The Life and Death of a Retail Booth

Well, this is my 50th post. A milestone of sorts. And unfortunately, it's not a happy post.

Retail caricature artists everywhere know that the one constant in this business is change, and a booth near and dear to my heart has, unfortunately, succumbed to the changing tides here in Las Vegas.

One of my more recent shifts at the ol' booth.
(It was a Tuesday night, which explains my
ennui-fueled selfie.)

Doug Citizen ran the booth at Planet Hollywood's Miracle Mile Shops for over a dozen years--a good run by any stretch. I had first met Doug when he was an assistant manager for Steve Fasen's impressive Excalibur location. He became a booth owner soon after I started with Fasen. And, as the years went by and Fasen's presence dwindled, booth by booth, many artists who had cut their teeth at Fasen's locations ended up working at Doug's booth. With just two chairs it was never a crowded ship, but there were many who drifted in and drifted out. Robert and I stayed fairly regular there. It was only in the past year or so that we began filling our calendars more with gigs than with retail shifts. Even then, I valued the occasional night at the mall just to get some desk time and plow through commissions.

Robert shows off one of his more crowded
booth drawings, done from a class photo.

I doubt I'll ever work under a more pleasant "boss." And yes, I'm using scare quotes because as we all know, we aren't employees and they aren't supervisors, strictly speaking. As independent contractors, we work WITH them, not FOR them. Doug was generous to a fault with his operation, and that cultivated pretty strong loyalty with his artists. For quite a stretch of years Doug made a tradition of taking the whole crew out to midnight showings of anticipated movies: nothing beat closing up the booth and heading right to the theater with your coworkers. He offered a higher percentage than any other local operator and kept offering that same percentage even when booth finances changed to his disadvantage. There was even a stretch when foot traffic at the mall ground nearly to a halt. The Aladdin was transitioning to Planet Hollywood and its entire frontage was scaffolded up in a rather uninviting way. During that Dust Bowl-esque period, the businesses inside the Desert Passage Shops were all expected to stay open, much to the ruin of many proprietors. Doug told all of us to do whatever we had to. "Draw people for free, get tips, I know you all have families to feed." The five of us actually got together one night and had an informal meeting to see how we could make sure Doug got some part of the tips, since he was left out of the equation entirely. I think that marked the first time ever, anywhere, that a group of retail artists felt the need to meet because they felt the "boss" wasn't getting enough of a share of the profits. (He refused, by the way, to take any of our shilled tip money).

Doug, myself, and Rob gigging at some hotel, forget which.

But we weathered that, and had a few more good years afterward. The booth saw a few celebrities: Mike Tyson watched for a while, commenting on how cool the caricatures were. Chef Gordon Ramsay had his kids drawn there while he was in town opening his BURGR restaurant. (Rob drew two of the kids. To my disappointment, he told me Chef Ramsay was kind and had nothing but praise--he did not yell at Rob to draw faster, or criticize his technique, or call him a donkey.) I drew "Fieldy," the bass player from Korn; his wife said they collect caricatures everywhere the band tours. Criss Angel once walked by dressed as a woman, leading around three cigar-smoking, tattooed little people wearing diapers. As part of the goofy filler stuff they filmed for his "Mindfreak" show, he asked if I would draw his "little angels," to which I said "Uhhhh, can they sit still?" "FUCK NO!" said the cigar-chomping fellow in the diaper. Later on they were relaxing on a bench nearby and Criss looked down at his dress and laughed at himself, musing "What has happened to my career!" The little person in the diaper looked at him and said "Ha! YOUR career?" and snuffled.

Yeah, lots of good times at Desert Passage / Miracle Mile Shops. There were also the New Years Eves, where like clockwork we would come in and find vomit on our booth somewhere. And the many many tourists who could not hold liquor as attractively as their $60 light-up, shoulder-strapped souvenir cups.

Boredom comics by JW Cornelius and Rob.

