PEOPLE started talking shit the day before the flight out to LA because Winter Storm Leon’s (no kidding) baby brother was about to hit us hard and there was no way we were going anywhere. Sometime around midnight, we got word all flights were being cancelled, including ours, so we unpacked, cancelled the dogsitter and hit up Sar and Damien to let them know they’d be going solo. Then it turned out there was one little flight left willing to brave ten inches of snow. So we packed again and lugged everything through the blizzard to JFK in hardcore snow gear only to land on a beach, in flip flops and shorts, in February. Wearing shorts and flip flops in February is kind of like being a dog in a handbag; you can feel yourself getting softer by the minute.
It must be catching, this Los Angeles disease. We could see the Jawamobile from our balcony. We had some fucking amazing pancakes. We did a little tour of the City of Angels. The mailboxes were dressed up like Spongebob. There was a line around the block for Shia LaBeouf’s idea of art, or maybe it was Jerry O’Connell’s idea of Shia’s idea of art. We were sucking up the Michelin starriness of it all, wandering around in a consumerist trance, until we went to pick up books. One box was still a box of books. The other one, which we took to calling Brokebook Mountain, was some recycling in an official USPS bag. So if anyone was wondering why we had maybe half our titles at the show, there ya go. Looking at you, Spongebob.
As for the show, the LA Zine Fest, it was fantastic. Maybe it was fitting that our big books didn’t make it, forcing us to go all mini all the time. In terms of volume, meaning the number of comics sold, the LA Zine Fest ate everything we could serve. Shorthanded on big ticket items, we couldn’t have broken any dollar records, but even in dollars, we came pretty close to our CAKE total in a single day. In case anyone’s wondering how seriously to take the LAZF as a comics publisher, we would say, “Very very.” The Helms Bakery garage is not your average parking facility. It’s huge and it was packed to the brim, with a kind of energy in line with the likes of CAB. Find a way to get there and go.
But enough business, our haul was pretty killer. As our pal, Nate Bulmer, pointed out, there were more than a few new faces and the familiar names included lots of folks you don’t see too often on our coast. Indie comics would seem to be a bigger deal on the right side of the USA, sure, but it can feel a little insular when you come up to someone’s table whom you just saw at another show two weeks ago and ask them if they have any new stuff, which they don’t because you just saw them two weeks ago, and you can’t ask how they’ve been because you just saw them two weeks ago. Sigh. We picked up great stuff from the new(ish)-to-us Nick Thorburn,Emily Joy, Kid Clampdown, Jason Martin (coming soon to our Emporium), Kevin Uehlein and Sandra Markarian, and from folks who are rarely in the room with us, like the debonair David King, the mysterious Malachi Ward (with a new comic!) and that bastard Tim Hensley. We even met Eric Nakamura the night before, which, for folks like us, is a real honor (plus he likes us!). It’s nice to get the hell out of town for a while.
Nicer still, we got to hang out with Damien Jay for an entire day. It was also his first stint behind a table in years, though he showed not a trace of rust at all, and even has a new mini anthology (also coming to the Emporium) of stuff he’s been up to while (still) working on the Natural World (and moving to LA, and buying a house, and having a baby…). He swears he is going to finish the Natural World. We believe him. Of course, Sar Shahar, one of our gang and favorite people was his usual lovely self, and we got to have dinner with him and Nate and their lovelier boos, while they pitched Lesbocop on our way to catch Robocop. So Hollywood. And Robocop was wack. Should they invite us, we’ll be back at the LAZF every year until we are dead.
Then the flight home got bumped a couple days, so we went to Palm Springs and played mini-golf and had drinks on a freezing mountain top to cool off. If you’re hating us right now, don’t worry, we’re back in New York, enjoying a nice day before we re-enter the polar vortex. The next party is at our house (meaning Bergen Street Comics), for Mike Dawson‘s new book, Angie Bongiolatti, and you’re invited to yet another party for Edie Fake‘s new book, Memory Palaces at the Bureau of General Services Queer Divsion. Say that three times fast. Now you are queer, too.
We’ll be back with the details of the parties and the rest of the Museum of Comics and Cartoon Art Fetival 2014 related activities – including one thing you are not going to believe until you see it, when you will shit brix. That’s a promise.
Barry and Leon and Casey
ALL THE LEAVES are brown and the sky is gray. Just kidding! There are no leaves at all, but we’re heading out to the Land of Dre. It’s our first ever trip to the LA Zine Fest. If you’re wondering why, exactly, we would fly across the country with a bunch of books meeting us there, well, blame Tom Neely. He pretty much dared us to go at the last SPX. Tom is, of course, a native Los Angelean or a Los Angeleno. Something like that. We’re native New Yorkers. If we were at all cool, we’d drop a street single for the occasion, but instead we’ll probably crash into each other just to feel something. In other words, yet again, we have no idea at all what to expect.
We do at least expect Sar Shahar, of Sequential Vacation 2 fame, to be at the Secret Acres table. Sar, in addition to being ferociously talented, was lots of fun to hang out with at CAKE, where we debuted his mini. It’s worth the trip just to hang out with him. There will be a Special Guest at the show with us, none other than Damien Jay, he of the Natural World and lots of other stuff. Not only do we adore his comics, he just so happens to be the babydaddy (and husband) of Minty Lewis, the goddess behind our very own PS Comics, and, of course, one of the gang running that Regular Show. If you didn’t know, she’s the voice of Eileen, too. How’s that for Hollywood?
For quite a while now, Minty’s been the lone Lady of the Acres. With all the talk about gender disparity in comics, we should maybe say something about that, especially since someone just asked one of our artists why we don’t publish any women. Secret Acres, as now legally constituted, is two gay guys and a woman, Casey Gonzalez, former Sheriff of the Acres and now an official Editor. The majority of our customers are women, going by all the data we could gather, and even counting customers as best we could at shows. Those efforts were part of helping out a friend, Janelle Asselin, also a woman, who is writing a book about women and comics, and who pops up in the documentary, She Makes Comics. Does this sound like we’re making excuses? Are we going to get killed, Image-style, when we post our Secret Acres family photos? We have tried and failed to publish no less than eight women, by our count, all of whom found homes elsewhere (though we have not given up just yet). Trust us; it ain’t from lack of trying. As they say in France, if at first you don’t succeed, try and try again. Our five year comics publishing sausage party is finally coming to an end: everyone say hi to Corinne Mucha, the new woman in town, now with her very own page on this site. Hi, Corinne! Let’s hope this becomes a regular thing.
Speaking of documentaries and queer folks and comics, you simply must watch the Edie Fake special up on the Comics Journal, Rad Queers: Edie Fake. Graham Kolbeins, which we sincerely hope is pronounced, “Cool Beans,” shot this thing in Chicago with our man Edie, featuring the guys from Printed Matter and Thomas Robertello, of the now defunct gallery which bore his name. If Robertello sounds familiar, that may be because it was the place Edie’s Memory Palaces project was first shown. As you know, there will be a Secret Acres book of Memory Palaces making its debut at MoCCA. To celebrate this, we thought we’d show you the cover. Not bad huh?
