Chalk Another One Up for Web 2.0

I recently attempted to pledge money to someone's Kickstarter project, honestly just so I could get a copy of their book to give away as a present, I wasn't even a little interested in it, considering it was being self-published and really doesn't give me any way of knowing that it's worth reading, but that's beside the point.  Well my purchases have been a little less than conservative this month, and it ended up being the camel that broke the straws back, and maxed out my credit card.  I got roughly 10 emails from Amazon telling me to do something about it.  So I pay my bill, and then I tell my significant other, for whom I am getting this book that something went wrong.  We have a discussion about money, and she decides it's not really worth either of us spending money on each other when we have such economic hardship ahead of us what with my spiraling descent into college debt and inevitable unemployment.  So I go on Kickstarter the next day to pull my pledge.

I can't find the goddamn rounded rectangle button that says "I CAN'T GIVE YOU THIRTY DOLLARS ANYMORE."  I look on the help page, and they do say I can do this, it's discouraged, but my circumstances are special, since I don't actually care if this project succeeds or not.  Well the emails are threatening me to do something by the 11th, so I say screw it, if I do nothing, they won't charge me, so I'm good.

WELL WHAT DO YOU KNOW KICKSTARTER, I GET AN EMAIL TODAY SAYING MY PAYMENT WENT THROUGH AS SCHEDULED.  FANTASTIC.  NOW I GET A BOOK NO ONE WANTS.  I'M JUST GOING TO DONATE IT TO THE LIBRARY, HE'LL PROBABLY APPRECIATE THAT I DO THAT.

Button Sinks

I have decided to keep a cultural record of these fantastic devices, since even in concept they are the least intuitive idea ever.

Those sinks in public restrooms where you have to HOLD a button to make water come out is the exact opposite of a good idea.  After using the bathroom, one typically washes their hands (if you don't, I won't judge you).  The process of washing your hands can be broken down basically into wetting your hands, applying soap and then lathering the soap over your hands and rinsing it off in the water while rubbing your hands together.  Maybe I have something wrong, or maybe I'm missing a step, but how do you wash your hands together when you have to hold a button to make water come out?  Do humans have 3 hands or helper monkeys attached to them at all times for using the bathroom?  How the hell am I supposed to get my hands clean when I can't wash both my hands at once.  I've tried everything, using my elbows, holding it down a long time to see if it will maybe keep pouring water out.  I've even tried panicking and giving up.

What's worse is that if you're an extra germ-o-phobe or whatever the hell it is, you're basically touching the button that is probably the most cultured part of the sink in order to rinse off your one hand, but when you go to wash the other hand of putrid human stink, you end up having to touch that button with the clean hand!!!  What kind of infinite no-win loop is that!?

The invention of these sinks becomes exacerbated when there IS a sink with a spigot rather than a stupid hate button.  However, that one is typically less than appealing because everyone used the shit out of it because its the ONLY one that isn't a button based sink (the one I just saw had yellowish water dripping out of it, so it was broken and leaking urine.)  You look at that lone, not working, yet perfect in design sink, and you wonder what could have been.  Why aren't the rest of these sinks spigot based?

Worry not, however, the infinite chain of sadness can be broken with a simple paper towel.  You'll be glad to note that the paper towels are across the goddamn bathroom from the sink in case you need them, you know, to dry your hands from all the sinks that are near them.

Goddamnit blogger, why did I write this.

It's like a disease

Ponies is like a degenerative disease or a sort of Godwin's Law of the internet now.  I can't help it.  Whenever I touch youtube it ends up here.  ALWAYS ends up here.  It's just a matter of when it will happen.  A TtP (Time to Pony), if you will.

Anyway, ponies aside, I have been bit by the writing bug again, and it seems I'm up to my old tricks.  The bug I was bit by, admittedly must have been one of those writing bugs that also has nyquil it directly injects into your veins along with some anti-ritalin, whatever that would be.  I've been wanting to write, but have fallen asleep at every single attempt.

Goddamnit I need a youtube lock.  There is a 5 minute gap between each of these paragraphs when I just get distracted.  I am leaving you for Notepad, Blogger, so I'll see you around.  Notepad is SO my word processor of choice, yo.

Bloggair.

Hi, Blogger, it's been awhile, and so I felt like dropping in and just expecting you to be free, but don't worry, I have taken into account that you may have saved all your loving for someone who's loving you.  Thanks Gloria.

I have spent an entire summer doing nothing creative.  YES.  I, for just one more summer, wanted to ACTUALLY do nothing at all.  I hung out with friends and worked and had no special trips.  I watched a lot of cats over the summer.  I had fun, and for the first time in years, I didn't want summer to end when it had ended.  So much so, that I have spent the past week of school being an absolute fuckup who never brings a bookbag to school.

My girlfriend, Michelle, is leaving tomorrow for college. I will miss her dearly, since she started writing this while I was watching her pack, I felt I had to leave it in.  I actually had probably the most enjoyable summer I ever had with her.  Our relationship had been sort of rocky last year, and it was nice to just get along with her and enjoy our time together.


Okay I'm bored already.  I promise next post will be funny.


J.J. Dynamite

Just leaving this here.

