The Savage Journey Part 1

What to write.  Lets start in front and work our way back...

The Savage Journey

So Dr. Jessica Clare and I drove to Portland.  Rather, I drove and she navigated/fed me treats.  I was a long journey with many ramblings and idea tossing.  None of which I can clearly remember.  But, we did make it to the Liquor Expo to buy Ladd and Sheri Neu provisons for the rest of the year, or week (time move strangling the farther north you are).

The building itself was a beacon.  A safe house for pilgrims traveling beyond the border.  A church for those whos veins are hot and black with coffee and road stimulants.  Everyone one in the store was hyper aware.  Even the staff had an occultist vibration spreading from them.  Grateful for your patronage, but with an slight air of distrust.  These people were waiting for "the one" to arrive, so they scrutinized all just in case.

Dalek Ted on Dashboard

Of course I could have imagined all of this.  I may not have been hyper aware. The road, the rumblings, the vibrations combined with my caffinated walking dead focus had its hold of me.  I relied heavily on Ted and Dr. Clare to keep me grounded and my eye on our goal: buy booze, get to Portland.

And we did get to Portland.  We met up with Sheri, drank, waited for Ladd, Ladd arived, we drank, ate poutine, we drank, went to a bar called Lovecraft, we drank, and so on.  It was.  That was a friday night I think.

Funny, all the drinking must have mashed up the days.  On Saturday I remember getting Bloody Marys and Ladd getting yoke in his beard (he had steak an eggs maybe).  This somehow bled in to Stumptown.  The Portland Convention Center has some leather couches.  Ladd and I felt the only responsible thing to do was to wrestle the beasts to pieces.  We got our money's worth.

How was Stumptown?  I can't say really.  I don't think I can do these conventions anymore is how it was.  Oh I got stuffed signed by Micheal and Laura Allred, Tom Neely and Jeff Lamire, but the whole exchange is awkward.  I admire these peoples work, and yet I can not think of a thing to say to them.  They surely don't seem in the mood for anything.  Why are they sitting down?  Why is there a table?  Why is there no room for discussion?  Why is the no bar?

The whole convention atmosphere is an odd thing, especially comic conventions.  These artist and celebrities are also trying to make a buck, so they cant just leave their merchandise.  But, I don't want to buy anything.  I already have their book.

Tim Powers, among others, signed my Buckler

I remember Worldcon, up in Reno.  There was a dealers room that was tiny.  All books and merch.  Very few were authors selling their own book.  All the authors and artist spent all day at panels discussing ideas, expanding upon their story lines and answering questions.  and when they weren't doing that, they were milling about like the rest of us. Hell, I had milkshakes with Tim Powers and talked DC with Paul Cornell.  Really talked. We were like giddy kids waiting for Christmas when we talked his Demon Knights or Grant Morrison's and Action Comics.  I had drinks with Norman Cates and shared hangovers with like minded folks.

But not here.  This felt forced and sterile.  I did get my drinking horn signed, but even my attempt to lighten the mood failed.  I wanted a drink, so we all met up with Danger Bob and Kelly Martin and had shots from my flask.

END OF PART ONE!