should just be sprinkled here and there like throw pillows at an orgy; it shouldn't impede the fucking. But yes, I had skipped lunch, so I ate it all.
John Layman showed up with some other people I didn't know, but they took booths, so I didn't really interact with him. I heard later that I'd really unnerved him a year or two ago by sticking my finger into his frozen drink in a rhythmic, suggestive way. Apropos of nothing, I have a Charles Brownstein anecdote in a bit.
Paid for my meal and share of the tip, finished my second gin-and-tonic, and left for the Eisners. Crossing the street, I came up behind Chris Ryall, Scott Tipton and other IDW folk, and we talked a little about the panel I'd attended. Met up with Tim Leong again, who was doing his Joan Rivers thing outside the awards ballroom, and he asked me a few questions. You can see here that I seem to have left my chin in my other suit, though I assure you the gum-chewing was just a nervous habit and not me putting on a '77 Burt Reynolds cocky act. After this, I lined up at the bar for a drink to take to my table, and who should be behind me but Charles Brownstein. I dunno, if it was me, I would really try to curtail any public drinking for the rest of this year's Con season, wouldn't you?
Got inside and said hello to Diamond's Robert Randle and Entertainment Weekly's Nisha Gopalan, two of my fellow judges. For whatever reason, Rob was seated elsewhere, so I sat down where he vacated, next to Nisha, and soon enough met up with another judge next to me, Robert Scott of San Diego comics shop Comickaze, who had covered his penne alfredo with so much parmesan it looked like something out of Scarface. But it was good to see him, and he didn't even complain when I kept taking his pen to mark the Eisner winners each time one was announced. Nisha is very cool and I'm glad I got to sit next to her, as she was the right choice for someone to make snarky comments to. Jackie Estrada was at another table with husband Batton Lash and others I don't remember; not sure why, but I didn't end up speaking with her the entire time. Each place setting had a hexagonal chocolate with an edible Comic-Con logo on it, and the centerpiece was a vase with fake flowers and tiny nominated comic cover repros attached to something like a roach clip. A novel idea, yes, but not a great one.
I won't go through every moment of the awards, fear not. One key change was that Jackie took much less of an onstage role, giving the emcee duties to Bill Morrison, Bongo Comics honcho and author of the excellent Dan De Carlo book from Fantagraphics a couple months back. Bill had on a turquoise velvet dinner jacket that was really pretty extraordinary, especially with a similarly colored shirt and red silk tie with an embroidered Asian design on it. He's got style, as does his fair, redheaded wife, who played the role of award hander-outer and stage escort in a pretty yellow party dress.
All that said, and while Morrison's got a good sense of humor, his delivery is a little too slow and a bit creepy where he should be crisper and more deadpan. A number of times the punchline was clear before he even got around to saying it. Not a bad emcee, though, honestly. Nisha did well presenting a few awards with Publisher Weekly's Calvin Reid, who sat at our table and seemed like a very nice man, and he and his wife made a cute couple. Maggie Thompson was also at our table, I think, as was Heidi MacDonald, taking notes.
Let me just run through some high-and-lowlights of the Eisners:
I looked through my trio of columns where I predicted the winners, and I didn't do too badly. Out of 27 categories, I got 17 right, though I think on 2 or 3 I called a toss-up, so take it for what it is, plus I forgot to predict a winner for one category. So not bad for me.
Dean Haglund, who you may remember as the blond-haired member of the Lone Gunmen from The X-Files, presented a couple awards, and took the opportunity to do some shtick, saying Morrison's jacket made him look like the pit boss at a gay casino, and that was one of his better jokes. Frenetic to the point of discomforting, I really hope he is not asked back next year.
To liven the show up, techno music was piped in during the times when people were making their way to and from the stage. Not a bad idea, though the lewd "oooohh!" vocals of one track were hilarious in the context of like, Chris Staros, coming up, and not so funny at all in the context of Russ Manning's barely ambulatory widow making her way to the podium.
Eric Reynolds' brief "Thank you!" on accepting one of Chris Ware's awards was great.
Married creators Anina Bennett and Paul Guinan are a good-looking but very odd couple of presenters.