Today

I saw an inflated rubber glove billowing in the streets.  Why and how were the only things I could think when I drove by it bouncing and rolling around my neighborhood.  A rubber glove is weird enough, let alone an inflated one.  It was almost surreal; I thought I was hallucinating. 

Anyway, Blogger, it seems that our semester together is coming to an end soon.  I had to keep you for creative writing, and now that the class is over, I'm not 100% sure if we'll keep in touch.  I'm not much for long goodbyes, but I'll try to make an exception.  I'll write what comes to me, and what gets filtered through my journals for studio classes (or maybe the opposite, I haven't decided yet.)

Ah screw it, I'll probably end up posting tomorrow, I think this is an addiction, honestly.

-Captain J. M. Sanders

I think blogger has capped me out at 39 posts.  I swear to god I keep posting one and it keeps saying 39.  Anyway, last week had nothing posted because it was really too busy.  I didn't have the tools to write, so obviously I wasn't reading either (or something like that.)

The weather is damp, and like damper than damp.  It's crotch damp here.

I haven't been taking naps after work lately, beacause I feel like my overall performance is affected for the rest of the day, but I think I may make an exception today, considering how I spelled because wrong a while back but I haven't corrected it yet.

Good night.

-Rumms X. Umber

Best Review for a movie I havent seen.

Atlas Shrugged?  More like I shrugged.

13.

Today I deleted my Facebook, guys!  I've never felt so powerful before :D.

Seriously though, I am reminded of when Siddhartha had left the presence of Gotama the Enlightened One. He had felt himself no longer tied to his old life. He gained a reverence for the world, and was able to continue on without looking back.

The way they tried to stop me.  They told me friends would miss me, that I could make facebook useful.  That my girlfriend  would miss me.  I almost felt sad, as if I was leaving forever my friends or experiencing death.

Death, as it is read in Tarot, doesn't exactly mean the end of life.  It represents a change, a new outlook, a different relationship.  It is an exciting card to receive, really.  It means it's time to move on with yourself and start over.  That doesn't mean get rid of everything beforehand.  I will continue to be with my girlfriend (Death can represent marriage too, isn't that funny!?), talk to my friends, and see them-especially when the summer rolls around!  I'm still creating art.  I am still passionate about the graphic novel.

Take this with you, guys:  When something ends, is it really over?  The world doesn't cease, even when it becomes dust.  A catastrophe is only a catastrophe in our eyes, because the end of our lives doesn't seem so beautiful in the wonderful scheme of the world.

The Internet and Me: Why Some Relationships Just Don't Work Out

I began browsing the internet as a child, of the mind that this was the big shit.  I could use Altavista or Webcrawler to find any inadequate amount of information about something as I could (This was before Google or Wikipedia.  Finding anything using the internet was a crapshoot.)  As I grew up, so did the internet.  We both came into our own, and I got it in my head that it was a legitimate place to share ideas and enjoy being able to talk to someone miles away.  I don't know where the hell I got this idea, because I can barely get along with people who are not anonymous and at the very least responsible for what they say to me.

So, for a while, I kicked around the internet, I even tried doing freelance work as a designer/artist.  You don't know how far your head needs to be up your ass to make any sorts of success on DeviantArt until you try to do it.  You literally need to make it a job to be as much of a kiss-ass as possible, and you can make some headway, even if you don't know foreshortening from foreskin.  When it made art wholly unfun, I left, because I didn't need my hobby/career choice to be miserable at age 20 (I also wasn't even getting jobs).  That was the first lesson I learned: No one cares about your shit until you make them care about your shit.

Because when all meaning fails, draw a funny face and you too can get an LOL from a stranger in Vancouver

So, Facebook, also.  It's supposed to be...for...what's it supposed to be for?  Do I keep in touch with people I don't see anymore? (Not really, I usually just send them irreverent crap, which I guess was our relationship before they left the state/city.)  More often than not though, I have to sift through my (by the way, not very large) pool of Facebook friends, honestly looking through senseless text that just makes me embarrassed to look at, oh and rage comics.  God, once one of your friends finds reddit.com it's like all the shit from reddit just gets plastered all over their Facebook wall.  By this point (the point where Facebook is recognizing my face to tag photos) I've learned my second lesson about the internet: Deactivate your Facebook and never look back; you were better off before it existed.

I know it really sounds like I'm taking a "holier than thou/too good for this shit" attitude, but that's because I am.  The internet is a vast, vast land of fantastic freedom and global connections, and the only thing I can seem to find redeeming about it is the pornography (the relatively virus free stuff, anyway).  I wish I had never hooked myself into all this crap, because I'm pretty sure I was better at entertaining myself than by clicking on here.  Anyway, just letting you know, Blogger, that I have my goddamn eye on you. (Did I already say this a few posts ago?)

-Willing J. Knowles

Aw!  Thanks www.cuteoverload.com!

P.S. Oh, the pictures of cats and doggies are probably the only other thing that's worth doing on the internet.  Aw!

Facebook apparently is able to read your face and automatically tag you in photos.  I've never seen it first hand, but someone made a comment about it (assuming they weren't joking.)

I am

Deactivating

My Facebook account.  As soon as an entity of data knows my face just  by looking at is is when I cheese it from technology.  Do developers get off on making their websites and robots creepy as all hell by being smart?  Don't we know where this goes yet?