Since we’re spilling the beans on MoCCA and covers, take a look at the brand new Only Skin, also dropping back into print at MoCCA. You’ve already seen the cover of our other MoCCA debut from that Mike Dawson guy. But enough MoCCA. We’re knocking the rust off on LA Zine Fest first. If you’re in LA, come on by. What else is there to do in LA, anyway? We’ll see you back here next week for our big con wrap up.
Barry and Leon and Casey
ANOTHER year on (our) comics circuit has pretty much come and gone with the passing of the first ever Comic Arts Brooklyn. We slipped and called it BCGF what had to be ten hundred times over the weekend. That’s not surprising to anyone, and that’s also a good thing. As Brooklynites, we need this show. BCGF made the most of the comics and art community here in our little borough, and it just reeked of Brooklyn. CAB steps right into that vacated slot, bringing that Brooklyntricity, filling the room with what Tom Spurgeon, Comics Reporter, once called the products of the Brooklyn Cliché Factory. Or, to put it in industry terms, Secret Acres’ core audience.
It didn’t have the same wall to wall crush of BCGF. CAB’s got its own energy, but like every year around this time, we moved a ton of books at the Mt. Carmel Church. It’s possible we broke last year’s single day sales record. That’s pretty impressive seeing that we had no debuts and no events of our own tied to CAB (though we did get 2012 back in print). With no natural disaster to excuse us this time around, we once again failed to bring enough books to meet demand and had to re-up in the middle of the show. This is a lousy habit of ours. However, we almost managed to get set up before the doors opened, so that’s progress. Comic Arts Brooklyn, the show, had it together far better than we did. Organizationally, this seemed smoother than its predecessor, somehow. Maybe things were scaled back a little bit, event and programming wise? In any case, there seemed to be a great, almost corporately smooth, synergy between the show and gallery things like this and the stuff at the Society of Illustrators and the Spiegelman exhibit. Whatever, because it worked. CAB is an event, not a flea market.
One fascinating thing about the shows in this church, and the shows run by Mr. Gabe “Desert Island” Fowler, is that it’s debut schmebut for Secret Acres. Yeah, our latest, Iron Bound, led the way because people want the new stuff, but they want it all. And they want it now. It’s one of the few places on earth where the customers are so plugged in, they come and ask us if we distro minis we’ve never even heard of, or when the new Rust Belt is coming out because they picked up the first two last year and loved ‘em. It’s freakish. Another big carryover from the ghost of shows past is that cartoonists can’t keep their mouths shut. If you want proof that comics aren’t just for people who can’t get laid anymore, come to Brooklyn. No worries, ’cause we don’t kiss and tell. We’re gentlemen. Casey, however…
Girls Just Want to Have Fun
This wee Acre found herself at a bar in Bushwick (because, duh) on Friday night in excellent company. Not only did I get to hang for a sec with some dude who kept calling me “dawg,” but I also got some face time with Mack of Spaceface Books, resisting the urge to run my fingers through his hair. On the people-whose-skin-I-will-steal-and-wear-as-a-mask front, Joe Kessler charmed me with his English accent and those peaches and cream. I quietly wiped some drool from my chin as Michael DeForge and CAB Prom King Sam Alden talked Adventure Time, texted my mom about it, headed home.
Saturday dawned pretty damn cold, and Ryan Cecil Smith and I managed to blunder into an AA meeting on the other side of the church on our way to the show. We muttered “comics” over and over until someone pointed us in the right direction. CAB started nice and quiet, a babefest as usual. I didn’t make it to any panels because ha ha ha, but I did get to hug Annie Koyama and Leigh Walton across the table. I got a “How to Pronounce Nick Drnaso‘s Last Name” lesson from Chuck Forsman and shared some grrl talk with Lala Alberts. It’s a long show and I would have died of exhaustion but for a well-placed boston cream donut, shared with Victor Kerlow. Also I bought some comic books. The day passed; the basement slowly transformed into a festering swamp. Typical comix fest.
After a lil post-show Polish food with new pal Sophie Yanow & co., and I was off to Union Pool to check out the after party. I’m used to the sweaty, smoky, brawl-y, BCGF after parties at Cartoon House (RIP), and I wasn’t sure what to expect from Union Pool. Well, there were Culkins and tacos and pap pap folk music and more! I chatted with Jeremy Sorese about our dads’ weird eating habits, made Bert n’ Ernie jokes with Cleveland QT Kevin Czap, and met a few ladies I’m a big nerd fan of, Cathy G. Johnson and Mia Schwartz. Megacrush Simon Hanselmann made an appearance in the Pool’s backyard. I sidled up to him, and in a moment of perfect wabi sabi he said “I could really use a cigarette,” while taking a giant drag on his cigarette. I ended my night on the early side like the sad old hag I am, but not before getting weepy over Melissa Mendes‘ Bruce the Cat tattoo and spotting Joe Lambert through the crowd, elusive as the famed Bigfoot.
Thank you, Casey! Speaking of which, more than a few people tried to get us going with our thoughts on the (by now fully funded) Fantagraphics Kickstarter campaign. We’ve written enough about Kickstarter already here. We’ve thrown in for more than a few of them. We’ll never, ever, have a Kickstarter campaign. We don’t see a need to blather about this any further. We don’t like that Fanta’s on Kickstarter, for most of the reasons that the aforementioned Spurgeon details here. It ain’t about Kickstarter itself (even though, really and truly, this seems a lot like raising business capital on Kickstarter, which, as we understand it, is somehow against the rules – and feel free to explain to us if it is not against the rules). From where we’re sitting, Fantagraphics is the greatest and most important publisher in the history of comics. Whatever the reason for it, crowd funding Fanta makes us very nervous about the state of comics publishing and it makes for another round of talking about what publishers do. We’ve said enough about that to last us a while, too. Also, stop making fun of Dan Nadel already. It’s old.
As for Secret Acres, the publishing company, we had our first down year in a while. This wasn’t because of the books, but more because of the lack of them. Way back in 2010, we had a crappy year and we wrote about it and it got a huge response from you guys. We sort of replayed that a bit in 2013. Secret Acres was never on the ropes in 2013 the way it was back then, but when our books are late and we show up without them, we’re screwed. Just like 2010, we were strapped for cash, relying on our back list and freaking out about money for reprinting books. It sounds dumb, and it is (and it also kind of sounds like the reasoning for the Fanta Kickstarter, doesn’t it?), but one thing we really need to do as publishers is publish books.
So, in 2014, we will be publishing a bunch of books. Starting with what we owe you, there’s Theo Ellsworth‘s second installment of the Understanding Monster. That damned monster will be further understood this coming year, we swear. Don’t be too mad at us, or Theo, though. He did crank out three mini-comics and Capacity 8 in the meantime. Gabby Schulz (don’t call him Ken Dahl no more) is wrapping up Sick as we type this and we promise it is so friggin’ great, you’ll forgive the rest of his bullshit.