And what are bored retail artists to do with this parade of life before them? We drew it. At Doug's booth we produced more than one or two little booth comics lampooning the mall culture and one another. Okay, "little" is an understatement, these things stretched on for over 50 pages. We illustrated panels featuring so many sick and twisted little happenings, giggling to ourselves as we awaited the night shift so they could see what we scribbled and then add to the plot. It's a darn good thing Doug was never officially my boss, because HR would have had quite a talk with me after I drew him naked, chained to a dungeon wall, recovering from being roofied by mall retail supervisors. Other complicated plots played out. Zombie hordes took over the entire mall. Old coworkers showed up with diabolical plans. Casinos came to life, sprouted mechanized arms, and did battle with each other like in a bad Japanese matinee. Genies popped out of lamps and sexually humiliated people. Artists went rogue, climbed the walls, and threw their own poop from the rafters.

Good times.

Wow, no one had EVER swept under there.

It was a somber moment helping Doug wheel the booth out to a U-Haul and chuck the worn-out drawers that had held our paper and plastic bags for so many years. As we pulled up the benches and floor mats, we uncovered years of detrius. I found a pencil sharpener I'd lost in 2011. As we took out the air compressor, unhooked all the lights, and prepared the hoist the rig onto wheeled dollies, sure enough two young ladies walked by and said "Oooooh how much are they? Uh . . . are you closed?" Yes, dears, we are so very very closed. Sigh. The landscape of the mall is changing--there will no doubt be a new kiosk there soon, selling magnetic therapy bracelets or giant plastic beads and sunglasses. You know, things for douchebags.

Tom Richmond recently touched on the shortgevity of retail booths and how the market viability of a caricature stand can suddenly change. His November 2014 blog post on theme park operations made me all the more aware of just how quickly things can end at any retail spot.

The landscape here in Vegas has indeed changed, and I'm wondering myself about the future of retail caricature anywhere here. The Stratosphere booth, where I sometimes warm a chair, is likely safe due to the ol' captive audience factor (getting up to the tower will cost ya $15, and once you're up there you want to do a few things before taking the long elevator down). The booth at Adventuredome is, I believe, still up and running--but if I recall they also have facepainting, illustrated names, the whole works. Doug's location had been the last remnant of airbrush caricature here, which I do love and find to be one of the most elegant ways to ply our trade. Freemont Street has a very nice decked-out booth, but the open-air market ambience means there is competition from buskers.

Goodbye, sweet booth, enjoy your slumber.

Buskers have blossomed all around the Strip like fungus. And I should not throw stones at the fungus among us: some of my friends busk. Some have even organized and have a person who hustles customers while others draw. Not a bad business model, I suppose, since it seems to be working. No rent to pay, and from what I understand it's legal as long as you don't have set prices. Much like all the celebrity lookalikes, the faux showgirls, and the guys in Transformer costumes, you just rely on the public to tip generously when they partake of your services.

It's the same kind of mentality we took on during our Dust Bowl year of construction at Miracle Mile. That was, I had hoped, a temporary way of doing caricature only borne of desperation. I do hope I'm wrong when I worry that this type of economy will put an end to standard caricature booths around town. Streetwalkers and pimps might do just fine, but I'm a brothel kind of madam. I like having a brick-and-mortar operation with quality artists and a place to set my jacket and lunchbox. It just seems more . . . stable? Surely, I have worked next to a couple of terrible artists here and there at booths. But on the whole, booth culture tends to lean toward a homogeny of skill; those who suck eventually get better with training, or are let go. Buskers can run the whole spectrum in terms of quality, as no one is herding those cats. Just look at Times Square in New York if you want to see what can come of a busking-only environment. Some good artists, surely, but many many more that are not skilled.

Sorry, no more caricatures here until further notice. 

If I can help it, I'll never fully give up retail. Not because it's a cash cow (boy is it not). But because it keeps your chops up and makes you work. Party guests are thrilled with their freebie souvenir drawings, but give me a picky grandma reluctantly shelling out $25 to get their grandkid drawn and THERE you have a challenge. THERE you have a level-up opportunity. Call me masochistic, but I like getting myself into that situation every now and then, it keeps me on my toes.