Robert Scott made a big deal to me at the table of how shy Eric Shanower is and why it's so amazing that he was a presenter (last minute fill-in for an ill Moebius), but I don't know. Bleached hair, white suit, blue shirt and sparkly red tie and handkerchief comes closer to flamboyant in my book. Give him a straw boater and he can host next year's July 4th show on the Washington Mall.
Speaking of straw hats, Frank Miller had this pimpy thing on that seemed designed to wisk moisture and integrity right out of his head. Somewhere between pimp and Simon Le Bon in the "Hungry Like the Wolf" video, for readers my age. He's looking hunched over and kind of seedy, too, but maybe he was just drunk. His table, with Brownstein, a really attractive Occidental woman with Brownstein, Diana Schutz and who I guess was Frank's wife Lynn Varley, were having a good ol' time, and why not? Of the awards I got wrong, I was most disappointed by Eisner/Miller winning for Best Comics-Related Publication, as Masters of Comics Art crushes it. Actually, all the other nominees in the category are superior to Eisner/Miller.
Maggie Thompson did a really wonderful job with the eulogies to comics pro's who died last year. A very good writer and speaker. My only complaint was the details of the deaths didn't seem necessary. Oh, so it was the seventh floor roof in Tokyo that Seth Fisher fell from. Thanks. That helps me appreciate his work more.
Sergio Aragones has incredible presence; he's not just charismatic but he's built up such a warm feelling in me that I want to laugh as soon as I see him, even if he's being serious. Love that guy.
Mark Evanier looked pretty good after his gastric bypass. Glad it's working out for him.
Someone clearly in need of the same, or some sort of procedure or drastic life change, is Scott Kurtz, who won for Best Digital Comic for PVP. I'm not making fun of the guy or joking about this--it was shocking how obese the guy is. He'll be dead before he's 40, and he doesn't have to be. I'm not sure I can read his comics anymore and derive any pleasure from them knowing he's in such a perilous state. In a charming acceptance speech that got a little weepy at the end, Kurtz thanked his wife for supporting him in quitting his job and trying to make a go of online publishing as a means of income, and I could only think, "Why doesn't she really help him and do whatever she has to save his life, whether it means leaving him or whatever." I'm sure this all sounds really cruel to other bloggers, as comics is filled with those who are all too happy to ignore flaws in order to get along with everyone and pretend everything's great, but I'd rather just be honest if it could possibly help someone wake up and save their life.
Onto lighter things, Chip Kidd accepted for his Pantheon pals Ware and Charles Burns, and is always very amusing and quick on his feet. Kyle Baker's always pretty funny as well.
Finally, much was made of Steranko getting in the Hall of Fame, as he's not a guy you really see much of these days, and he's a rather outsized figure with his shades and sweeping toupee. I described him to others later as the "Robert Evans of Comics," and it looks like other people have made the same comparison, but I take it all back now. He's kind of cheesy, sure, but for all the bad press the guy has gotten over the years for being difficult and/or arrogant, his speech was, aside from a very easy shot at Rob Liefeld, pretty classy and self-effacing. I got to meet him Saturday, and we'll just leave off with that teaser now, as there wasn't anything of note to report for the rest of the evening.
As many did, I laid down on the Convention Center's carpet and took a look at my wares, resting my legs a bit after all that standing. Text messaging wasn't working. Took a picture with my phone. Finally, it was about 6:15 or so and I couldn't wait any longer. Got the suit and went to change into it in the men's room. All the stalls were occupied, and the one I was waiting for contained a tallish black man, judging by the dreadlocks I could see above the door. He was in there a long while, and I was really worried this would be my most awkward meeting with Kyle Baker ever, but fortunately it wasn't him. I very slowly and gingerly changed from my clothes into the suit, careful not to let any part of my body touch the floor or toilet, which were both disgusting. Somewhat unnerving was the fact that the electric eye flush mechanism had too long a range, so the toilet flushed every ten seconds or so. I finally emerged in a dark blue short-sleeve linen shirt and tan silk suit, looking not too bad, though the humidity had really messed up my hair.