For the first time in our storied history, Secret Acres will be publishing a straight up in your dome art book, or livre d’art. You’ve probably heard of Edie Fake‘s outstanding art exhibition Memory Palaces. It’s a trip (in both senses) through Chicago’s real and imaginary places in its queer past and future, and everyone will be able to take it home.
Mike Dawson will be following up Troop 142 with a big, fat book, Angie Bongiolatti. It was originally entitled Anna Bongiovanni, but trademarks. It’s not for kids. It is a painstakingly researched book that features explicit dongs, cooters and hooters with healthy helpings of sociopolitical commentary and philosophy. Among the many shockers in this book is the fact that it takes place in the Mike Dawson universe, or least the Mike Dawson Tri-State Area. Yep. You guys who remember the kids in Troop 142 are in for a treat.
Finally, at long, long last, we’re pleased as punch to tell you that Corinne Mucha, whose comics we’ve loved and whose minis we have carried, will actually be published by Secret Acres. It’s kinda creepy how long we have waited and lurked for this moment, like Corinne just agreed to date her stalker. If you’re lucky enough to have read her (completely shameless) mini-comic, My Every Single Thought, you’ve gotten a taste for her deep, dark knowledge of heartbreak. Ms. Mucha will going over every last piece of her busted ticker for Get Over It, her new graphic novel. From us. How ya like them apples?
There will be even more to come, but the ink’s not dry on all the contracts just yet. Meantime, you can see Sean Ford and Theo Ellsworth on their return trip to Short Run Seattle. Sean might be back here to give us the lowdown on Short Run. Or he might not. Who knows these things? Anyhow, we’re not going anywhere. Except, you know, for a while, so we can do the winter hibernation thing and clean up this website a bit and get everything off to the printers and work on MoCCA 2.1 and maybe take a vacation or something. Meanwhile, you can play mix and match with all the sneak peek pictures and the news here. See you guys next year – at the LA Zine Fest!
REALLY, we thought we’d lost our best hometown show, the Brooklyn Comics and Graphics Festival. Which we did, technically. Hey, let’s respect the dead: Adios, BCGF. Hello, Comic Arts Brooklyn! CAB, as it is commonly known, is happening this Saturday, in Williamsburg, in Mt. Carmel Church. It’s a free show, with killer programming and the best of the best of the best in comics will all be gathering for your enjoyment, and for some killer hot dogs and pizza. Sound familiar? It should. It’s the new baby from BCGF’s progenitor, Desert Island‘s Gabe Fowler. For the first time ever at a brand new comics show, we kinda know what to expect.
You can expect us, with Brendan Leach and his Iron Bound book and record set. If you don’t have Iron Bound, wait a day or two and get it at the show because you’ll want Brendan to make it all pretty with a sketch. If you’ve already got yours, bring it. Also bringing it, we have a rare, special appearance from the one and only Samuel C. Gaskin, who will have the freshly reprinted 2012 looking nicer than it ever has before, if you ask us. Of course, we’ll have Sam’s Fatal Faux-Pas, too, which was the very first Secret Acres book ever made. Edie Fake will be slinging and sketching his classic Gaylord Phoenix along with a slew of minis and maybe prints and other priceless articles. Downstairs, you’ll find fellow Secret Acres, including Sean Ford, with his shiny, new Shadow Hills 2. That’s got to be some kind of record for elapsed time between issues. At least it is for our gang. Standing next to Sean will be our very own Joseph Lambert, who just won an Eisner Award for his stunning Annie Sullivan and the Trials of Helen Keller. Unlike his I Will Bite You! it’s not one of ours, but we can still be proud of him, dammit. In fact, you can see Joe on a panel called the New Generation: What We Like, with slackers like Michael DeForge, Lisa Hanawalt and Katie Skelly. They’re going to drink Pepsi and throw shade or something. Anyhow, we will be at tables U5-6 and they will be at table D32 and the panel will be all the way over at the nearby Knitting Factory. And all this is free. There’s tons more if you check out the program. We dare you not to go.
Meanwhile, in the rest of the world, lots of stuff has happened. We went to the Brooklyn Book Festival for the first time, way back in September. We didn’t do a rundown here. It didn’t feel like a show. It was more like a picnic. So here it is: it was really nice out, and weird to be outside with our books and stuff, but it was really nice out. We spent a ton of money buying books, most of which had almost no pictures inside. It was really windy, so we had to keep chasing stuff around. Brendan and Sean were there, too, and it was really nice out. We got to chat with Frank Santoro and Dominic Umile a bit. Mostly, we kept having to snatch our comics away from children. Secret Acres is not kid friendly. Like at all. Anyhow, we sold a good number of books, somehow, and it was really nice out. We’ll be back again, corrupting the children (who are unfortunately drawn to the pretty colors in Wayward Girls). Hopefully, it will be really nice out.
And the rest of the gang is all over the dang place. Iron Bound has been feeling the love from Paste, Nothing but Comics, Pop Matters, Medium, IndieReader, CBR, mental_floss, the 9th Blog and the Comics Journal (wow). If that’s not enough, the mini Iron Bound made the Notables section of Best American Comics 2013, alongside our guys Robert Sergel for his story, “Control,” featured in Minimum Paige, and Gabby Schulz, aka Ken Dahl, with his webcomic, Sick, coming from us in full color, hardcover glory next year. The previously mentioned Joe Lambert’s Annie Sullivan and the Trials of Helen Keller was excerpted in this year’s BAC, too. You can take a peak here at a new Edie Fake comic in the kuš anthology š 15: Cats and another new Edie comic online at the all-new Believed Behavior site, and yet another new comic in Northwest Press’ QU33R anthology. Seriously, Edie. Oh, and Eamon Espey has curated a show entitled Wild Life Refuge at the Current Gallery in his hometown of Baltimore.
Because we’re so pro, we’ve buried the lede on the biggest news of this here blog post. We’ve gone digital. For the first time ever, you can legally download one of our books, none other than Mike Dawson’s Troop 142. It’s baby stepping, for sure, but we really like the Panel 9 guys who make the awesome Sequential app. Apparently, we’re not alone, seeing that they’ve got Blank Slate, SelfMade Hero and Jonathan Cape on there with folks like Oliver East, Eddie Campbell, Nick Abadzis… …and uh, us. Boy, do we ever feel American. You can expect us to expand in this department. If you’re wondering why now and why this way, this was the first thing we saw that looked great all the time and that put us next to comics we actually read.
Phew! See you Saturday.
Barry and Leon and Casey
MAYBE we should be rushing this one out, for a couple reasons at least, but we have to beat Tom Spurgeon, the Comics Reporter, to the punch before he steals all our ideas. Or maybe we’re stealing Heidi MacDonald’s, meaning the Beat‘s, ideas? Of course, this may simply mean that we are all thinking alike. Anyhow, we’ll get to our semi-collective major observations of the Small Press Expo landscape in a minute, important as they might to anyone who cares about comics.
