Conventional Ignorance

We'll see how many comic convention-themed puns I can generate over the next couple of days as I blog through my Balitmore Comicon experience for you. The first entry - plus an accompanying comic - can be found over at Walrus Comix sometime today, I'm guessing. In the meantime, I'm going on little sleep and have class in the morning, so I wish you a good evening and promise to pick up the slack here this coming week, now that I've got some of my shit together.

Some of what may or may not make an appearance here this week, as well: since I had time to kill at the convention, I thought about bringing down my bristol and pencil the final of a strip I'm producing for that music magazine, but I opted instead (and more sensibly) to bring my Physics texts instead, hoping to do exercises and get review time in.

Let me tell you, it's fucking hard to do conversions on the floor of a comic convention. The math anxiety set in big time, and nothing I did seemed to shake it. I stared at numbers as if to will them to comply, and felt that fuzzy pressure over my left eye - the one I get only when under extended periods of severe, uncomprehending focus.

Thankfully, i was able to talk to Jim a little bit while he waited on line for a Bendis signature, and it's amazing how swiftly he was able to clear that stuff up. One thing's for sure: I need to find a way to let my brain do the math and not get in the way. Which makes math sound like sex, which might be a helpful way to think about it, but I guess I just lack the imagination to make that particular allegorical leap. Really, is there anything less sexy than numbers? This week of all weeks, big numbers dancing around in vague and threatening ways make my scrotum tuck up inside and wait to see its shadow before it comes out, again.

D.