Morning, all --

The Center for Cartoon Studies graduation is today.

Here's the talk I'm giving the students and their families this morning;
I'm counting on all of them being too busy to have time to read my blog before heading out to the morning brunch, where they'll be subjected to this -- surely, once is enough
(but at least enjoying some of White River's finest dining at the Tip-Top Cafe).

This one's dedicated to a few folks:

To my daughter Maia and my son Daniel;
to James and Michelle;
and to the great Joe Kubert,
for making dreams come true, and showing me the path.

Enjoy -- and have a great weekend.
_____________________

I’m going to direct my talk today to the parents as much as the graduates and fellow CCSers, so please, bear with me.

All we have are our stories.

When I was a kid, growing up in northern VT, there were things we took for granted:

America was the greatest nation in the world -- General Motors made the best cars -- Chrysler, Pan-Am and TWA and Howard Johnson would be around forever, and -- stories and comic books were kid stuff.

Comicbooks were for us KIDS, not for grown-ups.

It was tough being the only kid in Duxbury, VT who wanted to draw comic books for a living.

My next-door neighbor, Mitch Casey, was a couple of years older than me; he was the first person I ever saw draw a comic book -- tiny home-made, stapled pamphlets, made by folding 8 1/2 x 11 paper over, drawing the comic page by page on each side, and selling them for milk money at school.

Mitch taught me to draw comics, but as he got older, he abandoned our collaborative comic-creating efforts -- girls and sports were more interesting.

I kept drawing.

I kept making up stories.

My father, a military man who served in four branches of the service and worked hard all his life, blue-collar through and through, had a tough time with this.

Drawing never seemed a very manly thing to do, and how was his son ever going to earn a living doing something so silly? My older brother and younger sister volunteered for the military -- that made perfect sense to my father -- but I kept drawing, against all opposition and odds and attempts to steer me to more adult concerns, and this never, ever made sense to him.

In 1968, when I was thirteen, it just didn’t make sense to want to draw comic books all one’s adult life. I might as well have said I wanted to live on one of the moons of Saturn.

In 1968, if I wanted to try and turn a friend on to what I considered the best in comics, the best I could do was loan him or her a stack of worn comicbooks, saying, “These really are great!” Nine times out of ten, these would be superhero comics -- most likely Marvel superhero comics -- and these were still easily dismissed as ephemeral, childish things.

In 1968, there were no comic BOOKS, the term ‘graphic novel’ didn’t even exist yet. TIN TIN was still relatively unknown in America, and the only evidence of manga in America were Saturday morning TV shows like ASTRO BOY, adapted from Osamu Tezuka’s classic MIGHTY ATOM manga series (though we didn’t know that).

In 1968, when the great filmmaker Stanley Kubrick and great futurist and science-fiction author Arthur C. Clarke joined to make the ultimate sf film, 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY, they populated their future with artifacts and trademarks of the American corporations certain to survive into the 21st Century: Pan-Am, Howard Johnson, and so on.

Like I said, we knew in our heart of hearts those American business icons would last forever.

A lot has changed.

Every single American corporation that appeared in 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY no longer exists.

Chrysler no longer makes the best cars in the world -- in fact, they haven’t done so in decades. Chrysler is effectively no more, as of this past week; a shadow of its former self, a clutch of corporate assets to be sold off piecemeal by its current German owner.

But comic books are still alive and well. Comic books have been the wellspring of most of our summer blockbuster movies, habitually breaking opening weekend boxoffice records and now one of America’s major export successes.

In fact, America’s #1 export is no longer tangible goods -- steel, cars, manufactured goods -- but STORIES. Stories are the 21st Century’s coin of the realm, of the world.

Stories, characters, imaginary concepts, INTELLECTUAL PROPERTIES: movies, TV programming, music, novels, comicbooks and graphic novels. Many of America’s most lucrative exports derived from intellectual properties are adaptations of comic books and graphic novels, primary among them movie adaptations.

Comic books have grown up -- not only are there adult comics, but comic BOOKS -- GRAPHIC NOVELS -- have, for the first time in history, as of this past winter, eclipsed comicbooks in gross dollar sales. They are now in every book store, a known quantity, a desirable commodity.

This was unimaginable, a pipe dream, in 1968. But a generation dreamed -- the Will Eisners, Harvey Kurtzmans Jack Kirbys and Joe Kuberts of the world -- and dreams can come true.

But every generation has to MAKE their own dreams come true.

Every generation has to tell their stories to the next, TEACH the next, so that they can tell their stories -- so that they can dream, and realize their dreams.

A lot has changed.

For me, life changed when I attended the first comics college in North America, the Joe Kubert School of Cartoon and Graphic Art, Inc. in Dover, New Jersey. I went in the fall of 1976, a little over 30 years ago; I was a member of the first class, ever.

For me, life changed when my father, diehard blue-collar military veteran that he was and still is, met the founder of that school, Joe Kubert -- a man’s man, a military vet, and a hard worker who raised a large family (five kids!) on what he’d earned drawing comic books -- and suddenly, what I’d wanted to do all my life made SENSE to my father. It WAS possible. It WAS -- well, OK.

I owe so much to Joe, and to his school, to my Kubert School classmates and everyone who was there. It was a dream of Joe’s to pass on all he and his generation knows to US -- and what a gift it was, and remains.

It is perhaps the greatest gift I’ve ever received, since my parents gave me life itself. Joe and his peers told us their stories, and taught us to tell our own. Thank you, Joe.

I was already publishing my first work -- earning my first paychecks -- before I finished my first year in that two-year program. I graduated from North America’s first-ever cartooning college in the spring of 1978. I was entering the comics industry in a time of great turmoil and collapse, but my peers and I made our way into the industry, bit by bit, drawing by drawing, story by story, job by job, and by the 1980s we were part of a generation that changed comics. We made our mark, as best we could. We earned livings and raised families.

My God, my daughter graduated from high school in that once-faraway future year -- 2001!

My son graduated from high school four years later.

Who would have thought, in 2001, I would even have a daughter? A son?

And that I would be able to raise them both on what I earned telling my stories and drawing comic books?

A lot has changed.

I told my stories, and those I shared with creators I was lucky enough to work with; I made my mark in comics for three decades, and thought it was time to move on.

But my work wasn’t done -- it was important to tell my stories and pass on all I know to the next generation.

How, then, could I resist the invitation, from James Sturm and Michelle Ollie, to teach the first-ever class at North America’s only other cartooning college?

Well, I couldn’t resist. And here we all are, today.

We have our stories, one and all.

It has been my great privilege to teach, draw with, and get to know your children -- now adults, all -- the pioneer, first-ever class at the SECOND comics college in North America, the Center for Cartoon Studies. It has been a great, grand adventure for all of us, and no other class will experience what THEY have experienced, accomplish what THEY have accomplished.

They have stories they alone know, and can tell.

Many of them have already shared their stories, their art. They have self-published, here, many comics. Many of them have already earned their first paychecks as cartoonists and illustrators, and have completed or launched work on their first graphic novels.

They are part of the first American generation to grow up without any negative baggage attached to comic books. They are the first American generation to grow up with ADULT comics, GRAPHIC NOVELS, a part of their landscape, a reality rather than a dream.

They know there is nothing silly about telling stories. They value stories, the greatest American commodity today.

They are part of the first American generation in which intangibles -- stories, characters, ideas, INTELLECTUAL PROPERTIES -- are America’s #1 export, the fuel that drives the engines of pop culture, and they -- these students, these graduates -- are FULL OF IDEAS.

They have stories, and will make and tell many more. They know HOW TO PUT THEM DOWN ON PAPER, into digital space and the world, they have the necessary knowledge and tools to make their way in the world.

What they have, today, is worth more than Chrysler and Pan-Am and Howard Johnson, worth more than American cars or steel. In the 21st Century, stories are worth more than all that.

Your faith in them, their art, their stories -- in their dreams -- is commendable and wonderful.

They are entering as uncertain and difficult a world as any prior generation has. That’s scary, yes, but they are armed with their own unique stories and skills, their own unique visions and voices, and with the community they have formed here, with one another.

They are better prepared for the 21st Century than any of we who grew up in the 20th Century -- believe in them, because they believe in themselves -- and they are RIGHT to.

It’s THEIR world now. They have stories to tell. I want to see, hear, read them all.

It has been an honor to teach you, to know you, to work with you, to draw with you, to see you here, today, with your families. I look forward to knowing you, drawing with you, reading YOUR stories, YOUR comics and graphic novels, for years to come -- for the rest of my life.

May you know one another, love one another, dream and draw and change the world together, from this day forward. May you read one another’s comics for the rest of your lives, and teach all you know to the next generation.

YOU are the first graduating class of the Center for Cartoon Studies, and we applaud you.

And to Think it All Started Here...

Yep, that's James Sturm and I moving his studio across the street to what was, in the summer of 2005, the new Center for Cartoon Studies building. Hard to believe it's been two years, but here we are -- the first graduating class, about to graduate -- tomorrow.

It's been a heady, at times heavy week at the Center for Cartoon Studies. We've completed the senior thesis review sessions, and I'm savoring a little breather between that intense block of work (the prep in particular, though I loved reading and re-reading the thesis projects -- pretty stunning group of cartoonists going out into the big, bad world this Saturday!). Tomorrow is graduation, and I've got a little work to do to prep for that.

The intensity has been in part revolving around the mounting finality of this transitional period. It's been sad to say goodbye to some folks, and that will accelerate tomorrow, as many of the folks who have been absolutely central to our day-to-day lives together are leaving after commencement to their respective family homes. I had lunch with Rich Tommaso yesterday; Rich has become a great friend, we've bonded over a number of shared interests and Rich was an invaluable part of the Drawing Workshop I helmed for the Freshmen class this spring. Rich and graduate Caitlin Plovnick are moving to Brooklyn on Sunday, and I sure am going to miss them. Of course, we'll all keep in touch, and be seeing each other in the years to come, but the reality of the community of the past two years going through inevitable, here-and-now change that necessarily revolves around the departure of so many key community members is a real roller-coaster ride.

That said, part of the transition, too, is the evidence of the new incoming freshman class of 2009 -- CCS discussion board posts from incoming fall students has been ongoing all month, and soon we'll see a new community arrive, merging with the standing CCS community and bringing all the excitement, change and transformation that implies.

Ah, CCS; I'm now part of a college community, and all that entails. I love it.

______________

I saw Paul Verhoeven's new film Zwartboek/Black Book last night, and I can't recommend it highly enough. This is Verhoeven's best film in years, and a genuine return to form -- what The Pianist was for Roman Polanski, Zwartboek/Black Book is for Verhoeven.

For fellow Verhoeven fans (Steve Perry, take heed!), it's absolutely critical to note that this film isn't just his return to his Dutch roots, but also reunites Verhoven and writer Gerard Soeteman, who was absolutely central to Verhoeven's often brilliant pre-Hollywood body of work. In fact, Soeteman was Verhoeven's primary collaborative partner in the whole of the director's pre-Hollywood career arc, scripting and co-scripting what remain Verhoeven's best films, beginning with Verhoeven's debut feature Wat zien ik/Business Is Business (1971) and blossoming with Turks fruit/Turkish Delight (1973) and Keetje Tippel (1975), which in many ways provides a blueprint for Zwartboek, as did Soeteman/Verhoeven's breakthrough international hit Soldaat van Oranje/Soldier of Orange (1977). Zwartboek is almost a perfect fusion of Keetje Tippel and Soldaat van Oranje, chronicling as it does the often harrowing experiences of a Dutch Jewish woman (Carice van Houten, giving a powerhouse performance) struggling to survive WW2 in Holland, and the convoluted tangle of loyalty, deceit, devotion and corruption that entails.

Soeteman and Verhoeven built upon the success of Soldaat van Oranje with the excellent Spetters (1980), the marvelously delirious De Vierde Man/The Fourth Man (1983, which also introduced actor Thom Hoffman to international audiences; Hoffman features prominently in Black Book), and concluded this ripe collaborative streak with Flesh+Blood (1985, aka The Rose and the Sword), which sadly led to an acrimonious split of the team as Verhoeven rushed to Hollywood and launched that phase of his career by directing an episode of HBO's The Hitchhiker ("Last Scene," 1986) and the classic Robocop (1987).

That Soeteman and Verhoeven are back together is something to celebrate; that they are also hard at work at a second 21st Century collaborative effort, Azazel, is tremendous news, and promises Verhoeven may at last be free of the restraints Hollywood placed on his creative life (his last American film, Hollow Man, 2000, was derivative and disappointing at best). As already noted, this new work also reunites Verhoeven with Dutch actors from his classic Soeteman era: Thom Hoffman (who was Herman, the central object of desire in De Vierde Man), Derek de Lint (Alex in Soldaat van Oranje), Dolf de Vries (Turks fruit, Jack in Soldaat van Oranje, Dr. de Vries in De Vierde Man), etc. are familiar faces to Verhoeven fans, and it's exciting to see the chemistry onscreen anew.

All this makes Black Book the theatrical sleeper of 2007 thus far. Don't miss Zwartboek/Black Book if it's playing near you, and I'll post a review proper next week when I start squirting those overdue Cine-Ketchup packets all over the keyboard. It stands, along with Das Leben der Anderen/The Lives of Others and El Laberinto del fauno/Pan's Labyrinth, as the best film I've seen thus far this year.

_______________

Sorceror's Apprentice: Bush, Gonzales (NY Times photo)

Speaking of "loyalty, deceit, devotion and corruption," in real life,

this week's Congressional testimony yesterday of James B. Comey, former Deputy Attorney General under John Ashcroft, was a real jaw-dropper

and demonstrates the monstrous extremes that the Bush White House pursued to carry out its illegal, secret spying program against the people of the United States. I'm no Ashcroft fan, mind you, but it's startling to see how vast the ethical gulf between Ashcroft's reign and Gonzales's dynasty in the Justice Department really is, and how far we've fallen.

If you're clueless on this, it's time to catch up ("...an account of Bush administration lawlessness so shocking it would have been unbelievable coming from a less reputable source...") --

-- there's no more damning evidence of the corruption rampant in the Justice Department, and how irresponsibly current Attorney General Alberto R. Gonzales's behavior has been (and how fiercely he has exercised and exercises his loyalty to his President, placing that above US law and our Constitution).

Bye, bye, Wolfowitz (if you have the computer/high-speed access, also check out the two 'related videos' on the left menu bar at the Yahoo News site, particularly President Bush's gobsmacked incredulity); hello whatever next uber-corrupt crony President Bush appoints --

-- and we wonder (like children) why American credibility is so shot in the eyes of the world.

Have a great Friday, one and all...

Cool Cat

Tuco lovin' the sun (photo by G. Michael Dobbs)

Cool Daddy: I was on local TV -- WCAX-TV (Burlington, VT's primary TV station) -- in a story about the Center for Cartoon Studies.

Check it out; scroll down to the "Top Stories- Drawn Here Parts 1 and 2."

Note that one CCSer (hey, Emily!) says, "I was watching it on Windows Media Player on my PC at work and it went right to the part about the school but apparently if you try to watch it on a Mac it plays the whole newscast from the beginning which is a pain."

Full day of CCS duties today; I'll write something more tomorrow. Have a great Wednesday...

Top o' the World to You...

Monday Musings

There's a little more on the Ascutney climb to share with you all this morning, largely thanks to the arrival of photos from the trip itself and scans (compliments of CCS no-longer-just-a-freshmen Bryan Stone) of the two pages I drew between 3:30 and 5 AM the morning after. A little explanation is in order, though, before you get a peek at those two pages.

Here's Bryan's photo of the whole CCS hiking party last Wednesday atop the fire tower on Mount Ascutney -- from left to right, Chuck Forsman, Ross Wood Studlar, Dane Martin, Alex Kim, Sean Morgan, Peter Money and yours truly -- since he snapped the photo, Bryan is absent from this shot.

However, I know Peter and Sean took some photos up there, too, so hopefully we'll have a complimentary shot featuring Bryan up on the blog before the week is out.

As you can see from these two photos, it was a grand and glorious day weather-wise. Bryan posted his pix online, and

you can see them all here, followed by more photos from the CCS Montreal trip (including more Drawn & Quarterly office shots).

Now, like I said, a little explanation is in order this morning.

You see, the following two pages of Bissette comics art are the concluding two pages of an epic battle James Sturm orchestrated and conducted in his CCS cartooning class two or so weeks ago. I only know it as Fight Comics -- no direct correlation to the Fight Comics of the Golden Age, that I know of -- and it looked to me (correct me if I'm wrong, CCSers) like every member of the freshmen class created a character for the brawl, and via some arcane democratic or tyrannical system I'm not privy to, an order was voted upon, raffled, designated or divined for each artist and their respective character to have a one-to-two page face-off, with the winner of each match then going on to the next match, until by process of creative collaborative elimination only two characters were left.