Retail booths will always be built on shifting sands. The management at any shopping venue often believes (wrongly) that a caricature booth can put up numbers similar to merchandise stores, when we are hindered by the fact that every item we sell has to be crafted on the spot. It takes ten or fifteen minutes, whereas a $8-an-hour teenager can sell $500 worth of Ed Hardy tee shirts in that same amount of time. Proprietors of caricature booths have to really talk up the atmospheric benefits of having live caricature art. People like watching us. If lower booth rent can be had, then there's hope. But there's always the chance that the rent might get upped the next year, or the next, either drastically or incrementally. Many folks operate at a loss for quite some time, hoping something will change. One of my first mentors in the business had to close up his shop in Baltimore after a long stretch of increasing rent and decreasing foot traffic finally used up his patience and his savings. His last words to the leasing team there, after they hiked his rent yet again, were "I've been bending over for you guys for years, the least you could have done was use lube."

I still get calls from people who are googling "Caricature in Las Vegas" and just want to find a place on the Strip to get drawn. I suppose I'll be telling them to look for the buskers now. And why not? Everything else in this town is a gamble, right?

Thank you, Doug, for all the years of steady desk time and camaraderie.

Star Trekkin!

Every once in a while a gig comes along that makes me wish I could grab a time machine to go tell my 13-year-old self what was going to happen someday--because she would fah-reak. This past weekend was definitely one of those.

The Black n' Blue Jay, circa Spring 1991.

Rewind to my childhood . . . Every day after middle school, I would throw my backpack on my bed, flip on channel five, and decompress from school to a classic Star Trek episode. I saw each and every episode multiple times and came to really love the characters and the message of the show. When the movies came out, I was still a kid--and Ricardo Montalbon scared the hell out of me by sticking those ear worms in Checkov's helmet in Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan. Star Trek III enthralled me, and IV made me laugh my guts out. When the Next Generation premiered, I was all aquiver. While working as the cartoonist for my university's humor magazine, I drew up a MAD-style parody about campus life featuring the cast of the then-still-running Star Trek: The Next Generation. It was not great. But what I lacked in skill I made up for with fangirl love and knowledge of the canon.

Despite my piles of memorabilia, my phaser squirt guns, my Spock clock, my Star Trek coffee mug collection, and the several Trek shirts in my closet, I had never actually attended a Star Trek convention. I had, however, hovered on the periphery several years in a row. Enough to get familiarized with fan culture and realize they aren't quite like the rest of humanity--and I mean that in a good way! Trek fans are typically science-minded optimists who see the great potential of the human race. They are kind, they are smart, they are accepting, and they are awesome. I knew some folks who worked at the Star Trek Experience at the Hilton (open from 1998-2008), and they got my boss Doug and several Trek-loving coworkers to set up a temporary caricature booth near Quark's Bar during the week of the convention. Needless to say, the population of souvenir-hunting trekkies exploded during that week, and we did a brisk business. During the Experience's closing ceremonies, we were there too, shedding a few tears with the cast and crew and drowning our sorrows in Romulan ale.

Roger supervising the maiden voyage of his balloon
starship Enterprise.

So when I got a query a few months ago from a representative of the company that puts on the huge international Star Trek Convention (now at the Rio Hotel & Casino), I had to pinch myself. We chatted and I was booked, making me pinch myself several more times. The rep also mentioned he wanted a balloon twister and henna artist and asked if I knew anyone I could recommend. And while I work with some great agencies and I do have a little stack of cards from fellow party performers, two individuals jumped to mind immediately. The convention organizers wanted people who were fans, so that they could better interact with the fans there. And above anything else, my goal is to fit the performer to the client's needs. And boy did I choose correctly. My pal Danya Cornelius, who has been doing henna for years in the local fire performer and bellydance community, was actually watching Star Trek when she got my text asking her about her availability. And Roger "the Balloon Wizard" not only had a Trek uniform on hand, he had them for original series and Next Gen!

Dun dun DUN DUN DUN
DUN DUN dun dun DUN DUN,
 dun-DUN dun-DUN dun-DUN . . .

During the con, Roger wowed the crowd with some giant balloon Enterprise sculptures, complete with whirring lights in the nacelles and hull (which became quite the popular photo op), as well as smaller renditions of vulcan ears, starship hats, and adorable little Orion slave girls. Meanwhile, Danya and her helper Heidi squirted out henna insignias for command, science, and and engineering officers, which she got down to mere seconds of application time. The Klingon symbol and Mirror-Mirror universe symbol were also popular, and she came up with dozens of customized fusion designs that patrons absolutely loved. The henna girls became a photo op all to themselves, as Danya used this opportunity to buy a (totally tax-write-offable) custom Uhura red uniform, and Heidi wore her blue uniform, and they both put in amazing tribal hair extensions that made them quite a stellar pair of babes to behold!

