In between trying really hard not to nod off (whoever cranked up the heat at the Brattle, heads up -- it was hella sweaty in there), we took a general sense of great pleasure in sitting in a big room full of New Yorker dorks last night. Ah, NYer-heads are a great breed. The jolly Matthew Diffee, Drew Dernavich, Eric Lewis, and we <3 him long-time Phoenix cartoonist David Sipress were on hand to showcase the cream of their crap. (And make poop jokes.)
They answered lots of questions during an ongoing Q&A session:
Q: How do you know when Bob Mankoff likes your stuff?
A: If he spends more than two seconds looking at it. Literally.
Q: How do you get your cartoons into the magazine (basically a cloaked version of the real question: Why The Fug are my Cartoons Still Sitting in the Slush Pile of Doom?!!!!!11)
Answer: The New Yorker is very particular. Keep trying! <evil laughter>
They showed us witty slides of what The New Yorker's Cartoon Bank should sell (Cartoon casket liners, artificial hearts, etc. etc). They made more poop jokes. They screened an INSANE video made by Mankoff that ended in him dying from a rejected liver transplant. That man adores being a grump.
They did some ridic improv cartoon drawing (Jews against Christians -- their idea) which involved pigs, lawyers, and shopping gurus.
Oh, and they presented us with the best of their rejected cartoons, which you will not, at any point, be seeing in The Magazine. Weeee!
We have to go turn 40 years old now. Later younguns.