Hollywood Dreaming

Had a dream a couple of nights ago, and thought it was worth putting on "paper". As dreams go, it's awfully transparent. My brain was being especially shallow that night.

First, a little background. I write comics for a living (still inking some, but I consider myself a writer first these days). In the course of writing graphic novels, and trying to make some kind of a living at it, I have brushed against Hollywood from time to time. Like when a beautiful woman touches your shoulder as she moves past... nice enough, but it fades quickly and leaves you with nothing.

I guess I shouldn't say my Hollywood experiences have left me with nothing. For the most part, though, the check is still in the mail.

So, on to the dream:

I'm in Hollywood. I assume I'm there to work with some collaborators out there on a graphic novel and/or film project. Something very much like when I went out a year ago to work on the Ciudad outline with the Russo brothers.

I've been invited to a party being held by some moderately successful starlet. Not Tara Reid, but someone along those lines. Her estate is way bigger and grander than it should be for her perceived level of success. I'm hanging out in the backyard, which goes on forever. There are pretty, shiny Hollywood types all around, but I am hanging by myself. I assume I'm my usual charming self. and I'm sporting a nice enough summer fedora, but I still feel out of place... unbelievable!

I wander over to the pool. Pools, I should say. There are at least two, one of which is ridiculously large. The whole pool area glows a beautiful Maxfield Parrish blue.

I leave the pool and settle next to a decorative boulder. I don't seem to have a cocktail. Bad omen there.

Finally, someone comes over to talk to me. It's a young lady. She's been lured over by the hat, I'm sure. She asks me with just a trace of pity if I'd like to join her and a group of other revelers in the video game room.

The game room is, like the rest of the place, over the top. It's a pretty small room, packed with consoles and joysticks. The walls are completely lined with monitors. There must be two hundred of them.

I know nothing about the game these people are about to play. Still, I've been invited, and I don't want to blow what appears to be the only chance I'm going to have this evening to not be the lonely, creepy dude in the corner.

As the dozen or so beautiful people in the room prepare to begin their tournament, I suddenly realize that I'm holding a bag of some kind. Don't know where it came from or what's in it, but it's there and I have to get rid of it so I can attempt to play this game and become accepted and beautiful myself.

I walk over to the door, where there is an almost bare spot on the floor. Almost bare. There is some kind of electronic box with a switch there, but I toss the bag down anyway. It bumps the switch, and all the games and monitors in the room flick off.

Amidst the general dismay and bitching, someone offers that they probably caused the outage. To my credit, I don't allow them to take the rap. I announce to the room that it was my fault.

I wake up.

50 Word Noir

My entry for www.dailylit.com's 50 word noir contest.

A Splash on the Widewalk

Wet pavement. Ceiling fans. Shot glasses. Dangerous broads walking into your office at the end of the week.

All bullshit.

It's nothing but tedium, shadows, unpleasant smells.

Grease, sweat, coffee, desperation.

Sometimes, like tonight, it ends with the sharp tang of blood.

Horrific. I vomit out the window. And wait.

A couple more Chicago Pictures

I punch the hell outta AROUND COMICS' Brion Salazar.



And, I pose with my pals Pat Loika and Phil Hester.



Anj

Wizard Chicago Comic-Con Thing

Just back from the "big" show in Chicago. I don't have the time or focus for a full report, so this stream of consciousness rant will have to suffice.

Drive to Chicago was long, and the final hour was a complete pain in the ass. I've driven in a lot of big city traffic, and Chicago is consistently the worst. Tolls every hundred yards, and everything is always torn up and shitty.

Tiki Bar with Jain Nitz and friends was an awesome way to settle down. Also had minor fun at the Hyatt bar Thursday night.

Aloft is a cool place to stay. I did not feel too old to be there, as I feared.

Did not sleep well. Something in the room was beeping! What the fuck was that?!



The con was... weird. Every artist I spoke with made comments about this being their last one. I'm not sure if I would do it again, assuming it happens again. I've been to something like 22 of these in a row.

I think I'm going to C2E2 in April, downtown Chicago.



I love Matt Wagner.

After two months with no steak, the Cajun Ribeye at Morton's was one of the best things that ever happened to me.

Drank for almost four hours at the Hyatt Friday night, and paid for not a single drink. I felt like a pretty girl. I knew this Dean Martin mystique I have cultivated would pay off.

Speaking of pretty girls, April tucked my business card into her bra. Also, she loved my hat. Bless her heart.

I have a lot of cool friends... really enjoyed them Friday night.

Poor Jai.

Better sleep Friday night, but still not good.

Bought tickets for the whole family to see Bruce in KC October 25th. Behind the stage to save money, but it's still gonna be awesome.

Did lots of sketches and sold fair amount of books Saturday. No artwork moving at all. The floor in Artist's Alley was packed. People seemed ready to spend small amounts only.

Did a lot of free head sketches. I stuck to my guns on drawing only what I damn well want to for freebies. "Yes, you can have a free drawing. No, I will not draw your D&D character for free. Enjoy your Batman, jerkoff."