In the end, James asked me if I'd draw the concluding page(s) -- in essence, end the battle, conclude the climax, decide the winner and hence get James off the hook if anyone was unhappy with the resolution (note: "It's Bissette's fault!" has now entered a new era of relevance and validity for a whole new generation). It was also, of course, an honor, but also a duty. A duty to CCS, and to James, and to all who ply the inky trade. My Captain called, and I must answer. My Commander-in-Chief beckoned, and I obeyed. The orders were given, the sails were set, the die was cast, the shit hit the fan.

I was handed a stack of odd-sized photocopies, and instructed to resolve the seemingly unresolvable, pitching a character named "Bryan Stone" -- shown in the character design sheet lifting his glasses and blasting deadly light rays from his eyes, like Cyclops in the X-Men -- against a character both adorable and ungainly, the 'Baby With Adult Legs.' The kid sure is cute, but man, those hairy adult male legs just put you right off your Maypo, bunky.

[Photo: The real Bryan Stone and Joe Lambert; photo by Becca Lambert.]

Now, Bryan Stone, as you may have determined this late in this morning's post, is a real guy.

He's an adorable guy, in fact, just as sweet-natured, benevolent, kind, attentive and mild-mannered as any person I've ever met (and a heckuva cartoonist, too). Bryan Stone was created by -- well, his parents. The real Bryan Stone, that is.

However, the deadly-eye-ray-blasting Bryan Stone was created by

JP Coovert,

also one hell of a cartoonist and a fellow no-longer-just-a-freshman at the Center for Cartoon Studies. Baby With Adult Legs was created by

Joe Lambert,

another motherfucker of a cartoonist and no-longer-just-a-freshman CCSer.

[Photo: The real JP Coovert, photo by Joe Lambert.]

So, this is what James handed to me. The fate of two comics characters just out of the incubator, barely in the world more than a week but already battle-tested and toughened by ink-and-paper warfare -- babes in the woods, yes (literally, in the case of Baby With Adult Legs), but already trench-war-hardened vets.

But it was not just their fate I held in my hands, but that of their creators -- cuddly Joe Lambert and huggable JP Coovert -- and, damn it, that of the real, flesh-and-blood Bryan Stone! A man's man, cruelly thrust (by JP) into a world of panels, pages, pus, puke and panic!

How would I resolve this conundrum without inflicting undue (due is OK) agony on any one, maybe two of these virginal young cartoonists, aching to pop their inky cherries against the calloused rubber condom wall of the real world?

How would I end this senseless violence, this epochal combat, without letting down one or more of these budding geniuses, who are so eager to spew their creative juices into the collective womb of our open, festering brainpans?

How could I condone the sadistic, no doubt visually glorious murder of either Bryan Stone, death-ray-eye-conduit though he be, or Baby With Adult Legs, the toddler on ten pins, the Titan Tyke, the spittle-flecked sprinter?

How?

How?

How?

Now, there's one other player in this drama -- he-who-must-never-be-forgotten by we who ply the inky trade here at the Center for Cartoon Studies, and most of all not to be overlooked by we who teach the inky trade at CCS.

And that, my friends, is Inky Solomon.

What can I possibly say about CCS's spiritual leader, the legendary cartoonist and teacher Inky Solomon, that has not been said before (and better) by others?

Though the pen-and-ink Inky has been delineated (and co-created, in his way) by James Sturm and Seth, legendary cartoonists in their own right, Inky Solomon has nestled into the souls of all who dwell at CCS.

He has swept away the pine needles and softened the stone floors of our hearts, carefully prepared the kindling we all harbor and built a warming little fire in our bellies, fueling the comics jones we share until it erupts into raging bonfires of creative life! Inky is our Dolemite, making of us all Human Tornadoes; he is our beatific Buddha, our jazzy Jesus, our infinite Inky!

So, troubled though I was by the task placed within my hands, stern though the Sturm mission was now yolking my sturdy shoulders, fragile be the lives laid in my sweaty palms, frightful the soul-crushing potential of any misstep I might take, I turned to our own CCSolomon, Inky -- the Inky within.

I consulted my inner Inky, the calm core of peace and tranquility that a half-century of life cartooning has coalesced, and determined the following:

1. I would not 'decide' anything. Life would decide.

2. If Joe Lambert showed up Wednesday morning for the Mount Ascutney hike, Baby With Adult Legs would win.

3. If either JP (creator of Bryan Stone, comics character) or Bryan Stone (comics character incarnate) showed up Wednesday morning for the hike, Bryan Stone would win.

4. If either Joe and JP, or Joe and Bryan, showed up, the battle would win (in typical comicbook fashion) in a draw -- a draw, with neither winning nor losing, but both ending up in a happy, wonderful, heavenly place, except there would be no My Little Ponies there (surely, a circle of hell is inhabited by those little bastards).

5. If none of the trio showed up, both characters would die horrible, agonizing, extremely graphic and terribly grueling deaths.

Thus it was decided; thus Wednesday morning came and went, and thus this was the fateful conclusion I wrote, drew and lettered Thursday morning, as the sun rose and the new day began:

Note: Joe Lambert and James Sturm are already working on scanning the complete Fight Comic and posting it in some form online soon. I'll keep you posted (pun intended), and I'm as eager as any of you to see/read it all!

PS: This is the final week of the Spring semester here at the Center for Cartoon Studies -- a fateful week for us all. Graduation is this coming Saturday, our first graduation ever. We've already had some heartbreak, some tears and fond farewells as some of our number move on into their summers or into their lives, away from CCS and White River Junction and this growing creative community; we're already into the momentous evaluation of the senior final thesis projects, with two full days ahead of 9 AM to 5 PM one-on-one assessments. It's a heady week here -- send your best to the CCS students, those with us, those departed; those moving into their new lives in the real world, those moving into their second year; those coming new to the fold and experience this coming fall.

We're at a crossroads and the shifting of a new axis as definitive, new and unexplored as that we encountered at the very beginning of the school's existence in September of 2005.

Wish us all luck, please.

Here's to CCS, one and all!

May Inky be with you all -- have a great Monday!

PPS: My old friend Neil Gaiman has posted some lovely photos and a few comments about this past weekend's historic wedding of Alan Moore and Melinda Gebbie

here, so enjoy.

Nice to know they're wed at last, and much love to both, where ever they are.

We're Not Quite Done Yet, and Already We're Nostalgic:
The Infection of Time, Or,
A Sunday Morning Peek at
Joe Lambert's CCS Photos --

As I spend the weekend pouring over an incredible array of final thesis projects from the Center for Cartoon Studies seniors and gifts of final projects from most of the CCS freshmen (soon to be seniors!), I'm moved to steer you to

Joe Lambert's pix of the May 2nd CCS Drawing Workshop session in my new backyard,

which was immediately followed that very afternoon with a drawing session from this miniature city we had constructed the week before -- a whirlwind of activity Joe has also documented via pix (scroll down to Joe's "Box City" photo album posting).

Left: Morgan Piellizilla. Hey, we still have to 'Godzilla' the city, guys and gal!

All of Joe's pix illuminate this old Myrant post on a recent Drawing Workshop exercise, if you want more context --

-- and although we're only two days past the completion of final projects (for both classes), I'm already revisiting and working on revised Drawing Workshop syllabus outlines to streamline and improve the whole two-semester effort for next year. Sigh. So little time, so much to draw and teach.

Joe's blog is always worth a visit, currently opening with photos from the CCS trip to Montreal (including a peek inside the Drawn & Quarterly offices, for those curious about that megalithic corporate universe) and other CCS activities. Thanks, Joe!

(More CCS in Montreal pix are here, compliments of fellow freshmen Penina Gal. Thanks, Penina!)

Here's a link to a venue for some of Joe's comics, too, which are -- well, excellent.

(Fair is fair: since I'm linking in thanks to Joe's sites, Penina's fine illos and comics creations are also visible here, and they're pretty damned good, too.)

Now, before I get into today's intensive reading, re-reading and note-taking from the thesis projects, I'm off to the flea market -- yep, it's that time of year.

Clear, sunny, but cold -- ah, flea market season in a new part of Vermont. What wonders await me?

Have a great Sunday, one and all --

Saturday. Stuff.

Hey, Look, Mom! I'm in the Christian Science Monitor! Nifty article and pix on our beloved Center for Cartoon Studies,

link compliments of Rutland Herald reporter, Trees & Hills Comics group co-founder, and all-around swell guy Dan Barlow. Hey, Dan, and thanks.

And if you didn't get to check this out earlier this week when I posted it, here's Indie Spinner Rack's interminable interview with yours truly. C'mon, it's the weekend -- you've got time now, don'tcha?

John Totleben hisself send this link, exclaiming, "Check this out -- pretty freakin' wild!" and whatdyaknow, it sure is!

Meanwhile, back on Earth, the Most Dangerous Cyborg in the World continues to spread doubt, discord, distress and terror in the Middle East...

Have a Great Saturday!

Old Hikers Never Die,
They Just Smell That Way

So, Peter Money and I led a valiant group of CCS students up Mount Ascutney yesterday.

Well, Peter led. Actually, Sean Morgan -- CCS senior, Brownsville local, a man who knows the mountain and was climbing like a mountain goat -- led. Peter and Sean led, joined by fellow vet woodsman and CCS senior Ross Wood Studlar and freshmen Chuck Forsman, Dane Martin, Bryan Stone and Alex (Joon-Ho) Kim. A fine time was had by all.

As the oldest poopster of the party, 52-year-old Bissette held his own, sweeping behind for at least the final third of the climb, but I kept up and I made it to the top. But man, oh man, it was a climb.

I hadn't hiked a mountain in over nine years -- I used to hike

the beloved North Duxbury landmark Camel's Hump

regularly in my youth. Even a couple of winter hikes, mind you -- I was a boy scout, and I loved hiking.

But I was in my forties when I made my last climb (Haystack in Wilmington), and I tell you, I was feeling the years yesterday. Particularly in the last mile of the 3.2 or so mile hike uphill. The equivalent hike down went much quicker and (per usual) tested a whole different set of leg and foot muscles, but it was easier on the ol' bod that the climb up. Gravity, you know.

As Dirty Harry quipped in Magnum Force, "A man's got to know his limitations." I used to climb Camel's Hump's 4,080+ feet once or twice a year and love it, but I was a much younger man then. Mount Ascutney is far shy of Camel's Hump's altitude (see below), but it sure marks my current limit -- though I fully intend to visit the peak this summer, I'll take the car up to the near-summit parking lot and walk that mile versus the 3+ miles uphill we managed yesterday. It's unlikely I'll be making the hike we made yesterday ever again in this lifetime, unless it's as ashes in an urn for my students to spread over the summit.

Peter and I planned this way back in December 2006 and this past January. It was our intention to bring the entire freshmen class on this end-of-the-year sojourn, but alas, due to a number of issues I shan't go into here, that didn't happen as we'd hoped. Still, we stuck to our staffs and those who could join us, did.

Since the state park proper is closed until May 18th -- the day before CCS graduation -- planning a day trip that involved simply driving ourselves to just shy of the summit (there's apparently a parking lot between the south peak and summit; a less-than-a-mile foot trail takes you to the summit) was impossible. So, we decided, Peter and I, to make the climb to the peak on the Brownsville Trail, and just go for it.

Who is this Peter Money cat? He teaches at CCS, and he's a poet and a good man. Check him out.

What's this Mount Ascutney thang? Rather than bore you with historical and contextual blather, here's the Wikipedia listing for the mountain,

and here's the tech-stuff at Peakbagger.com, for those into such matters.

We made the climb. It was memorable, a great, grand experience. I'll write about it in some detail later -- jeez, I not only climbed it, I came home and prepped for the coming week of CCS and drew two complete pages for James Sturm's CCS class today (the climax to a class 'round robin' 'versus' comic, which concludes with my "Baby With Adult Legs vs. Bryan Stone" final round -- Baby With Adult Legs created by Joe Lambert, Bryan Stone by -- uh, Bryan's mom, I think. And his Dad. I hope.) -- so I'm too pooped to blog much today.

I'm not sure how high up we were -- there's some confusion in the available literature on the mountain.

Ross checked his hiking guide in the drive to Peter's house to eat after we were off the mountain, and reported it was 2600 feet, rated as a 'strenuous climb' (that it was!), but I don't know about that height.

We passed the North Summit sign, marking 2600+ feet, and there was still considerable climbing after that. Since the parking lot for the park is reportedly at an elevation of 2,800 feet, I reckon we climbed at least a wee bit higher than that, whatever the hiking guide books say otherwise. I know that after the North Summit sign, we climbed for at least another half hour, and it was all climbing!

Anyhoot, we made it to the observation tower. This was originally a fire tower; the cabin was long ago removed and the whole contraption has been relocated, and the views are breathtaking, encompassing the entire landscape round Ascutney's peak. We didn't make it to Brownsville Rock, which was about another 1/4 mile northwest of the summit -- Sean told us about this (it's a hang gliding launch site), but going to and coming from the tower we passed the sign for the Rock and simply continued on our way; nobody even commented on it. Next time, eh?

If you're into going yourself some time, check out the Vt. State Parks site, with mucho links to this and that relevant to such a trek.

Here's all the trail particulars, too, for those in any way interested in reading more about the hike.

OK, enough on that -- for now. If anyone who had cameras send me pics, I'll post 'em here!

In any case, gentlemen -- Peter, Chuck, Sean, Dane, Ross, Alex, Bryan -- it was a real honor to climb that rock with all of you, and it's a day I'll savor to the end of my days. Thanks for making it happen!

Things to ponder today:

As Head Honcho Asswipe continues to dodge his own culpability for this war-funding situation, acting like the sociopathic self-centered 'no one says no to me' colostomy bag leakage he continues to come across as (if it were so damned vital, why leave it out of the federal budget every single year of these interminable wars and require seven ancillary budgets to be voted through make up for the shortfall?),

and Vice-Cyborg McQuack-Quack further aggravates what Condi already fucked up so adroitly last week ("So we blew your country and all existing infrastructures completely to shit on false pretenses -- get over it! Get up on your own damned feet and act like men instead of like you're ravaged by four years of war, still without clean water, electricity, food or any shred of civilized security! What are you, a pack of pansies?"),

let's have another reality check in assessing how completely they've only spiraled the increasingly dire fiscal situation of the average American:

"The real income of the bottom 90 percent of American taxpayers has declined steadily: they earned $27,060 in real dollars in 1979, $25,646 in 2005."

- Heather Boushey and Christian E. Weller, "What the Numbers Tell Us," in James Lardner and David A. Smith, eds., Inequality Matters (New York: 2005), p. 36.

"The 2006 round of tax cuts delivers 70 percent of its benefits to the richest 5 percent of Americans, and 6.5 percent to the bottom 80 percent."

- Clive Crook, "The Height of Inequality," Atlantic, September 2006, p. 36.

Have a Great Thursday, You Paupers!

Yakkadee Yak Yak:
Tuesday Tales

As our benevolent government again sends its most effective, truthful and tinged-with-the-grace-of-humility-and-fair-play diplomats abroad to solve all that is wrong in the Middle East,

I prefer to direct you to

The Indy Spinner Rack, where they have just posted their Center for Cartoon Studies program -- your Bissette 'lecture' for today, in spades!

Have a great Tuesday.

The Site is Up!
Well, upright --

Kudos to Cat! The website -- in its fetal form -- is up!

Well, the home page is, in any case,

and we'll be packing every nook and cranny with content -- memories, reveries, art, photos, diatribes, screeds, homages, eulogies, threnodies and melodies -- in the coming weeks. Thanks, Cat, and bless you!


Cat's been raring to go all week; alas, it's been my busy schedule keeping me away from the process. CCS duties (especially in our final weeks of this crucial semester), speaking gigs (yesterday I was in Fairlee, VT, speaking at a gathering of VT librarians at the opulent Lake Morey Inn, on the shores of Lake Morey) and family obligations (Happy Birthday to Maia -- and we'll seeing Danny for breakfast in a couple of hours) have kept me away, but thankfully the Cat will play with or without me -- hence, the site home page, up and running.

I'll be at it with Cat this week and every week hereafter, though, so keep an eye on the site daily. After CCS graduation (May 19th), we'll really be arming for bear, so look for big advances and changes later this month. Soon, this blog will be the appendage, rather than the focal point. Still, I'll keep it fresh and as daily as I can!

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A reminder, too, as we move into spring proper and early warm weather travel for some of you, that my booth is up and running at the Vermont Antique Mall in Route 4's easy-access Quechee Gorge Village. This is my retail venue, and I'm working hard to ensure it's also a venue for Center for Cartoon Studies students -- if you're curious about what the artists at CCS are up to, this booth will provide an ongoing retail space for their work.

As of yesterday, I've placed well over 200 items in the booth, jam-packed now with CCS mini-comics (all $ go to the students who made 'em), Bissette collectibles, rare DVDs and videos, tons of comics (including 'bricks' of 1980s and '90s comics bargain priced), books, curios, doodads, movie promo rarities, and much, much more (including one of Marge's needlepoint creations).

In fact, CCS artist (and soon to be pioneer class graduate) Colleen Frakes has already upped the ante by offering her mini-comic for sale with a panel of original art in every bagged copy!