Took the jacket off almost immediately and waited for the time to cross the street to meet Rybandt at the Omni, but I already started sweating and knew the linen shirt with no undershirt was a mistake. Asked him if I could borrow one of his shirts and he was gracious enough to say yes. At the Omni, I met G.I. Joe writer Brandon Jerwa and his lovely wife Jessica, but didn't chat much because I had to get that shirt changed tout de suite. By the time I made it to the 13th floor (the Omni does have one, though oddly, no 3rd floor!), I was soaked and in danger of sweating through the back of the suit jacket as well. Yuck, I know.
So I picked out a shirt that went even better with the suit, but it was long-sleeve, so I also had to take one of Joe's undershirts as well, and a beer from the mini-bar, which I left him $7 for. Aside from paying for the beer, I was like instantly the worst, most presumptuous friend ever. But by the time we walked to dinner, the sun was starting to set and the temperature beginning to cool.
No so much in the restaurant, though. Mason had picked Joltin' Joe's because it was the one place he remembered not being crowded during last year's Con. There's a reason for that, maybe two or three. First, it's hot in there, which really throws off the cool billiard club/swanky lounge thing they're going for. Second, there are about six items on the menu, yet the waitress hadn't gotten them quite down. I think she ended up dissuading Matt from getting fish and chips because she described the chips like steak fries, but someone else got a burger and the fries were just fries, actually more like shoestrings. Third, there didn't seem to be any drink specials, not enough big screen TVs, and some utterly boring and repetitive reggae that wouldn't have sounded good to me if my side dish was ganja mashed potatoes.
As for the food, the garlic mashed potatoes were perhaps breathed on by a garlic-eating chef, but that was as far as it went; the steak was good but no better than Outback, not prime beef, and the steamed vegetables had fucking cauliflower dominating over broccoli and carrots, which should never happen. Cauliflower should just be sprinkled here and there like throw pillows at an orgy; it shouldn't impede the fucking. But yes, I had skipped lunch, so I ate it all.
John Layman showed up with some other people I didn't know, but they took booths, so I didn't really interact with him. I heard later that I'd really unnerved him a year or two ago by sticking my finger into his frozen drink in a rhythmic, suggestive way. Apropos of nothing, I have a Charles Brownstein anecdote in a bit.
Paid for my meal and share of the tip, finished my second gin-and-tonic, and left for the Eisners. Crossing the street, I came up behind Chris Ryall, Scott Tipton and other IDW folk, and we talked a little about the panel I'd attended. Met up with Tim Leong again, who was doing his Joan Rivers thing outside the awards ballroom, and he asked me a few questions. You can see here that I seem to have left my chin in my other suit, though I assure you the gum-chewing was just a nervous habit and not me putting on a '77 Burt Reynolds cocky act. After this, I lined up at the bar for a drink to take to my table, and who should be behind me but Charles Brownstein. I dunno, if it was me, I would really try to curtail any public drinking for the rest of this year's Con season, wouldn't you?
Got inside and said hello to Diamond's Robert Randle and Entertainment Weekly's Nisha Gopalan, two of my fellow judges. For whatever reason, Rob was seated elsewhere, so I sat down where he vacated, next to Nisha, and soon enough met up with another judge next to me, Robert Scott of San Diego comics shop Comickaze, who had covered his penne alfredo with so much parmesan it looked like something out of Scarface. But it was good to see him, and he didn't even complain when I kept taking his pen to mark the Eisner winners each time one was announced. Nisha is very cool and I'm glad I got to sit next to her, as she was the right choice for someone to make snarky comments to. Jackie Estrada was at another table with husband Batton Lash and others I don't remember; not sure why, but I didn't end up speaking with her the entire time. Each place setting had a hexagonal chocolate with an edible Comic-Con logo on it, and the centerpiece was a vase with fake flowers and tiny nominated comic cover repros attached to something like a roach clip. A novel idea, yes, but not a great one.
I won't go through every moment of the awards, fear not. One key change was that Jackie took much less of an onstage role, giving the emcee duties to Bill Morrison, Bongo Comics honcho and author of the excellent Dan De Carlo book from Fantagraphics a couple months back. Bill had on a turquoise velvet dinner jacket that was really pretty extraordinary, especially with a similarly colored shirt and red silk tie with an embroidered Asian design on it. He's got style, as does his fair, redheaded wife, who played the role of award hander-outer and stage escort in a pretty yellow party dress.
