The other night at the Sondheim event, the introductions were done by a gentleman whose name I didn't catch. But I do remember something he said and I've been thinking about it. Here's an approximation of his words…

Later, there will be a Q-and-A session and I'm sorry to say I need to explain to people what the "Q" means. It means you ask a question. A question is a sentence that begins with an interrogatory pronoun and it ends with a question mark and your voice goes up at the end. And it's one sentence. If it's more than one sentence, it's not a question. This is not an audition. It is not about you. We don't need to hear what the first Sondheim show was you saw and how it forever changed your life. Just ask a real question and sit down.

As you know, I moderate a lot of public events and while I occasionally say a little of that, I never go that far. I think I'm going to start…or, better still, consider skipping the "questions from the floor" portion entirely. It's been clear to me that many audiences do not want the kind of audience participation that usually occurs these days.

The folks at the Sondheim interview cheered the admonition. An open mike at a public event has increasingly become a magnet for people who should not be allowed near open mikes at public events. Audiences have begun to dread that portion of the program and to regard it as the signal that the event they came to see has come to an end. Thereafter, they can either leave (many do at that point) or sit there and cringe as control passes from the person they wanted to hear and goes to some stranger who, but for this opportunity, would never be speaking in front of a real audience and/or to someone of importance.

This seems like a new trend to me. I don't recall it happening much at lectures and panels I attended in the sixties, seventies and eighties, but it got going in the nineties and has sadly become the norm in this century.

There are always tip-offs, always danger signs. One is when someone camps out at the microphone in the aisle for the entire talk, waiting for their chance. That guy, you just know is there to hijack the attention. The person who gets up and starts with "On behalf of everyone here…" or "And I know I speak for everyone…" is about to say something just to force the audience to applaud, and they probably think that applause is for them.

I have also seen great gymnastics of segue performed to formulate a question that seems to make it natural for the question-asker to mention their own current projects or even perform a bit. One time, I was interviewing Ray Bradbury. The first guy at the mike — who'd been poised there since before Ray and I arrived on stage — just wanted to say how much Ray's work had inspired his own, beginning efforts and he wanted to read aloud a passage from one of those stories to demonstrate this. If I hadn't stopped him, he'd have turned the rest of the hour into a books-on-tape recital.

I see the worst of it when I host panels about Cartoon Voicing. We always seem to get an audience member who aspires to that profession — not that there's anything wrong with so aspiring — but wants to ask for advice in a couple of different voices and accents. The panels themselves are always great and no one leaves…up until the moment when I say, "Let's take some questions from the floor." That's when people figure it's over and they start trudging out…so I'm going to stop saying it. Or at least, I'll be much ruder if I do say it and the first lady at the mike has a question she's been dying to have answered but which can only be asked in her Bart Simpson impression.

Anyway, that's what I've been waiting my whole life to say, and I know I speak for everyone when I say it…and by the way, my new book is available from Amazon. Thank you. Oh, and one more thing — on behalf of everyone here, I really want to thank you for everything you've done…and is it okay if I give out my website address and pass out some flyers I happen to have along?

Tomorrow (Wednesday) between the hours of 4 PM and 6 PM Pacific, you'll want to click on the banner above so you can listen to Yours Truly when I guest for the eleven thousandth time on Stu's Show, the flagship program on Shokus Internet Radio. That's right. I'm doing it again and for a change, we're going to talk about me! We'll probably spend a little time on my new book, Kirby: King of Comics, but Stu wants to spend most of the show discussing my work for eight years as writer, co-producer and voice director on Garfield and Friends…the job that has put me where I am today: Writing more Garfield cartoons.

We'll not only be chatting about that show but there may even be a phone call from one or two folks involved in that show, plus there'll be the golden opportunity for you to phone in and ask questions. Sounds like a plan.

Just to make sure everyone understands: This is not a podcast, not something you can download and listen to whenever it pleases you. This is like radio only it's over the Internet. You have to tune in when the show is broadcast, which is tomorrow at 4 PM Pacific Time, 7 PM on the East Coast, other corresponding times in other places. It repeats, usually in the same time slot, throughout the following week but you won't have the fun of listening to it as we do it and you won't be able to call in.

So listen tomorrow, which will mean clicking on one of the links here and following the brief instructions. You can actually tune in to the channel right now and hear something you'll enjoy even if it isn't me. Go test and see how easy it is and notice how you can go right on working on your computer, downloading porn or mass-mailing Cialis ads or
whatever you do all day, while you listen.

The latest catastrophe in news of the environment: The cost of popcorn is going up.

One good thing about driving up north to the memorial service for Dave Stevens: Bill Stout found what may be the best barbecue restaurant I've ever been in. This recommendation won't do most of you a bit of good because it's in Modesto and when in hell are you ever going to be anywhere near Modesto? For that matter, when in hell am I ever going to be anywhere near Modesto again? Our glee at finding a great place for BBQ was tempered by the knowledge that there is no conceivable scenario that could ever bring either of us close enough to consider another meal at Doc's Q'in Pit Stop.

That's the name of the place and I gather it hasn't been there for long. Should you find yourself in Modesto some day soon, stop in. If you don't have the address, just roll down your car windows and cruise the town until you smell the greatest smell in the world coming from the big woodfire cooker out front.

I never know how to write about funerals. You can't really say "I had a good time," at least not in the sense you can have a good time at a great movie or play. You're there because a loved one died and even if — as in the case of our pal, Dave Stevens — death means an end to the agony of dying, it's still not a festive occasion. Try as you may to think of it as a beginning of something better (or of anything), your mind keeps coming back to the loss of a friend…and in this case, the untimeliness of it all. Dave was only 52 and when it was my turn to speak, one of the things that spilled out was, "Like all of you, I don't understand why we have to do this now, instead of forty or fifty years from now, as might make sense."

