Day: September 17, 2007

Back in March of this year, I was contacted by the organizers of the Orlando Comic Book Convention and asked if I’d like to come. It was over the weekend of my birthday, and I said, “Look…I don’t want to ditch my family on my birthday. If you’d be willing to fly down me, my wife and my two kids, then I’m in.” Honestly, I wasn’t expecting them to agree to it, but I figured, what the hëll, I’d give it a shot.

They agreed to it. Hurrah.

Then I realized a couple months later that it was on Yom Kippur weekend. And I said, “Guys, we have a problem. I didn’t realize there was this conflict.” They said, “What can we do to make this work for you?” I said, “You need to find me a reform synagogue that I can attend for at least part of Saturday.”

Never heard from them. My name was still on the website, but not a whisper.

I mentioned this to an Orlando-area retailer at Dragon*Con who said he was looking forward to my coming. He got right on the problem and, in less than a week, found a local Reform synagogue that was willing to extend guest passes to myself and Ariel.

Meantime, not a word from the organizers. I wrote to them and said, “Okay, look, what’s the deal? Am I still coming, because you haven’t gotten us any tickets yet.” They asked if I was still interested in coming. I said yes.

Didn’t hear from them again.

However I did get an e-mail today from a fan asking why my name was no longer on the list for the Orlando Comic Con, which is the first definitive word I’ve had that I’m not attending.

So if you’re at the convention and you hear people saying, “Where the hëll is Peter David? Why didn’t he show up?” feel free to say that, hey, he was as surprised as you were.

PAD

Third part of the four part introduction of the Isolationist, and a single issue tale in which Jude finally comes to terms with his dilemma. Whad’ja think?

PAD

So I was discussing the Emmy results with Kathleen while Caroline contentedly played with her new plush unicorns she’d gotten at the Renfaire yesterday. And, commenting on the fact that Stephen Colbert got beaten for best performance in a variety show by Tony Bennett, I said, “Twice in a year he got beat out by a singer in a one-shot special. Son of a–” And then I caught myself in deference to our four year old’s presence.

And apparently thinking that I had simply suffered a memory lapse, Caroline piped up, “Bìŧçh.”

I said, “Aw no.”

Given all the incentive she needed, Caroline cheerfully said, “Son of a bìŧçh. Son of a bìŧçh.”

Kathleen said, “Caroline, those are grown-up words. Don’t say that.”

“Don’t say that?” she said.

“No,” I reinforced. “Don’t say that.”

“Ðámņ it,” she muttered and went back to her toys. “Dammit dammit dammit.”

Oh yeah. That Father of the Year award’s looking pretty shakey.

PAD