For the first few days I went with basic black and rotated my collection of Star Trek ties (yeah yeah, I collect Star Trek ties AND Star Trek coffee mugs, don't judge me, I can stop WHENEVER I WANT). Anyway, I got plenty of compliments on the ties,  and during our off-hours the henna ladies and I ran around the place and got a few photo ops here and there.

Move over, Mudd's women!

Meanwhile, a parade of costumes went by us all day, every day, culminating in Saturday's costume contest. Many were expertly sewn, custom copies of those seen on some episode or movie. Some were quirky takes on a theme or a character mash-up. A few were hilarious, a few were sexy. All of them showed dedication and love and creativity. Some group costumes wandered by, like the "Spanish Inquisition" trekkies, which except for their communicator badges could have walked off a Monty Python set; or the "red shirt casualty zombies," which is kind of self-explanatory; or the superbly costumed Next Gen band of merry men from the Robin Hood holodeck episode, each of whom had an uncanny resemblance to their counterpart in the show. There was a "dude" trekkie who was a carbon copy of Jeff Bridges' character except his slouchy robe was of a Star Trek design. There was a Ferengi couple who went in traditional Ferengi attire--meaning the female was "nude," as Ferengi believe it is vulgar to allow women to wear clothing. And I cannot even count the number of Star Trek kilts and corsets fans walked around in.

There was a tie for first place; winners (pictured lower right in the collage above) included an intricate Borg couple and a clever dual puppetry costume representing the two alien personas of "The Corbomite Maneuver"--the frightening blue-green false dummy Balok uses to frighten the Enterprise crew and then, underneath it, the childlike true appearance of Balok (played in the original series by a very young Clint Howard), complete with a little cup of "tranya," his favorite beverage. The contest was judged by a panel of actual Trek costume designers and makeup artists, and rather than splitting the $1,000 best-in-show prize, the panel decided to award both winners the full amount.

While I was off duty, I was also able to duck into some of the panels and celebrity talks. Kate Mulgrew waxed philosophically about life after Trek and received kudos for her emmy nomination on Orange Is the New Black, Simon Pegg delighted the crowd with his humble charm, and Harlon Ellison talked about not getting along with studio executives during his stint writing for the original series.

My favorite science officer.

And I caught sight of a familiar face--er, a familiar hairdo, anyway. A young engineer and flight team leader who became dubbed "The Mohawk Guy" after his appearances all over the internet in 2012 as NASA landed the Mars rover Curiosity was walking around the convention hall! Bobak Ferdowsi is a trekkie, it turns out, and he was participating in some of the science panels . . . yes, at this sci-fi convention, they have speakers that also talk about science fact! Bobak was delightful, and he even posed for a picture with me, but alas, I had to race out of his panel halfway through because it was time for me to set up. Right as they were getting to the asteroid-mining projects, dang it. But as a consolation, a couple of days later he showed up right by my drawing station and ended up getting filmed by a TV crew with me in the background! It took a lot of willpower for me to focus on my drawing during that time. I have yet to see the footage, but if anyone comes across it please send me a link! Aging celebrity extras from the original series are exciting--but NASA guys who land giant robots on Mars impress me more. Swoooon . . .

The orchestra got a well-deserved standing ovation, and Rachel and I got to
bask in all the trekkieness!

Saturday night I hung around extra late to catch the Las Vegas Pops 45-piece orchestra play a variety of songs from the TV shows and movies. Hearing the scores played live, in that setting, was really a unique experience. Talk about classing up the joint. The concert opened and closed with music from the new J. J. Abrams movies, and those pieces really are powerful. Not only were we treated to a fantastic concert of really moving orchestral music, along with the conductor's commentary about how intricate and innovative some of the original music was when it debuted in the 1960s, but I also got to hear the world premiere of an original piece composed and guest-conducted by Ron Jones (who composed the music for ST:TNG as well as about a zillion other TV shows). Then I got to hang out with my old high-school pal Rachel Julian, who was lead percussionist for that concert! Vegas is a small world--and arts in Vegas is an even smaller world. She was tickled to play this event because her specialty is the marimba, so she got to whack out those signature tones that start every episode of the original series. The whole orchestra only had 3 hours to rehearse all the material, and they knocked it out of the park--true professionals.

