Comic-Con: Day 3
Finally, Paul Taylor and Brad Guigar have arrived! I was running late this morning, but I got to the show in time to help the guys get our booth up and running, which was just in time for us to abandon it and head off to our panel. Paul and Brad were waiting for us there. Apparently they got off the trolley, and headed straight up to room 1A. The panel was a lot of fun. We had a good discussion on why "webcomics" is a silly word -- it definitively describes nothing. We are not webcartoonists. We are cartoonists, and the web is just one of the tools we use to present our work to the public. We happen to be "independent cartoonists," which nicely differentiates us from other web-enabled strips like Dilbert or Get Fuzzy, but ultimately we're all cartoonists. We're all also in this picture... (except for Greg Dean and Paul Southworth -- those two couldn't make it to Comic-Con this year.) 
I had a good time in the booth defacing books for people and selling Tagon pins. Also, all of those who pre-ordered originals have picked them up, save one person only. As of about 3pm today, I think I broke even. Tomorrow's sales are all gravy, baby. (This is your cue: If you are in town, and planning to come to the convention on Saturday or Sunday, buy a book and a pin from me. My children like to have a little gravy before bedtime.) I spent a little time just before the show closed watching the Keenspot panel, but I had to step out early because I missed a call from Sandra. Afterwards, Jennie Breeden (one of the three lady Keenspotters on the panel) pulled me aside and said "all the women on the panel were sad to see you go." I have no idea what that means, but I don't think there's any possible way I can be insulted. "That Howard... it's a shame he didn't stick around. There aren't enough short, bald, dumpy guys in loud shirts here to prop up our handsome companions through negative comparison." I went to dinner at an Irish pub with the Blank Label Comics team, and recalled something somebody from the UK said earlier that day: "Everybody in America seems to think they're Irish -- at least on St. Patrick's Day." Indeed, the pub-folk were cheering the Irish punk band very enthusiastically, yelling Irish things like "Och!" and "me Lucky Charms." I have it on good authority that some of them may have been drunk. Now that I think about it, maybe it wasn't a punk band at all. There was a guitarist, a violinist, and the pink-haired girl in the tartan halter-top was playing an accordion. All told, a great day. It's hard to believe there are two more days to go.