I'm back, bloginistas! I missed you all! Thanks once again to the dashing and talented Webmaster Chris (Applause) for filling in last week...

   It seems every other week, I get more informed on hurricanes, first hand, than I care to be, EVER. Power was only out for eight hours, but it was the seemingly-endless waiting for the circling storm bands to leave that frayed on the nerves...That's all I have to say on that, because, frankly, I know I got off lucky.

   Just finished helping out on Detective Comics # 800! Last time I did that title, it was waaaay back on Detective #1,000,000 (Remember Grant Morrison's One Million month?). I figure between # 800 and #1,000,000, there should be a few fill-ins along the way, so I'll be more than happy to return to Gotham when the Drew-signal flashes in the sky. No, you don't wanna know what the Drew-signal's shaped like. Let's see, if Detective was published daily, I might live to see # 999,999. Maybe not. I don't know the gazintas (='goes into's) off hand...

   Believe it or not, it's already been a year since Hurricane Sigil cut through the staff of a certain Tampa-based company.

   Instead of revisiting old demons, I'm in a more generous and reflective mood, having some distance between then and now. I choose to remember some of the better times I had, getting to know a lot of great creators. John Dell used to say "It's like being at a comic convention every day.", and he was right. I didn't get to know some creators as well as I would've liked, as we were all hunkering down to make the comics come out on time. But there were so many conversations going on throughout the building (with faces either down at a drawing table or staring at a monitor), that when you'd take a break and 'visit', it was tempting to get caught up in one before you realized: "Damn, I just lost 20 minutes! Gotta go!"

   Other good memories (strap yourself in and get ready for some name-dropping):

   * Foosball tournaments with Jimmy Cheung, Morry Hollowell, James "Roach" Rochelle, Justin Ponsor, Chris Garcia, Fabrizio Fiornetino, Barbara Kesel, the indefatigable Jason "Bam Bam" Keith and some others I probably forgot to mention. For some reason, colorists seem especially adept at the Foosball table. I ignored the Fooz for a few months, but then I got sucked in. Then, after Five o' clock, I was the one rounding up Foosball players to satisfy my Fooz fix. Good times...

   * Jeff Johnson bringing in his dog, Jake on Saturdays. I think he was a Chocolate Labrador (Jake, that is, not Jeff). Jeff has led an extremely colorful life that would make others men weak, but his Kung Fu is strong and he's got a big heart.

   * Cuban Fridays. For lunch, Wil Quintana would make a run to the Cuban restaurant so we could all chow down on Cuban sandwiches and laugh way too loud. Sadly, as we participants kept gaining more and more weight, Cuban Fridays would become less and less common, replaced by lighter (i/e 'less tasty') fare.

   *Watching other comics professionals ply their trade with amazing skill and confidence. I suddenly had this huge peer group who gave me validation.

   * Getting to know Chuck Dixon, man of a million stories, both written and unwritten, who remains a good friend.

   *Finding out that Butch Guice and Steve Epting and I shared the same tastes/guilty pleasures in corny old ' 70's comics.

   * The end-of-the-day conversations with Scot Eaton, Paul Pelletier, Drew Hennessey and others, winding down, giddy with exhaustion like schoolchildren.

   Finally...

   * The Iggy Pop concert at Janus Landing in St. Petersburg!

   Myself, John Dell, Derec Donovan, Rick Magyar, and more (sorry if I forget names), plus our significant others as well. Derec and I wrestled our way to the end of the stage, while the rest of our group kept a safe distance from the moshers and drunks. During "Lust for Life", Iggy goaded the audience to take to the stage. Problem was, the security guards were having none of that. However, once one or two guys made it onstage, they were allowed to stay there and dance to the hypnotic, thunderous stomp of Iggy.

   I thought: "I'm going up there, too!" I noticed the closest guard kept a five-second stare in one direction, before pivoting his head elsewhere. I was timing his glances, and the second he finished looking my way, I hoisted myself on a conveniently-placed 4-foot speaker, then bounded onto the stage like Hank McCoy! I'd made it! Derec tried shortly thereafter, but was rejected with a meaty swipe of a guard's arm. Derec later told me he told the guard in the heat of the moment: "But I KNOW that guy!", pointing me out to the guard. I wish you'da made it, too, Derec!

   I got to spaz out on stage and high-five the Ig-meister General himself! This was one of those extended concert versions of "Lust for Life" that seemed to go on forever, but it was so cool, you didn't mind. My problem was keeping up with this 50-year-plus Godfather of Punk. Iggy still has the rock n' roll goods! I was getting winded and found myself slowing my pace, just to keep from passing out! Once the song was over, we worshippers of Iggy were escorted off the stage to claim bragging rights the next day at the water cooler.

   Sadly, most of the creators I'd gotten to know in Tampa have moved back to where they came from. Some, like myself, have chosen to stay here, despite the abnormal weather we've been experiencing lately.

   I guess this explains (but not excuses) some of the bitterness I've had in the past. Because I did have rose-colored glasses for a while, and when the ugly reality hits, it hits hard and you have glass in your eye.