Fight me, Blogger.  I know you're fucking in on this too.

-Devlin A. Rutherfordson

Got really mad at this:

I had to read the graphic novel Fun Home for my class on graphic memoirs.  I spent a few hours reading the first half, got bored and ended up reading American Born Chinese (which was actually removed from the curriculum because of delays) and finishing it in less time than I had spent reading Fun Home. 

The difference was that I had really liked American Born Chinese. 

I have a theory as to why I so dislike Fun Home, and Alison Bechdel makes it so apparent in the work:  Her rampant use of Joyce inspired imagery and constant, overbearing and obvious allusions/references to Fitzgerald, Proust and Camus are just annoying.  It feels like I'm reading Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man again, except a comic book version of it, and that's something I'd really not rather half-read again.  I wouldn't mind so much these literary allusions, as I am ALL for that kind of crap, but, like, instead of using the medium of the graphic novel to create some kind of tension or use the visual elements of a graphic novel to tell things that words can only spoil, everything is narrated by the author in a pretty sterile manner.  The author's voice is so disconnected and matter of fact-ly, that it makes me wonder why I should even care about her story.  All of the clever elements of her story are undercut by the paragraph of text on each page explaining why her dad's death was ironic.  Is it really irony if you have to tell me it is?

P.S. I know I probably sound all kinds of ignorant for not "getting" James Joyce, but I think his work carries so much pomp with it that it makes me angry just reading it aloud, so I don't care

The best thing:

This is part of the scientifically "least desirable song."  A song designed to have elements that, according to surveys, has no popular elements.  I don't know, I sort of like it

Today was the day I was called in to work to attempt to shift around the holiday stuff in our weird storage room.  I came to a chilling realization-but first, a bit of background:

My store used to be a Super Fresh back in the 90's.  It has since closed down to become an arts and crafts store.  However, even if a store is re-purposed, it still contains the elements of its predecessors (see any Wawa or Pizza Hut, their architecture is wholly unique).  As such, since I began to work there, I often wondered where some of those parts were, namely the giant walk in fridge.  I thought that it was tucked away in this boarded up corner we continually barricaded with unsold glass jars and American flags and left it at that. 

Anyway, I was talking to my co-worker about this today, and ironically, as I walked out of the storage closet literally jam packed with unsold holiday merchandise, I noticed a big metal doorframe around this rooms entrance.  Then it hit me: I had been working in what was the refrigerator all day.  That doorway, the one that had bolts removed from the hinges, bolts big enough to hold a very heavy door in place, had to be to a cold storage room.  Then I imagined it.  Being hip deep in sandals and 5 dollar pairs of sunglasses in a subzero cooler, with the door shut.  This thought is probably on my top 20 list of ways I don't want to die, just below mauled by a bear, and just above crushed by one of those metal crushing deals they have at the dump.

I had a dream I think.

About a guy who dies and comes back from the dead.  He hated his life, anyway, but doesn't start liking being around til he has some adventures as a dead guy.  Man i just needed to write that down, because it sounds stupid as hell..

No class tomorrow, which I can live with.  I'd love to go protest the shit our fantastic elected officials are doing to our appropriations for education, but I have assignments and classes I can't skip.

Jesus I am not looking forward to looking for a grad school.  It's driving me nutty, but sculpture and I are on even terms right now.

Okay, that's all I got tonight.

Just wanna type

I haven't been blogging this week, oops!  I'm more in the mood for actually writing, and considering I have to write like, 20 pages of work for my final, it would be a prudent choice to focus my creativity on this.  Really it's just that I haven't got to physically typing it, but that all changes tonight (I hope.)

Life has teetered from not bad to absurdly dull and aggravating as of late.  I enjoyed the luxury of going outside without putting on a jacket today.  That's the best feeling in the world, when you can just go outside.  No worries about the nightmarish wailing of the polar winds.  Nothing feels better (except...well YOU know.)

I bought a pair of clippers with which to cut my cat's nails.  Every time I mention it I get a "good luck" with sarcasm attached.  I don't know.  My cat's can be sort of nasty, but I also have the ability to do just about whatever I want to them without them getting too mad at me.  It's all about timing, I hope.

I'll give you the scoop on how my cat's nail situation is doing some other time. 

Oh, and I'm in the computer lab here, and I just pulled out the little shelf the keyboard is supposed to sit on.  Fucking 20 Mamba wrappers strewn about.

YOU PEOPLE ARE PIGS.

Dear Sculpture Class,

I hate you.  That's right.  I. Hate. You.

Hate is a strong word.  Usually people use hate when they want to show the deepest levels of animosity.  There should be a perfectly good reason to hate someone, otherwise dislike is probably the word you're going for. 

But that's really for a person, every factor of this class pisses me off.  I hate sculpting models.  I'm struggling as it is to do it, but I also have no interest in doing it correctly anymore.  It's fucking boring sitting there trying to make this old guy's spine look as perfectly malformed as it is.  I also don't feel like I'm learning anything.  I mean, there's always that resistance when you don't like doing something that you don't learn anything from it.  But even when I do enjoy it for a moment, I feel like I am making no progress whatsoever.  I know it comes down to practice, but is 4 months of a class really practice enough for me to be anywhere near proficient at doing this?  No.  It isn't.  Not for me, anyway.  I don't want to do this class anymore, but I only have one more month, so I really might as well stick it out.