All that said, and while Morrison's got a good sense of humor, his delivery is a little too slow and a bit creepy where he should be crisper and more deadpan. A number of times the punchline was clear before he even got around to saying it. Not a bad emcee, though, honestly. Nisha did well presenting a few awards with Publisher Weekly's Calvin Reid, who sat at our table and seemed like a very nice man, and he and his wife made a cute couple. Maggie Thompson was also at our table, I think, as was Heidi MacDonald, taking notes.
Let me just run through some high-and-lowlights of the Eisners:
I looked through my trio of columns where I predicted the winners, and I didn't do too badly. Out of 27 categories, I got 17 right, though I think on 2 or 3 I called a toss-up, so take it for what it is, plus I forgot to predict a winner for one category. So not bad for me.
Dean Haglund, who you may remember as the blond-haired member of the Lone Gunmen from The X-Files, presented a couple awards, and took the opportunity to do some shtick, saying Morrison's jacket made him look like the pit boss at a gay casino, and that was one of his better jokes. Frenetic to the point of discomforting, I really hope he is not asked back next year.
To liven the show up, techno music was piped in during the times when people were making their way to and from the stage. Not a bad idea, though the lewd "oooohh!" vocals of one track were hilarious in the context of like, Chris Staros, coming up, and not so funny at all in the context of Russ Manning's barely ambulatory widow making her way to the podium.
Eric Reynolds' brief "Thank you!" on accepting one of Chris Ware's awards was great.
Married creators Anina Bennett and Paul Guinan are a good-looking but very odd couple of presenters.
Robert Scott made a big deal to me at the table of how shy Eric Shanower is and why it's so amazing that he was a presenter (last minute fill-in for an ill Moebius), but I don't know. Bleached hair, white suit, blue shirt and sparkly red tie and handkerchief comes closer to flamboyant in my book. Give him a straw boater and he can host next year's July 4th show on the Washington Mall.
Speaking of straw hats, Frank Miller had this pimpy thing on that seemed designed to wisk moisture and integrity right out of his head. Somewhere between pimp and Simon Le Bon in the "Hungry Like the Wolf" video, for readers my age. He's looking hunched over and kind of seedy, too, but maybe he was just drunk. His table, with Brownstein, a really attractive Occidental woman with Brownstein, Diana Schutz and who I guess was Frank's wife Lynn Varley, were having a good ol' time, and why not? Of the awards I got wrong, I was most disappointed by Eisner/Miller winning for Best Comics-Related Publication, as Masters of Comics Art crushes it. Actually, all the other nominees in the category are superior to Eisner/Miller.
Maggie Thompson did a really wonderful job with the eulogies to comics pro's who died last year. A very good writer and speaker. My only complaint was the details of the deaths didn't seem necessary. Oh, so it was the seventh floor roof in Tokyo that Seth Fisher fell from. Thanks. That helps me appreciate his work more.
Sergio Aragones has incredible presence; he's not just charismatic but he's built up such a warm feelling in me that I want to laugh as soon as I see him, even if he's being serious. Love that guy.
Mark Evanier looked pretty good after his gastric bypass. Glad it's working out for him.
Someone clearly in need of the same, or some sort of procedure or drastic life change, is Scott Kurtz, who won for Best Digital Comic for PVP. I'm not making fun of the guy or joking about this--it was shocking how obese the guy is. He'll be dead before he's 40, and he doesn't have to be. I'm not sure I can read his comics anymore and derive any pleasure from them knowing he's in such a perilous state. In a charming acceptance speech that got a little weepy at the end, Kurtz thanked his wife for supporting him in quitting his job and trying to make a go of online publishing as a means of income, and I could only think, "Why doesn't she really help him and do whatever she has to save his life, whether it means leaving him or whatever." I'm sure this all sounds really cruel to other bloggers, as comics is filled with those who are all too happy to ignore flaws in order to get along with everyone and pretend everything's great, but I'd rather just be honest if it could possibly help someone wake up and save their life.
Onto lighter things, Chip Kidd accepted for his Pantheon pals Ware and Charles Burns, and is always very amusing and quick on his feet. Kyle Baker's always pretty funny as well.
