Steve Lieber

San Diego 1999, a half-assed report.

Several people have emailed to ask me when I was planning to post a convention report for San Diego. Unfortunately, i haven't written one. A good report is ful of wacky misadventures, amusing anecdotes and introspective observation. This wasn't that kind of show. I just took care of business and had fun. So in lieu of clever, Paul Theroux-ish travel writing, I'm going to recycle stuff I've written elsewhere and foist shoddy, used reporting off on you, my internet friends.

Over on the Warren Ellis message board, where I've been known to hang out and shill, I had posted a version of my usual hype note that I headlined "LIEBER, 35,000 FAT WHITE MEN@ SAN DIEGO." All through the weekend, people would introduce themselves to me as "one of the 35,000. I began to feel trapped in a Daniel Pinkwater story.

What else? let's see...
I met many Sequential Tarts, sold a huge pile of WHITEOUTs, did a bunch of booth signings, taught a class, sketched continuously, schmoozed ferociously, and watched Therese Nielsen's kids play with Beanie Babies, making them fight to the death. To my shame, I neglected to heckle Brian Bendis at the Oni panel, (which for lack of stage space was broken into three seperate squads of cartoonists.) That bully Brett Warnock blindsided me on a Gaslamp District sidewalk, but I'll forgive him 'cause he published Craig Thompson's "Goodbye Chunky Rice."

Retailers and dealers I met included our own Ralph and Kady, Bill Phillips of Bunjee's Books in Georgia, Chris Jackson from Atlas Comics, Joe Murray from Delaware's Catian Blue Hen, Mike Keeney of Comic Corner in Huntsville, AL, Lou Mazella who manages to manage All About Books & Comics in Tempe, Arizona, and Brian Johnson whose online store Khepri Comics boasts WHITEOUT:MELT as it's number one title two months in a row.

During my CBLDF signing, I learned that some poor guy in West Viginia was arrested for selling an issue of Elfquest to a minor. You can read more about it in The Comics Journal- #215 with the John Severin/Tony Millionaire flip covers.

I lost big at the Eisners and attempted to snap my own picture at the moment of loss, but was foiled when the flash failed. I refuse to dwell upon the symbolic implications of this. Walking by the San Diego bus station at 2 am, I was hit in the mouth by a golfball that took a weird bounce. I bid on a piece of original art at the benefit auction, shouting my first bid from my chair in artist's alley. Over an amazing dinner I talked about poetry with Ben Raab and about sketchbooks with Travis Charest. It was summer in San Diego, and Travis was dressed for autumn in Maine, but he still looked perfectly comfortable.

God help me, I doodled Carrie Stetko enough times to illustrate an entire issue, but I somehow failed to sell even one of my charcoal drawings from life. Whatsamatta with you people? You don't like the human figure unless it's wearing boots and a cape?

Greg Rucka and I had a big signing at the Next Planet Over booth. They somehow found a case of WHITEOUT number one and gave copies away to all comers. This was a blast. I had never had a long, snaky line of people wanting my signature before, and I did my damnedest to not be a dick.

As consolation for getting my ass kicked at the Eisners, I necked with my wife in the lobby of the Hyatt. Ovewr the weekend, we watched a lot of weird people, ate a lot of weird food. I drew "cowboys and acrobats" on a paper tablecloth at the Graffiti party. Jeff Parker was there, too and he drew an astounding picture of a gorilla in bronco-buster gear riding a remarkably accurate T-Rex. (I thought I saw Bill Stout pointing it out to someone else, which is as good an endorsement as one can get.) Trish Mulvhill was there, talking about living the good life in NYC, rural Ireland and elsewhere. Matt Haley, my defacto agent, was there and I gave him shit, just 'cause. Matt does the most incredible convention sketches, but he was all sketched out by the time the party rolled around.

I read my first review in the Comics Journal, met Batton Lash, Marv Wolfman, John Kovalic, John Cassady, John Lucas and inumerable other creators, griped about the generally low standards of comics industry graphic design with Richard Bruning, grilled Rachelle Brissenden's roommate about minor points of Antarctic social customs, informed a number of retailers that there is such a business as Cold Cut Distribution, and that said business could quickly fill back issue orders, had dinner with writer/publisher Jim Ottaviani, whose new trade paperback DIGNIFYING SCIENCE sold out before I could buy a copy.

I started Augie DeBlieck's sketchbook off, inadvertently giving it a theme, and I leared that WHITEOUT was generally a well received father's day gift. I drew fewer Hawkman sketches than ever before, which is, think, a good sign.

I arrived home on Monday unable to bear the sight of human beings of any weight, race or gender, and only wanted to sit somewhere shady and throw breadcrumbs at birds. Drawing seemed a digusting idea, and when a buddy called to ask if I wanted to look at some pages he'd completed, I reacted as if he'd invited me to go disinter a corpse.

I've got four more conventions before the year is out.