Here's a report on my interview with Sal Buscema at the Comic-Con International.

Michael Kinsley on Tony Blair and humility in politics. Or maybe it's just humiliation.

William Woolfolk was one of the best writers in the Golden Age of Comics. He worked at various times on all the major characters but his most notable work was on Blackhawk, Plastic Man and Captain Marvel. He eventually left comics and began writing novels and TV shows, including one of the best programs ever produced, The Defenders starring E.G. Marshall. Sure wish TV Land or some other cable channel would start running those.

Here's a link to a too-brief newspaper obit about Mr. Woolfolk. And here's a link to his website, where you can learn more about this extraordinary talent. I had the honor of meeting him at last year's Comic-Con International in San Diego and having him on our Golden Age Panel and he struck me as a charming man, a dedicated writer and someone I wished I'd gotten to know better.

That's me interviewing Ray Bradbury at the Comic-Con International in San Diego. Much of what he said at the event fell into the general category of "Encouragement For Aspiring Writers" and it sent me into spasms of Flashback. In 1968 when I was a lad of 16, I went with several friends to Mr. Bradbury's office in Beverly Hills for what we thought would be maybe a half-hour of his time. It wound up being all afternoon, as he seemed to enjoy the chat as much as we did. He liked talking about comic books and strips and science fiction, and about the way the mainstream world treated those of us interested in such things.

That day in '68, Bradbury had powerful memories of growing up in Los Angeles (like we were doing) and participating in fan-type clubs (as we were then doing) and feeling a bit out of sync with the world (ditto). So we were in awe of him and he identified like crazy with us, especially after being informed that I was aiming to be a professional writer. The advice he then gave me was all pretty generic and obvious but the fact that The Great Ray Bradbury was telling me to keep at it had enormous impact. It made my intended occupation sound eminently possible and when I went home and told my parents that Ray Bradbury had told me to keep at it, they took it as airtight proof that I was on the right path — this, despite the fact that Mr. Bradbury had not read one syllable I'd written. I have the feeling he had the same effect on at least a few folks who were in the audience last Saturday afternoon. He's one of those writers that makes you feel like a writer.

I subsequently met Mr. Bradbury maybe a dozen times. One encounter that I prize occurred around 1978 when I came across a copy of a movie magazine that contained an article he'd written. It was all about his experiences as screenwriter of the 1956 film of Moby Dick and, of course, quite interesting. The following weekend, he was making an appearance at a local mini-con that I knew always had rotten turn-outs, so I went and took the magazine along. Sure enough, upon my arrival I found Ray Bradbury sitting there, ready to sign anything fans brought to him…but no one was paying him the slightest attention. Since he didn't drive, he was stranded there for the next few hours, until the con ended and its organizer could take him home — bad for him, good for me: I had him all to myself. We sat and talked, mostly about Los Angeles and what was to become of it. When I hauled out the magazine, he practically jumped out of his chair. "I don't have a copy of this," he gasped. "I've been looking for one for years."

For the next five minutes, we argued: He insisted on paying me for the magazine. I insisted he just take it. We finally compromised: He would take it and send me an autographed book. He asked me which of his I wanted and I said, "It doesn't matter. I'm probably not going to read it since I already own well-worn copies of every one of your books. I just want to put an autographed Ray Bradbury book on my shelf. Send me whichever one you have the most copies of." He seemed to like that answer. Even better, he liked that I offered to rescue him from the dreary convention by driving him home. A few days later, he sent me an autographed copy of The Martian Chronicles in Swedish and another of a short story collection in German — a terrific, clever gesture, I thought.

I interviewed Mr. Bradbury last year at the Comic-Con. He is in poor health, primarily from a couple of strokes that have robbed him of most of his ability to walk. At one point, I felt it was appropriate to tell him that though I was sure he didn't recall it, I had visited his office in 1968 and he had been most encouraging, sending me well on the way towards this thing my agent and I laughingly call my career. He smiled and said he had a vague memory of it…but of course, I assumed he didn't and was just being polite. This year, we had a few more minutes to chat before the panel as he sat there in his wheelchair, looking for all the world like someone who couldn't recall his name, let alone past events. When I reminded him I'd moderated the same event last year, he said he remembered…and then surprised the hell out of me by saying, "You gave me a magazine once…about Moby Dick." That would have been an impressive feat of recollection even for a man who hadn't had a stroke.

