Surviving 24-Hour Comic Day

168 hours since I started penciling out a not-so-well thought out project for 24-Hour Comic Day. Surrounded by a lot of young enthusiast with fancy pens, t-squares and 'BIG' ideas, once again feelings of being inadequate began to creep into the process. But when you set out to do a half-ass job from the beginning, there's not much that can stop you from 'finishing'.

Here's a little background information.

Rule #1 - 24-hours to write, pencil, ink, and shade (optional) 24 pages.

Reality - Loaded up on pizza, coffee, and red bull (otherwise known as 'the sauce') you can do anything... until your heart gives out.

Rule #2 - You can sketch out some ideas before the event begins (October 18th @ noon), but you can't go as far as writing out a whole script and penciling the thumbnails.

Reality - This rule seemed to have been interpreted very liberally. Like a poorly proctored test, I saw dudes pull out piles of thumbnails. One guy even decided to do a 'remake' of an other person's work already in print. To be fair there were some who stuck completely to this rule and worked well into the night painstakingly writing out every detail.

Rule #3 - You don't have to gather together in one spot on this day to do the challenge.

Reality - I don't know who would go about doing this by themselves. Plus, with the prospect of free pizza and caffeine, I couldn't pass that up.


Rule #4 - If you finish within the time limit good for you. If you don't, then you can finish at your own leisure. You work would then be labeled a 'spectacular failure'.

Reality - I discovered that if you eliminate certain elements widely believed to be staples in a comic (i.e. backgrounds, shading, and a story), then you can easily finish w/in the 24-hour time limit. I actually finished with eight hours to spare. History will probably go ahead and label mine a 'mediocre success'.

I haven't gotten around to scanning in the comic, but when I do I'll post it on ayellowworld.com.
Until then you can find other submissions at 24-Hour Comic Day Blog.

Anti-Hero - Meeting Art Spiegelman

Last week Art Spiegelman came to Austin's Book People to give a talk on his new book Breakdowns: Portrait of the Artist as a Young %$##. He filled in the blanks as the talk progressed. I, like most who were eager to get the chance to talk to author/artists, got the book and settled down for an hour long talk about a "memoir of a memoirist."

He was everything I imagined. Funny, witty, short, and balding. He wore his signature vest and somehow smuggled in a pack of Camels Unfiltered. It was a successful group date with my "man crush", a term a friend from grad school used to describe my non-existent relationship with Art. I had all of his books, heard all of his interviews on NPR, and collected a few of illustrations that graced the covers of the New Yorker.

A few years back I had the chance to lead an overseas exchange group to Japan that include Art's then teenage son. When I heard this, I almost threw-up. That feeling quickly passed, and what followed was an amusing anecdote. I'm not too sure of the ethics of publicly exposing this story, but I figure they're both adults (now). Plus, it's not that damning.

A common belief is that meeting your heroes often leads to feelings of disappointment. My brother-in-law once spotted William Shatner in the Albuquerque Airport, and Shatner told him to F### off when asked for an autograph. Talk about disappointment. Well, what about meeting your hero's goofy teenage son? What feelings am I supposed to have?

The summer in Japan came and went. For all intents and purposes Art's son was a wonderful addition to the group. There's just one story that stands out, and I used it to introduce myself when it came time to sign his book.

"Hello Mr. Spiegelman. My name is Matt. I was the leader on the trip to Japan with your son, and I watched him loose his passport and the copy of his passport within a period of 48 hours."

His reaction was at first bewilderment and then laughter. I'm just thankful he didn't tell me to go F### off like Shatner.

The Pigs of New Jersey

Rural parts of New Jersey are having trouble with wild hogs. The feral pigs root up lawns and golf courses.

Biologists are trying to trap the feral pigs so they won't spread disease to livestock and want to contain the wild hogs' population. (Listen to the full story on NPR's All things Considered).

The Shirt off of HIS Back - Notes on Being Cheap...

Part-time ESL Educmacator - Part-time student. No money. No time.

In an economy that just swallowed up AIG and WAMU in less than 10 days, it's not an uncommon story. While, I can't say that I eat the best foods or live in the swankiest pads, I somehow keep myself clothed with fashion that is still semi-current.

As the youngest child, I was the recipient of numerous hand-me-downs from my older siblings and cousins. My parents, who were the King and Queen of Cheap (I mean that in the most respectful way), would take anything from anyone regardless of gender, size, or damage. Yes, I wore girl clothes from the seventies. Don't worry. Society's 'cool' police, the playground bullies, made quick work of me.

Although towards the end of high school ushered in a new era of part-time jobs and financial independence, I quickly learned that all of this didn't necessarily translate into buying the most flattering clothes. Why did I latch on to this formula for so long? 2*(baggy jeans)+more boxer exposure/.5=more chicks.

In college, my friend Adam took pity on me in the way that the crazy old lady on the corner takes pity on the stray cats in the neighborhood by dishing out food scraps. His scraps were in the form of old t-shirts and shorts. He even convinced his mom to sew me a few pairs of boxers. Being the child of immigrant parents who were slow to catch on with this trend, I was elated.

The best part was that our disportoinate bodies complimented each other. Me - short torso and long legs. Him - extra long torso and stubby legs.

This week reba and i traveled up to Seattle to see him get married to his long time fiance. After the exchange of the prerequisite wedding gift, I got a fresh bag of hand-me-downs. The tradition continues.