(If you can't make it to the booth in person, contact Colleen directly through her site and mail-order your mini-comic-with-original-art now, while they're still available -- don't dawdle, now, as quantities are limited, and tell Colleen I sent ya, please!)

All these goodies are signed by their respective creators, and there's even handy, fairly-priced (a bargain for you, but still earns for the creators) pre-packs and 'bag o' comics' collecting multiple issues and collectibles together. I'm doing all I can to make this booth a one-stop-shop delight for anyone into sampling the works of CCS artists -- and my own humble efforts, of course.

Here's the link to the Vermont Antique Mall venue at Quechee Gorge Village, including directions, hours, and so on.

I'm dealer #653 -- ask at the front desk, they'll happily take you there! -- and Marge and I will be posting photos of the booth and pix of my line of painted ceramic originals, which will be available exclusively at the booth.

More on this -- including links, pix, and more -- later this weekend.

PS: The first Quechee Gorge Village outdoor flea market is this Sunday, starting at 7 AM -- get there early if you want to beat me to the best deals, bunky!

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Now that I'm no longer actively able to preorder my DVDs via my old video store source, I'm scrounging around for info and venues like everyone else. Among the most eagerly awaited of the upcoming summer crop of DVDs for this avid omnivore is

the upcoming Media Blasters "Tokyo Shock" release of Ishiro (aka 'Inoshiro') Honda's Frankenstein Conquers the World/Furankenshutain tai chitei kaijû Baragon (1965) -- here's the link to Tim Lucas's Video Watchblog post on this divine visitation (as a two-disc set, no less!).

All of which reminds me I've been meaning to ask the help of the gathered Myrant readership in an ongoing search of an issue of Esquire magazine from my youth.

I'm guessing the issue I seek came out sometime between 1971 and 1973, though I could be wrong; I'm pretty sure I picked it up while still in high school (I graduated in '73). I've scoured the Esquire website -- which does not list issue contents, sadly -- and vainly searched Esquire covers in hopes of recognizing the cover for the issue I seek, but no memory bells have as yet rung, and I've peeked at every single cover from 1966 to 1976.

The Esquire in question was an issue with an odd short, illustrated article on 'Good/Bad Monster Movies,' prominently featuring Frankenstein Conquers the World and The Beast of Hollow Mountain in that lineup, both with full-page pix. If memory serves, each film enjoyed a single-page writeup and one large black-and-white photo image, and it was a short piece -- no more than six pages, as I recall. Still, the author clearly loved the films, and it was an early landmark in the fusion of the broader pop culture with the rarified realm of the monster magazines. It was also a key work (by my reading experience, anyway) in the gradual elevation of what the mainstream had habitually dismissed as 'bad movies' into the strange, privileged status of sought-after treasure -- a tentative bridge between Susan Sontag's "Notes on Camp" and her essay on science-fiction disaster films and the Medved Brothers's books on "turkeys" (the tomes that elevated Ed Wood to posthumous star stature as the patron saint of 'bad movies').

That the Esquire article chose Frankenstein Conquers the World was, at the time, a fascinating turn of events; after all, even Joe Dante Jr.'s review of the film in Castle of Frankenstein's "Movieguide" (a fixture of what was definitely the most intelligent and adult of all '60s newsstand monster zines) had villified the film, and even Forrest J. Ackerman had apologized in the letter pages of Famous Monsters of Filmland for running a cover photo-feature on the film (with an eye-popping beaut of a Ron Cobb cover painting!). At the time Esquire ran the piece, the only extant 'movie guides' with capsule reviews (beyond TV Guide's blurbs -- many written by Bhob Stewart, another CoF vet -- and regional TV schedule publications) were the Steven Scheuer Movies on TV paperbacks, which by and large dismissed any and all genre fare, and, for the diehards, the ongoing serialized "Frankenstein TV Movieguide" in Castle of Frankenstein. All of these reviled the 1960s Toho sf and monster films; even CoF despaired of the Toho formula after Ghidrah, The Three-Headed Monster initiated the 'monster rally' formula so beloved today.

This Esquire article also predated Take One magazine's affectionate article on the Godzilla films, and hence stands as perhaps the first mainstream acknowledgement of the subversive charge of the Toho daikaigu-eiga. Thankfully, Greg Shoemaker of Ohio was already publishing his fanzine Japanese Fantasy Film Journal (alas, I gave my set away back in the mid-70s during a move, though I kept one fateful issue -- Greg published my first fan art in JFFJ), so we diehard Toho fans were beginning to recognize one another and our mutual love for films like Frankenstein Conquers the World, but there weren't many of us, and there were certainly no mainstream venues for such sentiments -- other than this elusive Esquire aberration, which I need to track down, and soon.

So -- can anyone help me locate that issue of Esquire? I'd welcome guidance, suggestions, links, photocopies, or anything, really, at this stage. Thanks!

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As if you needed more proof that zombies are truly 'in' --

As of this week, Google's 'Blogger Buzz' intro page (where we bloggers all sign in) has opened with the following:

Old Blogger is dead! Long live Blogger!

Today at Blogger HQ we accomplished one of our most significant milestones ever: we changed old Blogger’s monitoring from “page us when it goes down” to “page us if it comes back to life in a horrifying, zombie state.”

Now, "a horrifying, zombie state" is a curious enough turn of phrase, but it's also an active link

to this Jonathan Coulton music video by Adobe Program Manager Mike Spiff Booth, which is a pretty strong push from Google for a specific vid, don't you think?

I'm happy for Jonathan Coulton and all the attention his song "re: Your Brains" is thus earning -- hmmm, how do the rest of us schlubs land a Google push? "Jonathan makes his songs available online

(www.jonathancoulton.com)

via the Creative Commons license, which enables projects such as this video. He has a podcast called Thing A Week where he puts out a song a week to keep his creative juices flowing. He's said he's going to keep it up until someone pays him to do it for real." Alan Moore fans take note: "The song at the end of the video is "Mandelbrot Set", another great Jonathan Coulton song."

And that's all the plugging Jonathan gets from me for now. He's got Google on his side, and needs no other.

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I'm outta here -- have a great Saturday, one and all!

I held back posting this photo on May 1 -- everyone knew. If you didn't, you're sound asleep. Sleep on.

Mission is Not Accomplished, of course. And I'm not just referring to the Iraq War, or the war in Afghanistan, or the War on Terror. What the present architects of our nation have brought upon us -- whether intentionally or not simply no longer matters -- is the End of the Empire. We have seen the clear signs -- Hurricane Katrina is still the most devastating and visible landmark, though most continue to ignore it, just as we're right this moment ignoring the silent, invisible, inexplicable devastation of the honeybee hives presently underway. We are amid the process; we can ignore or deny it, but it is happening. The May 1st photo is a mere moment in that process, but a vital one nonetheless.

I put it to you that what we are amid is nothing less than the eve of the collapse of the Empire -- a major change in US history, unprecedented and certainly unlike anything the present generation has experienced or even entertained, outside of dystopian sf.

An essay well worth reading (thanks to Jean-Marc for steering this link our way):

"Closing the 'Collapse Gap': the USSR was better prepared for peak oil than the US" by Dmitry Orlov

"My talk tonight is about the lack of collapse-preparedness here in the United States. I will compare it with the situation in the Soviet Union, prior to its collapse. The rhetorical device I am going to use is the "Collapse Gap" – to go along with the Nuclear Gap, and the Space Gap, and various other superpower gaps that were fashionable during the Cold War..."

Get ready, folks.
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Still, teaching must go on. We must draw. Yesterday's CCS Drawing Workshop was a two-part affair, building on last week's two-part session: last week, we were visited by botanical illustrators

Bobbi Angell

and Susan Riley, both making the old drive from Marlboro to White River Junction, VT, a drive I know well. Bobbi and Susan presented a two-hour workshop on observational drawing of plant life, which most of the freshmen jumped into with enthusiasm, though it'll take time to build the observational skills essential to the task(s). Bobbi and Susan were terrific.

After that, we spent 90 minutes or so constructing a cardboard city -- a miniature, but for that fairly expansive: about 10' x 9' x 3', with a faux mountain overlooking the village like something out of a Guy Maddin film.

For yesterday's session, both were followed up with:

DRAWING WORKSHOP -- May 2nd -- PART ONE
(1 PM - 2:45 PM)
BRING ALL DRAWING SUPPLIES YOU NEED for OUTDOORS DRAWING

Building on last week’s session with BOBBI ANGELL and SUSAN RILEY, we are spending the first part of today’s session DRAWING OUTDOORS. I have lots of WOODS behind my house -- it’s all yours to draw in until 2:35 PM!

THEN -- leave Bissette house at 2:45 PM, reconvene at the VERIZON BLDG., DOWNSTAIRS at 3 PM for PART TWO of DRAWING WORKSHOP.
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EXERCISE TWO, May 3, 2007 - Drawing Workshop!

Composite Cityscapes

This is a two-step process of drawing an imaginary cityscape from a constructed miniature -- our cardboard city -- and then customizing your drawings referencing from the real buildings, streets and sidewalks of White River Junction. You should end up with three drawings, completed in either pencil or ink, depending on your preference. These should be tight drawings, suitable for use in a comic, as illustration, or as tight reference.

1. ROUGH OUT no less than THREE city areas from any view -- and please, choose three different observation points (from above, from street level, etc.) -- modeled from the constructed miniature.

Be sure to use lighting to rough in the forms of the structures and a cohesive light source; we have enough lights for each group to create its own light source, or move them as needed once one group is done.

These roughs should have no surface details -- no windows, doors, signage, fire escapes, etc. -- beyond what the constructed reference provides.

Be inventive, be imaginative -- this doesn’t need to be a ‘realistic’ contemporary city, as much as an environment that looks ‘lived in’ and seems believably three-dimensional in construction. Perspective can be roughed out -- this is not an exercise in perspective per se.

2. The three roughs will now be ‘fleshed out’ and COMPLETED from LIFE REFERENCE in and around our White River Junction neighborhood.

Open your eyes, and complete your miniature-referenced buildings, streets, etc. with the details of LIFE. Add building textures (wood, brick, stone, glass), add attached structures (fire escapes, building signs -- including those painted ON buildings -- canopies, etc.), doors, windows, sidewalks etc. to create three fully detailed, rendered city scenes.
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I followed up with a short talk, which essentially said the following:

Building on today's Part Two session, though this was a tight exercise timewise, the principle is simple:

If you need to create a convincing urban scene, however small the town (e.g., White River Junction) or metropolitan the city (e.g., Tokyo, New York, Chicago, etc.), create a simple miniature for yourself using cardboard or board -- just to create the building forms, which you can then light for shadows -- then 'wrap' a more realistic or representationally convincing detailed street scene around those forms.

Photo reference is invaluable in this process --

check out a standard Google search for city street scenes

and extend the exercise in your sketchbook to fully grasp the principle -- pick a city to reference, and turn your original cardboard city roughs into an imagined street from a specific city.

This, after all, is what theatre set designers, special effects creators, miniature experts (still used for movie special effects, amusement park rides using '3-D' holographic imagery, like the Universal City Back to the Future ride, or for CGI creations for films, games, etc.), and many artists do.

In comics, this is the kind of thing Gerhard used to do for Cerebus, Herge for Tintin, Richard Corben for his comix and comics stories, etc. -- construct models (usually out of matte board or a similar stiff, cutable board) of specific settings, interiors and exteriors, and use them for reference in creating their drawn panels and pages. I used to visit Dave Sim and Gerhard in their Kitchener, Ontario, studio, and Gerhard occasionally constructed very detailed miniature reference 'sets' for portions of Cerebus -- especially if it was an interior set (like Rick's Tavern) or exterior that would be in play for an extended portion of the narrative.

I know this seemed a 'play' session, last week and this, but don't underestimate the value of the lesson, and the principle. It may serve you well in the future!
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OK, off to work. I have a heady morning with the seniors, and a relaxing afternoon savoring two back-to-back sessions with Ivan Brunetti teaching.

Ah... until the Empire collapses, we will draw. After the Empire collapses, we will still draw. We may eat dirt, but we will use our spit to draw with it. It's what we do.

Have a great Thursday.

Uzumaki; or, What I Must Do Before I Get to "Toos-day Afffffternnnoooooooooon, Toooos-day Afffterrnoooooooooooooon..."

(the above is to be sung, for all you Moody Blues fans.)

Today, monkey-boy Bissette begins his morning with a Center for Cartoon Studies graphic novel discussion, a now-venerable tradition instituted by the now-seniors and faculty Robyn Chapman. This is my first go at the process, which should go fine; I'll let you know if monkey-boy Bissette chi-chis out or spews chewed banana all over. Otherwise, this is likely all you'll hear about it from me for now, except to say I'm a huge fan of Junji Ito's horror manga and the complete (three volume) Uzumaki is among my favorite genre graphic novels -- right up there with From Hell and the innovative Marv Wolfman/Gene Colan/Tom Palmer Tomb of Dracula (graphic novel by proxy, founder of the form in the genre though it's a serialized periodical that became a graphic novel en route).

Monkey-boy Bissette prepped his Q&A sheet a couple of weeks ago, though monkey-boy had to borrow a copy of Uzumaki Vol. 1 from senior Caitlin Plovnick, since monkey-boy still has yet to unpack his manga because monkey-boy has too many manga and books and can't find his ass with a compass yet. Poor, poor monkey-boy; he owes Caitlin big-time.

Anyhoot, enough on monkey-boy, here's the scoop on the Uzumaki Q&A; see you tomorrow with livelier monkey-boy chatter! (PS: You'll have to go to amazon.com to 'look inside', though -- man, those used copies are dear now, aren't they?)

Study Guide for Uzumaki by Junji Ito
Discussion leader: Stephen R. Bissette
Discussion date: May 1

1. According to some, there are two kinds of fantasy: the marvelous, works set in wholly invented universes unconnected to our own reality and adhering to their own internal rules of logic, and the fantastique, in which the fantasy elements encroach, intrude upon (and in some cases transform) our known reality, either period or contemporary. Which genre would you place Uzumaki within, and does it function as horror rather than fantasy? If so, why? If not, why not?

2. Uzumaki is unique in that its central premise concerns a primal obsession with a geometric form -- the spiral -- and how this obsession impacts life in an isolated Japanese community. Can you think of any other works -- in comics, fiction, cinema or music -- concerned with primal obsessions with, and material manifestations of, a form or forms?

3. If you are familiar with either other horror manga (like Hino’s), or other horror manga by Junji Ito (Tomie, Museum of Horror, Gyo), how does his writing and art in Uzumaki work -- or not work -- for you? If you are not familiar with any of Ito’s other creations, or horror manga, what are your initial impressions of Ito’s work as a writer and as a cartoonist? What works for you? What doesn’t work for you?

4. Junji Ito’s horror manga are entirely set within contemporary Japan. How does Ito present life in the coastal village of Kurozu-cho, and the Kurozo High School? Did you find this setting convincing and evocative? If so, what worked? If not, what would you have needed changed (and are these changes reflective of differences between American and Japanese cultural norms)?

5. The teenage couple Kirie Goshima and her troubled boyfriend Shuichi Saito are the protagonists threading together the six chapters in this first (of three) volumes. How does Ito characterize them, and how is it different from how the victims of the spiral obsession(s) portrayed? Choose one chapter and discuss.

6. If you had to choose one key sequence in which the script and art worked in unison to create a powerful emotional effect, which would you choose and why?

7. There is a fine line in horror between the terrifying and the risible, the horrific and the humorous. Given the inherent absurdity of its premise, Uzumaki walks that tightrope throughout. Choose a sequence in which Ito “pushes the envelope” -- either in a way that was genuinely disturbing or horrific for you, or that became laughable. What works, what doesn’t work, and why?

8. The function of horror is in part to give shape to formless fears, to speak the unspeakable, to reveal the hidden. In Uzumaki, Ito gives shape to various fears specific to the lives of its teenage protagonists concerning the fragility and/or instability of their parents, their homes, their school, their community, their place within these. Pick a passage that addresses one of these issues, and discuss how it serves the specific chapter, and the story as a whole.

9. The mysterious spiral’s manifestations, distortions and mutations based upon more intimate, personalized obsessions and fears -- sexuality, attraction, blemishes, deformities, vanity, beauty, weight, etc. -- manifest symptoms recognizably derived from real life (e.g., bulimia) before they erupt into impossible extremes. The hideous logic of Uzumaki lies in part in the way the spirals make public such private fears: a central conceit in many nightmares. Choose a single sequence in any of the six chapters that marks the transition between a believable, “real” situation and the point at which it tips into the fantastique -- how does Ito stage this transition, as a writer, as an artist? Does it work for you? If so, how does it work? If not, why not?

10. Which manifestation of such intimate fears in these six chapters did you find the most personally affecting? Which did you find the least affecting? Why?


OK, I'll expect your writeups by this evening, no excuses!

BTW, Dave and Josh did a great job on the shelving yesterday -- I'll be happily racking books the rest of the week. Still a ways to go, but at last it's underway.

Have a great Wednesday!

