Comics


Here’s a few of the SWAG items I picked up at Emerald City ComiCon (ECCC) in Seattle this year. Hopefully soon, I will be able to frame them.

Sorry in advance for the crappy pix; I took them with my cell phone.

This one is for a pitched idea. Rashan Ekedal is the artist, and the book is Resurrection Men. Don’t know if it will ever get published, but it’s my first two-page spread. The details are awesome.

A close-up on the detail.

Here is Rashan’s “fancy” signature.

My first cover art piece. It’s only Ant-Man, but it is done by Phil Hester, which is awesome.

This next piece isn’t a comic book. It’s art a computer geek does up in Seattle, while he’s at work. This picture doesn’t do any justice to the art. It’s 80% hand-drawn, 20% computer filled. The computer filled parts are the backgrounds. (I can not for the life of me remember his name.)

A close up of his art.

Ok, last one, but it’s not from ECCC 2010. This one is one of my babies. An original signed script for Batman: Shadow of the Bat #72; written, and signed, by Alan Grant. I received this from him because I wrote a letter to him in which I apologized for confusing him with the less talented Alan Moore. (My opinion of course.)

Peace out!

TCG

[228]

I don’t like pretentious people. Nope, not at all. Pretentious people think they’re better than me, but they’re not. There ain’t no topping this classy guy. No way, no how.

Take for example what happened today.

Wait, no, it started Sunday, but I couldn’t finish it then because the place was closed. See, Sunday I am downtown Boise with my baby daughter, waiting near the county building for a table to open up at my favorite breakfast bistro. We’re playing in the water at the fountain, and I look across the street and see the name of an author I like blazoned on the reader board of the movie theatre over there.

First I grab my daughter and race across the street. I had my doubts that anyone would be at the theatre, but I took my chances and walked up to the booth.

“Are you selling tickets to Michael Chawbon?” I said, and the ticket girl looked at me funny. “Chaybon? Sheybon? Am I missing it here?”

She looked at the manager behind her, and the manager looked at me and then back at her, then shrugged. “They’re selling the tickets at the Log Cabin,” the ticket girl said.

“Right up the road?” I said, and she shrugged. “Never mind, I’ll find it.”

I carried my daughter back across the street and let her down onto the ground. She ran for the water fountain, and I took out my phone and called my wife.

“Hey,” I said when she picked answered.

“What?” she said.

“Just real quick, can you look up a number for me?”

“I have crap on my hands.”

“Literally?”

“Yeah, literally, because I play in my own shit like a monkey. What do you want?”

I heard her wash her hands in the background, and my son singing above it. I explained what I was looking for and she looked the number up on the computer. I thanked her, and dialed the number. I get a recording; they aren’t open, but the recording tells me to leave a message. I hang up, grab my daughter from the fountain, and dry her hands on my shirt.

Monday came, and I made plans to go to the center and purchase me a ticket to Michael Chaw-bon.

I open the door and walk into a dark, empty room. My footsteps echo around the emptiness.

“Hello?” A woman said from the back room. The tapping of high-heeled little feet grew louder as she approached from the dim hallway. She entered the room like a whale breeching the ocean surface.

“Hi,” I said. “I’m here to buy ticket for Michael…Chaw-bon?”

She looked over the rim of her glasses. “Chay-bon,” she said.

“Chay-bon?”

She sniffed. “SHAY-bon.”

“Ah, thanks. I wasn’t sure because I’ve never heard it spoken.”

“This way,” she said, and turned on her heels. She walked into the room without waiting on me.

I entered the room, and walked to the side of the desk she stood by. “Just one,” I said.

“One?” she said.

She looked shocked, so I elaborated. “Yeah, none of my friends know who he is.”

She did a double-take. “If no one knows him, why do I only have thirty tickets left?”

“Because none of those people are my friends. Check?” I held my checkbook up, and she nodded. “Twenty-two bucks?”

She looked at the paper on the desk. “Yes, twenty-two.”

I wrote the check, and handed it to her. “No ticket for the missus?”

“Nope, she could care less, to tell the truth.”

“Hmmph.”

“O…kay,” I said, and took the ticket. I walked to the door, and turned to the woman. “Thanks for the help. I can’t wait to meet Mr. Shaw-bon.”

She exhaled through her pursed lips. “SHAY-bon,” she said, and closed the office door.

I smiled and patted my wallet that held my ticket. Next week was going to be fun.

[650]

WinCo is a new name for the grocery chain, but back when I was a kid, the store was named Waremart. I’m not exactly sure how, or why, the name change came about, and I really don’t care enough to go research it.

Back in the early days, WinCo—hereafter referred to as the store—didn’t use the awesomeness that is UPC bar-code scanning. Back then, at the registers, the prices on canned and dry goods were written on the items by customers with store-supplied, wax pencils.

The following is a typical example of how it worked for one particular customer:

Customer walks into store. Customer grabs cart, and pushes it into the store.