I pre-drew eight uniformed poses that trekkies could choose from: the
client specified that they wanted male and female bodies for each of the
major subsets: TOS, Next Gen, and the newer reboots.

With all this going on, you'd think I didn't draw a darn thing while I was there. Not true. I set up my monitor and printers and offered fans free digital caricatures as part of the "gauntlet of cool free stuff" along the main hall. And people really dug 'em. Maybe a little too much. I was BUSY. And, just from the exhilaration of the environment, and cool people, I managed to haul butt and draw well over a hundred and twenty faces over my four-day mission. And I didn't take a single bathroom break!

I also jumped directly into the fray and wore MY Star Trek costume on the last day. A seamstress friend had sewn me a neat retro-looking Trek skirt that I later embellished with a felt Enterprise and string of sequins to make it into a trekked-out version of a poodle skirt. Paired with some saddle shoes and a matching shirt, it made for a neat little outfit that fetched many compliments.

Now, as I said, trekkies are not like the rest of humanity. As an example, let me just tell you that NOT ONCE did anyone come up to me and say "aw, can't you do just one more" after the line was cut off. Not a single person. Over four days, not one! Rather, they politely asked what time I would start the next day, or told me they loved the work and hoped I'd be there next year too. Nor did a single person complain about how long they had waited. Not one. And these folks were waiting sometimes two hours or longer! Sci-fi conventioneers respect the rules, they know how to create an orderly line, they wait patiently once they commit to waiting, they police themselves well, and they do it cheerfully.  They all get along. It's amazing to behold. Conversations and friendships were struck up between strangers as they waited behind me for their turn.

This was the line I saw, for caricatures, as I walked in about
forty-five minutes before my start time on Sunday. Holy cow,
I started worrying people mistakenly thought Nimoy would
be drawing them or something.

So, feeling all this trekkerly love, I bent some serious rules and extended way more trust than I normally would give to a crowd of people. And my trust did pay off. For instance, I would NEVER ever ever hand out numbers and then tell people to just wander off if they wanted too. But I ended up doing that the last day. Cranking eight- to nine-minute color digital drawings meant I could maybe do thirty or so during my four-hour shift. On Sunday, I arrived to set up and found a line of 28 people already awaiting me; some had gotten there an hour ahead of time determined to get drawn. So I wrote out numbers and explained to the crowd that they could wander IF they cleared it with line buddies so that I always had someone waiting to draw and some semblance of a line. Because, I warned them, if everyone left and then all showed back up during my last ten minutes, we would have chaos. So they'd need to cooperate.

This would not work with bankers, lawyers, wedding guests, high school kids, teachers, or most any other group. It totally worked with trekkies. No one wandered back late and played dumb. No one yanked on my shoulder to ask what number was next or what time they should return; they all self-managed and checked in with one another. There were ZERO line disputes, ZERO complaints about how long anyone had waited, and ZERO breakdowns in line progress. I had a steady stream of folks with numbers, and they happily--and sometimes smugly--told others that my line was closed. It was wonderful! I think they have spoiled me for all other crowds.

I rewarded their awesomeness by taking more time than I usually did with drawings. Which gave me mixed feelings. The eternal question for all live caricature artists--is it better to deliver a fast product or a fine-tuned product? They were very patient, and so I was leaning more toward detailed stuff in each drawing. But it's amazing how time adds up. If you take an extra minute on each drawing, and you've given out thirty numbers, BAM, you're working an extra half-hour for no pay. Which did happen to me, but for once I didn't sweat it at all. It was a very diverse crowd. I drew folks from several different countries, I drew kids, I drew seniors, and I drew quite a few disabled folks. If someone needed an extra couple of minutes, I did not mind at all. 

Ah, to be young and Klingon . . .