Being in that class makes me a silent pit of rage.  I just sit there hitting and pinching and cutting the clay until it's time to go.  That sweet release when class is over is the greatest indicator that I hate that class.  The fact that I don't dread work at 3AM, but I do dread that class at 1 the same day.  Usually I get a break; we do different projects on Wednesdays, but we're kinda in between, so now we're just doing the model every class.  It's driving me fucking bonkers.

Oh, I didn't publish this yet?  I must have gotten really distracted.  I haven't been like this about a class since like, high school social studies.

From 0 to 60. Or was it 22 to 60?

Let me tell you a story about a fool:

He had been a well behaved student for his entire life.  He studied and goofed off as many kids do, all in moderation.  He grew up with his faith in the education he was receiving, that it would better him and enlighten him to the world surrounding.  The studious, intelligent, perhaps a bit introverted child grew into a young man as quickly as spring descends upon the dying winter.  He attended more classes and learned more than he thought.  He developed and changed as we are expected to do as children.  While he sat in his classes day in and day out, he found himself wanting something he couldn't say, draw or write.  He had lived a mostly happy life, so he wouldn't have known what it was he could ever want.  He looked everywhere to find that what he was looking for; professors, friends, family, even lovers couldn't point him in the direction of his desires.  It depressed him, but only when he thought about it.  There was plenty to do to distract him from his question.  He had work to do, and work made him happy because it distracted him from this nagging feeling.  Every now and then, this looming presence would take form before his eyes.

It enraged the fool.  No matter what he did, whenever this feeling was over him, he could not find what he was looking for.  How could he not have learned this by now, why is there something he had been missing?  Had all his knowledge to survive in this world forgotten to preserve him?  What good is knowing the bones of the human foot if he couldn't do something that made this damned feeling leave him.

Finally, it became clear to him. It was an uncomfortable truth:  What you really need in life cannot be taught by any being, living or dead.

So, the Fool left his pressures behind him.  Though he continued his studies, he let a new goal take priority.  He desired to find that which was missing from inside of him.  That which unites him with the world, and not just the material earth, but all things included therein.  He left with only that which he could carry, and happily walked towards a fate no one could assure him would end well.

Each day at work-

Feels like I get a Herculean task, and it's always the one where I have to clean the stables.  Instead of shit, it's shitty merchandise.  I had to clean out our trailer full of clearance items.  I found out that the items are not the reason I am clearing all of this antiquated craft supply though.  We need the shelf structures they were on to ship back as well as the actual shelves themselves for storage.  I was relieved, anyway, because I was certain none of this stuff was ever going to sell, even for free.  The room I have to move all of this stuff is up a narrow flight of stairs, and each box of merchandise is about 20-30 pounds if I wasn't an idiot about putting too much in.  Back and forth for an entire truck trailer (which certainly does smell like a stable) all day.  This contributes to my theory of the boxes and fixtures merchandise is on being the solid gold that I am panning through all these silly brushes and wooden boxes to get to.

This job still beats Quizno's EVERY day.

Philadelphia, but no class?

I had a field trip today for both of my art classes!  I saw the Muetter museum for the first time today.  And...and...it was really upsetting, but interesting at the same time.  It's so frightening all the horrible things that can happen at once to your body.  It's no wonder such horrible monsters can be created by the minds of artists. 

I also went to UPenn for an artist doing a lecture series.  I have apparently been to the cafe there before when I was a kid.  Apparently they have a freakin bar after 4 PM, so being of age, I ordered a Bloody Mary.  I had always wanted to try one since finding out about it, since it's basically what happens when you and your friends are bored at a diner in middle school, and you just start putting salt packets and ketchup in an empty drink glass.  Honestly, I'd have liked it better without the vodka (I know it's just tomato juice then.)

I got to talk to a well established artist today, though she only half answered my question, it was still very interesting, and she was very approachable!

Spring Break: 2

I spent this week doing next to nothing.  I spend every other week doing as much as I can as fast as I can.   Can I not enjoy this? 

I haven't given blood in awhile.  It's really weird, because usually I get calls from the Red Cross like, every month or so.  Sometimes I like to get harassed by them just to know that my blood is still worth taking.

Spring Break: 1

I went to work today, so it wasn't really a day off.  Sometimes, I forget I work at an arts and crafts store, because I'm more concerned with what to do with the cardboard boxes.  I'd swear I work in a cardboard mine if I just had to shuffle boxes around a messy stock room.

I've been pretty sick the past few days.  I dunno if I caught another cold or something, but I feel that I've taken a turn for the worse.  It could just be because I got a total of 40 minutes of sleep last night, but either way, the sniffles have been haunting me for 2 weeks now.  I'm pretty tired of breathing out of my mouth all the time!

I think the world will end in fire or black holes

So, stars have two ends:

1. They constantly expand, engulfing anything nearby until they simply spread into gas

or

2. The force of gravity increases faster than the star can expand, which causes it to condense into a super dense point that eats light (and anything else around it).  A black hole.

