A Kristi Moment

There's this girl in my house named Kristi who must have been very sheltered before coming to college because she has never heard of anything and it's kind of a running joke in the house. (Not a mean joke, I don't think- she seems to have a sense of humor about it.) Last year somebody mentioned the phrase "blow job" and Kristi had to go look it up in the dictionary. Then she had to go look up the words used to define it. And then she was horrified.
I had a Kristi moment yesterday in my Wittgenstein seminar. Jay was telling us about how Wittgenstein was basically run out of town by the villagers due to his "transgression of certain social norms."
"Like what?" asked Mary.
"Well, Wittgenstein was gay," Jay said. "And he was very into rough trade, which did not sit well with the people of this particular Austrian village at the time."
"What's rough trade?" I wanted to know. (Why didn't I just write it down and look it up later? I didn't think of it. Jay is very insistant that when he uses a word I don't know I should always ask, and I have learned many very good words that way, like weltanschauung and indexical and exegesis. So I did it this time out of habit, not to be impish.)
"You don't know what rough trade means?" my classmates chortled smugly, and I blushed and tried to say never mind, but Jay, bless him, stood by his policy.
"Rough trade is a term used in certain sexual subcultures to refer to a sexual act in which harm is done to one or both of the sex partners..." he went ON AND ON, and really, I would have been okay if he had stopped right after the first instance of the word sexual.
"I'm too prudish to continue any further in this explanation," he finally concluded, and that was A OK with me. Good heavens, I can think of two letters that would have done me fine, but presumably he was afraid I wouldn't know what those meant either and the nightmare would have never ended.

Good intentions

I always have these good ideas of things I ought to do to become a better comic drawing person, like making faces in the mirror and drawing them in increasingly stripped-down or stylized manners, or practicing drawing hands, or this new one I just thought of to help with the fact that all my people wander merrily through blank white emptiness. I should go through all my photographs and just draw the backgrounds, not the people. This might help with the fact that my people are nowhere. I could get all profound and try to draw a connection between my inability to draw places and scenery and my inability to ever know where the heck I am, but I think that would be pushing it.

I want to work on my comic idea that I had months ago that I still like, but I know I'd be better served working on, say, my set theory final. Kate and I got our 24 Hour Comics back yesterday and I was very much pleased by how much mine made her and Kep laugh. Some of my worries about things I should have left unsaid in the comic were confirmed, but on the whole I feel it was a decent effort.

Mission Acomplished

24 Hour Comic Day was incredible, in the literal sense that it defied credulity. I sat in a chair from twelve noon until nine the following day and produced 24 pages of sequential art, which I think makes The Best of All Possible Worlds the longest work I have ever done- Neon Moon and Contradiction were probably both about sixteen pages.
At first I was really not into it: I thought my artwork was terrible, which it probably was, and the many many hours looming ahead of me were discouraging. It seemed like an impossible task. Round about the fouth hour, however, I started hitting a groove. I giggled at my own jokes and listened to music on my headphones. I felt like I had a shot. I was also moving very quickly- by seven, I had picked up an extra hour, some of which I used to eat the really delicious spinach pizza the comic book guys ordered us.
There were probably twelve people when we started, counting me and Kate, but as the hours stretched on I think we lost a couple. There wasn't much talking among the artists, but Kate and I whispered back and forth from time to time, checking the spelling of different words and cracking jokes.
Around 9 I wrote in my notebook, "What are we doing here? This is INSANE!" But I kept going. Towards the wee hours of the morning my ideas got stranger and my plot- yes, it actually has a plot, this one- started to wander a little. By four I was feeling like I had been born in the comic book store, and I wasn't bored or tired because drawing comics was what I had been born doing. There was nothing else one might do. All was comics.
At six they brought in bagels and orange juice. At around nine I finished my comic and packed up my stuff. I left it there so they could make a copy to send to Scott McCloud, and now I feel bereaved. I feel like I gave birth and they took the baby off to the nursery and I can't see it. I wish I'd read the whole thing straight through. Probably when I get it back I won't like it anymore.