First and foremost, we owe Bergen Street Comics a huge thank you for hosting our Iron Bound party. Those guys can seriously throw down, and, sweet Big Baby Jesus, did they kick Brendan Leach‘s big, bad book off to a flying start. The place was packed to the gills from the get until closing. We didn’t bring enough books, not by a long shot. Lucas Gutkowski and the Newark Wanderers cranked up the volume to eleven. If there had been any wiggle room, wiggling surely would have occurred. It was the biggest party of our careers, and one of the biggest Bergen has seen (up there with Xaime, Jeff Smith and Wonder Woman, we were told, but how many people got lucky at those?). If you were a part of it, we extend our deepest thanks to you. If you couldn’t get an Iron Bound, there are more at Bergen now, we swear.
The party was a good omen for us, what with it being Friday, the 13th and Yom Kippur all at once on packing day. Normally, we’re a hot mess getting our asses out the door, but we got our snacks and books fully loaded into our stolen, fully loaded Benz quite nicely and got our booze for the pre-Ignatz pizza party in time for dinner. We’d never been to a liquor store in a Mercedes before, but it turned out okay, too. Also, we went into Bethesda proper for Friday night eats. The last time any of us had seen actual Bethesda was during ye olde SPX days before it moved into the Marriott. It has been completely paved over, rebuilt and glamorized with “new luxury townhomes starting from the several millions.” Seriously. Moby Dick House of Kabob was still there, though. That’s a real thing; we’re not being pervs. We even managed to get up and set up on Saturday before the doors opened for the first time at any show in 2013. We had our act together!
The same can’t totally be said for SPX, though. This is a strictly personal, Secret Acres related thing, because no one else had much to complain about from an organizational perspective. For two SPXes running, something’s been amiss. Last year, our very own Theo Ellsworth drew some stuff for the show and was listed as a Special Guest. Only he wasn’t, in fact, listed as a Special Guest. He didn’t even have a badge. Mike Dawson, whose Troop 142 was up for the Outstanding Graphic Novel Ignatz Award, didn’t get a balloon that all the other nominees got. What kind of person doesn’t give Mike Dawson a balloon? Really. The response was basically to tell us to stop being babies. And this year, after a going without an official SPX tweet leading up to the show, Secret Acres wasn’t even in the program. Yeah, we’re being babies a bit but feelings were hurt. So there’s your institutional whining. We did, however, have a great – no, make that phenomenal spot on the floor. Our whole gang, Rob Sergel, Eamon Espey, Special Guest Jon Allen and SPX table neighbor Secret Acres artists, Sean Ford (with a new comic!) and Joe Lambert all sold lots of books while Brendan sketched out scores of Iron Bound. We had a great show.
It was a very SPX SPX, except it wasn’t. Come with us, back to that first paragraph, as we go over the origins of a thought. Last year’s SPX was commonly thrown out there as the greatest SPX that was or would ever be. Every titanic titan was present. Sales records were shattered. Dylan Williams was memorialized and Tom Spurgeon was born again hottie. For 2013, SPX had hit the wall, and not in a figurative sense. The entire hall was wall to wall SPX. Normally, the show eats most but not all of the space. There was no space left to eat in the Marriott this year. It was the aforementioned Beat, celebrating her 75th year of SPX attendance, who started off our Friday night at the bar, crunching numbers. With all the new tables, she reasoned, there had to be at least 750 individual artists and exhibitors sitting at 280 tables. It was probably closer to a thousand. As Heidi mentioned, you could walk the back wall, or Webcomics Alley, and find a major book at every table.
During the day, we talked to Dan Nadel briefly about a feeling among publishers that sales were soft this year. They weren’t soft at all, for us (or Picturebox, we don’t think). We all sold books and made bank. The soft quality could have been the result of this show following an inarguably hard SPX 2012. We didn’t think that was it. It could have been the trickling in of attendees. Usually, we get to the floor late and freak out, scrambling to get our books on the tables while a line of folks waits sort of patiently for us. Having gotten set up before the doors opened, for once, we jumped behind the table and waited for the opening rush, which didn’t happen. Upon investigation, there was a long line of people waiting to get in, coming in two at a time or so. It was a trickle, but everything filled up. So the soft stuff couldn’t be the result of declining attendance.
Talking to Tom Spurgeon at the bar on Saturday night, we came up with a theory. If the room had hit the space max, with more exhibitors than ever before, the show was simply diffused. It was the LA to last year’s New York. The bigger space made the crowd seem smaller a bit. The huge number of exhibitors gave the crowd more options that it ever had before. The big fish, the Fantagraphics and the Drawn and Quarterlies and the Top Shelves, suddenly didn’t seem that big in such a big pond. You could spend an entire weekend and thousands of dollars at SPX and not feel like you got to it all. Most interesting for us was all the new blood on the show floor. There were hundreds of cartoonists we’d never even heard of, and we’re supposed to know these things, damn it. Like the move to the Marriott back in the day, this is a transitional year for Comics Camp, both in quality and in content. It was a sea change and it was not subtle or sneaky.
SPX is still Comics Camp, though, so don’t get that twisted. Every night, when they throw us all out of On the Rocks, the official(ly racist) bar of the show, there’s a logjam getting out the door because of the hugging. Zak Sally even tried to make out with Noah Van Sciver or something like that. There was no room in any room of our pizza party. We got to cuddle with Annie Koyama, whose Blobby Boys book stayed home. Nate Bulmer brought his lovely wife and she didn’t leave him. Becca Lambert brought her husband, Joe, the bellwether of good men’s hairstyles for indie comics. Ted Bak was in the house, complete with his Island of Memory, a book fourteen years in the making. Mike Dawson was there, we promise, though he never made it to the table (and he didn’t throw up once). Tom Neely made it all the way east, looking great with his new Henry & Glenn Forever. Everyone looked great. Maybe it was just the new kids, but the cuteness index was up a whopping 38% year over year. Plus, can we all stop talking about Anna Bongiovanni already? It’s embarrassing.
So there. Now we’re off to pop our Brooklyn Book Festival cherries. All our big news will be in the wrap up post for that show, because, well, we’re exhausted. We will get a nap or two, so get yourselves over to BBF. Hopefully, we’ll be in that program someplace.
Barry and Leon and Casey
IT’S TIME to dance! We are finally, finally ready to rumble with Iron Bound, the new graphic novel from Brendan Leach. Man, oh, man, did this one ever feel like it was years in the making. It wasn’t, really, but we just couldn’t wait for it. Plus, we love SPX and we can’t wait for that, either. It is our church, and Iron Bound is our big, fat and only Small Press Expo debut this year. Yes, if you’re counting, we owe you a book or two, but get to SPX next weekend and you’ll have your hands full with this one, promise.
You may be familiar with Brendan’s Xeric Grant funded, Ignatz Award winning and Best American Comics selected Pterodactyl Hunters in the Gilded City. That was the first of Brendan’s comics that we ever saw and it was love at first sight. It is ingenious. Without any hesitation, we can tell you that Iron Bound completely kicks its ass. This is saying something. Like Pterodactyl Hunters in the Gilded City, Iron Bound is a period piece, set in Newark’s tougher-than-leather Ironbound district in the year 1961. There may be people living now who were alive in 1961, though we can’t confirm that. Brendan somehow did his due diligence in representing old Newark, though. It sure looks as pretty as it was gritty. He even got the sound right.
