I just got back in from APE — The
Alternative Press Expo in San Francisco.

It was, hands-down, the best show I’ve ever done in my entire life. The place was packed
with articulate, mature fans who were thrilled with the astonishingly high quality of the
literature being sold. I met pros whose work I have admired from afar for literal decades, and
even went out drinking with some of them. (Pictures to follow as they start popping up on the web…)

There’s no way for me to possibly sum up a show this good, this fun — so I’ll have to give you a blow
by blow of the events as they happened. I’ve called in sick to work and am sitting here in my favorite
bathrobe with a big fat mug of my favorite tea (Lyon’s Gold Label) and will spare no details! Stop reading
now if you’re not up for a looooong entry.

Friday, January 31st

I am dropped off at the airport by the incomparable Emily Peterson,
who supplied me with a stash of her best homemade beef jerky (which was a darn fine thing, as neither flight
served more food than those little twisty pretzel thingies). Met up with Virus, the best booth-monkey in the world (seen here
on Sunday with the best Backup Booth Monkey in the world, Alex “Tango” Tang). Virus, aka Matthew Messana, is one of
the oldest supporters of the comic, and has been kicking my butt to finish it since 1997. Without him, and the prodding
of a handful of others, there wouldn’t be a Vögelein. Virus believes so much in V that he bought me the plane ticket
to go to this show, and pimped my warez at the booth all weekend. Could anyone ask for a better friend — or boothmonkey?
He even brought his own fez. Next year I have to get him a matching matador jacket and a little tin cup, so I can
send him out panhandling for nickels.

Flights from Detroit to Minneapolis and Minneapolis to San Francisco were blessedly uneventful. I hadn’t been on a
plane in seven years, so I was like a little kid again, and Virus gave me the window seat on both flights. It was cool to
go through de-icing, with the neato robotic/hydraulic water cannons on cherry-pickers.
Virus informed me that they are the “Demon de-icing giraffes.” Good to know. Arrived on time (!) with
both flights, and got into our hotel room around 12am PST.

Saturday, February 1st

Up at the ungodly hour of 11am EST (or 8am on the West Coast) we showered and ate breakfast at Mel’s on Van Ness before being picked up
by my two wonderful aunts, Beth and Barbie, and cousin Sarah. The weather was staggering, after three solid weeks of
round-the-clock-below-zero-Farenheight weather in Michigan… it was 60 degees and sunny! Shirtsleeve weather! Green things
were growing! There were palm trees! After the initial shock wore off, we quite enjoyed it and dumped our jackets at the hotel
before leaving for the show.

Barbie had served as my shipping warehouse, and had
three boxes of comics (about 500 altogether) in the trunk of her Volvo ready to go. We jumped in and they drove us to the
Concourse center, where Barbie presented me with a huge goodie bag of everything you need to keep on your feet during a
convention appearance — sugar, sugar and more sugar. No seriously. If you’ve ever eaten convention food, you know that you
ALWAYS camp in day rations — and these were top drawer goodies. Oatmeal cookies, carrot sticks, Clif bars, Candy conversation hearts.

So, well armed and coffee buzzed, Virus and I had the booth set up in about fifteen minutes flat. The previous week I’d
gotten my booth assignment, and noticed that we’d have our backs to the wall, so I took a risk and brought along the big
cloth Vögelein banner, stripping out the dowel rods so I could carry it in my ditty bag rather than checking it in baggage.
A quick pass with the hotel’s iron and it was ready to go. Looked great, and we got lots of compliments on it all weekend.

APE itself was in a fabulous space. The Concourse center is a converted train station, but unlike every other show I’ve ever been to,
it was carpeted. The carpet, and the fabric dividers they used instead of walls, made the show unbelieveably soft and quiet, even with around
2500 people in the hall at any given time (I’d guesstimate total attendance somewhere around 4,000 for the entire show).
No harsh concrete floors and pinging reverb here, thankyouverymuch. And they had the single, most coolest show-perk ever — an open bar.
Yes, an open bar with pop, fresh high quality espresso drinks, and mixed liquor. You could walk round and look at comics whilst quaffing
a latte, fine imported beer or gin and tonic, whatever suited your favor. Yet there were no drunks, nor disorderlies. Everyone was chillin’,
and it felt so very, very good.

By lucky coincidence, I got put on the main floor of the show, right near the entrance. It was the best possible spot, because
not only was I one of the very first people you saw as you came through the door, but I was also in the same row with
a lot of my buddies — Lisa Jonte, Lea
Hernandez, Carla Speed McNeil, Layla
Lawlor, Rachel Hartman, Donna Barr,
Roberta Gregory,
Jim Ottaviani, and fellow Sequential Tarts John “Bean” Hastings, Loran Gayton and Trisha Lynn Sebastian.