I think it's fair to say that I met the 24 Hour Comics Challenge, because the words of the challenge are "To create a complete 24 page comic book in 24 continuous hours." It doesn't say "or less," [or fewer?] but I think it's okay, because it's primarily a challenge about comic book creating, not a challenge about doing yourself neurological damage. I stayed up for just about 23 hours all together- I went to bed until one once I got home- and that's a long time, so I'm okay with my results.

Worry

One caveat: it seems likely that over the course of the 24 hours I may need to go to the bathroom. I don't want Kate to know that I sometimes go to the bathroom. When we were in New York, she and I were in the same hotel room (!!!), and I deliberately did not use the bathroom at all until she had left in the morning. Except to brush my teeth, an activity of which I would like her to be aware. (As aware as possible, in fact. The more aware the better.) I'm concerned. Maybe I'd better stop talking now.

24-Hour Comics Eve

Tomorrow is 24-Hour Comics Day, which is very exciting. I'm nervous- will I be able to make it the full 24 this year? I just reread last year's effort, and I'm struck by how poorly drawn it is. (Of course, it was a year ago, so hopefully I'm capable of doing better now.) I'm going to be continuing the same storyline, in the hopes of maybe completing a trilogy at some point. This year it's going to be largely other worlds and so on, with a special appearance by Wittgenstein's duck rabbit (although not Ludwig himself). Zombieology, maybe. Transworld Heirlines.
I'll be doing it with Kate, which makes me happy- I've talked to her more in the last two weeks then in the rest of this year put together. She and I lingered over dinner and brainstormed ideas for her, one of which she might end up using. The Habitat Sleep-Out, sadly, was cancelled, but I must say I'm secretly a tiny bit relieved. This means I'll get to sleep in a bed, for a proper length of time, before tomorrow's marathon of creativity.
I need to assemble my materials: pencils, pens, ink, brushes, paper. I need to remember to bring the notebooks containing cryptic ideas:
"B. Russell tries to pick up J. in a bar"
"someone sitting around checking 2+2 over & over just to make sure"
"Theta hanging around w/out anybody having it" [what could I have meant by that?]
"the duck rabbit is my friend."

Eeeeeeeeeee I'm so excited. Wish me luck!

Two Amusing Links

Wittgenstein & Martha Stewart

Professor Xavier's School

Summer

Of course, this logic book is the most exciting thing to happen in awhile, but there are a couple of other reasons why I'm looking forward to this summer more than any other since I entered the workforce at 14: going to North Carolina with Lillian, maybe a trip to DC with Nina, an exciting adventure at MoCCA in June, and I just got word that JJF, my favorite teacher in high school, would be delighted to have me help get things ready for the opening of her new school. Score.

To New York this past weekend with the House. I had a very nice time, particularly in light of the fact that I got to talk to Kate Marvin, a rare treat. We went to Chinatown and SoHo, then to NYU for Indian food. I had naan bread, coconut soup, and vegetable vindaloo so spicy it had me sweating.
"I recently realized that I raise my eyebrows a lot," said Kate at one point. This is an understatement- she raises her eyebrows constantly, to the point that last year Kanak and I nicknamed her miemao, which is Chinese for "eyebrow." I've been calling Kate Miemao ever since, and I would never tell her what it meant. I decided this was as good a time as any.
"Miemao means 'eyebrow,'" I told her.
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"Really?"
"Yup."
"...You've been calling me Eyebrow for the past year?!"
"You see now why I never told you."