Iron Bound is a tough, little book, but you can, in all seriousness, dance to it. This edition comes complete with a blood red, seven inch, flexi record with two songs, one for fighting and another for a slightly more cuddly kind of fighting. Both are written by Lucas Gutkowksi (and recorded with Brendan himself) for the Newark Wanderers, the official Iron Bound band. They even show up in the comic! On the way is a full album of Iron Bound inspired music, available online on September 6th (or so we are told) and on non-flexible vinyl (Dude!) in November. Between the digital and physical releases, the Newark Wanderers will be out on tour with Brendan. We’ll have links and dates and details for you soon, we swear. Meanwhile, we can say that the tour plans to get as far out as our beloved Windy City of Chicago, at least.
You know, it was fun for us being a record label for a minute. You kids won’t remember records or tapes or compact discs, but trust us, music is amazing even off a computer. We know, and we weren’t even alive in 1961, either. You might, if you are very wise, remember music videos, so here’s this ludicrously awesome thing for your viewing and listening pleasures.
If you are one of the lucky dozen million or so in the greater metropolitan area of New York City, you don’t have to wait until the fall to party with the Newark Wanderers. You don’t even have to wait until SPX to get your hands on a copy of Iron Bound. You fellow New Yorkers just need to get yourselves to Brooklyn’s own Bergen Street Comics this Friday. Starting at 8PM and going until the Bergen folks pass out, Brendan will be signing copies of Iron Bound just for you. He’ll make it nice, we swear. Of course, records will be spun, but, even better, the Newark Wanderers will be performing live in the store. This means free music, free bubbly and free beer! This could get ugly. Maybe it should get ugly.
If you can’t make it to Bergen Street, you have to go to SPX somehow. In addition to Brendan, we’ll have a Special Guest in the personage of Jon Allen at our table. Jon makes this and this and that and this and this. Eamon Espey will be on hand, having recovered from his own national tour. The one and only Mike “Gags” Dawson will be warming a seat. Even fellow Secret Acres gang members, Sean Ford and Joseph Lambert have threatened to wander by. If that’s just not enough, and you really can’t get yourself to SPX, you can always pre-order Iron Bound here.
We will return with our SPX rundown. We might even have some news, or a lot of news, or a lot of really big news if the lawyers tell us it’s cool to spill the beans. Keep your ears to the streets.
Barry and Leon and Casey
SINCE I went solo to Autoptic, I’m going solo on the damn Scuttlebutt. Deal with it. Now, I know that millennials are the only demographic worth targeting these days, and I understand that millennials like two things (other than having personalized food experiences): Buzzfeed and Snapchat. As near as I can tell, there’s no way to replicate the Snapchat experience via a blog post (or without disrobing), so I will try to make this Acres post relevant and “social” by making it more like Buzzfeed, which seems to be a place where there’s a lot of lists of things masquerading as news articles. So here is a list of things masquerading as a blog post about the recent independent culture festival in Minneapolis called Autoptic.
Three Things that Made My Trip Out to Minneapolis Fun:
1) Discovering that Aaron Cockle and I both booked the exact same flights to and from MPS. Also, seeing the vague look of terror in Aaron’s eyes when I waved at him from the back of the security line at JFK screaming “Hey, hey!”
2) Being seated with a family of hillbillies on the flight out. I was pretty sure they had a dancing pet raccoon hidden somewhere amongst their carry-ons. This family single-handedly justifies the practice of airlines charging for snacks. Someone could have retired on the proceeds from their in-flight harvest festival.
3) Xanax. When I unpacked I discovered that I had been using an airplane barf bag as a bookmark during the flight. And by discovered, I mean I had no idea I was reading anything to begin with until I saw twist ties sticking out from my book.
Five Great Things About Minneapolis:
1) It’s sparkly-clean! Except for the occasional instance of pseudo-inspirational graffiti that might end up annoying the crap out of Annie Koyama:
2) The regionally popular “Minnesota Baby Toss”
3) Extensive Sculpture Gardening
4) Vaguely sinister Anti-capitalist Bench Messaging
5) Urinal Splash Guards. WHY ARE THESE NOT IN EVERY MEN’S BATHROOM ON EARTH? And yes, I deserved the mortification I endured of having someone walk in the bathroom and catch me taking a picture of the urinals. Urinal documentation is a very specific kind of tourism.
Ten Great Things About Autoptic
1) The space. The space. The space. Probably the single-best convention location I’ve seen. Yeah, even better than the Toronto Public Library. One could easily even hose down the ARIA building at the end of the day to remove the exhibitor-stink, if necessary. The ARIA building seems like the sort of place where elegant vampires would congregate. That’s a good vibe for comics, music and art, I think.
2) Free wi-fi with an EASY TO REMEMBER password. Keep in mind that many attendees are cartoonists, not pirate-hackers. There’s no need to lock down the wifi with an elaborate hexadecimal passcode. No one is going to use your free wifi to infiltrate the NSA. It’s just for Paypal, Square Register and teh Twitterz.
3) The collective pleasantness of Minneapolis cartoonists. They want you to love Minneapolis as much as they do. I’ve never received as much attention from local comics folks and show organizers as I did at Autoptic. Is Jordan Shiveley charming? Jordan Shively could charm the white out of a blizzard. Everyone associated with the event was accommodating, pleasant and professional: Zak Sally, Tom K., Raighne Hogan, et al.
4) The star power attached to a single-day premiere show. Autoptic answers the question, what if you had a party and EVERYONE came? There were only a handful of comics folks missing that I generally expect to see at conventions: Sundays, AdHouse, CCS and Closed Caption Comics all come to mind, but many of the usual small publishers, self-publishers and collectives were represented in one form or another. Special guests included Jaime Hernandez, Lisa Hanawalt, John P., Marc Bell, Kevin Huizenga and many other greats. In no way did Autoptic ever feel like anything other than a tier one show.
5) Free admission! There were loads of curious passer-bys dropping in, just like at (the now defunct) BCGF. Autoptic felt like it was for everyone.
6) Convenient location for an out-of-towner. The ARIA space was a 15 – 20 minute walk from a large number of hotels.
7) A food truck outside ARIA that sold delicious LAMB BELLY TACOS. I am not fucking with you. Lamb belly tacos is a thing and it’s on a truck in Minneapolis for you to buy and devour when you go to Autoptic.
8) I was late to the party but there was a full week of stellar programming and events leading up to Autoptic (hopefully, there will be some blog posts by others on this). I did catch part of the Experimental Animation Screening on Saturday night presented by Lilli Carré and Anders Nilsen. Awesome, intricate stuff.
9) Top-notch volunteers. They came around to tables asking if exhibitors needed anything. Also, all of the books we shipped were delivered and waiting for us at set-up. And there was a green room! Totally professional.
