San Diego tears my heart in two, because the weather is perfect but the restaurant service is simply terrible. It's as if all the waiters took an anger management course taught by dyslexic, double-Y chromosome ex-cons.
Comic-con was a special, special time. Even surrounded by large, loud, stinky (oh so stinky) men with wandering eyeballs and scary contact lenses hawking "furry" erotica, we still managed to have a fantastic time. I have perfected the art of Zen flyer distribution (I can make people take paper from my hands by using my PSYCHIC POWERS). I have learned how to convince people to receive the Mark of the Beast. I have (slightly) improved my ability to make small talk with folks I've never met before. I have eaten at Fatburger.
Read on for the tale of our journey into the dark heart of Comic-con 2002.
I assume that I spent a lot of the Con drinking, because there are large chunks of it that have already faded from memory. It's also possible that I've purposely erased the most disturbing parts of it from my mind. Either way, I'm going to try and recount as many details as my addled brain will allow. At a later date, I'll post some pictures and scans that may help to fill in the remaining details. The full story, however, may never be known.
We arrived on Thursday evening, also known as Preview Night, full of hope and cheddar goldfish crackers. Preview night is fun because it is just long enough to set up a table and then break it down again, which saves you the tedious effort of having to sell your merchandise or talk to people. We did manage to talk to the folks whom with we shared our table: rstevens, Jeff, John and Sam. They were all very nice and did not insult me to my face.
I also got to meet James Kochalka (again) that evening, who asked me lots of questions about rstevens (and inquired about the possibility of exchanging his old Diesel Sweeties t-shirt for a new one, as he no longer liked the color of his old shirt) while he was away from the table. James then sprinted off in search of rstevens. I think he may be in love.
The remainder of the evening was spent at a Finnish bar eating hamburgers and staring at Jeff across the table while we listened to what may have been the loudest rendition of Girl From Ipanema a live band has ever performed.
We were at the Con bright and early on Thursday morning; Phillip and I sent our women into the main room to set up our table (we are an equal opportunity employer) while we wandered about the lobby staring at scantily clad women wearing animal tails, making crude jokes and scouting out the locations of coffee vendors. We spent a good deal of the rest of the day (and the rest of the convention, actually) trying to keep down our breakfasts as we were enveloped by the stench of the furry porn merchants to our left. I learned quickly not to make eye contact with the man running the table, not just because his face damaged my very soul, but because he interpreted it as an invitation to conversation. I use the word "conversation" in the very loosest of terms.
As people started coming by the table, we did anything we could to get their atention and introduce them to the strip. Although we get about 50,000 unique monthly readers, the vast majority of people haven't even heard of Goats. Our main goal at these sorts of events is to spread the word (something that you, dear readers, do a better job than we -- you can always help us by introducing us to your friends). During the course of 4 days, we handed out about 4,000 flyers to unsuspecting passers-by. The Goats flyers are pretty simple -- double-sided photocopies with three sample strips per side, the logo and the URL. Giving out sample strips seems to convert people more effectively than any other promotion we do; it's nice to see people walk away from the table, reading and giggling. A lot of folks even came back later to talk more and buy our books. If you're here as a new reader, welcome to our little site. I hope you enjoy your stay, and feel free to say hello in our forums.
We also stuck small Diablo tattoos on the hands and arms (and some other, more interesting body parts) of the folks we managed to snag as they jaunted by. Of course, women won't let you hold their hands and arms (and other parts) and rub moist paper towels on them without good reason. You have to make stuff up. Our angle was that by receiving the "Mark of the Beast", you would gain entrance to the Cult of the Satanic Chicken. People were generally hesitant at first, but after we reassured them that we were merely borrowing their souls for a short time, they warmed up and got into the swing of things.
That night, the Goats crew and Jeff Rowland headed over to the Rock Bottom Brewery, where we drank many, many tasty $2 pints and introduced Jeff to the godness that is Single Malt Scotch. I don't think he showed up to the Con on Friday until about noon.
After this point, things get a bit hazy for me. Cons are exhausting; you're on your feet for the entire day, and acting as though you're an intelligent, caring person can put a strain on even the most dedicated misanthrope. And I'm not 23 anymore. I'm not even 25 anymore. Going out five nights in a row is just something that my aging body doesn't want to do anymore, and when my mutinous mind and my aging body team up to malfunction, there's not much I can do about it. What with all the unions and such. The days blend and melt into each other.
So I'm just going to gloss over a few of the highlights that I can remember. Mind you, these are not necessarily in chronological or alphabetical order.
- We had a number of distinguished visitors to the table. Pete stopped by a number of times, ostensibly to cause trouble and stir up animosity and evil and such, but I think he was just lonely. We managed to cover up the "dot" on one of his sluggy-dot-com girls with a Diablo tattoo (on one of those interesting parts I mentioned earlier). Pete responded in kind by defacing numerous Diablo tattoos with his "drawings" and "humor". A good time was had by all.
- Batjew was also a frequent visitor, cruising by for small talk and sketches of Hitler. I drew Smiling Hitler and Guitar Hitler for him. Tycho and Safety Monkey (for whom I drew a monkey playing Jeopardy!) also dropped by a couple of times. It was amazing to finally meet these guys; I've been following Tycho's work for a long time now and he just keeps getting better all the time. Gabe remained at the Gameskins booth. He seemed somewhat grumpy, so I decided it would be safest to let him brood in peace.
- Corey and her entourage seemed to live at our table. Specifically, they seemed to absorb some sort of life-sustaining energy from hearing John Allison speak. Corey has a Diablo tattoo now, right above her butt.
- Tatsuya, master of the pimp joke, stopped by as well. The man is as cool as the dairy case at your local grocer. I was pleased to learn that he liked Goats, although he may not have been referring to the strip.
- I met (and re-met) quite a few other Keenspot folks, including Jeff Darlington, Josh Phillips, Mike Rosenzweig, Darren "Gav" Bleuel, Aric McKeown, Aaron Farber, Ryan Duchane and Brad Guigar.
- John needs his own TV show. It wouldn't have to be anything lavish; just John in a room talking to himself would probably suffice. And be funnier than anything else on network television.
- Lou Ferrigno was at the Con! We managed to get him to sign this strip in one of our books. Lou Ferrigno is very grumpy until you buy one of his posters, but then he becomes very happy and friendly.
- John, Jeff, Sam, rstevens and I had an amazing jam session on Sunday night, after the con was over. It was as if all the creativity that had been bottled up for the weekend came out all at once. We sketched like mad; hopefully, we'll be able to scan some of them and show you the results soon. Most of the sketches were of rstevens' Space Mummy character, who, as far as I know, has not yet seen the light of day. Space Mummy is a mummy who lives in space. Rstevens describes Spummy (as his friends call him) as someone with the powers of Superman and the attitude of Hemingway. He'll save your life, but then keep reminding you about it until you buy him a drink. Spummy is amazingly fun to draw. I think Sunday night may have been one of the best things I have ever experienced.
- Stikfas is cool.
Anyway, that's about all the specfics I can remember at the moment; I'm sure more will some to me as I overcome the overpowering effects of jet lag. I'm also going to try and upload some photos and scans of sketches later in the week. In the meantime, I want to thank all of you who came and said hello at the table; it was fun meeting all of you (and seeing many of you again). And if you're a new reader who has joined us after learning about us from the con, welcome! I hope you enjoy your stay.