Pouring Monday

To most folks, a rainy Monday is the suck -- to me, it's the music!

This means I'll see David Gabriel today -- he just called, and is on his way up later this AM. Thus, construction will continue on the basement shelving I so desperately need. Marge finished her unpacking and 'nesting' (as she calls it) back in January; I've yet to even begin, save for the DVD room and my drawing and light tables. The rest has been boxes, stacks, three storage units and a horrorshow; I barely made it through this CCS semester teaching, due to the constant difficulty getting to anything I need for class and lectures.

This involved a fair amount of prep -- Mike Bleier (my stepson) saw to the initial electrical work, prepping everything with new outlets (there were none, save for the washer/dryer outlets) and the wiring necessary to eventually installing lights and more outlets, where needed. Our plumber installed a sorely-needed pressure tank, which had to be done before any other work on the basement was undertaken. That was all finished by the first week in March, and I cleared a full half of the basement for the work ahead. I've given almost all my old pasteboard shelves and bookcases away -- Mike and his wife Mary claimed four of them, and the rest went to needy CCS students, starting with Joe and Becca Lambert, all gratis (the last three will be picked up today, again by/for CCSers -- use 'em in good health!). Marge and I have held onto and used the wooden shelving units here and there about the house; nothing has gone to waste or ruin.

As I've shown you before on this blog (see photo at left),

Dave does terrific work; check out the viewing room shelving he and his brother Mike designed and constructed back in February -- beauty!

But the basement library needs heavy-duty, rugged and long-lasting shelving units, and those can only be built, not bought. Dave initially wrestled with the sheer bulk and no-nonsense constructions I wanted, but he's now well into it; it's nothing like the marvelous work he did in the viewing room. The design is functional, not particularly pleasing to the eye (though I always love the warmth of wood, in and of itself): these will be sturdy, standing floor to ceiling, and holding the maximum number of books of all sizes possible, with the topmost shelves for backstock. I need them all; by the time we're done, 3/4 of the basement will be dedicated to the library.

Dave began work on the basement project late last month, working with his amigo Josh; they got the sheetrock up, the mud work done and sanded, and I primed and painted that in a weekend. Dave came back this past Thursday and Friday, and he and Josh pulled together all the preliminary work on the shelving for a full half of the basement, completing work on three massive shelving units -- the rough equivalent of the shelving I had in my then-new Marlboro studio last year at this time. They had to fight the weather (a rental truck took care of the Friday haul of needed lumber, ensuring it remained dry) and lack of lumber (incredibly, not a single lumber yard or Home Depot in the WRJ area had 2"x 4"s!); that's now been solved, and the unit components are all cut and stacked in the garage and basement.

Dave and Josh are returning today to finish the ten-foot-long shelving units they'd cut and prepared for, and I can't wait.

By the end of today, those will be up and bolted to the walls; then Mike can complete the electrical work, placing lights and outlets as needed. Man, we are finally seeing light at the end of the tunnel!

This means, after some cleanup and a little touchup on the painted cement floor, I can unpack every box currently stacked (five-or-more feet high) in the quarter of the basement we placed boxes during the move, opening that area up completely for me to seal & paint the floor and prep for sheetrocking and that basement area's completion. That section will ultimately sport shelving and some office/work space, with a computer work station for scanning/lecture prep for CCS needs and future publishing ventures. Back in December 2006, Dave safely removed the custom-built looooooooong computer desk/workstation Olivier Flaggelot had built for me for the Marlboro studio space (based on a rather inventive design we both cooked up, sketched, and Olivier constructed); that will go into the last quarter of the basement, along with more shelving, which will allow me at last to have my entire library accessible and out of boxes for the first time since the late 1980s!

(And yes, Mike Dobbs, this time the shelving is accomodating expansion, too -- more shelving than I'll be filling!)

Remaining work thereafter involves framing the laundry room, which will also be lined with shallow shelving (for standard-size paperbacks and vhs videos), and closing in the bulkhead with (a) weatherproofed door(s), which Dave will likely build, given the odd shape and size of that doorway. The goal there is to keep the bulkhead fully functional while sealing the basement from heat loss -- it remained pretty comfortable all winter, despite the heat loss, just from the warmth generated by the boiler and hot water heater. Still, for those below-zero weeks, we'll be installing at least two baseboard heat units at the far end of the basement, just in case.

OK, time to go -- I've got a busy day ahead. This afternoon, Cat and I will be focusing on the long-under-construction website; hopefully, we'll have something up later this week, however skeletal. It's been a long time coming! I've been emailing Cat digital art & photo files all weekend, and I'm still hoping Jane Wilde gets around to mailing Cat a disc with all the work she and we'd done last year.

[Cat, U R my computer guru; art (c) Cayetano Garza]

It's coming together. It's all coming together.

Tomorrow, I'll offer my first CCS graphic novel discussion class -- I'll be moderating a session on the first volume of Junji Ito's Uzumaki, which is among my favorite horror comics and graphic novels from anywhere in the world. I've prepped a Q&A sheet (which I'll post here later this week), and then it's Ivan Brunetti week at CCS. Ivan and his wife arrived this weekend, and he's scheduled a full run of workshops and lectures; last year, Ivan arrived with Seth and Chris Ware for a three-day whirlwind of creative and instructional activity, of which I only experienced one day, due to my schedule and the long drive from Marlboro to White River Junction. Now that Marge and I live fifteen minutes away, I hope to sit in on all of Ivan's sessions, except today's. Hooooo doggies! OK, enough of my rambling --

Have a great Monday, one and all!

Big Doings at CCS...

First up, the Center for Cartoon Studies community is celebrating its first newborn:

CCS co-founder and Grand Omnipotent Benevolent Goddess-Being Michelle Ollie and her partner Michelle Roy gave birth this past Tuesday, April 17th, to their son Phineas Henry Roy-Ollie -- born at 5:05am, weighing 5 lbs 8oz. Everyone is healthy, well, but tired. Congrats to Michelle, Michelle and Phineas!

Secondly, CCS senior

Sam Gaskin, who has poured this year into the creation of a phenomenal, one-of-a-kind first volume of Pizza Wizard strip

just won a Xeric Foundation grant -- allowing him to self-publish Pizza Wizard, hopefully in time for the upcoming MoCCA art festival. Keep an eye out here, and on Sam's site, for future announcements -- congrats, Sam!

It's been a real treat to see Sam's skills blossom this past year. He began work on a planned thesis project that had its roots in an expansive strip he'd begun during his first year at CCS. However, something -- else presented itself, even as Sam worked on the planned project: a one-pager entitled "Pizza Wizard." During his first critique session as a senior, Sam shared that one-pager along with the considerable work underway on the thesis project, and we all responded with unexpected enthusiasm to this new eruption from Sam's imagination. Pizza Wizard thereafter took over -- when the muse alights, it's best to go where she leads -- and grew into the most ambitious undertaking of Sam's body of work to date. He finished Pizza Wizard's first volume this month, within days of receiving the phone call from home informing him of the Xeric decision.

Sam is the second CCS student to win a Xeric -- not bad, one per year for the school's first two years in existence. But the prize belongs to the cartoonists/students, not the school, mind you. Still, nice to note. Sam's 'win' last week was well-deserved, as was last year's Xeric award to

Alexis Frederick-Frost for his excellent graphic novel La Primavera (2006).

Haven't got a copy as yet, or read it yourself? Well, that can be remedied promptly -- via I Know Joe Kimpel (link already provided, above -- and again, below). Alexis is already hard at work on his current graphic novel, and it's even better -- Sam and Alexis are both talents (and very different visions) to watch!

Leading us to:

Thirdly (?), the online venue for CCS comics, minicomics and graphic novels is expanding. This just in from senior Adam Staffaroni:

"We've added a bunch of new people to the I Know Joe Kimpel site, added a blog, and there's a Press Release link on the top of our main page detailing all the good things people have been saying about Gabby [aka Ken Dahl]'s and Alexis' work."

The sweet quotes are

beginning to appear here -- just scroll down the press page during this period of construction on the site -- and spread the word!

But that's not all -- like Adam says,

the blog is up and running, with its first post in place,

and here's the link to the whole "I Know Joe Kimple" site. Check it out, and often! Many changes, updates, and new stuff a-coming soon!

Fourth, I'm happy to announce that our beloved CCS intern Gabby aka Ken Dahl has completed, printed, and is about to debut

the second issue of Monsters, second volume of his Ignatz-Award-winning minicomic of 2006, will debut this week at APE -- or you can purchase your copy via mail order from this link at I Know Joe Kimple!

Congrats, Gabby -- I mean, uh, Ken -- and hope APE proves a festive and celebratory debut venue for your latest creation.

Monsters #1 deserved the considerable attention and praise it garnered, and humble as Gabby remains, he sure earned that Ignatz Award. The above link will steer you to both issues, highly recommended!


And last but by no means least, there's the good news that

CCS senior Josie Whitmore has just launched her new site, which waits for you here. Check it out, and keep doing so, as Josie will be adding to it regularly.

A sure sign of spring: so many new, fertile beginnings...

Support this generation of young cartoonists -- they're gonna change the world, for the better.
__________________

New England cartoonists, take note: The Trees & Hills Group wants YOU! This just in from T&H co-founder Daniel Barlow:

Members of

the Trees & Hill comics group

are proud to announce that we plan to publish a second anthology of work by regional creators early this summer.

Submission details for the new anthology are located near the bottom of this message.

In October 2006, the comics group published the 60-page opus, Trees & Hills & Friends anthology, which featured cartoons by over 20 creators from New Hampshire, Vermont and western Massachusetts.

The mini-comic, which featured work by Stephen R. Bissette, Cat Garza and Marek Bennett, has sold more than 100 copies. This total does not include the copies that we gave to contributors for their work, meaning there may be nearly 200 copies out there in circulation.

The release of that book capped the first year of operation for Trees & Hills, which was formed by NH cartoonist Colin Tedford and VT writer Dan Barlow following a large turnout to a 24-Hour Comic event just more than a year earlier in Brattleboro, Vt.

Publishing and distributing the anthology was the first major expansion for the group, which had since been focusing on holding semi-monthly drawing parties, managing a Web site and tabling at local comic book conventions.

Format: The 2007 anthology – which does not yet have a name – will be 5.5 x 8.5 inches with a one-color cover and black and white interiors. It will be a mini-comic; the same size width and length as the previous anthology.

Content: There will also be a change in the content we are looking for in this publication. This time around we are looking for all-ages contributions, whereas the first publication was a showcase of the talents of the many members of our group.

Now, we are hoping for a comic that children, teenagers and adults will all be able to enjoy.

Details: Every contributor will receive one copy of the book per page published. We're looking for copies of the content; please do not send original art. If you live in Vermont, please send the contributions to barlowdaniel@gmail.com and New Hampshire artists can send their work to colintedford@gmail.com

Creators from Massachusetts can choose either Dan or Colin to send their artwork to.

Photocopies snail mail submissions can be sent to Colin Tedford, PO Box 645, Winchester, NH 03470 or Dan Barlow, 182 Main Street #2, Montpelier, VT 05602.

The submission deadline is Saturday, May 26.
__________________

Pro-Death President Bush did it: his reorientation of the Supreme Court resulted in the 4-5 vote yesterday that's a victory for anti-abortion, anti-choice activists. This is a major shift in our country, in personal freedoms, and in woman's rights.

My family has had its own experiences with abortion -- no one's business, suffice to say -- but it was a choice the women involved had to make, did make, and live with, for good or ill. It was their choice to make, though, and thank God this country at the time provided some sane measure of safety and legal means for them to make those choices within.

That's now threatened, possibly forever, and I've nothing but contempt for this President, this Supreme Court, and this country's decision to go down this road.

Pro-Death advocates can also ponder this morning's surprise from

deeply disturbed Virginia Tech student Cho Seung-Hui, who left his indelible mark on us all this week, spiced with the revelatory surfacing of videos he shot and mailed to NBC -- between the time his killing spree began shortly after 7 AM and resumed and escalated after he mailed these videos to NBC -- bringing horrifying new light to this national tragedy. This link will also take you to various links to the video excerpts that have been released (if you can make it through the Netflix commercials, natch).

Complete with references to Jesus Christ, President Bush, Columbine "martyrs like Eric and Dylan" and presenting himself as doing what he did to achieve similar media martyrdom -- "...I die like Jesus Christ, to inspire generations of the weak and the defenseless people..." -- Cho's video confessional should provide a fresh, unavoidable national wakeup call and life-and-death debate -- but no. It's all being quickly, handily packaged, promoted, sanitized, trivialized. With every single radio, TV, online and government agency I was in eye or ear shot of yesterday immediately removing any serious discussion of gun control from the table, there's really nothing left to say, is there? Reports that Cho purchased his guns and clips at local pawn shops and Walmart speaks volumes. Go, NRA; you've got the nation in your pocket; that's another 32 notches to take pride in.

More Uncle Sam Zombies...

Now that I've opened this can of worms, everything's coming up maggots!

I posted an announcement about

Leah Moore and John Reppion's Raise the Dead comic series earlier this week,

including a peek at the cover art -- and now there's Uncle Sam zombies crawling out of the woodwork.

As already noted, I first "saw" the image in a screenplay Tim Lucas wrote and shared with me 20 years ago; at that time, Tim had come up with something original and unique. Alas, the script was never filmed, so that specific image never reached the public eye -- but here it is again, the unsung pop image of 2006.

Clearly, "its" time has come. Though no one "owes" a debt to Tim, per se, it's still worth noting for the record that his script is the first eruption of that image I personally encountered. Now, Undead Uncle Sam is everywhere.

Berni Wrightson's ad art for the high-def horror channel Monsters HD includes a fun riff on the old Jack Kamen Creepshow poster art, featuring the nervous young lad with a remote in his hand, Alex Gordon/Edward Kahn's The She Creature playing on TV, and Berni's take on the She Creature malingering outside the boy's bedroom window, peeking in. But relevant to this topic at hand is Wrightson's "Eye Want You!" parody of the famous Flagg Uncle Sam recruitment poster, looking a little worse for the wear

(here's the link to the site's liveliest use of Berni's Uncle Sam zombie painting!).

(For those of you with long memories, this recalls Wrightson's stylishly done Howard the Duck for President poster, which I still have somewhere in my collection.)

Well, OK, with Wrightson doing his take on zombie Uncle Sam, you'd think that would be enough. Nope, the new wave of zombie comics has embraced the image like a long lost patriarch come home at last.

Not counting the Captain America zombie Art Suydam painted for the Marvel Zombies series (itself satirizing the iconic Jack Kirby 'Cap is Back' cover from the '60s), along with the stirring Uncle Sam alternative Raise the Dead cover for Leah and John's series (likewise painted by Art Suydam), it turns out there's a "Cover B" alternative cover to

Mark Kidwell & Nat Jones's Image Comics one-shot '68, their undead-in-Vietnam opus (alternative cover pictured as this post's lead; here's a review of their comic by Don MacPherson at Eye on Comics).

Even better, to my mind, is Art Suydam's mock Norman Rockwell zombie cover for Raise the Dead #2, which you can get to

here, just click on the entry to the Raise the Dead preview link below the double-cover preview image.

I would have posted it here, but I wanted to be sure to give you a reason to revisit and spend a little time at Leah and John's site this weekend, which was all I was really trying to do earlier this week anyway.

And that's enough on that subject, don't you think?

___________________

So, I now have a retail venue in our new home area here in Vermont...

If you're touring Vermont this spring or summer or fall, and you find yourself on Route 4 in Quechee, VT -- a real easy, short (less than two miles) drive off Interstate 89 -- pop on over to

the Quechee Gorge Village

and enter

the Vermont Antique Mall --

-- and visit my collectibles sales booth!

Hey, my stuff's now in one of those booths crammed with insane, gotta-have-it, gotta-buy-it stuff!

I'm dealer #653, and the booth is now up and running -- comics, including signed copies of my own publications, are waiting for you there, along with a plethora of collectible books, DVDs, videos, toys, and odds (very odd) and ends.

They're open seven days a week (July 4th-Labor Day, from 9:30am-5:30pm; Labor Day-July 4th from 10:00am-5:00pm), they're awful nice folks, and this seemed an ideal means of at last giving folks access to my and the Center for Cartoon Studies' work, creations and collectible curios. No, we're not there, but our stuff is -- priced to sell! -- and I'll be refreshing and restocking the booth biweekly, so there will always be something of interest waiting for you there.

This space prominently feature work from the CCS students, too, with all sales income from their work going to them -- providing a one-stop shopping venue for those of you interested in picking up the students's comics, mini-comics, art, pottery, etc., all signed by the creators. I'll post pics once the booth is closer to its intended status (gotta start somewhere, and right now it's in its infancy) -- but this is likely to remain my (and CCS's) sole retail venue, so make a point of visiting our booth in the Vermont Antique Mall this year!

Of course, those of you wanting to sample the CCS student comics, graphic novels and minicomics now for sale online can immediately go to

the "I Know Joe Kimpel" site and support the next generation of cartoonists with your hard-earned dollars and interest.