One guy did ask for a special favor, actually. And it threw me for a second. This gentleman walked over and said "Is there any way I could make an appointment? I have walked by several times and your work is amazing!" I explained that I had already closed the line, sorry, and he sighed and said he'd been too busy speaking on panels. Saywhatnow? He said, in the politest way possible "I'm the guy who wrote that tribble episode. And I hate to ask for a special favor because of that, but if there's any way you could work me in . .  ." Now actors have recognizeable faces, but I had no idea what writers looked like. And "The Trouble with Tribbles" is THE fan favorite episode from the original series, it's quite famous, and this fellow looked a little young to have written it nearly fifty years ago. Was he lying to me? Lying would be so out of character for trekkies. I looked up at some of the trekkies nearby, a flash of confusion on my face, needing an answer from them. They were silently nodding their heads vigorously, eyes wide and mouths slightly open, and one of them whispered "Oh my god DO IT."

Thanks to photoshop, it looks like I was printing
out 11 x 17 for writer David Gerrold . . . nope, just
 special effects folks!

Yep, this guy was genuine. His name was David Gerrold, I later found out, and he had indeed been running from panel to panel and busy with press interviews and such. I told him to come back at 5. He did stop back right on time, with plenty of kind words for me--he said he "never gets these done" but was so impressed with my likenesses. I told him he was already in the chair, no need to butter me up! For the next nine or ten minutes I got to have a fascinating conversation about what it was like for him, writing in Hollywood at the age of 19 during the dawn of the hour-long teledrama. I also got to hear about his involvement in "Trials and Tribble-ations," the clever tribble-themed retro episode of Deep Space Nine . . . and he even let me in on some private trek gossip that I shall take to my grave! I have said before that one of my favorite things about this job is it gives us face time with some of the most interesting people in the world. Boy howdy, this qualified.

So now I rest. Between the two enormous conventions I attended in the past two weeks, I am really bushwhackered. Oh yeah, last week I went to San Diego for that OTHER huge convention. I'll try to write about that next time.

Until next week, keep on trekkin' everybody!

Tribbles and Klingons and Borg, OH MY!

Andorians make the best
drinking buddies.

It may surprise you to find out I am a bit of a sci-fi geek. No, no, please hold back your astonishment. I realize I come off as sophisticated and mature, but believe it or not I squeeeeeeeee from time to time.

Well, July is usually my "play around month," as for the past few years I've managed to attend both The Amazing Meeting in early July (not really sci-fi, but still geeky fun with brainy skeptics) and then the San Diego Comic Con in late July. This year it has not just rained, it has poured fun sci-fi stuff in July. In fact, this week, almost as a harbinger of the geek celebrations to come, I finished up a Star Wars themed digital commission.

The recipient was a past client who wanted to gift it to a like-minded person who was leaving their company. The photo references were pretty awful, but I could tell the outfits, poses, and private "in" jokes were important enough to forgive a few lackluster likenesses on the background jedi. So these faces felt pretty generic, but the finished piece was a hit. I got a delighted email this morning from the client saying he had incorporated the caricature into a powerpoint presentation with Star Wars music and narration for the guy's going-away party, and it was met with rave reviews. It really is fun hearing that my work wasn't just presented to the person in a frame but also used in such a creative way for a wonderful, memorable celebration. Warms my heart.

Now, to keep with the genre but switch canons, I have been a huge Star Trek fan my entire life. I watched the series daily as a kid and own far too many Trek-related apparel and gizmos. And yes, I am putting together a fun Trek-related costume for SDCC. Just you wait. It probably won't hold a candle to Lar deSouza's epic Sailor Bacon costume, but what could?

I and fellow artists JW and Jay weren't excited at ALL
to work at the Star Trek experience. Nope, this was just a
ho-hum day at the booth. Yawn. 

Anyway, Star Trek conventions are the grandaddy of fan get-togethers. They are the gold standard (uh--gold-pressed latinum standard?) in sci-fi geekdom, and to my shame I have never actually attended one . . . I have, however, orbited on the outskirts and plied my trade. Several years back, Doug was able to get his merry band of facemakers a temporary booth at Quark's Bar in the famous Star Trek Experience during the week of the convention. I met a few celebrities, including Robert Picardo, Garrett Wang, and Bobby Clark--the dude who played the Gorn. Yep, I met the Gorn. And I got to draw him. He described the experience as simply a day's work for a day's pay, in a rubber suit. He had handlers with him and was clearly enjoying the convention experience--so nice to see that a day in a rubber suit can lead to fame among a whole culture of people decades afterward!

