It looks like there’s some of the ol’ SPX organizational weirdness afoot according to the Camel City Cartoonists’ Guild and Social Club’s blog, The Three Cent Pup. I’m one of the folks whose table space is part of the application packet mentioned in the post–so here’s hoping this gets cleared up–I loves me the SPX! (For anyone following along, though, this would seem to fall squarely into item 7 from this essay of mine from a couple of years ago, although hopefully this is just some weird snafu and we won’t have a problem getting table space.)

This actually prompted me to go seeking an SPX banner to place up top on my page, below the Indie Island banner, but all the ones on the site still say “2006.” So, for now, SPX pimpin’ here will have to wait for new banners… and hopefully confirmation of actually having a table.

For years aficionados of the comics art form have bemoaned its apparent lack of respectability with the mainstream public and wondered when comics would, finally, gain the cultural cache they deserve. An oft-discussed scenario in these ruminations is the prospect of reading comics in public places–as if the true harbinger of comics’ cultural “arrival” would be when one could, without self-consciousness, open a comic book or graphic novel and read it comfortably in the local coffee shop, or on the train.

Personally, I’ve never had any real problem reading comics in public places; I really don’t care if the “unwashed masses” think I’m an imbecile.

Ironically, though, what I have had a problem reading in public places lately is The Comics Journal. My attempts to read the previous issue while working out in the cardio room of the YMCA (one of the few times I have these days for casual reading) was stymied, as I found it too troublesome, amidst a packed room of folks, to try to discretely wade through the issue, whilst avoiding the numerous Frank Thorne drawings of 45 DDD women in chain mail getting humped five ways to Friday by groups of demons and whatnot. (I gave up and read a three year-old issue of Entertainment Weekly. Apparently there’s a movie being made of Spongebob Squarepants–whoda thunk it?)

With this incident squarely behind me, I’d been holding out on reading the newest issue, the “Best of 2006” issue, until just today, since I’d be traveling most of the day en route to Ft. Lauderdale, and figured I’d make use of otherwise dead time in the plane and airport to take in this issue. But, alas, the issue is so festooned throughout with Melinda Gebbie’s technicolor drawings of genitalia in action, that it looks like I’ll wind up passing on it as well, at least when packed in sardine-style next to some random stranger on a plane.

I’m no prude, but there’s something sort of tragic about the fact that I would probably be less likely to be cast a disparaging glance (or worse) reading the latest issue of Maxim than recent issues of The Comics Journal. I mean, I can pick up a magazine on artsy film stuff that features an interview with Akira Kurosawa without having his “package” depicted on the cover James Sturm-style.

Just a thought…