____________________

The Bava Book is Coming -- SOON!

Have a great weekend...

HAPPY EASTER, one and all!

Hey, it's the Easter -- uh, canine?

Though there's nothing particularly Easter-like about this post, let me wish you one and all a great Easter. And leave it at that, save for the Easter Egg of sorts: another Criswell Predicts!, closing this post. Enjoy!

[Illo: Ross Wood Studlar, "Deranged Canine", copyright 2006]

The illustration I'm heading off with today is by Ross Wood Studlar, one of the stellar seniors at CCS I've been yammering about all week.

This is one of Ross's wilder creations, as much Seussian as Big Daddy Roth-like, but it's a particular favorite of many of us who know and love Ross. It was an experiment in wash and animal forms that is emblematic of his love of smearing pigment on paper and fusing and stretching elements of earthly lifeforms into -- well, see for yourself. I dig it.

I've got a lot to show you this morning, so maybe you should treat all the following as Easter eggs, though they might bite, and I sure won't be hiding them.

____________

I've been posting the student Center for Cartoon Studies links all week, and as promised will wind it up today with a peek at some of the art I didn't post (due to time constraints) for some sites, and a little more.

Among that "more" be the two links I've saved for your Easter Sunday,

Robyn Chapman's amazing "Unpopular Comics" site,

and the "Make Comics Forever" blog, which is a collective blog by a group of cartoonists, including Robyn, who are clearly obsessed with the medium we all so love.

Both are sorely in need of updating (the most recent blog post is February, for instance, and Robyn no longer lives in Brooklyn, she's White River Junction/CCS all the way now!), but it's all new to you, I bet, so just check 'em out, and now! Robyn, BTW, is the first-ever CCS Fellow -- and a fellow faculty member. She's an excellent cartoonist, a tough editor (kicked my sorry ass out of an anthology last year, justifiably so), and a great all-around person.

[copyright 2007 Robyn Chapman]

Just go with the flow, now --

I have been coyly dishing out these links so as to open your eyes to the students themselves, cartoonists, all! But

here's the all-purpose CCS student websites/blogs link I've been hoarding, which I'll now post in the permanent menu of links on the right for future easy access.

But that isn't all: I still owe you some peeks at the CCSers whom I didn't post art from this time around. Here's a mini-gallery of images from everyone I previously short-shrifted in the image department.

Along with Ross and Robyn, here's peeks at images by (from top to bottom, in no order other than my random access to art this AM) Adam Staffaroni, Sam Gaskin, Alexis Frederick-Frost, Josie Whitmore, Andrew Arnold, Jon-Mikel Gates and Colleen Frakes:

[copyright 2007 Adam Staffaroni]

[copyright 2007 Sam Gaskin]

[copyright 2007 Alexis Frederick-Frost]

[copyright 2007 Josie Whitmore]

[copyright 2007 Andrew Arnold]

[copyright 2007 Jon-Mikel Gates]

[copyright 2007 Colleen Frakes]

Hmmmmm, there's also these good folks and cartoonists -- vet pro Rich Tommaso, CCS students Caitlin Plovnick, Emily Wieja, and the effervescent Ignatz-Award-winning CCS fellow (and what a fellow) intern Ken Dahl (aka Gabby) -- who don't have sites, that I know of, but are selling comics via the link below the four images, below, by Rich, Caitlin, Emily and Ken, natch:

[copyright 2007 Rich Tommaso]

[copyright 2007 Caitlin Plovnick]

[copyright 2007 Emily Wieja]

[copyright 2007 Ken Dahl]

And as a reminder, for those in need of more material, "in your hand" access, to this new fountain of comics,

here's where you can buy, one-stop, much of the new published work emerging from the CCS stew of creativity,

which now accepts both PayPal and credit card orders, so there's no reason to hesitate ordering some goodies right now, today, this morning;

and here's where you can order the first-ever, all-new graphic novel to emerge from the CCS student experience, Alexis Frederick-Frost's extraordinary Xeric-Award winner La Primavera (2006)!

What are you waiting for? Hell to freeze over, or the Earth to bake?

___________________

The current era of 21st Century duality we find ourselves in is endlessly fascinating. Debate is debased to the unwieldy sham of presenting two "opposing views" -- best of all, extremist "either/or" "views" in complete polar opposition -- as the only viable "views" to be considered. It's bullshit and it's doing immeasurable, perhaps irrevocable harm to us, as a nation, as a culture, as a people and as a planet.

President Bush, Karl Rove and their pack of junkyard dogs have refined this form of "dialogue" to a perverse art, subverting debate entirely by eliminating any measure of conversation, consideration or due logic. They are culpable, but hardly the sole or even key culprits -- the media, so addicted to sound and image bytes, has played a prominent role in this reductionist insanity, as have the citizenry of the US. It's a form of collective madness, really, though it's not yet been diagnosed as such -- and the mad, well, they just don't see a problem.

When your "choices" are false choices by definition -- "stay the course" or "cut and run," for instance, in the case of one ongoing sore point in the international arena -- presented with such vehemence that one is also prevented from addressing the initial actions or inactions that precipitated the untenable situation one finds oneself in, four-to-six years later (choose your case history to apply this to), rational discussion, debate or action is rendered nearly impossible.

This is, of course, a strategy as well as a symptom of collective madness, and it succeeds brilliantly all too often.

It's a false duality, though, and typical of the obscene 'black or white' think this current generation has embraced like sheep.

Over the past few weeks,

this link has been spam-emailed to me more than once, most recently from one Luke Przybylski, which claims to link to "a recent BBC production, [which] is constantly dissapearing [sic] from Youtube and Google Video, only to be uploaded once again by concerned members. See it while you can..."

I love the intro to these spammed "science" exposes: "Before we all subscribe wholesale to the secularist rapture theology we've come to know as Global Warming, I think it's important to hear from the dissenters; climatologists and other scientists who were effectively barred from the mainstream (politicized) scientific "community" after their findings diverged from the manufactured consensus presented by the UN."

There is, of course, no 'rapture' whatsoever implicit or explicit in the science of climate change research and investigation.

The affixing of that term to the sentence is in and of itself misleading, with intent: it plays to two sets of prejudices. On the one hand, it's an alert signal to those predisposed to belief, in some measure, to 'the rapture,' and thus suspicious of anything that smacks of secular science. On the other hand, it ridicules science in the eyes of those who do not subscribe to belief in 'the rapture.' Thus, the cynical adoption of the phrase "secularist rapture theology" cuts both ways, a masterstroke of manipulative agitprop of the worse (and most seductive, to many susceptible minds) kind.

First, though, let's frame the subject itself -- Global warming -- with some objectivity.

Clearly, something is going on, and on a global scale.

But the reduction of the legitimate questions associated with "What is going on?" to this false battle -- over which extreme "side" is "right" or "wrong" -- ignores the obvious.

Something, globally, is changing with the Earth's climate. What is it? What's causing it? What, if anything, can we do about it? Those are the vital, literally the life-or-death, questions.

Where ever one lives, the evidence is manifest: there were never annual wildfire seasons on the mindboggling scale we see (or experience); the winters have clearly changed in Vermont and New England in a significant, measurable way (this year was the warmest winter ever on record), and the climate changes have already yielded measurable results. It's all around us, here, and if you talk to those who have worked all their lives in the affected arenas, sometimes carrying on generations of tradition it's irrefutable that something fundamental is changing: ski seasons abbreviated to a mere six weeks; maple syrup yields down and maple trees showing limb damage, loss and degeneration; apple orchards blooming too early; etc. These are all having momentous impacts upon our home state: the life cycles, ways of life, traditional livelihoods.

Of course, the 'dissenters' habitually refer to the scientists on "their side" (most of whom are corporate-funded shills) as now besieged and ignored "experts," neglecting to note that "their side" has held sway for decades now, actively undermining any advances the 1970s environmentalist movement gained in the wake of a prior generation's most obscene excesses: Lake Erie rendered toxic, rivers that could be lit on fire, etc. The nay-sayers have had the full weight of the current Bush Administration behind their ongoing campaign to deny any climate change -- or, admitting that, any human culpability in said climate change -- for the past six years.

Reality has caught up with them. Hence, they are now besieged and ignored.

The wording of this particular piece of spam is telling. The nay-sayers are embracing tactics familiar to those of us invested in the more-than-a-century-old conflict between Darwinism and Biblical literalists. Note the now-current contextualizing, the cloaking, of global warming and the related sciences in the vocabulary of matters of faith.

This is accomplished in a heartbeat, almost invisibly to the casual reader, via the inverted logic of the phrasing, "the secularist rapture theology we've come to know as Global Warming" -- it's a cynical adoption of the Creationist/Intelligent Design tactics which deliberately plunges science into the realm of religion.

This conceit, born of and insistently refined by the Creationist and Intelligent Design corruption of science (neither is, of course, a 'science' at all), is the most insidious aspect of this spam, denying science as having any validity whatsoever by framing science, as a whole, as a matter of faith; that is, science recontextualized into the arena of religion.

This is a complete misrepresentation of the reality and function of science -- all the sciences -- by instantly relegating science, per se, from the natural world to the supernatural realm, the realm of religion, faith, and belief.

Thus, any 'science' one objects to, be it climatology or paleontology, Darwinism or ecology, geology or biology, can be handily refuted if one redefines science, or 'the' science deemed objectionable, as not being science at all, but a religion -- a matter of faith, of inherently fallible interpretation of unknowable, unquantifiable supernatural phenomenon (which, being supernatural, cannot in fact be properly defined, observed or measured), not analysis of natural phenomenon.

This is, at best, delusional projection, and at worst reprehensible misrepresentation and caricature. It is a lie, a lie built upon a lie, an abomination in terms of both science and of religion.

I always wonder what motivates such generation of falsehoods -- a knee-jerk breaking of one of the Ten Commandments, a lie -- and what the person insisting upon such inherently corrupted logic stands to gain. "Follow the money" is applicable, though "follow the faith" is the more religious (Christian) thing to do, really.

Why this refusal to grasp a measurable, quantifiable, and increasingly obvious reality? Is it just too scary?

In this case, the only human beings who could possibly benefit from an orchestrated denial of the realities of climate change are those who will profit from that denial -- corporate energy providers, corporate polluters, etc. -- and those who still buy into the corporate falsehood of "free market" as having any validity in an economic environment increasingly controlled by multinational corporations who function above the law in every arena.

This past week found one of the GOP's most insistent nay-sayers on the topic changing his tune a bit, arguing now that Global Warming "may result in the relocation of 600 thousand South Sea Islanders" but will be a boon for real estate values in the northern states -- to which one can only respond with either laughter, despair, or the pragmatic solution of working to ensure this bozo is canned in the next election cycle.

Huh. Interesting. Now that a few of the nay-sayers have to admit that, indeed, something is going on, their spin is: "how can we profit from this?" The only ones to profit, of course, being the rich. Fuck the poor. Those 600 thousands South Sea Islanders can bake if there's no money in it.

Anyhoot, Tony Millionaire responded to being on Luke's Easter weekend spamming of the link by emailing all receiving the above link and attendant bogus "science"

this link to another online video that competently refutes all the crapola being shoveled about Global Warming by its "opponents," as if one could be "opposed" to climate phenomenon (in reality, simply pretending nothing quantifiable is going on).

The naysayers will continue to refute the evidence of their own eyes, bodies and experiences until they're either dislocated, relocated, drowning, burning to death, starving, or profiteering from the new real estate boom in Wisconsin and the Dakotas.

If that's the current scraping-belly nature of "the debate," fuck it, give me what Drinky Crow's drinking!

Tony, wit that he is, also opened his email reply by saying, "First of all Luke, I'd like to thank you for adding me to the 120 people on your Cc list."

Yep, thanks, Luke! Thanks, Tony! Thanks, Drinky Crow!

___________________

Criswell Predicts!

I predict that our Scientists will be concerned aobut a mysterious cloud appearing over the moon two years after we land there! The cloud will stay there, hiding the moon from earth view, much to the amazement of the world! Many will say it is created by living people beyond the moon to deter our new progress in space! I predict it will be Mother Nature's warning that we are going too far and to immediately stop!
______________________

Happy Easter, One and All!

Your Friday Gruel:
Criswell, Bush and CCSers

I have friends who worry about the time they think I waste.

Like, blogging. Like, just doing nothing. Like, reading. Like, watching movies. Like, staying for all 172 minutes of David Lynch's exterior dreamscape Inland Empire. Like, reading comics. Like, drawing comics. Like, writing instead of drawing comics. Like, teaching. Like, having a family and raising kids. Like, getting married. Like, getting a divorce. Like, getting remarried. Like, drawing, instead of doing something useful, like plumbing. Like, working as I did co-managing a video store instead of drawing.

You name it, something I do, one of my friends hates, and thinks I'm wasting my time, doing something my other friend thinks is worthwhile, and wishes I would just do more of, and wishes I would quit doing that other thing they hate, 'cuz it's a waste of time.

Well, my friends, rest easy, now.

And if you're "a very dear friend," you could really benefit.

You see, Criswell had it aallllllllll covered, way way back in '69.

Criswell Predicts!

I predict that it is entirely possible for you to bequeath and will to someone your unspent time at your death!

A new insurance policy soon to be issued, will permit funds to be paid to someone you wish to honor after your death, with full expenses on some trip which you could not take!

This insurance policy will be listed in your estate as top priority, and cannot be cancelled by the whims of your relatives or the executor!

It will be pre-paid out of your estate... a most wonderful gift... of your unspent time... plus expenses... for a very dear friend! You can bequeath your unspent time!

___________________

Ah, but Criswell didn't predict Bush. He and his may spend everything. The massive debtload these motherfuckers are generating daily has spiraled into the realm of the cosmic, and that ain't the half of it.

It's been a one-two-three sucker punch week from the White House, and it's only Friday. TGIF.

The whole veto dance has been quite a spectacle, with the most outrageous demonstration yet of the 'blame game' in recent memory

(duh -- the President vetoes, he denies the funding). Amid all that, most Americans miss the

Bush shenanigans that really hit home -- like, the very air we breathe --

-- which of course the superficial "news" that passes for news for most citizens considers beneath notice.

and demonstrating once again how well "Georgie plays well with others" and is "a uniter, not a divider" (another of his campaign promises that rings magnificently false)

This Pentagon leak surfacing the same week President Bush blasted the Democrats (threatening just this kind of consequence -- sorry, already in place, folks!) is a brutal blow to military families.

Just a little Easter gift from Defense Secretary Robert Gates and our beloved Prez.

Better beef up those vet hospitals, and fast, Congress.

With what's left of his term in office promising to only escalate all this madness into a high-density concentration unimaginable today, hang on, America!

The fiscal hits everyone outside the elite continue to endure are taking a real toll, without a whisper of the consequences Katrina, annual wildfire season, and natural disasters play as a component of that toll. We're amid tax season, after all, wherein the Alternative Minimum Tax is delivering unexpected bodyblows to many middle-class families, the inevitable implosion of sub-prime lending and mortgage scams are gobbling up vulnerable family homes like Pac-Man, and the credit load of most Americans has no historical precedent. Gas prices hereabouts have soared over 30-cents-per-gallon in less than four weeks, with the promise of climbing higher (over $3 per gallon) with spring 'driving season' a-comin' in.

For our part, Marge and I have battened down the hatches as best we can in pragmatic, day-to-day ways we can live with. None of us can displace these lunatics in office, though a fresh election season is coming 'round the bend -- but we can focus on our own corner of the asylum. We lucked out with the risk of relocation -- the purchase, the sale, the move went surprisingly well, it all played out in our favor despite the collapsing real estate bubble (thanks to the unusual real estate market Marlboro remains). We're working on our wills, we've eliminated our credit card debts, we've relocated to a place closer to our respective dayjobs, minimizing our driving and gasoline consumption, and we've finished our annual income tax ordeal (more fun guaranteed next year!).

So it goes. Good luck with your own corner of the asylum; it's worth the effort cleaning up, I can now say.

______________________

Time for more Center for Cartoon Studies student sites, man!

Jiffy Joe Lambert is a one-man comics band with a pen-and-brush line slippery as black ice, graceful and playful and mesmerizing -- check it out.

Joe also posts more photos than anyone at CCS, I think, though I'll be immediately corrected if I'm wrong; anyhoot, if you want an inside look at CCS life and some great art and comics, check out Joe's sublime online submarine.

Some cartoonists inhabit their own interior worlds, and lucky us when they share them so completely. There's a handful of cartoonists in this rarified strata who come to mind, and lo and behold, we at CCS are fortunate enough to have another of this species among us.

Here's your ticket to Planet Dane Martin. I love visiting planet Dane Martin, with its unique lifeforms, social customs, lurking dangers and delirious curiosities. There is no other planet like Dane's, and there are times I wish I could live there.

There are also times I am greatly relieved I don't live there, but those moments make me love it all the more. I can't explain it any better than that.

More tomorrow -- have a great Friday, if you can...

Frank's a Class Act, Joe's Pix,
and Cine-Ketchup

A public thank you to Frank Miller.