Obviously, you now know where I was today. It was quite a journey. The memorial for Dave was in Turlock, California — a little more than 300 miles north of Los Angeles, and we drove up in the morning and back in the evening. "We" in this case is myself and the fine illustrator, and Dave's close friend and former studio-mate, Bill Stout. And actually, Bill drove while I navigated and regaled him with anecdotes. It's fortunate I have a lot of anecdotes because it was five hours each way.

We weren't the only ones who made the trip. A number of Dave's comrades in the comic art community converged on Turlock, including Mike Richardson, Bob Chapman, Bud Plant, Bernie Wrightson, William Wray, Kayre Morrison, Jim Silke, and Richard and Alice Hescox. We were all made to feel quite welcome by the Stevens family and their local friends, who arranged a totally appropriate and moving tribute, complete with a fine display of Dave's artistry. I shouldn't write too much about this because it was, after all, a private ceremony…but we go to funerals, at least in part, to say with our presence that the deceased mattered a lot to us. So I wanted you all to know that Dave mattered a lot to a lot of people.

We also go for a sense of closure…and while I will never be entirely comfortable with the whole concept of losing a great guy like Dave Stevens, nor should we ever be, I am a bit more at peace with the idea than I was before. (For those of you in Southern California who need a similar release: There's talk of a local, public memorial in a few weeks. I'll announce it here if it happens.)

You know, I wish there was a place on the Internet where you could see the form on which famed Stooge Moe Howard registered for the draft for World War I. But I suppose that's asking too much.

[CORRECTION: No, it isn't. Thanks to James H. Burns for making my dream come true.]

I spent most of today down at Wizard World, a packed gathering at the L.A. Convention Center, where I dutifully signed my name in lots of copies of Kirby: King of Comics.

Let me get my complaints out of the way first, and note that none of these are complaints about Wizard World. I don't like the L.A. Convention Center. The parking is confusing (and twelve bucks) and I still don't understand why the food at convention centers has to be so bad and so overpriced. I was also annoyed that the city is tearing up Olympic Boulevard east of Alvarado…a fact I mention to aid anyone who's thinking of attending the convention tomorrow.

If they go, they'll see a lot of people dressed in costumes, a lot of semi-celebrities selling autographs, a lot of exhibitors selling toys and video and fancy superhero-related merchandise and even some comic books. Most of the attendees seemed to be having a very good time. I was especially struck by the high quality of the artists in Artists Alley…some real good folks there doing sketches and/or selling small press publications.

They won't see me as I have an important engagement tomorrow…one that will also keep me from blogging all day, I expect. But there's so much happening down at Wizard World, I know I won't be missed. Here's info on the event.

I've been curious about the financial fate of Young Frankenstein, the Mel Brooks musical. I saw the show last November and enjoyed it but apparently a fair amount of theatergoers haven't liked it and many who might have attended haven't gone. Tepid reviews are one reason but according to this article, a lot of folks have been scared off by high prices. The prices are no longer high and there are now TV commercials that emphasize the point…but audiences still don't seem to be flocking to it.

For the last few years, Stephen Sondheim and New York Times writer Frank Rich have been appearing here and there around the country for little conversations that, I gather, don't vary a lot. Mr. Rich asks Mr. Sondheim about Jerry Robbins and Ethel Merman and Company and other topics that trigger great anecdotes, and Mr. Sondheim responds in kind for about 90 minutes. Last night, they took their dog 'n' pony show to Royce Hall up at UCLA, and Carolyn and I were there…in the worst seats in the house but it almost didn't matter.

Most of the stories weren't new to anyone who's seen or read the few recorded/published Sondheim interviews, and large chunks of the man's oeuvre went unmentioned. Still, there was something enlightening about being in his presence, hearing him talk in such an unaffected manner about his work and all the brilliant folks who participated in it. He's really quite an amazing thinker and as much as I enjoyed hearing him, I wished Mr. Rich was challenging him in even the slightest manner, getting him to furrow his brow a bit and perhaps improvise a bit.

Which is not to say I didn't have a great time. My favorite story, which I've heard several times before, was as follows. It was during the creation of Gypsy that he and Jule Style were invited to play some of the score for Cole Porter, who was retired and unwell. Sondheim was singing "Together, Wherever We Go" and he came to the release which goes…

Wherever I go, I know he goes
Wherever I go, I know she goes
No fit, no fights, no feuds and no egos
Amigos!
Together!

When he hit the word "amigos," he heard Porter say "Ahh" in an approving, surprised way. It was very typical of Porter's work to surprise the listener with a foreign word like that and as Sondheim put it, "He hadn't seen the fourth rhyme coming and it delighted him." Sondheim was about 24 years old at the time and he still calls it the proudest moment of his life.

At the end, the evening's host (the gent who'd introduced Sondheim and Rich) came out to announce that Stephen's birthday is coming up — it's March 22nd, I see — and Los Angeles had to have its opportunity to sing "Happy Birthday" to him…so out came a cake and we all stood and sang a tune that Mr. Sondheim probably hears and thinks, "Gosh, that song's sung more often than all the songs I've written, put together." Or maybe Sondheim, who spoke of loving to have order in his life and of his one-time longing to be a mathematician, was thinking it was a bit premature to be celebrating. Whatever was on his mind, he didn't seem all that thrilled with the effort, but he probably understood that everyone in the audience loved him. Which was pretty much what the evening was about.