This is our universe, there are billions of these objects floating around through space.  When they finish their life cycle, a catastrophe occurs to anything around it.  As for earth, I created a diagram:

I think I'm actually prepared for school tomorrow.

I didn't push everything off til today, so I'm not going to be up until 9 when I should be in bed for work at 3AM.  I actually DON'T know what I should be doing with myself today, so I've been doing my laundry (which was long overdue) and I cleaned my bathroom, again, long overdue.  I should really just do my homework more often!

Every time I do my laundry, before running the dryer, I count the cats in my house.  2 is the magic number.  I don't know if I'm just paranoid, or if I really think my cats are that dumb (they are), but I couldn't live with the guilt of letting one of them die like that.  I mean, I raised them since they were little gross kitten larvae.  Anyway, here's a great picture of one of them wearing a cone.

OH.  NEVERMIND.  SORRY, BLOGGER.  I GUESS MY PICTURE JUST ISN'T GOOD ENOUGH.

Screw off.

(Edit: I logged in with my gmail account to get the picture, which is not the account this blog is registered under. Apparently google wants me to have a gmail account for everything and abhors me using my school email address.)

Sick

I'm at the point of sickness where it feels like my bones are trying to jump out of my body.  Thankfully I'm done working for the week, with just one more day of class. 

Oops.  I dunno what to write here, my head hurts too much to think a lot.

Exhaustion

I've not slept before, but usually when I don't sleep I just sit on my ass and look at pictures of cats on the information super highway as it is called.  I had to work today with no sleep, which is basically going in at 3 in the morning to move boxes full of glass jars and candles to the outside of the store back and forth like a worker ant.

My boss's daughter is going totally blind.  She's been for some time now, apparently.  Her husband and she got married recently so that she could live on his Military base with him.  I sort of envy her, in a way.  She gets something that we who can see our whole lives never do.  When she can no longer see, the last image she'll have of her husband will be at this very moment they are united.  For the rest of their lives, she'll always picture him the way she did when they were married without a single other image to compare him to ten, twenty or a hundred years from now.  Foolish human vanity has little bearing on her love, and for that she may be blessed.

Perhaps an artist really doesn't need his eyes to create a great statement.  I wonder if sight is a crutch to someone who wishes to express something abstract, because we have to worry what it looks like.

Linocut

I have spent the past 4 hours cutting a block of linoleum up to print onto paper.  My hands hurt.  My knees hurt.  Everything hurts. 

This is why I haven't seen you in awhile, Blogger.  I'm not doing Livejournal behind your back.  Don't get me wrong, Wordpress wanted me to threesome with her and Livejournal, but I held firm that you're the only one for me.

This one's for you, baby.

Fantastic Idea for a Short Story.

I want to make a story that begins in California around 1985 when Back to the Future was released in theaters.  The main character, the proud owner of a Delorean, spends a great deal of his time attempting to get his license plate to read "OUTATIME."  He refuses to drive his car until he can obtain this plate on his car.  With the advent of the internet, years later, he finds that he can constantly check to see if "OUTATIME" was still being used by another car.  The story charts his steady descent into madness as his fanaticism for the great Robert Zemekis film is both his life's meaning and the only thing holding him back.

Wow I don't even know if I am joking.  I really want to write this.

Sundays still my least favorite part of the week.

Why?  Because I need to have been asleep by now to get a proper sleep.  I have work at 4am tomorrow, which is the last week it's gonna be like that.  From now on, the freight truck comes in at 3am, but it has much less stuff in it.  Is that better?  Worse?  I have no idea, but it just means Sundays might as well be "Wake up at 12 because you haven't slept all week and go to bed at 7 so you aren't completely spent tomorrow".  It's a vicious cycle, but somebody's gotta make the magic happen, right?

I like my job, though.  It beats food service, where customers constantly get in your face because you didn't do something they didn't mention.  The entitlement on these people, it's like, because we have to work for minimum wage doing something I can't even imagine liking, it makes it so we can't be given a little patience.  It's always "work faster work faster" because the customer can't wait an extra few minutes for a sandwich.  A chicken sandwich prepared and cooked in a minute is unnatural, and I don't know what reasonable human being would want to eat something like that.

Though in all realities, there are always worse jobs.  What do you think, Blogger?

Finally.

Blogger is letting me upload images today...so here goes...

I wish that 3:20 were in the PM...

 Awesome, I'm surprised that worked.  This is the first page of a 24 hour comic I had to do for another class.  I've mentioned before that I'm really into comics, and this other class has only been making it worse.  I've tried to draw comics for a really long time, but as far as supplemental literature goes, there aren't a whole lot of books on creating comics.  I don't really want to include books like "How to Draw Comics the Marvel Way" simply because I didn't ever want to draw comics the Marvel way (I think it's Picasso who said "Raphael already paints like Raphael, so why should I?").  Will Eisner and Scott McCloud have, as far as I know, created some of the most comprehensive works on actually understanding the idea of comics, not just creating them.

"Stray," a comic I've been working on for some time now.

