Spencer said I need to talk more about the class, specifically the final project and how that's going.
I've got an idea I really want to do. The problem is, it has absolutely no focus yet. I really just want to replace all the text in a single chapter of Watchmen, and turn it into an essay. I don't know what I'm going to write about, though. It has to be about comic books. I don't have anything to say about comic books, without really feeling like I'm over-Englishing it. Using words like paradigm and heteronormativity and stuff. I don't know. My copy of Watchmen is with a friend, and hopefully he'll bring it to Victorian culture tomorrow. If he doesn't? Mexico is less than a day away, if I break the speed limit.
The thing is, I know I could make something that would be entertaining, and maybe even smart, if I didn't feel like I was stretching to talk about "paneling" or something. So my focus when I sit down to really hammer this out is going to be finding a compromise between what's fun and instructive for me and what's academic enough for the department. Which I guess is what's been happening since Kindergarten.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
arrrgh
I found out today that in order to take an instructional music course with the university, you have to audition. Isn't that the point? I've been playing guitar for seven years, but I'm pretty bad and sound like I've only been playing for ten months. That's why I want instruction, so I can stop playing the same Alkaline Trio and White Stripes songs over and over and over again.
It's kind of sad how U of I lacks viable electives. I took Horticulture 106, "Home Horticulture", this semester, because the course description said that it was a survey class for non-majors who want to learn about decorating with plants and growing their own vegetables. It sounded informative and interesting. What do I get? I get some guy who doesn't care about the course literally reading every word off of every slide for an hour and twenty minutes, with little worthwhile explication that can't be reasonably inferred. He said, "You want to make sure you mow your grass. Grass grows," today. There are between 8-10 pages of single-spaced notes every day (we can print them off, thank God) and any banal piece of minutiae is up for grabs on any one of the fifty-question exams. One of the questions was "what makes sausage spicy," which the instructor tossed in as an afterthought during one lecture, and I only remembered because I knew the answer previously. It's fennel, in case you were wondering.
Then, and here's the kicker, there are the random quizzes. Six quizzes throughout the semester, during random lectures. You're allowed to miss one, since your lowest grade gets dropped. So I dick around for a couple weeks and attend maybe only half the lectures. I miss class the first quiz day. Big deal, I say. There's no way they'll have two quizzes back-to-back, right? So I skip the next class, AND THERE'S A FUCKING QUIZ! THEY PUT TWO OUT OF SIX QUIZZES THE ENTIRE SEMESTER IN TWO BACK-TO-BACK LECTURES! What is this chickenshit? Is that really necessary? Is that checking my understanding? What the fuck is the purpose of instruction if all we care about is grading whether or not we show up? I'm so sick of this system that defines part of your grade on attendance. Let me fucking sit in my apartment, watch a three-hour marathon of To Catch a Predator, eat a bowl of popcorn and then go to bed! Don't force me to come to fucking class! I don't need to! I can read a fucking book! If all you're going to do is read the book to me, is it really necessary that I'm there?!
Even when I get A's, it's like it doesn't matter anymore. I got an A, hooray. My life is exactly the same as when I woke up this morning. I got a D, oh no. My life is exactly the same as when I woke up this morning.
Don't take horticulture.
Reading that back over, I sound kind of angry. I probably was, but it's all dissipated now and I just want to go to bed. Here's something funny to break the tension.
It's kind of sad how U of I lacks viable electives. I took Horticulture 106, "Home Horticulture", this semester, because the course description said that it was a survey class for non-majors who want to learn about decorating with plants and growing their own vegetables. It sounded informative and interesting. What do I get? I get some guy who doesn't care about the course literally reading every word off of every slide for an hour and twenty minutes, with little worthwhile explication that can't be reasonably inferred. He said, "You want to make sure you mow your grass. Grass grows," today. There are between 8-10 pages of single-spaced notes every day (we can print them off, thank God) and any banal piece of minutiae is up for grabs on any one of the fifty-question exams. One of the questions was "what makes sausage spicy," which the instructor tossed in as an afterthought during one lecture, and I only remembered because I knew the answer previously. It's fennel, in case you were wondering.
Then, and here's the kicker, there are the random quizzes. Six quizzes throughout the semester, during random lectures. You're allowed to miss one, since your lowest grade gets dropped. So I dick around for a couple weeks and attend maybe only half the lectures. I miss class the first quiz day. Big deal, I say. There's no way they'll have two quizzes back-to-back, right? So I skip the next class, AND THERE'S A FUCKING QUIZ! THEY PUT TWO OUT OF SIX QUIZZES THE ENTIRE SEMESTER IN TWO BACK-TO-BACK LECTURES! What is this chickenshit? Is that really necessary? Is that checking my understanding? What the fuck is the purpose of instruction if all we care about is grading whether or not we show up? I'm so sick of this system that defines part of your grade on attendance. Let me fucking sit in my apartment, watch a three-hour marathon of To Catch a Predator, eat a bowl of popcorn and then go to bed! Don't force me to come to fucking class! I don't need to! I can read a fucking book! If all you're going to do is read the book to me, is it really necessary that I'm there?!