Customer returns to cart corral, and leaves cart with gimp wheel. Customer chooses new cart, and pushes it into the store.

Customer yells at her children, but children continue to jump up and down on the automatic-door trigger mats. Customer threatens children that their father shall be notified of their bad actions, but children ignore customer. Customer walks to children and twists ears. Children cry and sulk after customer.

Customer walks back to cart, but cart is missing. Customer curses the thief—hereafter referred to as jackass—and walks back out of store.

Customer returns to cart corral. Customer realizes that the only cart remaining inside, is the gimped-wheel cart. Customer swears under breath, and curses jackass once more. Customer turns to tell children to go outside and get cart, but children are missing. Customer smiles, and pushes gimped cart into store.

Customer grabs wax pencil—used to mark prices on cans and dry goods—from plastic cup near door, and pushes cart further into store. Customer finds canned vegetable aisle, and selects cheapest can of green beans—typically dented, or black around seal for that extra discount.

Customer walks leaves cart and walks back to front of store for new, working wax pencil. Customer grabs an extra three wax pencils for, “shits and giggles.”

Customer realizes she left purse in shopping cart. Customer arrives at shopping cart sweating and out of breath, but happy that purse is untouched.

Children are at candy dispensers, happy that customer left purse unguarded. Children chew gum and blow bubbles, then high-five, and skip to comic book spinners.

Customer continues to dry goods aisle. Customer finds three-quarter full bag of all-purpose white flour, but is elated because hole is plugged with a small piece of grey duct tape. Customer marks original price on white flour wrapper, and circles the extra fifteen percent marked there. Customer is thinking of getting hair done with money saved.

Customer enters dry cereal aisle. Customer thinks children will enjoy the cereal she purchases for them. Customer marks generic Cheerios bag, and tosses bag in cart. Customer looks in cart and wonders when the craftiest of the four children had time to slip two Spider-Man comic books into cart. Customer smiles and places comic books onto nearby shelf.

Crafty child watches customer, and waits for customer to exit aisle. Crafty child takes comic books and shadows customer three more aisles. Crafty child watches customer enter ladies room to, “freshen up.” Crafty child hides comic books between boxes of powdered milk and Idaho Au Gratin potatoes. Crafty child darts from cart area after hearing ladies room door open.

Customer feels her shoulder and reassures herself that purse is on shoulder and not on cart that crafty child just darted from. Customer lifts the discounted bread bags, but does not see any comic books.

Customer transfers groceries onto black conveyor belt, and finds comic books between boxed dry goods. Customer sighs and puts comic books onto impulse items rack, next to Woman’s World. Customer picks up latest issue of Woman’s World, and places on belt. Crafty child watches exchange and begs customer for comic books.

Clerk interrupts and tells customer that customer missed marking price on dented can of white hominy.

Customer mutters swear words, and tells crafty child to go get price. Crafty child negotiates task for comic books, but the offer is rejected. Customer sends crafty child out with wax pen and threats of father knowing crafty child has been a “brat.” Crafty child pouts and slowly walks away from customer and the line of four other customers; all frowning, and leaning on their carts.

Customer feels bad, and places Spider-Man comic books on belt. Clerk says, “These as well?” Customer smiles, and shrugs, then says, “Yes.”

Crafty child is at disgusting hominy canned vegetable area. Crafty child notices price is fifty-eight cents, but marks the can eighty-eight. Crafty child smiles at his retribution, and skips back to the front of the store.

Crafty child smiles at the eight customers in line at the conveyor belt, and drops the hominy can on its side at the very end of the belt.

Clerk sighs and waves hand between infrared conveyor belt eyes. The hominy can spins at the far end of the belt, but does not advance.

Customer grabs crafty child’s arm and pulls him out of the way. Customer rights hominy can, and gives to clerk.

Clerk notices price, and looks at crafty child who is staring back. Clerk shakes head, and enters price. Crafty child takes hominy can and pushes it deep down in bread bag to ensure it is secure.

Customer writes check, and her children follow her out of the store.

Customer transfers paper bagged groceries into back of green, four-door, pickup truck. Crafty child laughs at sister—Raymond Barf Pickle—who sinks down in seat so boys will not notice her.

Customer tells crafty child to return cart to corral and she will give him treat. Crafty child is dubious of customer’s honesty, but complies.

Customer starts pickup truck, and black smoke billows from tailpipe. Crafty child wipes black soot from face and climbs into front seat.

Customer presents crafty child Spider-Man comic books, and crafty child is happy and thanks customer.

Customer looks around and wonders where her children got gum. Children smile and blow bubbles.

Customer and children drive toward the purple twilight and home.

[1009]

So I went to Marvel.com to check out some X-Men related information and had to chuckle a little due to the DC “Batman” advertisement right smack dab in the middle of the page.

At first I thought I had navigated to the wrong site, but I didn’t. Alas, perfect as always…it’s a curse.

(Plus, I didn’t think my friends would believe me if I told them. This is my proof.)

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