It hit me how this shift in my career, from inker to writer, has changed my status. As an inker, I felt I could approach any editor in the business and credibly ask for work. As a writer, I feel I have to open with, "Um... do you know I'm a writer?"

I took three hats on this trip. I needed all of them. I mean, I need to coordinate with shirts and such. What am I, an animal?

Had a wonderful meal at Maria's with Chris Mitten and his girlfriend, Michelle Behnken. I met Michelle just a few weeks ago, and she is already one of my favorite people. Her kids are cool, too.

More Hyatt Saturday night. Ran into April again. Kyle Strahm is hilarious. Jason Latour and Clay Moore really need some therapy. I adore Adam Witt and Anne Jurack, even if Anne is something of a story killer. I love the Around Comics boys. Ditto John Siuntres.



Great seeing the Iowa boys again. Brook, Jason, Aaron, Colin.







I love Pat Loika dearly, but there are certain acts in conjunction which he should not be mentioned.

Got to bed around 2:30 again Saturday night. Better sleep, but not the best.

Shower in my Aloft room was great.

Con was freaking dead Sunday. Oofa!

So nice to see my daughter again.

Ride home was pretty painless. Drove through St. Louis to show Hannah the arch. It freaked her out.

Home. Need to get to work... now.

Anj

San Diego... Part Two!

Friday night now, and...

Then, it was off to the big Oni/UTA/EA party. It was amazing. The party was held at the top floor of the ballpark that hosts the Padres. The night air was great, as were the drinks, the company, and the whole damn vibe of the night. Had a great time with Chuck BB, Jamie Rich, Chris Mitten and his girlfriend Michelle, the Oni folks, and many others. High points included humiliating myself by hovering around that new Spock dude, waiting to take his picture with Michelle, and telling my legendary M&M story (with photo, of course).

Speaking of photos, here's me with Chris Mitten and the lovely Michelle.


And, here's the same photo, with drunk-detector turned on. This is about how I felt at the moment.


After the party, it was back to the Hyatt. Saw my pal and former editor Aubrey Sitterson there, among others. Spoke to Colleen Coover briefly. but missed her man Paul Tobin. I partied pretty hard again, getting to bed at close to 3. I had not really had dinner, so I crashed equal parts hungry and tired. The next morning would take care of that, as I had a big breakfast scheduled with Hester, Ron Marz and Dan Jurgens.

First thing after the awesome breakfast Saturday morning was another signing at Oni. More good folks, including the lovely Pat Loika this time. Also saw my buddy and Ciudad collaborator Joe Russo. Then, I hit the con floor a little bit. Saw my pal Matt Wagner. The far end of the show wore me out in a fucking hurry. It was literally hard to move in some spots. Gah!

By the way... you know what is really the opposite of awesome? You're in a super-packed aisle, trying to squeeze through the sweaty masses when someone decides the need a picture of the dork in the Transformers costume walking in front of you. So, we all have to just freeze, out of some misplaced courtesy reflex, while this douche gets his photo taken. Bleccch!


Anyway, I got out of there in pretty short order. First was a meeting with my pal (and wonderful artist) Matt Haley. We had a drink at my hotel, the Marriott right next door to the show. Then, I ran up to the room, inked a sketch and took a nap. Back to the show briefly, as I really flirted with buying a really nice architectural drawing from '40s Miami. It was a gorgeous piece, but I couldn't afford it, so I settled for a crappy phone picture instead.


I guess it was the responsible decision. Then, time to get ready for dinner. Phil and I hooked up with Jon Lewis, Ron Marz, and many of the Top Cow folks for an amazing meal at El Vitral. Marz found this place and ate their three times during the show. I don't blame him. Gourmet Mexican. A meal to remember, for sure. The meal started with a remarkable cocktail... something with rum and cilantro. It tasted like an earthy, boozy milkshake.

After dinner, we stopped back at our room so I could pour myself a stiff Jack and Coke in a plastic cup (did I mention the lines at the Hyatt bars?) and stuff the flask in my pocket. At the Hyatt, I hung with Dave Gibbons (very briefly), John Layman, Hillary Barta, Seth Jones, and several of the usual suspects.

Hit the room, and the bed, after 2 sometime. Didn't sleep real well, and Sunday morning seemed too much like a morning. I was, finally, shot. Flying out early Sunday turned out to be totally the right choice. As I said above, I was home before the show ended, which was great by me. God, it was nice to be home and with the family. I brought everyone See's candy. Consumables are good. There's enough bullshit in our house without Comicon silliness adding to the chaos.

This year was probably the best time I've had at Comicon. A combination of my previously-mentioned modest goals and my newly-acquired writer comfort zone. It felt so good to go to the "big show" as a writer. It felt so good to talk to people about writing way more than inking. It felt good to talk to my Oni editor (the fantastic James Lucas Jones) with a clear conscience, with one book in the can and more on the way. And, of course, it's cool to go to the show with a light schedule and a peaceful frame of mind.

Anj