All that amazing talent in just fifty linear feet of table space. Not to mention the fact that I was flanked on either side by
the Slave Labor Graphics guys (who publish amazing comics such as My Monkey’s Name is
Jennifer, Gloomcookie, Sparks, and dozens of other great titles) and Rory Root’s
Comic Relief, one of the best comic stores in the nation. So, to put it mildly, I was in damn good company.

The day wore on and I sold tons of comics, and thanks to Virus’ help was able to scoot away from the booth for a while to go say hi to
all the folks listed above, but I didn’t get a chance to go see the actual show itself. I did, however, get to go beslobber all over Tom Beland
and Lily Garcia, of True Story Swear to God fame.
I cannot express how much I love this book, or Tom’s sense of humor and comic timing. It was made even better by the fact that he and Lily
are both super, super people. Tom did the pin-up in the back of Vögelein issue four, if you need another point of reference. If you haven’t
yet checked this comic out, you fail to do so at your own peril. Tom’s a famous person waiting to happen. Lily’s already famous in her hometown
of San Juan, Puerto Rico… she’s a morning talk show host, a television host, and a motivational speaker…. and a really nice person to talk to.

So the show clicked on.
All the attendees seemed to be having a blast — I saw way more smiles than usual, even from the goths, who were
squeeing like crazy over the presence of Ted Nafieh, the GloomCookie gang, and Jhonen Vasquez. I met a ton of fans and hopefully
made some new ones, and Virus spent most of the time running around the show like a ferret on a double espresso, yelling, “Do you know who’s
here?! I just bought Stephen Notley a drink! I just talked to Judd Winick!” and before you knew it, he’d spent $200 on comics and the first
day of the show was over. But the night had juuuuust begun.

Virus and I possed up with Donna, Rachel, Layla, Roberta, Carla, Lisa, Loran, Lea, Trisha, Madison Clell,
annnd… two other people whom I don’t remember
but will fill in later as I do. Fourteen of us piled into a Thai restaurant and ate ourselves stupid, after which we walked to the
incredible Cartoon Art Museum on Third and Mission. But being us, dinner and a walk was not just dinner and a walk. Tales were told over dinner
that reduced Carla to a snorting heap of hair on one end of the table. Lea freaked us out with the scope of her Mom Powers (She can now
stop traffic with just her Mom-Voice) and Donna told of the ill-fated Desert Peach musical, and Carla told of Demonic Coconut Liquor in Belize.
Then, since it was Chinese New Year, Donna unveiled
a massive (and I do mean massive) pile of Joss Sticks, which we set on fire and held overhead as we marched through the streets, baa-ing like sheep.
It was the year of the ram, after all, and we had to do *something*.

We arrived at the Cartoon Art Museum smelling like a San Francisco Headshop, and flashed our APE
badges on the way in. There were a live band and hors d’oerves to celebrate the opening of a new exhibit, and the place was packed.
The exhibit was on Women in Comics, and was really, really good — I’d no idea that there were so many women making comics at the first
part of the 20th century. There were also two (!) walls of Edward Gorey art, political cartoons from as far back as the
19th century, and a hall full of controversial comics — the AIDS death in Doonesbury, and Opus’ battle with the Mary Kay commandos to name just two.

So by the time we were done with that exhibit, we still hadn’t had enough, so Virus, Donna, Roberta and I piled into Madison’s tee-tiny Honda Civic, with Virus
and I squonched into one seat, and rattled off to James Sime’s Isotope Comics
on Noriega and 24th. Holy Cow. We knew the party was still jumpin’ as soon as we pulled up — (thanks in large part to the navigation of
Roberta Gregory) there were twenty people or so milling around outside, and another fifty or sixty crammed inside. James is a former bartender, and
he decided one day to open a comics store. He quickly realized the true problem with comics: creators are creating great books, distributors are getting
the books where they need to be, the mainstream press is finally getting their act together when reviewing comics — but the traditional comic
book store is simply not an inviting place to anyone who’s not already a reader. So he opened Isotope Comics. There’s a bar behind the counter, leather
couches where you can sit and read your purchase, and no overwhelming feeling of fanboy-presence. There are also a collection of toilet seats on the back wall,
autographed and illustrated by such comics dignitaries as Warren Ellis, Judd Winick, and a host of others. So we sipped our Vodka Greyhounds, snacked on
hideously expensive Stilton and smoked gouda on crackers, read comics and chatted up other industry professionals. Can I just say again how monstrously cool
that is? Larry Freakin’ Young was running the cash register. Virus was frothing at the
mouth on finding a trade paperback of Halo Jones, a title he’d been seeking for seven years.