You know, in my 30+ years in comics, I've had a number of films linked to work I've had a hand in. The obvious ones -- Return of the Swamp Thing, From Hell, Constantine -- came and went without any special treatment or invites extended my way. I finally caught the former on video, rented from a tiny grocery store in South Newfane, VT, and a cold and bitter night of video viewing that was, too; the latter two I saw at the Kipling Cinema in Brattleboro, VT. None featured my name in the credits, so why expect anything at all? At least Constantine graced me and my family with royalties for my share of creating John Constantine in the first place (along with Alan Moore -- who deferred his share to co-creator Rick Veitch -- and John Totleben).

I've been invited to three premieres linked to my work in comics: the NYC opening of Steven Spielberg's 1941 (back in '79), which Rick Veitch and I attended happily, briefly basking in the release of our graphic novel adaptation of the movie before it all crashed & burned in the backlash against Spielberg's failed comedy; the Northampton, MA premiere at the Academy of Music of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II: Secret of the Ooze, which featured a character (Tokka) based in part upon my toy concept sketches for a snapping turtle monster -- the only premiere I was able to bring my daughter Maia and son Dan to, and hence of importance to this ol' pop; and Lance Weiler's cast-and-crew October 2005 closed debut screening of Head Trauma, which Dan and I were invited to (since we'd drawn the faux-Christian Comic, Too Much Grief, that figures prominently in the film) but couldn't attend due to work schedules.

[BTW, only Lance made sure there was a byline (for Dan and I, in this case) in the film's credits. The other films, in their way, are as much a problem as a point of pride for my now-adult children: when they tell their friends "that was based on my dad's work," the inevitable response is, "Oh, yeah? I don't see his name anywhere." It was a comfort, at least, to see David Lloyd's name on the V for Vendetta credits; all the other Vertigo-based movies feature creator credits that are a slight variation on the bylines the 1940s serials based on DC comics characters sported -- of late, an unexpected consequence of Alan Moore's insistence his name be removed from any films based on his work. C'est la vie.]

Now, I've nothing whatsoever to do with Frank Miller's work, or the films based upon them.

But I've just received my second invite to a NYC premiere of a feature film based on Frank's work -- the Thursday, March 8 premiere of 300 at the Lincoln Square IMAX.

Thank you, Frank!

Alas, I teach that day -- but it means a lot to receive the invitation at all. Frank had also extended an invite to me and my son to attend the NYC premiere of Sin City; that would have been terrific, but again, work schedules prevented the trip to the Big Apple. But it meant a lot to be invited.

Frank and I grew up about 20 minutes apart, though we never met until the mid-'80s, when we were both working with DC Comics. When you were a high school kid into drawing comics in the late '60s and early '70s, there were no mechanisms or means to meet, much less know one another even existed (oddly enough, it turned out we both had the same art teacher in high school, too -- Bill Cathey, who went from teaching at Union 32, the school Frank attended in Montpelier, VT, to Harwood Union High School in Duxbury, from which I graduated).

We've had precious few chances to get together, but there was a period in which we communicated with some frequency (in part over Frank's possible contribution to Taboo; there were two stories he was toying with, "Rats" and a vampire tale, but neither reached fruition). My first wife Marlene and I were once able to help Frank and Lynn out, and we did. I have fond memories, too, of our initial chats at Mid-Ohio Con, where John Totleben and I ran interference for Frank to ensure he could make it out of the building and to his plane, back when The Dark Knight Returns had crowds of fans blocking his escape route. Frank has always made time to talk to me the few times I've asked. It's been a real honor to have my work showcased alongside his original art in the two gallery shows to date dedicated to Vermont cartoonists.

In short, I love the man, his work, and it means a great deal to know I'm invited to his premieres -- it's a kind, generous and thoughtful gesture never extended on the films that were adapted from my own work, or emerged from my sweat in other capacities (e.g., From Hell and Taboo).

Thanks, Frank, and bless you.

Have a great premiere, sorry I won't be there (again), and please, take care of yourself.

I look forward to seeing 300 like everyone else -- at the local cinema. Good luck in all you do!

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First pix from the Wednesday CCS St. Johnsbury trip are

here, compliments of Joe Lambert -- enjoy!

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Cine-Ketchup, the Saturday Edition

* An Unreasonable Man (2006) - This is essential viewing, and about far, far more than Ralph Nader the man. Framed perfectly with the most caustic, scathing post-2000 election slams imaginable against Nader for running -- a caricature that holds remarkable sway throughout the country to this day -- An Unreasonable Man chronicle Nader's activist origins, campaigns, successes, failures and the man's true legacy, via comprehensive interviews, testimonials and a rich variety of archival materials from corporate commercials, propaganda and promo reels (particularly from the car manufacturers) to TV news excerpts, bytes and much more. Inevitably, the cumulative path of Nader's fearless four decades of activism addressing public safety, corporate malfeasance and other social injustices leads to the fateful 2000 election trail and all that followed -- at last presented and analyzed in its proper sociological, political and media context.

En route, the filmmakers trace a sobering portrait of contemporary America and how we got here, candidly dissected and discussed by Nader, his associates and his detractors (Pat Buchanan's analysis of the post-1980 Republican agenda and successful campaigns to fragment the US is particularly concise and chilling: literally, the neocons divided and conquered). Actions speak louder than words, but this war of words is a genuine springboard for action, and that, after all, is Nader's true legacy. Whatever you think of Nader going in to this film, you will be reassessing presumptions, assumptions, spin, caricatures, chicanary and lies we've all bought into on one level or another throughout our lifetimes, big-time since 2000. An Unreasonable Man will prompt deep thought, discussion and -- best of all -- action.

[Full disclosure: I voted for Nader in 2000, and I don't regret it -- it's one of two times in my life I've been able to vote my conscience in a Presidential race, instead of for the lesser of many evils.]

* Bamako (2006) - Abderrahmano Sissanko's Bamako (2006) is an amazing film on many levels: African agitprop (staged with disorienting & deft sleight of hand throughout), pragmatic portrait of a world tribunal in a pauper's kingdom, a meditation on 21st Century colonization, a sheathed castigation of the World Bank, G8, IMF and the malign influence of Western capitalism -- once this cinematic machete bares its blade, it cuts deep. But Sissanko takes his sweet time getting to that unsheathing, and therein lies the tale. Insistently rooted in the banality of Mali's day-to-day village life's rhythms, the film focuses on what is to Western eyes a most unusual and ramshackle 'world court', taking place outdoors in a yard adjoining a family dwelling in which life is lived (and lived out: a young man is apparently dying in a room adjoining the courtyard). This in and of itself evidences the utter disenfranchisement of Mali in the wake of 20 years of World Bank "adjustments" -- Mali can no longer support a single communal space dedicated to a court of law, if ever it could -- though many viewers will undoubtably miss the point if they haven't the eyes to see, the ears to hear -- and that, too, is the point.

Bereft of even a proper communal court space, the trial proceeds in awkward proximity to daily rituals and work: a wife (who sings at a nearby club each night) calls for her husband to tie the back of her dress each morning before the procedures begin; a toddler wearing squeaky infant shoes idly wanders about and picks up a court document; women dying fabric work endlessly in the neighboring yard; outside on the street, villagers sit beneath old-fashioned loudspeakers, connecting and disconnecting the wires depending on whether or not they care to continue listening to the broadcast trial proceedings; a lanky man wearing sunglasses checks his book and screens the trial witnesses, denying entrance to those not on the list. Before the title appears, we see an elderly man walk to the witness stand to speak, but he is denied -- he has to wait "his turn," which never comes (though he does, finally, bear witness, via a song, in the last act). Furthermore, Sissako's methodology is alien to Western audiences -- Bamako is absolutely linear in its narrative progress, but Sissako disarms with fleeting use of cinematic devices used once, and only once, sans the cohesion repetition brings.

For instance, he graces one witness's testimony with what could be either flashbacks or glimpses of parallel events (of refugees stranded in the Sahara), but no other. 37 minutes into Bamako, we are suddenly amid what appears to be an African faux-spaghetti western (starring executive producer Danny Glover), A Death in Timbuktu, which staggers into a black-comedic-shootout -- until we see the grinning faces of villagers who seem to be watching this "film," and the subsequent trial witness eloquently castigates the colonization of the African imagination via imported pop culture, providing (at last!) a context for this bizarre parodic western intrusion.

[An aside: this sequence consciously evokes an almost identical, but much less disorienting, passage in Perry Henzell's 1972 classic The Harder They Come, in which Jamaican audiences respond to a rousing sequence in Sergio Corbucci's 1966 spaghetti western Django. Henzell presents Django as what it was/is: a film viewed in a theater, showing his protagonist and fellow audience members in their seats watching an actual import film seducing Jamaican viewers with its orchestrated violence and parable of revolution against a red-hooded, KKK-like oppressor; Sissako's invented faux-Afri-western functions similarly, but Sissako refutes the linear cinematic devices that "properly" frame the insertion within a more conventional narrative framing device. Thus, the colonization of the African imagination is implicitly rendered with more urgency: are we/they watching this film, or indeed imagining it? Is it imported, or adopted and absorbed, imagery? The differences between how these two films incorporate similar material is striking, calculated and consequential.]

Similarly, the loose narrative frame most Western filmmakers would make central to such a film -- the mysterious disappearance of a handgun (which we never see), the incompetent 'investigation' (conducted, just barely, by a cross-eyed authority who appears as impoverished as anyone else onscreen), and the inevitable shooting (a murder prompting the funeral concluding the film) -- is relegated to a near afterthought. This fringe 'plot' has barely registered, even once it culminates in a roadside murder, coming as it does in the wake of the final act's concluding arguments from the dissembling lawyer representing the World Bank's interests and the piercing summation and final arguments of the attorneys representing Africa. With death so ever-present, thanks to the bankruptcy and privatization of Africa at the hands of World Bank policies, what does another death matter, really? The villagers, though, feel the loss deeply; the silent footage of a cameraman (earlier refused permission to film the trial) dwells on a lone, ragged man -- is he the murderer? Sissako provides no answers. What does it matter, given the explicit revelations of increased infant mortality, depleted life expectancy (now down to the age of 46 in Africa), gutting of any social or medical support network, lethal resurrection of diseases recently thought eradicated, the terrible toll of AIDS? Death is everywhere, its reign at best tolerated, at worst sanctioned by Western interests who deny their culpability with shameless abandon. In the end, it still means devastation and deprivation for Africa and its people.

Bamako is a difficult film in many ways, but its beguiling pacing and imagery casts its own spells until the more overt political agenda of the film asserts itself with increasing clarity. The witnesses are, each in their own way, painfully eloquent, none more than the embittered ex-school teacher who introduced himself to the court, only to walk away without saying a word. My only real frustration was typical of many subtitled foreign films: the songs are not translated, and there are indeed two songs that are absolutely key to the film (the song the nightclub singer sings, twice, which frames the film, and the peasant farmer's song, which is at least partially translated when the female black prosecuting attorney references it: "Why can't I reap what I sow? Why can't I eat what I reap?"). This lapse is unfortunate, but as I imply, it's not unique to Bamako -- I've seen a number of subtitled films that simply don't translate song lyrics, however central they seem/are to the content of the film.

This is the best African film I've seen in years, a brilliant, angry and poetic work.

* Brick (2006) - I've recently screened this again, though I first saw it (with my son Dan) on the big screen at the Latchis Theater, and posted a review on this blog after that viewing. Anyhoot, upon revisitation -- I still love this film. It's a brilliant high school/teen noir, which is certainly its own genre (e.g., Over the Edge, The River's Edge, Heathers, Kids, Bully, etc.), though Brick goes the rest better via its complete submersion, sans irony, into its universe. One must steep in the film and engage on its own terms, or you'll be lost: the language (which, to oldsters, often sounds as outre as Anthony Burgess's invented nadsat language for A Clockwork Orange), the body language, the situations and mercurial play of confrontation vs. aversion, conflict and avoidance rings true throughout, and the performers never flinch. You will. Note, too, that unlike many of this breed, there's no pop or perverse adulation of youth (usually manifest in these films via overt sexual imagery and nudity): Brick's primary assertion -- the inherently fragile, often terminal nature of contemporary youth culture and subculture -- is its essence. Survival, with dignity, is fraught with peril, and many do not make it. It's a jungle out there, and nowhere is that jungle more lethal than in the realms well beneath the adult radar. For once, the bizarre vacuum of the teen universe is persuasively rendered, with mesmerizing, terrifying immediacy.

* The Busker (2006) - Writer/director Stephen J. Croke's made-in-Boston drama focuses on a twelve-year-old Irish-American violin prodigy named Seamus (Alex Alexander) and his affectionate (non-sexual) relationship with Ruby (Ayla Rose Barreau), a 13-year-old Black girl, while while the city and family are torn with racial strife. Seamus's father is killed in a racially-motivated shooting, knocking the family on its heels and plopping little Seamus on to the street, busking (busking is street performing for donations via open violin case), which is indeed central to the film; his ability to transcend all this lies with a writer on a book tour who takes the kid under his wing and offers to get him into a music school in London. The film has all the right ingredients, but sadly falls short in the execution; too bad, as its heart is in the right place, and the whole is very well shot.

Stephen Croke's visual and pacing sensibilities are solid, and some of the adult players hold their own; alas, it's stoic li'l Seamus and 13-year-old Ruby who do this in, or, more to the point, Croke's scripting of their roles. The young actors Alex and Ayla have onscreen presence and chemistry, but the dialogue is forever a stretch for them, hence I must hold Croke responsible more than the performers themselves; Alex in particular is to be commended for his onscreen violin playing throughout, Ayla has a grace and presence and her scenes with her father play well, and both young actors are likable and engaging until key dialogue exchanges continually falter and fail. Still, my affection for the characters kept me from resenting the cumulative misfires (I did watch it to its conclusion). I wanted to like this, as I suspect many viewers will, but there's no denying the air going out of the tire, and fast: the first 15 minutes pulled me in, but the inevitable toll of the earnest but flat central performances couldn't be ignored. However polished the production, the shortcomings overwhelm the films' qualities, including support characters grinning on camera at inopportune moments (e.g., the trashing of the pit, the tentative attempt by Seamus's friend to make amends, etc.) and ill-timed montages (to cover performance lapses too apparent to ignore?, one wonders) condensing key dramatic sequences to superficial skating over plot points. By the last act, the script is still working overtime, but the narrative flatlining has rendered one's emotional engagement moot and it feels utterly formulaic. Again, too bad; I look forward to seeing Croke's future efforts, and wish all involved nothing but the best.

* Mind Games: A Love Story (2006) - Teo Zagar's affectionate documentary clocks in a mere 56 minutes (with a bonus short, Tom French's 1983 amateur film A Mutant Lobster's Tale), but there's no denying the relative rough-and-ready nature of the film itself: this is not a polished doc, by any stretch, but it is deeply affecting. Based on French's own written memoir, Zagar adheres religiously to the chronology of these people's lives, and Tom and Jacquie's story is engaging: best friends in high school, married "too soon," unable to have children (due to fertility issues for Jacquie) and further stressed by Tom's long hours in medical school and subsequently working as a doctor, separated after a decade and soon divorced, reunited three years later when Tom is diagnosed with "The Beast" (his term for A.L.S., Lou Gehrig's Disease), and their eventual remarriage and success at having a child before his death. That birth resulted in Tom's reversal of his prior "Do Not Resuscitate" order, which also lends this import given VT's current 'right to die' debates. The film is sentimental in an unpretentious manner: though the music choices are abrasively maudlin at times, the film itself doesn't reflect the treacly, mock-sentimentality of most TV product or bombastically so (like Disney Studios' America: Heart & Soul), but rather the earnest sentimentality of devotional bonds between partners, and their circle of family and friends living with and responding to that bond. This is balanced by the unflinching decision to present Tom's degenerative condition sans window-dressing (hence, the ever-present sound of Tom's artificial breath via ventilator: take it or leave it, it was a constant in their life). Indeed, a modest effort, but its story is genuine and heartfelt.

* Vermont's George Aiken: Balancing Freedom & Unity (2005) - Rick Moulton is one of VT's treasures and a mainstay documentarian, producing and directing much of value for VT Public Television and other venues. However, efficiency and 'feel good' pleasantries dominate, which is fine when Rick's subject is the skiing industry, VT historical overviews, etc. Much as I hate to say it -- playing it safe, though, undermines the inherent value of his chosen subject here. Vermont's George Aiken may come across as a comforting eulogy for Aiken, the man and Senator, for those unconcerned with the meat of Aiken's life, times and legacy, but those seeking something of substance cannot help but be disappointed. This is regrettable for a number of reasons: by insistently avoiding contentious issues, the film doesn't honor Aiken's stature or legacy; it consistently softballs a career punctuated by hardball change, upheavals and politics (Aiken's 34 years as a Senator encompassed the Eisenhower, Kennedy, Johnson and Nixon Presidencies and the entirety of the Vietnam War and the '60s); as the first documentary on Aiken, it squanders an opportunity that may not present itself again, in the near future or ever.