In so many ways, comics are a medium based in writing.  For me it takes a lot of the tedium out of immersing myself in a story.  That isn't to say I haven't come across works of fiction that haven't done the same thing, and there are many comics I walk away from saying "who cares?"  But just like some people happen to simply enjoy novels more than poetry, I enjoy reading and writing comics much more than any other creative media.  It might be the untapped creativity that lies hidden in it, it might be when a comic stacks up in literary value to written works or masterpieces of art and design, but it might be because it's a technique a lot of people write off as less valuable than other art.  Beware, though, attributing a subjective value to any work of art based on its media is a dangerous assumption to make.

Do comics mean anything to you?  Why/why not?  I'll keep thinking about why it is I draw comics...and I'll get back to you, Blogger.

Carver.

Carver's "What We Talk About When We Talk About Love" and "Beginners" are two different versions of the same story.  One gutted by his editor, Gordon Lish, and one, published years later due to his widow's insistence.  "Beginners" is the uncut version that Carver originally wrote without alteration.  When "What We Talk About" was first published, it received critical acclaim.  Of the two, I think Lish's edited version is simply a more interesting and engaging story.  Though they are based on the same work, the story is dramatically changed, as well as being much shorter.  The revelation of the different types of love is present in both stories, though explored a bit deeper in "Beginners."  Though Mel is not portrayed as understanding the form of absolute love illustrated by the old couple, I don't think it matters that he doesn't.  Based on his clearly abusive personality in both versions, I don't see why he would understand how that old man could be so broken up just because he couldn't see his wife.  A lot of Herb's dialogue in "Beginners" starts to sound repetitive only a few pages into the story; it feels almost unnecessary. 

The ending of both stories reveals that when "We" talk about love, we don't really come across a concrete answer.  Pinning and defining what love is as difficult as explaining what an abstract concept should be, and both versions of the story do that message justice.  Whereas "Beginners" feels disjointed at times (I may need another read through to really connect it, but the first couple of times felt really inaccessible), "What We Talk About" does well to contain the overarching theme of Carver's original version, even if Lish's treatment of the story seems excessive and harsh. 

No Facade Today...

So I originally started this blog with the intent to write it as someone else to help me internally develop a character.  It's fun to write as someone else, but at the same time it hasn't been helping me with other ideas.

Truth is: I have to keep 3 journals for my various classes.  I was initially afraid that the overlap would make writing a monotonous process, so I took on this one not as myself (though it was hard to not share certain feelings with her, an unfortunate fallacy.)  As the semester has so far continued, I have been keeping each journal separate according to their subject.  Printmaking information stayed in printmaking, and graphic novel work stayed in the Graphic Novel course.  I started to want to write a few of my own personal thoughts without the veiling I had created on blogger, but I found it difficult to do so without compromising the original intent of the blog.

Then I just decided "Whatever!  Why am I putting so much stock in what--to me-- is basically journaling?"  I want to write more about what really interests me as a writer and as a student.  If I can figure out how, I also would like to put up some of my comic art.  As an avid reader/hopeful writer of comics, I find the medium to be a powerful and not yet fully explored medium.  In writing, adjectives, nouns and verbs are used to set your piece and develop your characters, but in comics, your descriptions and character development come very much from the method you use to craft your piece while choosing appropriate text and subtle choices in voice and dialogue to walk hand in hand with the artwork.

(Blogger is currently not letting me post pictures, for whatever reason.)

I wouldn't say I've even scratched the surface of what a great comic/graphic novel can be, but it's really the only creative outlet I've found where every work for me is invigorating and enjoyable.  Nothing feels forced or unnatural, even when it doesn't work out how I'd want it to.

So, I'll give this a try for a little while.  We'll all see how it goes, right?

Gone for a weekend...

I went home for the weekend, so I didn't really touch my laptop.  I had a relaxing time back home.  Mom always seems to miss me when I return.  Business seems slow for her; I guess no one is buying houses these days.  It's also nice to see my friends from high school who stayed around town. I can't help but feel so weird when I come back and see a new building, or a closed store.  I expected things to stay frozen in time as I remembered it the first time I left for this school.  It still jars me every time I hear the new thing my friends are interested in.  I'm worried that some day, we'll have lived so much of our lives without each other that our lives won't so much as involve one another.  "This is growing up."  That's what I am always told.

-Kat

Ugh.

Why can't I write anything right now.  Why can't I just snap my fingers and know what I want to put on this screen?  I mean I'm getting some black on white here, but it's only because I'm complaining about not being able to write anything!  This Blog is, like, psychologically damaging.  It puts up a big public mirror for me to look at and see just how much I bitch about every little thing.

Honestly!  I can't write about anything but what peeves me.  This is a depressing read!  Maybe it's just bad because I can read it in my own "a little too high" voice.  UGH THIS MAKES ME WANT TO STRANGLE MYSELF.

No- I'm not picking my brain,  I'm not going to do this to myself tonight.  I'm not even signing this.

Role Models

There are a rare few people that I can say I really looked up to as a child.  Besides my mother, I can hardly think of one.  Even treading through a public school in a sleepy suburb, only one person has ever stood out to me as someone I could say I wanted to grow up to be like.  She didn't teach any grade in particular at the time; instead she worked with the kids in an accelerated learning program.  I wasn't one of these gifted children (though I was tested for the program.  I didn't even know anyone ever got rejected for it), but I did see her now and again.  When I was in elementary school, I saw the school counselor a few times.  They seemed to think I harbored some kind of animosity towards my mother evidenced by an assignment where I had to draw my house and family.  Honestly, I don't remember doing anything wrong, but I guess I also don't remember how I drew the picture.