So We finish our drinks and hook up with John “Bean” Hastings and Trisha Lynn, (thanks again, John!) and motored back into downtown.
We jumped out at a stoplight and hoofed it back
to our hotel, where we could hardly sleep from all the excitement.

Sunday, February 2nd

Another fast breakfast and off to the show at 10:30 am, luggage in tow. I put Virus in charge of the booth and scampered off, piles of comics in hand,
to go talk to all the authors I’d wanted to hit up the previous day: Keith Knight,
Stephen Notley, seen above with our own Virus,
Terry Moore, Eric Shanower,
Howard Cruse, and Craig Thompson. After
that it was back to the booth for me, as Virus and Alex ran off to JapanTown for some sushi. They returned before long, and brought me
styrofoam clamshells full of fishy goodness, bless ’em.

During the day I met many fans who had bought the book already (it was really gratifying to know that Vögelein had made it out as far as the west coast
in such prolific numbers) and one of them was a girl named Lauren who said she had given my book to her friend Scott. “Scott?” I asked. “Do I know this Scott?”
“Scott McCloud,” she answered. “Not THE Scott McCloud,” I repeated, trying to drag my jaw up off the floor.
“Yes,” she said, “And he really liked the book. I sent his wife Ivy over here, earlier, but you were away from the booth.” GAH! I cried, but thanked her
profusely for showing my book to one of the most influential authors in the field. Little did I know….

The show was almost over when, around 4:30, my aunt Barbie, uncle Bill and cousin David showed up to see what they could of the show, and then take us out
to dinner and the airport, after. No sooner did they arrive — I was introducing them to Layla Lawlor and Alex Tang around to the relatives, when I saw a trio
approach out of the corner of my eye. I said something like this: “Alex, this is Barb, Bill and David; everybody, this is Layla Lawlor,
and OMIGOD, you’re Scott McCloud.” I apologised and admitted to Scott that I was going to go all Fangirl all over him, that it couldn’t be helped. He was
quite gracious about it, and yes, he remembered Vögelein and thought it was quite good, and was anxious to see the end of the series. I forced a full
set on him and we talked about getting the word on comics out. He was very glad to hear about all the library programming I did, and was happy to know
that at least 9 out of 10 libraries I visited had at least one of his books on the shelf. We chatted for a bit longer, and he was gracious enough to pose
for several pictures with me.

I blinked in Every. Single. One of them. Of course. I’ve had this problem for my entire life. I think I have maybe three
pictures of myself where my eyes are open. I think I must subconsciously believe that the camera’s gonna get a piece of my soul. So, in any event, here’s
a better, photoshopped version of the picture.

So then Scott left and the show was over. I left Michigan with three boxes of comics and was able to pack all the unsold comics and all my booth supplies
into just one box. Which was good, because Virus and I each bought a full box of comics. On the way out, hugging and goodbying to everyone, I got stopped
by Tom Beland. “Here,” he says, handing me an original True Story Swear To God cartoon. “Tom!” I yelled. “You can’t do this!” “No,” he says,
“you get this. Just about every person at my booth today said ‘Well, I was over at Jane’s booth and she said that your stuff was great so I’m here to
check it out.'” So after all this excitement, I got a marvellous Tom Beland original, which I carried tenderly on my lap all the way home on the plane. It
arrived safely, thankfully, and will be framed and hanging in my new studio next year.

We packed everything up and headed out with the rels
to a fabulous bayside restaurant called MoMo’s. Cousin Sarah met us there. The food was excellent, David picked us a smashing wine to go with dinner
and we told embarrassing family stories all night, including the one where I lost all my arm hair and eyelashes while preparing Thanksgiving dinner,
and the time that cousin Annie strung cousin Matt’s underwear on a big clothesline across the road, and Matt took it down with the bucket tractor.
(Y’know, practical jokes are just so much more fun when they involve farm implements.)

Barbie and Bill were extremely gracious hosts, and motored us off to the airport after a smashing good dinner and dessert. We said our goodbyes and
checked our boxes of comics (the security guys made me scan the Tom Beland original… Tom, just so you know, your art passes airport security) and settled
in for fitful napping on the way home. Again, an uneventful, on-time flight– we were quite lucky the entire trip.

So there you have it. APE. Amazing. More pictures of the wild Saturday night to follow.