Thus, the film soft pedals its times, its subject, and by proxy his career and accomplishments, skirting any confrontation with what were most certainly confrontational and controversial times. Sadly, this biography also fails to chart with any acuity or perceptiveness the essential shift in Vermont itself, from being the most die-hard Republican of states in Coolidge's era to its present Blue State status. This transformation was & is as reflective of Aiken as it is of fundamental changes in the two parties, Vermont, and the US as a whole. Missing that, Moulton misses his mark completely. Still, there's worthy archiving of interviews, news and newsreel footage and materials to be enjoyed here. Inoffensive in the extreme, but toothless and ephemeral -- gee, I would have thought that an impossibility for a film about Senator Aiken.

* Waterbuster (2006) - This documentary worked in spades for me. Vermont (Quechee) based filmmaker and Dartmouth grad J. Carlos Peinado and producing/scripting/editing partner Daphne Ross mount an effective, personalized portrait of Peinado revisiting his Hidatsa/Mandan roots in North Dakota's Upper Missouri River basin, which were literally drowned in the 1950s by the Army Corps of Engineers and the massive Garrison Dam project. Uprooted from their prior self-sufficiency and peaceful relations with the U.S. Gov't, the Fort Berthold Indian Reservation's American Indian community there lost 150,000 acres of fertile land and their geographic link with their ancestors and were thrust into an ongoing battle with Congress, Federal, State and local authorities that has only been aggravated by recent decisions to exploit the lakeside properties for their recreational and real estate values. This has further alienated the tribe and cut them off from the lake and their legacy and claims.

But Peinado and Ross aren't simply intent on documenting the loss: this is more about cultural identity, a people's spirit and their bond with a river, the land, and their history. Thus, via footage of their own journey juxtaposed with extensive on-camera interviews, archival footage, and testimonials, Peinado and Ross explore their own bonds with all this, mounting a passionate, personal account with lyric clarity and intimacy. The current imminent domain debate raging at every level of gov't lends this an increasing timeliness: we can no longer just chalk this up to more of the same breaking of treaties with tribes -- Waterbuster is a template for corporate policies of the 21st Century and complicity with gov't officials directed at all citizens deemed "in the way" or otherwise inconvenient in property terms. Recommended.

Up, Shaved, Showered and Shoveled at 6 AM --

-- and there was already just shy of 6 inches of snow on the ground. It's the thick, heavy stuff, unlike the lighter snow of our blizzard of two weeks ago, and it's still coming down steadily. I was out early enough to ferret out the morning paper before the snow got too deep, or the plow buried the paper till spring, and savored a brisk walk around the neighborhood amid the snow. I love this time of year, but then again, I love 'em all.

Peter Money and I made our trip to the Fairbanks Museum with the CCS freshmen (and two seniors) this past Wednesday, and it was a marvelous excursion. I'll post some thoughts later today, time permitting, and hopefully find a way to post some images, too. Our first planned date was wiped by the storm two weeks ago, but we had an absolutely perfect day this time around: warm, sunny, clear skies, ideal for walking in St. Johnsbury and exploring town and museum.

The rest of the week has been intensive and busy; it's a relief to have the storm descending on us today. Marge is home (school was called off for her with the blessed 5 AM phone call), and we made sure last night we had our groceries in hand and last-minute needs dealt with in hopes of just tucking in today.

OK, have a great Friday, more later --

Inkslingers, Assemble!

Compliments of curator Idoline Duke of

the Helen Day Art Center in Stowe, VT

comes this tasty portrait from

this past Wednesday's VT cartoonists gatherum in Burlington.

From left to right, back row: Jeff Danziger, James Kochalka, and yours truly; front row: Harry Bliss, Ed Koren, James Sturm. A fine time was had by all, and the dinner afterworks (at the Pacific Rim eatery) was delish and great fun.
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Zombies Bios

Here's the lineup of fellow American cartoonists I appear alongside in the upcoming Accent UK Zombies anthology. More info & images as May -- and the anthology's publication -- approaches!

Daniel Bissette is a native Vermonter (b 1985) and has been drawing, writing and making music of one kind or another (drums, guitar, etc.) all life. His art appears in an Italian book on Lucio Fulci, onscreen in Lance Weiler's new feature film Head Trauma, on its companion alternative soundtrack CD Cursed, and his first self-published zine was Hot Chicks Take Huge Shits (2006). He lives in Brattleboro, VT, DJs for the local radio station, and he and his dad Steve jammed on a piece for the mini-comic Trees & Hills and Friends before re-teaming for this anthology.

Chuck Forsman currently attends The Center for Cartoon Studies in White River Junction, Vermont where he researches how to sleep less and draw more. Visit

http://mcbuck.wordpress.com.

Jaci June is a student of the Center for Cartoon Studies, and a former resident of southern California. Comix for Jaci are what brains are for zombies: vital sustenance.

Sean Morgan: Born a cowboy, raised a Creole, forever a Yankee. There's no button Mr. Morgan won't push. His artwork (including the monster cover/splash) graces the “Jersey Devil” minicomic packaged with the Heretic DVD release of The Last Broadcast.

Bob Oxman was born in Ohio and raised in New Hampshire where he discovered his three loves: comic books, skateboarding, and beer. Bob started drawing comics in math class using graphing paper. At the University of California Santa Barbara, Bob and Mark Smith cofounded the Comic Book Creator’s Co-op, creating comics published in both campus newspapers and teaching a popular colloquium on graphic novels during their senior year. After college, Bob drifted through a series of uninspiring occupations (temping at a gel implants corporation, working for an insurance company, etc.), eventually moving back home to NH to attend classes at The Center for Cartoon Studies. Bob is currently hard at work on Smuttynose, a macabre retelling of the infamous Smuttynose Island, Maine axe murders of 1873, and he brews several fine beers featuring comic labels, as he works professionally in art crime prevention at the Hood Museum of Art for Dartmouth College.

Against his wishes, Morgan Pielli was born in Connecticut. Here he began creating comics of dubious quality from the tender age of seven. At age twelve his cartoons began appearing in the school newspaper; and the tragic course he had set was clear. But in an unexpected moment of weakness, Morgan decided that a classical art education was needed. After four years of painting pictures of squares bigger than his head, Morgan physically pried a BFA from the cold unfeeling hands of Bard College president Leon Botstein. Dr. Botstein shook his fist and cursed Morgan, vowing to someday have his revenge.Currently Morgan resides in Vermont where he attends the Center for Cartoon Studies. His cartoons “The Dancing Paperclip of Tormented Souls” and “Morgan's Guide to a Fruitful Life” are read by several people world-wide and enjoyed by nearly as many. Morgan's work can be found at

http://morganpielli.rated-arr.net

if you're into that sort of thing.

Jeremiah Piersol is a 2002 graduate of Art Center of College of Design, Pasadena , California (Bachelors of Fine Art). He is currently studying cartooning at The Center for Cartoon Studies, White River Junction, VT. His past endeavors including interning at the The Susquehanna Art Museum, Harrisburg, PA, and volunteer work at The State Museum of Pennsylvania, Harrisburg, PA. and The Water Street Rescue Mission, Lancaster, PA; he was born in Lancaster. Jeremiah’s interests include Art in all forms, comics, quantum physics, paranormal research, post-modern theory, and popular culture.

Denis St. John (b 1981) heralds from most of the United States (California, New Orleans, Washington D.C., the Midwest, etc.). Denis was a local children’s show host in Indiana and co-host for a midnight horror show, often playing the creature for the creature feature, alongside the very real and cranky Dr. Calamari. Denis is currently a student at the Center for Cartoon Studies in Vermont, and is trying to move on with his life after the glamour of children’s show host fame has faded.

B.C. Sterrett was born and raised in Ogden, Utah. His ongoing comic strip "The Sweetest of Dreams" has been published by Young American Comics, in entertainment rags like Melting Music and The Salt Shaker, and various other school papers, zines, and newsletters. He acts as founder and current director of the Lost Media Archive Museum and Library, salvaging and saving forgotten and obsolete media formats. Previous host of the long running "Oddity Rock Radio Show" on KWCR, he and has produced and hosted various broadcasts of rare and unusual music throughout the years (i.e. "Outsider Music" on live365.com). He is currently a student at The Center For Cartoon Studies, in White River Junction, VT. Contact: bcsterrett@gmail.com

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BTW, speaking of Blair and his creative and archival endeavors, the January 13th Lost Media Archive Museum and Library event I noted

in my January 13th post on this blog (scroll down to that day's posting, just below the glowering Varnae art) yielded photos by Blair's friend Janean Parker,

which are posted online here -- check 'em out!

Check it all out, please, and savor the beauty of it all.

Have a Great Saturday, One & All!

Road Trip!

Last night's roadtrip with James Sturm to Burlington was a great one. The panel at the Firehouse Gallery wasn't heavily attended, but there were more asses in the seats in the audience than on the panel, which is all that matters sometimes. Those who were there really wanted to be there, and a good time was had by all.

I'll tell ya about it tomorrow, when time is on my side.

Today, though, it ain't -- off to teach my two sessions, road trip (my fourth trip north a-way up VT Interstate 89 this week) with the CCS students to the Helen Day Art Center to savor the VT cartoonists exhibition, dinner on Montpelier for all (on CCS's ticket, thankfully), then I drive north again to pick up Marge at the Burlington Airport after the students head home. She's been away all week, visiting our grandchildren in Texas -- then, barring air flight delays, the long drive home (again) from Burlington to home, sweet home.

So, tomorrow, compadres, I'll write something of substance tomorrow. Today, I'm up, out and running! Have a great Thursday -- or at least an OK one...

Taking Measure on a Friday

"Why, this old comic collection might indeed be bigger than my dick!"
(Photo: Joe Citro)

Catch-up and then outta here -- CCS senior Adam Staffaroni and I are off to St. Albans, VT to speak at the library at BFA UHS #48, thanks to an invite from librarian Peter Jones.

Glad I moved an hour closer to St. Albans!

Anyhoot, gotta be quick this morning, sooooo --

* Rick Veitch and his older son Ezra (younger son Kirby is still in college; "hey!" from here to both of you, Ezra and Kirby!) have a unique jam you can watch and listen to, which you

can download from here,

and I think this post scoops this link!

What is it?

Well, here's how Rick describes it, as "a podcast of me reading the text from Can't Get No, with Ezra providing the ghost soundscape behind me.... If you click on this link it brings you to a list of different podcasts available. Just click on Can't Get No for the 49 meg download."

If your computer system and online access is up to the task, go for it, folks, and enjoy!

* Remember that lovely Mario Bava boxed set I foamed-at-the-mouth about here last week?

Well, Tim Lucas has been getting lots of mixed signals from Anchor Bay about what may or may not ultimately be in that set.

Until Tim posts the final word on this matter, I refer you to his blog, and we're all waiting with bated Bava breath for what we can or can't see, come street-date for that lovely brick of Bava.


* My old crony and amigo Steve Perry is a guest at Megacon in Orlando, FL this coming Saturday, so if you're in the Orlando area, here's your chance to meet the man who co-created many characters, from Marvel's Varnae and the Epic series Timespirits, to many of the villains and supporting characters on the Thundercats (and, dare I forget, Silverhawks) cartoon programs and more.

Steve, along with Mark Whitcomb, Jack Venooker and Tim "Doc Ersatz" Viereck, convinced me back in 1976 (while we were all at Johnson State College) to pursue my dream, via applying to the Joe Kubert School of Cartoon and Graphic Art, Inc.'s first-ever year of operation, and it was in fact Steve (with his subscription to The Comic Buyer's Guide and that paper's "Beautiful Balloons" column, announcing the opening of the JK School) who initiated that push.

We had the pleasure of working together on a number of projects, including my first-ever published comics work in Abyss, pro stories for Bizarre Adventures, Epic ("Kultz" in Epic #6, among my personal faves of anything I ever did in comics), Heavy Metal, etc., and have stayed in touch over the years, through thick and thin.

I'm happy to report I just wrote the introduction for the upcoming graphic novel collection of Steve's and fellow XQB and dear friend Tom Yeates's classic 1980s Epic miniseries Timespirits. (Steve's hoping to get Tom to Megacon next year, and emailed me a proposition to join them -- time will tell!)

So, if you're planning on visiting Megacon, look for Steve on Saturday, bring your copies of Timespirits, Bizarre Adventures, Thundercats & Silverhawks for signing, and say hello -- this is his first con in almost 20 years!

* In a followup to my Tuesday post, allow me to note that

the official Brattleboro Reformer obit for Alan Eames, who passed away this past weekend, is here (scroll down to it).

Curiously, it reads like Alan himself wrote it -- I can hear his voice quite clearly in this!

R.I.P., Alan; glad to have met you and known you a bit before your passing. Much love to his family, especially to Sheila, Elena, and most of all to Adrian and Andrew.

[A curious note: the guest book, which both I and my daughter Maia have posted to, is up until -- gulp -- my birthday. Weird, eh?]

* Vermonters have been happily

emailing this to one another all week;

I gotta give credit to actor, fellow ex-First Run Video employee and fellow native Vermonter Michael Dean for sending the link to me. Check it out!

Our representatives in the Federal government have done pretty well by us, and I've been particularly savoring

Philip Baruth reminding me regularly of why I love Senator Patrick Leahy.

Bring on the bottled water, by all means, if only to ensure I hydrate as needed during my daily visit to

The Vermont Daily Briefing.

Check it out, too.
Daily.

Have a great weekend, one and all!

Winter Walk and Flicks I've Seen of Late, Pt. 1

Whoa, first winter storm of the winter! Though I've driven through some slippery and treacherous driving this winter thus far (see 2006 posts), this is the first morning we here in mid-VT have seen real snow.

I went out for a little walk at 5:30 AM, while the day's light was just kicking in, and it's beautiful: about 3 inches on the ground already here, and the snow is picking up from the fine, sand-like snow falling early AM (I took a peek outside around 3 AM).

Managed to rescue our morning paper from the bottom of the driveway before it was rendered invisible: "Ah, that lump in the snow looks like our paper," I thought, and so it was. No plows have been through as yet, no tire tracks on Taylor Drive. Could be be a snow day for everyone? Doubtful, but Marge got the call from the Fall Mountain School District that school's out today, so Marge'll be home (and savoring sleeping in just now). Waiting to hear if CCS is calling off classes -- fellow CCS instructor Peter Money and I were scheduled to take the students on a trip up to St. Johnsbury and the Fairbanks Museum, but we rescheduled that two days ago, after hearing the firm predictions for today's storm. Later, Fairbanks. [8:45 addendum: Michelle Ollie just called: no classes at CCS today.]

Anyhoot, I'm going to take a couple of walks today outside -- we haven't had snow like this hereabouts yet this season, and it's sweet.

_________________

Here's a wedding I'm willing to bet the President or Vice-President didn't attend -- a photo you'll never forget,

via a link provided this early AM by Jean-Marc Lofficier.

_________________

Between Marge and I scooting out to catch a few theatrical movies, and the ongoing home-screenings for WRIF (White River Independent Festival, as in film festival; I'm on the board, and in the selection committee for the April 27-29th event), it's been a lively harvest thus far. Here's Part One of the catch-up on what I've been screening...

* THE AMAZING SCREW-ON HEAD (2006) - Online animation highpoint of the form and venue is at last on DVD, hopefully bringing it to a whole new audience unaware of either Mike Mignola's charms (or work, beyond being the wellspring/creator of Hellboy) or the delicious delirium of this most ephemeral of all Mignola comics creations. Mike essentially lambasted his own approach to horror and emerging formulas herein, complete with the inevitable Lovecraftian interloper from beyond (imprisoned in a turnip), sweetened with a giddy, anachronistic approach to history (it's set in 1862, complete with President Lincoln presiding, but its embrace of impossible gadgetry and supernatural-as-commonplace leaves the wildest Wild, Wild West conceits in the dust). Bryan Fuller managed the mean feat of developing and adapting Mike's one-off Dark Horse comic oddity into one of the most true-to-its-source comics adaptations ever, preserving and transposing, without conflating, the inherent qualities of Mike's one-shot. If it's all new to you, it's best I don't tell you a damned thing: just take the plunge! The most entertaining and amusing 22 minutes I've savored in a long time, with pitch-perfect vocal casting and performances (from the like of Paul Giamatti and David Hyde Pierce) that bring Mike's silliest lines ("Groin is watching out for your backside, Head!") to life without dropping a cue or blowing a joke. Much as one longs for an encore, I'd almost prefer this be the be-all and end-all of Screw-On Head adventures: it's hard to imagine how this could be expanded without ruining it's singular magic. Mike, prove me wrong.