10) For the adventurous conventioneer in search of an adult beverage who can convince the ever-selfless Eamon Espey to cover his table for twenty minutes, Minneapolis fancy cocktail destination, Marvel Bar is approximately across the street from Autoptic (and down some stairs and through an unmarked door, because every cocktail bar excursion should mimic a journey to Mount Doom, right?). One word of advice, do not order a daiquiri at Marvel Bar. Shit gets ugly if you order a daiquiri at Marvel Bar on a Sunday.
Five Challenging Things About Autoptic
1) No nearby ATMs. There was chatter that some sales were lost due to customers being unwilling to travel to get cash.
2) No alcohol. By what perverse circumstances would there be people dressed like bartenders standing around a bar-like structure, but refusing to dispense actual adult beverages? It’s no secret that part of SPX’s allure is its constant proximity to an operational hotel bar. Some of us like to numb the pain of poor sales with devil tonic.
3) Limited sales. There was a perfect recipe for a lucrative show: a large crowd, great weather and free admission. Attendees seemed very interested in comics and graphic art, but most of our sales were to local folks that were already familiar with our books. New customers seemed curious, but unwilling to make a purchase. I would say that a similar customer at BCGF would be much more likely to buy a book and check out something new. It seemed like prints and posters were the top sellers at Autoptic. From our standpoint, sales covered one leg of our flight out to Minneapolis, which is not good sales for us. Autoptic is not specifically a comics show, so that could also play a part in why our sales were so soft.
4) Erratic lighting. Certain areas were kind of dim. I was getting self conscious about which books I was relegating to the “dark side” of the table. To be fair, the space must be difficult to light well at all and most of the convention hall seemed appropriately lit.
5) Adorable but confusing map. I heard more than one complaint that the lovingly-designed Autoptic map might have been slightly confusing and/or misleading as to actual distances and directions. To be fair to the organizers, a comprehensive Google Map was provided on the site with all of the relevant locations keyed in that could be easily saved to your Google account and accessed on a smartphone. But I know two comics folks who don’t have fancy phones and maybe got a little lost. Like walking around Minneapolis for an extra hour kind of lost.
6) This has nothing to do with Autoptic, but the after party venue, The Red Stag Supper Club, seemed to be staffed for a much smaller crowd than the crowd that magically appeared. A lot of diners seemed to have difficulty getting food and drinks. But the space was great and once the crowds departed, the remaining conventioneers proceeded to have a grand time and I don’t think anyone ended up minding the initial wait.
Five Unsuccessful Things I Did to Try and Increase Sales
1) Move to the “dark side” of the table to look less conspicuous/desperate/predatory.
2) Pretended to sketch in a moleskine notebook like a real artist and pass off all of the Acres books as my own work under various crafty aliases.
3) Passively subtweeted about a comics celebrity with fantastic hair just for the attention and to remind exhibitors I was there selling books and participating in a panel.
4) Tricked Eamon Espey into covering the table. Actually, this did kind of increase sales. And I scored a sazerac at Marvel Bar. WIN WIN. Thanks, Eamon!
5) Glared at Aaron Cockle and Jen Vaughn to make it look like I was at Autoptic to settle a publisher grudge instead of sell books. “Oh you want to buy comics from me? Yeah, you’re going to need to give me a minute, I need to iron something out over at the Fantagraphics table with Princess Pink Hair. BRB.”
I was on a panel with Bill K and at one point we were discussing the role of conventions as a way of distributing indie books when there are no clear distribution channels if Diamond or Consortium aren’t really going to work for the majority of your published output, and what the real role of comics shows would be if the ideal indie distributor existed. It’s a very interesting topic to us at Secret Acres. Leon and I went to a lot of conventions this year and collected a lot of experience on what it means to participate in these events from a social and economic standpoint. I think our end of year blog post will address our collective thoughts on the awesomeness and (occasional) economic suicide of traveling to distant comics shows. I loved every minute of Autoptic but it was not a show that made any kind of economic sense for Secret Acres to attend. Even if we had debuted a book, I am not sure that we’d have come close to breaking even on travel expenses. That said, it seemed to make perfect cultural sense to attend – I got to connect with a lot of fans of Secret Acres’ books and artists, and I felt right at home with all of the publishers and creators that I’m used to seeing at other shows in other cities. It’s difficult to say what the right balance is between the two and whether or not participating at an economic loss is the right answer when Secret Acres needs to be smart about staying afloat and funding more and more great books and artists. Fortunately, it looks like the next Autoptic is in 2015, so we’ll have sufficient time to think on it and maybe squirrel away some funds so we can go again.
I did have one terrible moment in Minneapolis. I was heckled by a cyclist! Walking back to the Marquette Hotel from The Red Stag, over the Hennepin Avenue Bridge, the heckler screamed “Nice shirt!” as he biked toward me, and then “Actually, it’s not a very nice shirt!” as he zoomed past. These are the sort of atrocities that Minneapolis offers to the universe. If I never return to Minneapolis, you can thank the monster who insulted my light gray button down utility shirt. I won’t offer any distinguishing details for fear that Zak Sally would track him down and kick his ass.
It was very gratifying having a chance to meet and/or get caught up with a lot of folks: Annie Koyama, Tom Neely, David King, Brad McGinty, Anna Bongiovanni, Cathy G. Johnson, Kevin Czap, Greg Hunter, Elijah Brubaker, Virginia Paine, Laura Park, Noah Van Sciver, Ed Kanerva, Rob Clough, JT Dockery, Rob Kirby, Foxing Quarterly, Jim Rugg and others: The World is Yours!
We won’t be away for long – expect a pre-SPX post from us in a few short weeks! Iron Bound is here and we’re not going to shut up about it!
IT’S A LONG drive to Chicago from up here in Brooklyn. Especially if you don’t realize the GPS is on Scenic. Still, everyone got there in time to get the keys to Andrew’s place. You may be wondering who the hell Andrew is. He’s the guy whose apartment we infiltrated for the weekend. It’s an amazing spot, totally rentable and is something of a bohemian ideal (see below). We’re not telling you this as an ad for Andrew’s Place, but because we beat the ladies of D&Q to the punch reserving it. Then it turned out Andrew worked at a restaurant near the Center on Halsted and had served pretty much all of indie comics all weekend, but, strangely, not us. We ran into him (and immediately after, the D&Q folks) on our way to the show on Sunday by complete coincidence, prompting Andrew to say, “You comics people have taken over the whole city.” That’s about as good proof as you’re likely to get that a comics show is a huge success, which the Chicago Alternative (K)omics Expo sure as hell was.
The sun-filled, air cooled show space (a big, skylit gym named for Billie Jean King) and the building (complete with a Whole Foods, for all you poor bastards with dietary restrictions or for people who are just plain picky) are gorgeous. There were even three theaters in the Center for panels and stuff, with killer A/V, plus that balcony for smoking and eating and a green room and actual cake and coffee and Chris Ware and posters for the big Dan Clowes exhibit on every bus and it’s a free show – what more do you people want?