Here are some pictures of the trip:

Alyson, Jen, Deyvi and Holly on the subway


Carly, Roxanne, and Jen on the streets of NY


Jen, Roxanne, Deyvi, and Holly in the lobby of our hotel


From left: Elisabeth, Kate, Me, Jackie, and Holly


At the Indian Restaurant

Not the Spring Weekend, but a Spring Weekend

Quite a nice weekend, though short, of course. On Friday I had dinner with Leah, Nina, Stina, and Claire. (Note to parents: thanks for not naming me anything that ends in A.) Afterwards Claire and I went downtown to Pleasant Street and rented Big Fish, which I'd wanted to see for a long time. It was lovely- so sweet and Steve Buscemi was in it and I don't know why, but I absolutely love Steve Buscemi- every time he came on screen I could have squealed with delight, were I the squealing sort.
Saturday night Leah and Katie Rose and I went to Rhythm Nations, which is a wonderful dance and music performance sponsored, I think, by the International Students Organization. The highlights included Korean hip hop dancers and Vietnamese fan dancers and a wonderful Indian dance. Afterwards Leah and I put in an appearance at Jackie Kim's birthday party. Jackie is a DJ and she owns her own strobe light, which strikes me as a very odd thing to have. I was up much later than I should have been considering that this morning I woke up at 4:30 to go on a sunrise hike up a mountain. Although it was very cold and I was very sleepy, the hike was most enjoyable. When we got to the top we had chocolate croissants and Clifford the Big Red Dog juice boxes and spent some time in quiet meditation. From the top of the mountain we could see all five colleges and even as far as New Hampshire.
Tonight Leah and I are going to watch our favorite parts of Rushmore as a reward for finishing our homework. Assuming that happens. Which it will. Cha!

More on my Health

Dad: So are you feeling better then?
Me: Yeah, mostly. Went to the doctor today, they said probably no ear infection.
Dad: Pinkeye, ear infection, what are you, a BABY?
Me: Yeah, really. Don't forget the spitting up.
Dad: Eeeeeewwww.

I've been giggling about that all day.

How not to make a good impression

Yesterday Nina and my friend Claire and I went to the Hampshire mall to see Sin City. "You'll like it," said Nina, "it's based on a comic book."
I do love movies based on comics- Ghost World, The League of Extraordinary Gentleman, Mystery Men, American Splendor, X-Men (to name but a few)- when they're good they're great, and even when they're bad they're still good. So I was excited about Sin City. I'd heard the name and I knew it was based on a series by Frank Miller, but that was all I knew.

Has I done my research, I might have seen some of the following:

"Sin City has more severed heads, dismemberments and acts of cannibalism than The Silence of the Lambs and Freddy vs. Jason put together. I loved it!"
-- Staci Layne Wilson, HORROR.COM

"You know you’re gone beyond run-of-the-mill movie violence you need to use the plural for 'castrations.'"
-- Jeffrey Westhoff, NORTHWEST HERALD (CRYSTAL LAKE, IL)

"Talking bluntly about sex for five minutes will earn an NC-17. Showing it frankly for one minute will do the same. Maiming and slaying people in close-up for two hours -- and delighting in it -- will get you only an R."
-- Lawrence Toppman, CHARLOTTE OBSERVER

It was horrendous. It was the most violent movie I have seen in years. It was also stunningly well-made and interestingly acted and had an amazing visual sensibility, but what use are those things if I can't bear to look at half the movie? About forty minutes in, I got so scared I got up and left. I wandered around the mall absentmindedly, trembling and telling myself, "It's just a movie. It's just pretend. They're just actors. I bet they're going to win an Oscar for Best Makeup, making it look like that guy had that thing coming out of his head!"

I felt like a dork, but I decided eventually that I'd better go back in, not without some trepidation. After all, the only thing dorkier than being scared out of a movie is thinking you're brave enough to go back and then being wrong. Which is in fact what happened. I made it through another hour or so before things got so scary I decided to call it quits. I went out to the bus stop and felt like a loser.

Of course, when you're really embarrassed, the thing to do is talk about it constantly so no one can ever forget what happened. To that end, I've been laughing at myself ever since.

But oh, Sin City, it gives me chills just thinking about it.