Bobservations
Bashing
Speaking of mayhem, this coming weekend is the San Diego Comic-Con. I wish I could make a joke relating the battle taking place in the above artwork to the squabbling of fans over line position or prized collectibles, but I have to confess that for the most part all the people I’ve seen at various Cons have been surprisingly well-behaved. I think they vent all their aggression in online flame wars and MMORPG screaming matches. I mean, sure, a lot of them are socially inept and smell bad, especially after the third day, but I am right there with them in both categories so far be it from me to pass any judgements thereof.
Max (the artist) and I will both be attending the Con this year, but only as part of the Great Unwashed. We wanted to get a booth or a table, even though we do not, as yet, have any books to sell. (Coming soon, though!) We just wanted to have a table so we could set up some banners and hand out some flyers and generally be part of the show instead of part of the audience for once. We were really looking forward to it, and I started submitting the necessary applications the instant the SDCC organizers were willing to accept them.
(Insert long quavering laugh here.)
Well. As it turns out, One Does Not Simply Walk Into Comic-Con. Not even if you are willing to pay the mind-numbingly expensive fees required to get even a small space there. No, table space at the SDCC is so much in demand that the only way to get a table at the Con is to have had a table at the Con before. They are like box seats at prestigious theatres — people cling to them forever. There is a waiting list for any spaces that might open up, but apparently the only way this ever happens is when people die. In fact, I have been reliably informed that the only way to even hope to get a table next year is to be on the waiting list, and then just waylay a selection of current exhibitors as they leave the Con this year via the south exit, slay them with an axe, and toss their bodies into a dumpster. Repeat as needed until you have moved up far enough on the list to be assigned a table for next year.
So — sigh — Max and I will be there, and I hope many of you reading this will also be attending, but meeting Max himself will require you to look for someone who bears a striking resemblance to the main character of this strip and then check his badge. It won’t be easy, in the crowd, but maybe it will happen. He may or may not have a strikingly beautiful brunette with him. Do not mess with her. She will kick your ass.
As for me, if you are are a reader of this strip and you are an exhibitor with a table at the Con, I’d love to meet up! I’m easy to find. I’ll be just outside the south exit, by the dumpster.
Just look for the guy with the axe.
— Bob out
FIRST!
I had no idea how much Max was actually based on Max. xD
Max damage is more like it.
Try something smaller and more fan friendly, like Dragon Con:) It’s then only major con I can afford to go to, being in the same state, and with friends’ houses to crash at.
And yes, fights are that messy and un controlled.
These are wise words and they echo what I have been told elsewhere as well. We’ll be looking into some of the other conventions.
Why not give him a porcelain or ceramic knife?
Commercial versions are notoriously brittle. The artist once ruined a dinner by shattering one cutting a half-frozen chicken. Bits of blade got into everything.
Eventually Madison may come up with something (we have plans) but it likely won’t be that.
To specify, i was enamored with this ceramic culinary knife i had just bought as it was quite sharp and seemed to be quite worthy tool- but it met it’s match with some particular overcooked chicken breast meat (like very hard, dried jerky). It was too overcooked to eat but I chopped it up fine and mixed it with some mayonnaise and had it in a sandwich. Not bad, but every few bites I bit into something that felt like a small rock. Paid it no heed, of course, figured a bit of chicken bone was somehow in there. But was distraught to see, as I cleaned up afterward, the knife had many small knicks and chips on the cutting edge, and did indeed comprise the secret ingredient in my sandwich. Tossed the knife and i stick with steel these days.