It’s a pretty gay show, too. Yes homo. The Center on Halsted is Chicago’s big LGBTQ Community Center. Us here at Secret Acres are a couple of New York queers (like you didn’t know), and they kind of make us look like bums in comparison. It’s shocking, really. This is New York, as in Stonewall, where gay was invented. Yeah, TCAF has a ton of queer events and programming and a big, gay guy at the helm, but this felt gay-er. There was gay line dancing in the sky, for the love of the Benji. This was a good backdrop to drop our latest, Sequential Vacation 2, which, for you folks that have yet to read it, is pretty gay, so don’t worry too much about reading gay into it. It’s okay. Sequential Vacation 2 went over very well, as one would expect.
For us, the fun started after getting lost Saturday morning, driving up and down the wrong street in torrential rain and getting to show late. There were folks taking bets on whether or not we were going to get there at all. Seeing Gabby Schulz for the first time in an entire year was kind of like a Wham! reunion tour for us. Our very own Edie Fake was running shit and for real running, constantly. We barely got to throw pizza at him. Our haul was supersolid, including picking up two comics from Marian Runk and one from these guys, which will be appearing in our Emporium momentarily. We got to chat with our hero, Josh Simmons and grabbed a couple of copies of Habit from him. Tom K had seventeen new books and we got this one and that one. The rest of the time, it was like Christmas. People just brought stuff over to us. Beautiful things. Silk-screened things. Riso’d things. Things.
Sometime after being bamboolzed by dazzling, light-up Kamikaze shots at the first after party at the gay bar across the street (and drinking with local favorite, Grant Reynolds, and our table neighbor, Rob Kirby) Gabby pointed out that we didn’t sell anything the whole day. This was a slight exaggeration. It didn’t keep up from enjoying Fried Chicken Pad Thai and Hot Cheese Wontons with all our feet dangling in a pit, faking sitting on the floor of a Thai place that we walked miles to find, and discussing the possibility of opening a Tofaffles shop with Ms. Runk. It certainly didn’t keep up from us getting a PBR (of COURSE) off Lale Westvind while watching Mickey Z lose another squatty loft deathmatch, this time to Witch Hat in a battle of the bands while Zak Sally looked on, wearing a very sensible dress, though we prefer Zak wearing a dog. It’s also didn’t keep up from selling like gangbusters on Sunday. What were you waiting for on Saturday, CAKE people? Maybe us, because we were late. To make it up to you, here is a picture of the lips of Sar Shahar, as requested for she who shall remain nameless:
Sar, obviously, fits our gang like a glove. We could not be more pleased with him, his comics or his lips. Thankfully, Sar does not follow Gabby on Twitter, so for all he knows, Gabby is just a nice guy. Speaking of Gabby, we promised news on Sick, and, well, it’s looking like a TCAF debut. Sorry, everyone. Since we’re already apologizing, we ought to spill the beans and tell you that Theo Ellsworth‘s the Understanding Monster Book Two won’t be making it to SPX, either. That leaves Brendan Leach flying solo with Ironbound, and we’re ecstatic to say that we will for sure have that big, fat book and record rocking the block in September. Meanwhile, Sar got his first ever review of Sequential Vacation 2 over here. Eamon Espey, whom people in the Windy City seem to truly adore, got a little more love from French GQ for the French edition of his Wormdye. Some big ups are in order for our Koyamamate and pal, Nate Bulmer, whose ladyfriend is finally making an honest man of him tomorrow as part of the Year of the Comics Marriage. Somebody please rundown all the comics weddings in 2013 for us.
Alrighty. We’re gonna go sleep and check out some nuptials. Maybe we’ll see you at Pat’s place? Anyhow, we’ll be back here in time for Autoptic, we swear.
Barry and Leon
IT’S VEHICULAR WARFARE out there. Secret Acres is making a lightning attack on Chicago, particularly on the Chicago Alternative (K)omics Expo – and we’re gonna eat it, too! Yes, this will be the longest road trip of all time, but what would all you brohemians do without your comics? Flying in from the City of Angels is the newest of the new Secret Acres gang, Sar Shahar. We fell so very much in love with his Sequential Vacation 1 that we picked up the bill for Sequential Vacation 2.
Sar is no dummy. In fact, Sar’s a teacher and a Cal Arts grad, so pay attention to this one. The first issue of Sequential Vacation was included on The Comics Journal‘s Top 30 Minicomics of its year and this new installment is that much better. Sar’s got a way with texture and geometry that puts in a similar camp with Edie Fake and Robert Sergel, so it’s no wonder we like him so much. Plus, the new one is about a sexy beach romance fantasy. Sequential Vacation isn’t just a pretty face, it’s good company for the lonely. There’s more on Sar and a look inside Sequential Vacation 2 here on the CAKE blog.
Sar’s not making this trip on his own, though. Back to CAKE, for his first Secret Acres table appearance since the first ever CAKE in 2012 is our own lonely (but never alone) Gabby Schulz. We were hoping to have Weather, Gabby’s mini-comic CAKE debut of 2012, reprinted and ready to go, but, alas we’ve been busy with this Ironbound superbook and record coming to SPX from this Brendan Leach fella. In case you were wondering what’s up with SICK, Gabby’s new graphic novel, it’s coming along s-l-o-w-l-y. We promise it will be worth it’s wait in gold (and no joking, it’s one of the best comics we’ve ever read). At the very least, we’ll be getting caught up on SICK this weekend and you folks can get your books scribbled on by the king of the con sketch.
While we get packed up, there’s some stuff you might have missed. There’s new minis in the Emporium, one from the aforementioned Edie Fake, and two new ones here and here from Theo Ellsworth, who hasn’t missed a beat since dropping his Capacity 8 on TCAF last month. You can read about one of those minis on Printed Matters. Edie’s also popping up on the Pitchfork lifestyle site, because there really is a Pitchfork lifestyle, and his show, Memory Palaces got a once over from Vorpalizer‘s Sean T. Collins. Speaking of shows, some very serious congratulations are in order for Eamon Espey, who just wrapped his tour of Ishi’s Brain, the live show based on the story of the same name in his collection Songs of the Abyss. He really did cover the entire country, just about. We hope you got a chance to witness it, but if not, there’s some fascinating writing on his book from Phantasmaphile and Endless Falls Up, the latter of which is practically written in Eamon’s own language. We speak that language!
We shall return with our thoughts and our loot from CAKE 2. Gotta love these summer blockbuster sequels.
