Right to Reflect Arms

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I've been lagging a bit behind in my posts this week because I'm busy trying to get my deadlines covered for an upcoming trip to the left coast. Next weekend is the National Cartoonists Society's annual convention and awards dinner, and this year it is in Hollywood. We have it in a different city each year, a tradition started a little over 25 years ago. Before that, it was always in New York, since it started in the early 1900s. Can't remember the year, no time to look it up.

The convention is fun and mostly an excuse for those of us in this relatively rare business to get together to drink more than we normally do and commiserate about deadlines, editors, the failing newspaper industry, and whichever of our lousy colleagues just got a TV or movie deal even though our work is WAAAAY funnier than theirs.

We also dress up in tuxedos and evening gowns, give each other awards for various types of cartooning and pretend we're at the Oscars. Yes, I've worn an evening gown as well as a tux, as have many other cartoonists.

The convention isn't as wacky as it many might think, though. Most professional cartoonists are fairly nerdy introverts with a few notable exceptions like Mort Walker (Beetle Baily) who is high on mushrooms most of the time and has been dressing like a Roman centurion since the late 80s.