We had fun times drawing trekkers as green slave women, or with Borg implants (make up your own joke), Klingon forehead ridges, or with a particular class starship in the background. We named our short-lived enterprise "Facial Anomalies" (get it? enterprise? facial anomalies? Wokka wokka!) And we got to draw there for a couple years in a row, at least, before the fun all had to end.

Yes, I engaged in Ferengi foreplay in public. I do what I WANT!

Alas, the awesome Star Trek Experience closed up after ten years serving fans (1998-2008), and now even the Las Vegas Hilton has been bought and rebranded. This year, the annual Star Trek convention will be on the other side of Las Vegas, at the Rio Hotel & Casino.

And I'll be there, drawing!!!! SQUEEEEEEE!!!!!! 

I like fan conventions. I get the fan mentality. I'm a fan of quite a few shows and I have, over the years, tried to get into various conventions with the caricature angle. In college I thought I had a brilliant Mystery Science Theater 3000-inspired idea: I could draw folks on paper printed with that iconic silhouette of Tom Servo, Crow, and Joel/Mike. Alas, I sent some samples and a promo kit to MST3K, hoping to draw at the 1994 or 95 ConventioCon ExpoFest-a-Rama but never heard back. Similarly, I had inquired about working the Stargate conventions, which I happily attended as a fan in Vancouver three times. Looking back though, I was kind of glad not to be working it--I would have missed out hanging with my friends and going to all the awesome activities and meet & greets! 

But aaaaah, Star Trek. It's the first sci-fi show I really became a huge fan of, and yet technically I remain a Star Trek convention virgin. Until July 31st, anyway! The company that puts on the Stargate cons and the Trek cons, Creation Entertainment, contacted me a few months back and asked about having caricature entertainment for the main hall this year. First I listened to the voicemail about three times and danced around my bedroom like a little girl making squeaky sounds and hyperventilating. Then, after composing myself, and rationalizing why it wasn't a dastardly deed to undercut everyone else in my market, just this one time, I called them back and quoted their rep an insanely low price--and I told him why. In 2008, when I unexpectedly had to cancel my plans to go to the Vancouver Stargate con due to a death in the family, I emailed Creation Entertainment seeing if any refund was possible. It CLEARLY states on the tickets that there are no refunds, so I figured it was a lost cause. But it was a large chunk o' change, and I figured I'd try. The company emailed condolances and immediately refunded both tickets I'd bought on my credit card. It was a gesture of good will that stuck with me, at a time when every kindness really helped. They could have kept my money, legally they had every right to. But they didn't. They were awesome.  

See? Trekkies and wookies CAN get along.

Sci-fi people are good people, in my experience. 

And, so fast-forward six years to the present . . . Yeah, I booked that gig at a steep discount. Because personally doling out good karma feels GREAT, not to mention the perks! I'll be getting to draw in the main hall and hopefully rub elbows with Trek luminaries while getting a glimpse of all the fans dressed up. I might even get a chance to collect some autographs and add to my bat'leth collection. 

If you're going, let me know! I'll squeeeeeeeee you there! 

Caricature marathon gigs, I love and hate them...

Just finished a type of gig that's kind of unique to Vegas. Or at least more prevalent here than elsewhere. This is the land of giant, round-the-clock casino resorts, which employ literally thousands of workers split over three shifts.

When these resorts decide to throw an employee party, it can get complicated. Rob, Doug, and I worked a long day today for an employee-appreciation celebration and it was so much fun! But also exhausting. Honestly, this blog post will probably suck. I have no wind left in my sails today. Typing kind of hurts. I got about three hours of sleep last night because I'm really bad at making myself fall asleep early. Not the best approach to preparing for a caricature marathon that starts at sunrise.