I'm getting off-track.  Dr. May occasionally appeared in the office while I waited to be counseled.  I didn't like the therapy.  I remember the man who would talk to me was very off-putting.  It might have been the way he never smiled.  Every time I looked at him, it just seemed like he was unhappy with me, so I would usually sit outside the office, swinging my legs in trepidation.  Eventually, Dr. May began to recognize me.  She asked why I was around the office so often.  She would even joke to the receptionist that I was always getting in trouble.  All I remember is that one day she just started asking me what was on my mind.  I remember it really shocking me.  I mean, for a faculty member to take an interest in me, whom she didn't teach or work with in any sort of way was jarring, in a way.  She spoke to me like I was an adult, and I liked it.

When it came time to stop seeing the therapist, I must have been around eleven years old.  By this time I didn't even go to the office to see him, I wanted to see Dr. May to tell her about my day.  Even though my issues were "resolved," I would go straight to her room after school to help her straighten her office.  I felt comfortable around her enough to tell her all kinds of stuff about myself I'm not sure I even would mention to a friend.  She's retired now, but I still keep in contact with her, though not as much as I really  feel I should be.  I always felt so ungrateful, because of how much she really did for me.  If she hadn't been around, how much longer would I have been in therapy, or how would I have turned out?

I hope there are still people like her for kids nowadays.

-Kat

I Always Thought "Solidarity" Meant "Solitude"

Maybe that's why I don't get along with a particular group.  I have friends in my major, no doubt, but you wouldn't see me in any Facebook Albums with 'em.  I'm never at their outings, not really willing to date anyone in my immediate group of friends or really anything clique-y like that.  Do they invite me to?  I'm pretty sure they don't.  I'd like to think it's because I'm too busy, but they would at least ask, right?  Either way, I don't think similar fields of academic studies are grounds for a good relationship anyway.  I mean, I get all the "English Major Jokes," but damn I'm not gonna go nuts with them in public around other people; I'd look like a nerd!  There's nothing wrong with being a nerd, but don't go out of your way to be one, then you're just a hipster! 

I could talk myself in circles here, but my point is that I don't think college is a terribly great place to make relationships that last.  It's so distinct from high school, in which you are bound by law to attend every day, and that sort of shared oppression makes some of the people you are stuck with help to shoulder your burden rather than just make it worse (both kinds are in high school, of course).  I know I shouldn't be calling my education a burden; I like school-really I do.  In college, it's like, you just feel so optional to everyone.  That's not to say I don't have some good friends here, but most of the people here seem so much more self absorbed (myself included.I have too much to do for myself to care about others.)  C'est la Vie.

-Kat

My Best Friend:

A totally not class mandated writing exercise, of course:

She wakes up early in the morning.  Her cell phone's alarm clock blares a jagged and intrusive ringtone, but she simply saunters out of bed.  She likes to have plenty of time to get ready for school.  She's already picked out what she wants to wear today, but she hasn't quite decided how she'll style her hair.  The unpreparedness stresses her out. 

She purses her lips and takes the Chap Stick off of her nightstand and applies a waxy coat liberally to her mouth.  Her fingers run through her hair, which is oily and stiff from the short night's sleep.  She incessantly scratches the scabs on her head and curses her insubstantial chestnut locks.  She'll feel better after a shower, she always does.  In the common bathroom, she takes off her sleepwear, a light cerulean tank top and a pair of black shorts that stop just halfway up the thigh, and turns on the shower.  The hot water isn't working very well today, so she has to put up with an icy shower.  Hot showers make her face dry, anyway.

She returns to her bedroom clad in a towel, her slithering wet hair no longer oily, but still giving her problems.  She thinks about cutting it all off as she applies another coat of Chap Stick to her lips.  With her tools in hand, she applies her makeup, wishing she didn't have to primp every day for only two or three classes.  Her television softly plays a familiar jingle she hums along with.  It's going to be stuck in her head all day.

Braided, in a sweep, straight down...she considers all her options as she holds her dark brown eyeliner pencil a centimeter away from her matching eyes.  She plugs in her blow drier and begins to work on her hair, dreading the moment she will have to make her decision.  Her hair now crackling baked earth stays brushed and silent.  She sticks on her thick glasses and takes a long look in the mirror and considers the possible consequences of each arrangement.  She dresses in her prescribed garments and smothers her lips with another waxy kiss.

She prepares a simple breakfast: Organic oatmeal with bananas cut into it.  She's trying to get a healthy start this school year, and after countless promises to herself, she plans on honoring her body.  While she eats her healthy mush, a stray hair falls into her breakfast.  Her brow furrows as the steam from her oats form on her forehead.  The empty bowl is placed in the sink, and she makes her way to her bathroom sink to brush her teeth.  As she thoroughly scrubs, she continues to glance at her hair.   After rinsing her mouth out, she sighs and removes the hair-tie she wore around her wrist and pulls her hair into a sloppy ponytail.