Finally, much was made of Steranko getting in the Hall of Fame, as he's not a guy you really see much of these days, and he's a rather outsized figure with his shades and sweeping toupee. I described him to others later as the "Robert Evans of Comics," and it looks like other people have made the same comparison, but I take it all back now. He's kind of cheesy, sure, but for all the bad press the guy has gotten over the years for being difficult and/or arrogant, his speech was, aside from a very easy shot at Rob Liefeld, pretty classy and self-effacing. I got to meet him Saturday, and we'll just leave off with that teaser now, as there wasn't anything of note to report for the rest of the evening.
Posted by ChristopherAllen at 9:06 PM [Link to this post]
9 Comments:
Thanks, this is easily the best con report I've read.
I echo your feelings re: Kurtz's weight. Three years ago at Baltimore con, I picked up PvP for the first time from him, and walking away I realized, "Did I just see this guy get winded signing my books?
"who had covered his penne alfredo with so much parmesan it looked like something out of Scarface."
You, my friend, are a genius. :-)
"as comics is filled with those who are all too happy to ignore flaws in order to get along with everyone and pretend everything's great,"...
That's why I agree with you more than any other comics reviewer/blogger on the internet Chris, you really cut through the b.s. and tell it like it is. I see this all too much on other people's sites and I can't understand why they act like this. Can it be the free swag/reviewers copies that they receive and don't want to kill the golden goose? I wish some of them would grow backbones and stop being sycophants.
Keep up the great work,
Peace,
Gary Esposito
It's not the desire to get along that keeps me from busting on someone else's weight, it's the fact that the exertion might make me tired and have to lie down.
Tom Spurgeon
Thanks Markus, Marc and Mary--I mean Gary--for the nice words. The Kurtz comments were weird to write, as I realize most of the other bits were sorta snarky and I really didn't want this to be seen as of a piece with them. I just wrote them because it was so alarming--even in an industry filled with overweight and out-of-shape people--and I sincerely hope the guy makes the undoubtedly hard choice to turn things around and live healthier. I'm not saying it as a fan, like I selfishly want years and years more of PvP--I don't read his work. Hopefully it's just taken as the words of someone who tries and occasionally succeeds in having compassion for other people.
According to Mark Evanier, Scott Kurtz is indeed going to have a surgery similar to the one he had.
Regarding Frank Miller, that was not Lynn Varley at his table; he and Lynn are no longer together.
Musta been that hat that drove her away. Or DK2. No judge would argue with either as grounds for divorce...
I don't know. Reading that bit about Kurtz made me feel weird, maybe the same weird you felt when you wrote it. I don't know if I thought it was cruel. Maybe "unnecessary" is a better word.
I mean, I got the sincerity in what you wrote. I got that, since the snark definitely wasn't there when you wrote about him, you weren't just trying to get some cheap laughs. Maybe it was those last few sentences that bothered me more than anything else. They didn't ring true to me. Comics filled with people who ignore flaws and try to get along? In my experience on the net, there's no shortage of comics fan bitching about everything they can. In fact, if anything, the bitching is at such a peak that there's a shortage of fresh things to bitch about. I actually read a post on the CBR forums maybe a week ago, written by a guy who was complaining that Marvel had "lied" about how their stories would end. The guy was actually peeved that they didn't give away story endings beforehand.
And saving his life? I mean, come one. Kurtz happens by your blog and reads something concerning the day he won the most prestigious award in his field, and the blogger's message is "he's so fat, he's going to die." I don't know. I don't think that's going to inspire him to make an important life change. If anything, it may inspire him to feature you in his next strip, getting mauled by a panda bear.
I'll be up front and say maybe it got to me a little bit because I'm trying to deal with my own weight issues. I'm nowhere near Kurtzville, but I could afford to lose a few. And in the past, when I've tried, I've often been approached by people who try to give "inspire" me to lose weight by giving me all the details of how they lost five pounds before the night of their high school reunion, and it's like, "Hey, yeah, I'm trying asshole." Trying to lose weight isn't like quitting smoking or changing your hair color. You don't jump on the treadmill one day and the next day you're a broomstick. In other words, Kurtz could very well be trying to do something about his condition but, you know, he doesn't wear a sign.
I don't know, like I said, I don't think you were being cruel. Maybe it just speaks to a general frustration with all the heavy bellies in comicdom and what that says about the medium we're all interested in.
Post a Comment
<< Home