I'm used to these gigs around December. Some of the holiday parties are crazy long, employing multiple artists over sometimes a stretch of 12 hours straight in order to give all three shifts of workers a chance to get to the event. This one was for a smaller sized Strip resort, only about eight hundred employees, so we were hired in spurts. We arrived at 6:30 am and drew for two hours, then got a long break and worked again from 11 am till 2 pm, then had a longish break again and finished up our last drawing shift at 9pm. So though it was a 14-hour day, at least it was broken up a bit. However, we were kind of trapped on property because you can't really leave and do anything substantial in a couple of hours. Going home would eat up 45 minutes each way, if traffic was cooperative, and why bother wasting the gas?

Likewise, we don't want to be too obviously on property while we are relaxing between drawing sessions--it's just bad juju to hang out too close to where the client and guests are. If you linger, you invariably invite questions from the hoi polloi: When are you going to start up again? How can I sign up to be first when you guys start? Can you start early, pretty please? Twice in the ladies' room I found myself recognized. "Hey, you're the caricature artist! When do you guys start again, will you be here tomorrow too? You're way better than those two guys working with you." (Hahahaahah! Rob and Doug probably got the exact same thing in the mens' room.) It's just more comfortable to get as far away from your target audience as possible when you're not on duty.

Luckily, this gig was happening near where Doug does tattooing part time. So we were able to sneak into the "Tattoo cabana," which happened to be vacant. A small room, but comfortable and with wifi. We killed nearly two hours in there, just chatting, and Rob caught a short nap on the tattoo chair. It was peaceful and, more important, away from all of THEM, all those people we'd been drawing and would be drawing again soon. We kept the curtains drawn, the lights dim, and just enjoyed the quiet. Rob said it felt like we were hiding from the Nazis and suggested someone start a diary.

I make it sound like we hated the people, but nothing would be farther from the truth. The drawing time wasn't bad at all. With any group of local people like that, you get to experience Vegas being a small town again. A good portion of the employees we drew were lifelong Vegas natives, and so we end up finding people who went to our same high school, or even graduated in the same class. So the chatter is always fun. Banter happens, and it's an adults-only environment where one can lapse into blue material if you also stay coy and classy about it. And on three hours' sleep I'm friggin' HILARIOUS. Or at least I think so.

Our contacts were awesome, and though there were a few bureaucratic snags (there always are when dealing with a large corporation and it's accounting department), they resolved everything in due time and made us feel really welcome. When they were unable to get us special dispensation to eat in the employee dining room, they instead handed us three comps for the nicer tavern restaurant out in the casino. It's definitely awesome working for folks in the hospitality industry!

To minimize muscle strain, all of us were using markers, which flowed with ease and stood out on the paper. I'm really loving the Crayola marker barrels filled with copic ink, and I'd made enough for all three of us to use. It was fun being between Rob's excellent structural skills and Doug's adorable, curvy linework. Both of them, being seasoned pros, took to the markers with ease. We were going at a good clip and, between the three of us, produced around 300 caricatures over the course of the day. Any feelings of awkwardness or needing to "warm up" fade after the first leg of the race, so I felt "on" for the rest of the hours. And just like some experience a runner's high, I swear there is a "caricaturist's high."

This guy. I had SUCH fun drawing this guy!

The different demographics filed in group by group, we'd spend an hour working on housekeepers, then several valets and bellhops would file in (sweating and happy to be indoors, it was 111 degrees today!). Managers, dealers, cocktail waitresses, lifeguards, front desk receptionists, I.T. folks, all took their turns. The security guards all had a great sense of humor and kept asking me to draw them "mean" or "angry." I ended up drawing one of these guys looking furious, with the Hulk in the background saying "Calm down, Hulk no like you when you're angry." I figured it would be a hit or a flop--luckily the guy loved it and laughed for a solid thirty seconds before showing it around. (Doug made fun of me for needing to do a quick Google search in order to properly draw the Hulk.) It felt like the last few drawings were breaking into new territory for me, pushing a little farther than I've been able to before. At the end of a gig like this I feel such a combination of exhaustion, giddiness, and euphoria . . . it could all be an illusion, as I said I'm crazy sleep-deprived right now, but pushing yourself to that point seems to be a way to tap into a deeper level of muscle memory and learning. I felt great.

Now I really, really, really need to sleep.