She puts on her shoes, hoists her bookbag and purse over her shoulders and quickly mouths a list of items to herself.  Once she has ensured her possessions were accounted for and placed properly, she rummages through her purse again to make sure they are- in fact- there. 

She closes the door, ensuring twice that she has her keys with her. Before leaving her apartment building, she pulls another Chap Stick out of a pocket and re-applies her protection.

-Kat

I'm reading my last few posts, and I'm just like "What are you talking about!?"  I couldn't even be bothered to think of a title for today.

Selma, my friend from high school called me today.  Well, I should say "she called me, and I wasn't around, so I called her while she was doing god knows what, so she missed my call, and then she decided to call me back two hours later," but that would not only be totally boring, but a really unnecessary detail.  Anyway, I find it amazing that I can keep in touch with someone I haven't really even seen in months.  We used to be really close: Friends since middle school, pretty much did everything together.  We even had a spat over a guy!  If that's not your average Teen Melodrama 'Best-Friendship,' I don't know what is. 

She spoke with me over an hour about this and that.  I hardly was able to get a word in other than how school was going.  It's always been like that unfortunately.  It's tough to get people to care about how your day was when they want to tell you about theirs so badly.  I'm not complaining, though.  How many times do I really need to tell her "I woke up a little too early and went to classes that are a little too difficult.  Then I ate a little too much and tried to type another paper I care too little about."  At least her daily routines are interesting, and when I think about how she made the choice not to further her education, I wonder if I'm wasting my life.  I mean, just look at me, I'm sitting here in front of this computer screen slowly waiting for the day where I just feel like I can write something good enough to keep writing for more than the time it takes my iTunes playlist to finish.  I would say I'm in a slump, but I think you have to have been on high ground at some point to be in one of those.

I should get out more.  Maybe I need a boyfriend.

-Kat

I Browse the Web With My Mouth Open

It's an idiosyncrasy.  It give's me pretty bad dry mouth when it's cold out.  I don't know why I do it, either.  Maybe my mouth is just unhinged while people putting their vapid opinions about nothing important is being forced into my brain by a screen that shoots a laser a million times into my eyes before I can finish blinking.  You'd think if people had all this to say, you could have an intelligent discussion with one of them more than once in awhile.  I find myself often listening to people talking about what insane things their phone can do or something equally superficial.  The best way to stop a conversation?  Have an opinion, I've noticed.

Maybe this is why I don't have much human contact outside of classes.  God, I can't just be that unpleasant for wanting to actually connect with another person.  I mean, now that I think about it, I don't even use social networking sites to talk to people, and people seem so uninterested in what I have to say half that time that I might as well just not talk to them!  We now rely on a Facebook or (ironically) a Blogger to keep up with our friends and find actually interacting with people uninteresting and confrontational!  That does it, I'm going to text message whenever I am walking somewhere, and the next time someone asks me how my day was, I'm just going to tell them "READ MY BLOG."

-Kat

Popcorn.

I get home from class late in the evening just craving popcorn.  I throw it in the microwave.  I don't even put it in a bowl.  But you know what?  I think I got a little too ahead of myself.  I almost broke my back molars on an unpopped kernel.  I looked into my bag to find that like, half of the popcorn hadn't popped.  For crying out loud, our civilization can put ice cream in a doughnut but we can't make a microwave that ever has the perfect preset time for popcorn?  It's getting to the point where I can't even over-eat properly!  Maybe it was a sign.  Maybe fate's limiting my snacking and telling me to exercise more...

Well that's not fair!  I want the right to get morbidly obese if I feel like doing that!

-Kat

Sunday Mornings are Like a Backhanded Compliment...

Does anyone else get that intense feeling of anxiety that comes with Sundays?  It must have something to do with having been in school for the better part of my life.  Even if I'm totally ready for tomorrow or even if I don't have classes on Monday, I still get that uneasy feeling in my stomach.

The other problem with Sundays is that there is absolutely nothing to do.  I don't even have a room mate anymore to talk to since getting this single.  I've spent the whole weekend clicking away at this computer.  Whether I'm doing homework or keeping in touch with my mother, I've been glued to this (honestly, too small) laptop screen.  I guess this is what you get when you're a college student who never really had any problems with being at home.

So...

Maybe I'll try to solve that Rubik's Cube again.  Rachel, one of my former room mates gave it to me after she said she moved all the stickers around to solve it.

-Kat

First Post, and Already Some Thoughts...

Hello, everyone!  I know I should have started to do this years ago, but I'm trying my hand at keeping a 'blog.'  People always say regularly writing on here would make me a better writer.  With the way the last year was going though, I hardly had time to even think straight, but that's another story!

I was shocked to find out that Blogger is owned by Google.  I mean, I had been to this site a few times in the past, but only when I signed up did I notice!  Honestly, how much more of the internet do they need!?  Nothing is sacred anymore, not even Blogger.

Maybe this isn't so good for a first post, but it is sort of late, right?  I shouldn't even be up wasting my time like this.  I've got a ton of papers to write for Tuesday!

-Kat 

P.S.  I really do take more pride in my work than using a pre-made design.  I'll try and whip up something in the next few days when I'm not so overworked...