Barry and Leon
SORRY it’s been a week since TCAF but we’re raw, where the shot leaves us gagging for the arrow. This year’s official Secret Acres comics mule, Dash Shaw, amazingly did not want to kill us after we spent the better part of the ride up arguing about the existence of Bigfoot (or Bigfoots, or Bigfeet?). Casey Gonzalez, popping her Acresmobile cherry, insisted there are at least eight hundred of the hairy things living in the suburbs of Toronto or somesuch. Dash thought this far less interesting than the possibility of alien intelligences. At some point, while Casey claimed all kinds of evidence of Bigfeet, like the accidental killing of a baby Bigfoot by a hunter who failed to produce a body, we completely missed our to turn to Syracuse and drove all the way to Albany. So we had to get gas, and then we ran into the Breeders. There are many versions of what happened next and here they are:
“I was gassing up the Acresmobile, which is this big, thirsty SUV type of thing, when Sean started screaming my name. It takes a while to fill ‘er up, so I didn’t go running right away. I got the receipt (because I like giving Barry the receipts for stuff even though he tells me not to if it’s something that’s going on the company card, but he gets really mad when I do it and it’s funny to me) and moseyed over. Sean and Casey and Dash were talking to a bunch of people carrying their rest stop bags and Sean was furiously beckoning. I looked and thought, ‘Huh. That lady looks a lot like Kim Deal.’ Then Casey pulled me over and said to me and the woman next to me, ‘He didn’t get to go to the Bell House show, but he’s driving us up to Toronto.’ Then the woman next to me said, ‘Give us your names and and we’ll put you on the list.’ I couldn’t speak because I was sure she was Josephine Wiggs, which meant that the other lady was indeed Kim Deal, and that these were the Breeders and that Sean was giving Kim a copy of Only Skin and that Jim Macpherson was waving at me from their van. I think I squeaked out a thank you. In retrospect, I was really happy about the Bigfoot bullshit.”
“Earlier in the drive up to Toronto, we’d been discussing what it’d be like to see Bigfoot. Was such a thing even possible? Would it just be kind of lame seeing a big, hairy person? Why waste time thinking about the existence of such a thing at all? I like to believe in the possibility of such things, but when I think about it too much, it makes me sad. It makes me worry there’s no mystery or magic in the world and that we hold onto these myths as some vague way of hoping there might be. Meeting the Breeders at a gas station in the middle of nowhere in upstate New York and getting to shake Kim Deal’s hand precisely because we’d missed a turn (We actually missed the turn while we were talking about Bigfoot. (Okay, actually violently arguing about bigfoot.)) and driven 100 miles out of our way was sort of like losing our way on a hike and happening upon a Bigfoot, a giant squid and a great white shark chilling at a waterfall or something. And it allowed me to continue to labor under the hope or illusion or sweet lie that all the mistakes and regrets and stupid decisions that lead you far out of your way can somehow lead you to the exact right place at the exact right moment and crystallize into weird magic. Maybe there is mystery. Maybe there is a reason to hold on to some tiny sliver of hope when every single sign says otherwise. It was also a good reminder of why going to TCAF is something to treasure – a room of Bigfoots and werewolves and other mystical beasts and moments of magic surrounded by a forest of comics. Or something. Anyway. I’m sure that sort of awkward meeting happens to the Breeders all the time, but they were very kind about it and gave us tickets to see them play in Toronto (where of course they were going, too), cementing their status forever in my mind as some of the coolest people on the planet. And it gave me an excuse to buy their box set, so I have something to play on my record player while i’m boring people with this story when I’m sixty-four. Thanks, breeders. <3″
“Gorgeous badass Josephine Wiggs put me ‘on the list’. I haven’t felt so alive since the time RuPaul retweeted me.”
“They were nice. Kim Deal said she liked my pants.”
There you have it. So we threw Casey under the bus and made her deal with the border stuff, while we read the Canadian newspapers in the waiting room and discussed whether or not Dash looked too creepy for the border guards (and he doesn’t) and Leon looked like a wrestler (and he doesn’t). Despite the wrong turns and glorious run-ins with superheroes like the Breeders, we made it to Toronto in time for the first night of festivities at the Pilot, which hasn’t happened in years. And we found Theo and Edie and Joe and Brendan and everyone else, so we were looking pretty good on that count.
Saturday we had that panel first thing in the morning, on the State of the Small Press. Earlier that night, we’d grabbed the programming director and made it known that we were adding Matt Moses, the Hic and Hoc guy to our bill. It was totally fun having Annie Koyama, Austin English, Bill Kartolopoulos, Jordan Shiveley and Matt at the same table. Hopefully, the audience had as much fun as we did – and thanks, folks, for showing up early for our little panel party, even though we had no video and moderator Andrew Murray had to scramble with about twenty-four hours notice that he was hosting.
For the first time, this was a big TCAF complaint, that the programming stuff was fraught with issues, technical and otherwise. We’re glad it wasn’t just us. The only other panel we caught was Tom “Papa Bear” Devlin’s with Viz’s Fawn Lau, the superdapper Chip Kidd and last minute addtion, Jim Rugg. Tom actually gave us a shoutout for our design skills after we reminded him of the title of the Oliver East book he was admiring (which was Swear Down). Tom even called out Gilbert Hernandez for his cover art skills, which, damn, Tom. But Gilbert’s cover looks awesome, so Tom wins again. He always wins. He never loses.
Back on the floor, we were next to Tom and Drawn and Quarterly, who were totally ripping off Paul Levitz’s swag with their corporate logo denim jackets. That really happened. We really got killed at this spot. Chester Brown‘s signing line was right in our grills. We probably should’ve just sold the copies of the Playboy that people kept trying to buy from us. It wasn’t too bad, though. Capacity 8 got out of the box nicely and Theo Ellsworth is a good defense against crappy sales. We sure did spend a ton, though. Like rent money kind of money.
Saturday night had folks doing their best impressions of the Exorcist. It was all dancing, romancing, puking, crying, laughing, schizo nonsense from our gang. While we did catch the Breeders playing the entirety of Last Splash, we missed Tom Spurgeon singing Bette Midler. On the other hand, we had a romantic evening playing porn trivia with Chris Pitzer. It’s okay to be jealous.
Sunday was family dinner with Annie Koyama and the kids, followed by the TCAFter party at Lee’s Palace. It was there we finally got it up to talk to Gengoroh Tagame. We even shook his hand. It was tempting to tell him what we do with that hand while holding his book in the other, but that seemed a little TMI. Finally, it was a topless man singing fun. over our attempts to talk MoCCA shop with Charles Brownstein that got us dawdling to bed.
Our entire crew went on a three mile walk around Toronto’s Yorkville neighborhood on our way across the street for breakfast Monday morning. This is the Curse of the Cartoonist. They are compelled to stand on street corners for at least two hours before anyone can make a decision. So we ate the Last Breakfast together, left Theo in the hands of Fantagraphics and Robin McConnell who swore to see him to the airport, and hit the road.
We screamed at each other on the way about the rumblings at the top of the indie comics Mt. Olympus. It’s tempting to dish on all this, but we’re small fry and they’re gods. Some of that thunder’s already sounded in the sudden demise of our beloved Brooklyn Comics and Graphics Festival. Anyhow, we like each other, or super-like each other (Are we post or post-post alternatives?) and we’re hopeful something will rise from those ashes. Who knows, it might even be CAKE.
We’ll be back in a bit with the details on the Chicago Alternative (K)omics Expo. We’ll even have a debut for that show, namely this guy. Speaking of Chicago, hats off to Eamon Espey, whose Ishi’s Brain show tour wrapped up at the aptly named Brain Frame last night. Now we’re gonna cut a record with Brendan Leach and listen to it. You’ll be hearing the sound of Ironbound soon enough.
Barry and Leon
P.S. – We totally stole that picture of Edie and Tagame from these guys. Sorry, guys. If you want us to take it off, just yell at us. Thanks!