I guess we're too quick to assume that if the motor skills don't function properly, the brain doesn't, either. Just like last year, when the program started, he suddenly turned pretty much into Ray Bradbury from the waist-up. Owing to a set-up problem, we couldn't get him onto the elevated stage so we had to situate him on the floor in front of it, where more than half of the 1000 people present were unable to see him. It almost didn't matter. His mind was sharp and his words were passionate. He touched every person in that hall and infused them with a large dose of inspiration and creative energy. A fellow who sat way in the back, unable to see Bradbury even during the standing ovations later said to me, "This may sound weird but it really felt like he loved us all." He did…and the feeling was more than mutual.

The Green Monkeys by Betty and Mickey Paraskevas.

As I've mentioned here, I think the recall of California governor Gray Davis is an enormous waste of time and money, as well as being a grand way to get someone into office who's even less effective and has even less of a mandate. I don't think much of Davis but I can't imagine what anyone expects his successor to accomplish, especially if that successor is a Republican with 18% of the vote.

But it may not go that way. There's an interpretation of the law that, if it were to prevail, would allow Lieutenant Governor Cruz Bustamente to merely declare that he is next in line if Davis is ousted, and that no election for his replacement need occur. This article explains the situation.

I have no idea of the legality but even the possibility adds another layer of uncertainty and expensive court challenges to the process. And it just about guarantees that unless Davis beats back the recall, half the state will be screaming that the new governor is not entitled to the office. That will sure improve things.

I think Joe Klein may be on to something in this article. It suggests that G.W. Bush's problem isn't that he lies but that he believes passionately in a lot of things that aren't true, even after a more reasonable person might conclude they are not true.

I dunno if this is true of Bush, but I think it's a characterization of him that could be very easily accepted by much of America. I have never bought most of the statements about the importance of "character" in our elected officials. It would be nice if we could judge them by such a thing but I really don't think anyone who runs around discussing what kind of man George W. Bush is (or Clinton or Gore or Cheney, et al) really has that much insight into the subject's true character. At best, they look at the image that his handlers manage to concoct, weigh it against the unflattering caricature that his opponents try to sell, and decide which they prefer to believe. That becomes the subject's "character."

Bush's backers are defending him against the notion that he lies. I think they can do that with some success. I'm not sure they'll be as able to dismiss the charge that he takes in bogus data that confirms what he wants to believe and refuses to question it. But I suppose we'll find out.

Here's a free link to the Wall Street Journal article on Harlan Ellison. (Thanks, Larry) By the way, despite what it says, I doubt Harlan said he would "hawk" his house. I suspect he said he would "hock" his house. The Journal's editorial page is about this accurate.

Big front page article in The Wall Street Journal about Harlan Ellison and his many battles to protect his work, most notably his current lawsuit against AOL. Here's the link but you have to be a paid-up subscriber to read the piece. If anyone finds a free link somewhere, let me know.

Here's another article on the collapse of the company for which I briefly worked. This is a pretty good overview of what seems to have caused the operation to crash and burn.

Next year's Comic-Con International is July 22-25, 2004. Same place, same exhibit hall, higher prices, probably more people. If you're driving there on the 405, leave now.

My friend Tom Galloway just did the following computations. I don't guarantee the math but Tom is usually right, and it sure felt this big…

This year, there were 52 aisles on the Dealer's Floor at San Diego. That doesn't include the Art Show area at one end.

From the floorplans at the convention center website, each hall is roughly 100 yards wide. Let's assume the .25-.33 mile distance from one end of the Dealer's Floor to the other (which took me 7.75 minutes to walk late Sunday afternoon…and that's without stopping along the way) gets lost in the noise of aisles that don't go all the way from one side to the other. And we'll include the Art Show area in that noise as well.

So that means that to walk the Dealer's Floor so that you went through all of every aisle, you'd walk 5,200 yards. Since a yard is three feet, and there are 5,280 feet in a mile, to see everything in the Dealer's Floor, you'd have to walk 3 miles.

And that's not counting how far you'd have to walk to get something decent to eat. Or to find a men's room. Frankly, I think they need to install a monorail.

Paul Krugman discusses the notion that it's said to be unpatriotic to question our leadership in wartime but apparently not unpatriotic for them to "cook the books" with regard to intelligence reports.

About eight thousand people (it seemed) took photos at some of the events I hosted at San Diego, most notably the gathering of Ray Bradbury, Forry Ackerman and Julie Schwartz, as well as the Jack Kirby Tribute Panel. A couple of folks on those panels would love to have copies of such photos, and I wouldn't mind posting a few here myself. If you have such, please send them to me. The e-mail link is at the top of this page. Thanks.

Early Friday evening at the Comic-Con, you may have encountered a mass of people, mostly male, running through the streets wearing red dresses. Amazingly, this had nothing to do with the convention. This was The Original Red Dress Run.