Even when I get A's, it's like it doesn't matter anymore. I got an A, hooray. My life is exactly the same as when I woke up this morning. I got a D, oh no. My life is exactly the same as when I woke up this morning.
Don't take horticulture.
Reading that back over, I sound kind of angry. I probably was, but it's all dissipated now and I just want to go to bed. Here's something funny to break the tension.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
it's a funeral home get it
Fun Home is pretty cool. I like it, at least. My roommates would probably like it too, they're lesbians. I don't know. Maybe that's derogatory. Fuck 'em.
Following Pat's criteria for an indie comic, there are breasts. Now I'm wondering if there will ever be an indie comic without breasts. There's probably something I don't know about.
I mean, even the story about the gay guy during the civil rights movement had breasts in it.
Jesus.
Following Pat's criteria for an indie comic, there are breasts. Now I'm wondering if there will ever be an indie comic without breasts. There's probably something I don't know about.
I mean, even the story about the gay guy during the civil rights movement had breasts in it.
Jesus.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Stuck Rubber Crappy
Seriously? That was a novel? That was boring. It was dull and uneventful. It was like reading fucking Dickens. You're writing a story set in the South during the Civil Rights era, with a closeted homosexual protagonist, and you manage to make it this fucking dull?
Why am I not published? Is this what I have to do? Churn out 200 pages of non-events?
Anyway, I finished writing Sven Fjorden. He's pretty awesome. There may or may not be bear headshots and axe decapitations.
Why am I not published? Is this what I have to do? Churn out 200 pages of non-events?
Anyway, I finished writing Sven Fjorden. He's pretty awesome. There may or may not be bear headshots and axe decapitations.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Facial Structure
Every character in Stuck Rubber
Baby looks like this guy.
I like the story, I guess. It's a little slow moving but it has its moments and nothing about the writing has really rubbed me the wrong way.
But seriously, why does everyone have a giant chin that stretches all the way to their eyeballs? It's hard for me to distinguish between characters because everyone's face is nearly identical. If it weren't for hair and the occasional shading work, I'd have no idea what was going on.
Not that it's necessarily lazy to draw the same face a lot; lazy would be copy-pasting characters into every panel and only changing the dialogue (which plenty of comic strips seem to be doing these days). It just makes it tougher to commit to the story when I'm being forced to cross-check with previous chapters to make sure someone in a room is the same person I think they are.
edit: and I swear to God, if you say "IT JUST SHOWS THAT WE'RE ALL THE SAME PERSON, WHEN YOU THINK ABOUT IT" I will punch you in your throat
But seriously, why does everyone have a giant chin that stretches all the way to their eyeballs? It's hard for me to distinguish between characters because everyone's face is nearly identical. If it weren't for hair and the occasional shading work, I'd have no idea what was going on.
Not that it's necessarily lazy to draw the same face a lot; lazy would be copy-pasting characters into every panel and only changing the dialogue (which plenty of comic strips seem to be doing these days). It just makes it tougher to commit to the story when I'm being forced to cross-check with previous chapters to make sure someone in a room is the same person I think they are.
edit: and I swear to God, if you say "IT JUST SHOWS THAT WE'RE ALL THE SAME PERSON, WHEN YOU THINK ABOUT IT" I will punch you in your throat
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
This is what I've been doing while I'm sick. Fighting crime as my favorite modernist author.
What's the deal with portraits from life? Does this guy know he sucks? It doesn't take a lot to entertain me, but man. What the hell.
On the plus side, my stomach is no longer trying to eat the rest of my body, so I can come to class now. Wooo.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
The Worst Nights of Your Life
For as far back as I can consciously remember, which is like, age four, I've thrown up maybe six times. That's not definite, but there's no way in hell it's more than ten, and six sounds just about right. It's not that I don't get sick, it's just that I never throw up - my body has failed me in hundreds of different ways, but that's one problem I've never had.
Which means every time I throw up, I forget how horrible and disgusting and terrible it is. I completely forget, I live four years of my life, and then things like last night happen, and I'm kneeling in front of the toilet for ten minutes.
Then, I try to sit cross-legged to regain some composure, and my right leg immediately goes into Charlie Horse mode. So I've been throwing up for ten minutes and now I'm writing in agony on the bathroom floor, punching my leg.
Jesus christ.
Which means every time I throw up, I forget how horrible and disgusting and terrible it is. I completely forget, I live four years of my life, and then things like last night happen, and I'm kneeling in front of the toilet for ten minutes.
Then, I try to sit cross-legged to regain some composure, and my right leg immediately goes into Charlie Horse mode. So I've been throwing up for ten minutes and now I'm writing in agony on the bathroom floor, punching my leg.
Jesus christ.
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