* CINE MANIFEST (2006) - Director Judy Irola doesn't provide a context for her own documentary subject until 15 minutes into the film, at which point we are finally told about the Manifest's two feature films, Over-Under, Sideways-Down (1975) and Northern Lights (1975). This isn't necessarily a weakness, in that Irola fully invests screentime (and the viewer) in the collective's members as people first and foremost, a focus she and the film rigorously adheres to throughout. This ultimately makes Cine Manifest worthwhile in that it mounts a passionate and articulate case history for many creative collectives: the issues this group faced, 1972-75, and the double-edged blade of their simultaneous success and collapse (both features were critically lauded, and Northern Lights won Cannes's Camera D'or Award -- best 1st film by a new director -- and other awards), are typical of many creative cooperatives in all fields of endeavor. Thus, the film does have universal appeal and relevance.

For filmmakers and film buffs, it's absolutely irresistible in its fusion of hard fact, on-camera interviews, 'dirt' (the snapshots of Nicholas Ray's agonizing freeloading are intoxicating and depressing without becoming exploitative) and insider views on a group dynamic so volatile that some members (all of whom do speak on-camera, including director and Manifesto member Irola) still aren't on speaking terms. Though I at first found the distance maintained from the films themselves, the fruit of the Manifest, increasingly frustrating, Irola cannily does provide in the end expansive enough glimpses and sequences from Over-Under, Northern Lights and other films (including the documentary Western Coal and the bizarre Ray project 7 Balls) to satisfy. I'd love to see both Cine Manifest features, which have long been out of any circulation; Over-Under looks like a blueprint for Paul Schrader's Blue Collar (1977) in some aspects, while the clips from Northern Lights are among the most evocative of any 1970s American film I've ever seen -- I'm now aching to see Northern Lights in its entirety.

* JESUS CAMP (2006) - Fascinating, compulsive viewing, whatever one's orientation to the subject (which frankly is pretty scary shit to this viewer). There's no denying the hypnotic power of the film, watching 8-to-14-year-olds going through the rigors of the titular camp experience, worked and/or working themselves into traumatizing emotional states and complete meltdown (weeping, shouting, "speaking in tongues," which sounds even more like gibberish when the adults indulge this behavior) under strict adult supervision condoning and indeed arousing such behavior with calculated intent. Make no mistake, this is bootcamp for Jesus -- or rather, the righteous, militaristic brand of fundamentalist Christianity that deliberately matches zealous indoctrination of "opposing" religious cults with its own amped brand of zealous fanaticism. Directors Heidi Ewing and Rachel Grady clearly nurtured trusting and surprisingly intimate relations with those involved with the evangelical camp (based in Devil's Lake, North Dakota, though no one involved expresses any hint of irony, for all their talk of ever-present Satan and temptation). They don't betray that trust, simply providing an account of these lives, these actions, this movement, sans judgment or condescension.

Ewing and Grady provide concise, lucid portraits of all the principles, from the organizers to the parents and attending children, focusing on three of the latter: Levi, Tory and Rachael. It's an intimacy shattered only with the intrusion of evangelist Ted Haggard during his Colorado Springs event (he speaks to the camera/filmmakers, chastising, ridiculing and belittling them). Still, this material is critical to the film in following young Levi's Marjoe-like potential as a 12-year-old stage presence, clearly being groomed for something more beyond the parameters of the film's chosen arenas. Levi and his younger brother's brief exchange with Haggard is indeed crucial to the film, but Haggard's presence carries, in hindsight, a chilling context for delusion and self-delusion, deception and self-deception: Haggard was recently 'outted' for covert homosexual relations, and it's telling in the wake of this film how even alternative media (e.g., the 'leftist' NPR news show Here & Now) allowed Haggard and Haggard-supporters/apologists to evoke possible possession by demons (!!!) without overt criticism of such a lunatic stance (Here & Now actually showcased one apologist proposing demonic possession as being typical of the risks front-runner evangelists like Haggard face as part of their work and calling -- astounding! Is personal responsibility for one's actions forever ignored by these factions?).

Ewing & Grady address this disturbing 21st Century trend via sequences shot in a Midwest radio station, in which an articulate Christian talk-show radio host criticises the evangelical imperative to blur the boundaries between church & state. This provides an essential counterpoint and broader social context for the film's focal point, the uncritical indoctrination of fundamentalist children into a self-proclaimed "Army of God," and makes the film palatable for those unsympathetic to the religious dogma without manipulating or inherently criticizing the actions of the passionate believers themselves, adult and child. It's a pretty astounding tightwire act, really, making this a truly exceptional and timely documentary. Cinematically, the documentary is very well made, and the trio of kids Ewing & Grady chose as their 'stars' are indeed engaging. This film needs to be seen!

[PS: Check out the comments for today's post -- the above review is already prompting discussion.]

* THE LAST KING OF SCOTLAND (2006) - Barbet Schroeder's Général Idi Amin Dada: Autoportrait/Idi Amin Dada (1974) and the South African Amin: The Rise and Fall (1981, from Indian director Sharad Patel) were the definitive (and only) films of note on Ugandan dictator Idi Amin until Kevin Macdonald's adaptation of Giles Folden's novel popped up, seemingly out of nowhere. It's stateside release was uncannily timed to the public execution of Saddam Hussein and his confederates -- though no one, including the most passionate critics, seemed to note the timely coincidence (Amin, of course, died peacefully in exile in Saudi Arabia after his acts of genocide, counterpointing what happens to even the most homicidal despots as long as they don't cross the good ol' U.S. of A). Using a couple of clips from Schroeder's documentary, Macdonald mounts a pretty intoxicating crash-course on Amin's dynasty via the deceptively alluring initial path of a callow young Scottish doctor Nicholas Garrigan (James MacAvoy, the real surprise of the film). Fleeing the confines of a proposed family medical practice after graduation, the young Scot randomly chooses Uganda as his destination, immediately sampling the sexual vistas via a 'quickie' with a flirtatous local African woman on his initial bus ride -- a key bit of character exposition for Nick that serves Macdonald's narrative structure well, deftly setting up Nick's character later dallying with one of Amin's many brides that has lethal consequences. By maintaining its focus on the good doctor, we are introduced to Amin (a powerhouse Forest Whitaker performance) and initially exposed more to the dictator's renowned charm than his temper, until it's too late: once the blade turns, it turns hard, and the film spirals into its harrowing third act.

Impressive as the film is -- and it doesn't flinch -- it's hard to shake the screen presence of Amin himself in Schroeder's film, or even Joseph Olita performance as Amin in Sharad Patel's 1981 opus ("You see? You see what happens to bad mommies?"), but Whitaker will no doubt fix himself into the popular American imagination as the definitive Amin. Make no mistake, though: it's MacAvoy who is the lead, and he gives an excellent performance throughout, keeping us attuned to his at-times unsympathetic actions and convincingly remaining the lightning rod for all that we see and experience (SPOILER WARNING -- including A Man Called Horse-like comeuppance for the doctor). It's also great to see Gillian Anderson (Scully!) in a solid supporting role, speaking volumes with her eyes and actions (and, critically, inactions); it's been too long since she graced the screen.

Not for the squeamish, though it never approaches the exploitation extremes of Amin: The Rise and Fall -- there are no heads in the dictator's fridge, for instance: the only reference to cannibalism comes in Amin's second public speech, in which he ridicules such claims as inventions of the foreign press -- nor does it revel in genocidal imagery, which some argue is a shortcoming of the film. Clearly, that card is one the director and writers cannily chose to keep close to the chest, until their narrative (and protagonist) finally opens it eyes to the reality of Uganda, 1971-79, in a most personalized revelation of Amin's actrocities. It's not a case of downplaying or sidestepping the reality, but steeping the viewer in the experience of its protagonist, and the seductive thrall of the dictator himself, until the dam can no longer hold back the horrors. It's called storytelling, and this is a solid story, well told. Recommended; catch it on the big screen, while you can.

Notes from the Gulag

Just home from work, a busy CCS day! Sorry I didn't have time to post this AM, but hey, it's been one of those days.

BTW, last week's guest artist/speaker, New England cartoonist and graphic novelist

Greg Cook,

has posted

this blog coverage of his CCS visit, take a look.

This week, as noted earlier,

Tom Hart

and

Leela Corman

were our guests, spending almost the entire week here -- and they were amazing. Leela conducted an intensive life-drawing session as part of my weekly Drawing Workshop class that had everyone on their feet, standing and drawing from our live model Kristan; it was a terrific, invigorating session which provided breakthrough observational drawing skills for many.

It also yielded my fave student comment of the month thus far (granted, it's only the 8th):
"Steve, your Drawing Workshop is turning into a drawing gulag!"
(- Sean Ford, 2/7/07, 5:10 PM)

Wugga-wugga and the CCS Sites!

Art: Alexis Frederick-Frost, from his glorious site, link below!

Continuing the CCS student site roster, with a little window-dressing.

Once again, in no particular order, the secret windows to those you don't-yet-know, but will one day be beholden to, those who will upset all applecarts and elect far better Presidents than you sorry suckers did:

BUBBLE!

... with delight,
blurbling like some half-frozen brook
all over your own stupid self,
as you allow your retina to dance
and your optic nerve to tangle
and your brain soup to flow
like radiant water over the

the Stone-Dead Stylings of Bryan Stone!

BURBLE!

... and coo like some moronic all-parakeet movie,
dropping your flip-flops and
burning your Birkenstocks
while groping for your credit cards
as you let your wallet flop out
and your pocketbook pop open,
eager to spend that which cannot be spent
and divine the most delicious salad
from the salad days of all mankind amid

the Stripy Green Tomato Veggie-Stand of the Particular Penina Gal (rhymes with 'all')!

GURGLE!

... as you peddle
that last mile
up that final Alp,
rock uselessly in your chair
like an autistic child
as the roller-coaster climbs, climbs, climbs
to the top of the arc
seconds before the plunge,
long for yeasty Parisian loafs of bread
and pine for times that never were
and never will be again,
evocative though they may seem
when rendered by the man
with the brush whose
serving stroke cuts through the air
like a Bruce Lee move,
dropping faint men in their tracks,
if, that is, they haven't already succumbed
to the bedazzlement that marks the

Eye-Popping Peculiarities of Ping-Pong Champ Alexis Frederick-Frost!

STUBBLE!

Hey, YOU!

You think YOU know everything, DON'T YOU?
You think YOU know how to
listen to music, surf the web, eat a taco??
You're soooooooooo fucking WRONG!
You don't know shit! Or how to shit!
You, you need guidance, love,
and the firm, stern hand of
a real man who knows how
to sling the ink,
plink the plink,
and lock the clink
to be your designated turnkey for LIFE!
You need to open your eyes,
stretch your ears
and break down the tight-ass gates of your fetid mind via

the Melodic Musings and Shamanistic Shamblings of Gasping Sam Gaskin!

STUMBLE!

...into the felt-green pleasures of Roosevelt Park,
as rendered and realized
by the Man with the Plan,
the Joe in the Know,
the Mike with his finger in the Dyke,
the Tom with the tom-tom toes,
the Henry all hanker for,
the Elmer Fudd of Spud,
the Dartmouth Grad unafraid to be a Dad
to any in need who can bleed and be freed,
so humble thyself and embrace

the Staff of Life itself, Adam Staffaroni,

and his amazing online CCS mini-comic shop, "I Know Joe Kimpel"! (who the hell is Joe Kimpel?)

C'mon, spend a little dough on some CCS comics, you slackers!

More later, gators, and have a great weekend!

CCS Musings: Week Two

The sense of community is palpable; I felt it as soon as I walked into the CCS/Colodny building (an hour before my class begins -- always a little early these days). James Sturm was sitting across from the entryway, visible through the main floor classroom, talking to the attentive gathering -- "Hey, Steve!", he called over, and I waved to him and all with a clear view of the doorway. James looked and sounded relaxed, clear, open; quite a contrast to our first week, when everything seemed claustrophobically overwhelming.

(Man, does this bring back memories of my first month at the Kubert School... but I won't bore you with that old-man-dribble today.)

As my amigos know, I have a tendency to over-prepare and become compulsively fascinated with the nuances and details. Of course, that's where the stories are -- "the devil's in the details," some say, but devil that I am, that's also where the meat and potatoes reside. I've been working hard at narrowing the focus of the comics studies class since winter, first intent on the goalpost of turning in a comprehensive syllabus back in March, thereafter targeting what, exactly, I could convey to the students in a mere fourteen sessions of 2 1/2 hours each.

Inevitably, material worthy of attention has to succumb to the editing process. I have marvelous resources for presentations on and discussion of the Bayoux Tapestry, illuminated Medieval manuscripts, the 15th and 16th Century Dances of Death (primarily Hans Holbein the Younger's 1538 edition and 1491/1500 The Danse Macabre of Women), etc., but something had to give.

Week One instead focused on the Japanese ghost scrolls (with a quick follow-through to manga and anime, showing a few examples of that culture's 17th and 18th Century intermediary works -- this improvised after Michelle Ollie mentioned to me that Christine hoped to show anime to her fellow students in later weeks), Mixtec codices (primarily the Cordex Nuttall, with a peek at the incomprehensible but exquisite Codex Borgia), Bosch triptyches, the European broadsheets (primarily the 'crime and punishment' broadsheets), Hogarth, Goya, and capping with a 'preview' of the comic strips to come via a presentation on Winsor McCay's work in comics and animation.

Of course, one of the first questions I was hit with: Why had I passed over the Bayeux Tapestry?

Bingo!

You do what you can, and what there's time for.

I've also tried to turn liabilities into strengths: for instance, I'm not yet versed in either scanning or powerpoint presentations (a learning curve I'm working on in hopes of debuting power-point next week), and my available stash of slides are genre-specific (selected and shot for my Journeys Into Fear horror comics history presentation). So this week's session -- covering relevent 19th Century landmarks, the origins of the American comic strip, transitional stages in bound comics (from Toppfer's 1830s 'picture-stories' to the first bound comic strip collections), and the birth of the comic book format -- became a hands-on, 'show and tell' session, with me placing as many hard copies of books and comics pages in their hands as the timeframe would accomodate. In a way, it's too bad I will be versed in powerpoint for next year, but realistically these old books couldn't handle annual handling... still, it was very cool to be able to place the books themselves in the students' hands.

As any comic reader knows, reading is as much a tactile sensory experience as it is visual: the feel, weight, smell of the books and pages are essential to the experience, a reality increasing reliance on digital presentations eschews. Touch is as essential to the drawing/creative process as thought and visual engagement with the work at hand, and that can be fueled and enhanced by hands-on contact with the published work of their precursors and those-who-walked-these-paths-before. Though they would only be able to spend a few minutes at best scanning the books, it was still hands-on, and I think that's vital.

Soooooo, I kept the slide show to a minimum (about ten slides) and instead platformed the class session around hands-on scrutiny of relevent books throughout the lecture. The new layout of the classroom -- a U-shaped looping of desks, with the open area naturally facing the instructor's lair (and slide/projection screen) -- meant my determination to find two samples of each key publishing landmark was worthwhile: I could hand each row a copy of the relevent publication to look at and pass down, looping back up to my end of the room.

This required a quick trip south into Massachusetts to powwow for lunch with one of my best friends in the world, G. Michael Dobbs aka Mike Dobbs. Mike and I had hoped to get together in any case -- Mike had his own agenda, wanting to bounce around ideas relevent to his current book project -- and the timing was solid for either this week's or next week's class. Mike has been teaching at the college level for years (he has far, far more experience than I!), and he came to our lunch meeting armed for bear, much to the benefit of my CCS class.

Between Mike's collection and my own, the students were able to check out a lot of goodies as we skipped like stones over water, touching on as many of the key 19th and early 20th Century comics landmarks as possible. My handouts put a quick overview of Rudolphe Toppfer's works into their hands (with a more expansive handout accessible for them to copy if they wished, and James came in to offer access to Comic Art #3's excellent illustrated article on Toppfer), along with two samples of Outcault's seminal Yellow Kid (October 1897 single panel and multi-panel offerings) and a photo of the first comics-derived movie star: Opper's Happy Hooligan as played by Vitagraph co-founder J. Stuart Blackton, circa 1897.

Better yet, I had two copies of contemporary reprints of Wilhelm Busch's works (Max & Moritz, 1862-5, and a later lesser-known work The Adventures of a Bachelor from the 1870s); three dramatic examples of the Life-spawned books from 1905-1911 (two of Uncle Sam creator James Montgomery Flagg's pint-sized satiric hardcovers and one of Charles-Dana Gibson's gloriously oversized pen-and-ink collections); examples of the two dominant comic strip collection book formats from the early 1900s (Fisher's Mutt and Jeff, McManus's Bringing Up Father); the Penguin reprint of Frans Masereel's Passionate Journey; three of Milt Gross's jazz-era gems (first editions and reprints); and much more.

Mike had thoughtfully offered, and suggested I include, examples of the late 1960s underground newspaper comix and comix inserts, including an original Air Pirates, which was indeed invaluable and instantly caught everyone's interest. These kinds of connect-the-dots-across-decades not only lend greater urgency to the earlier works that are the primary focus of a lecture like yesterday's -- it gives me an opportunity to touch upon how the pioneering work of prior generations may fuel the students' own work, an assertion that carries a bit more weight when one can spotlight (however briefly) a phenomenal cartoonist like Bobby London adapting the styles, kinetics and aesthetics of Segar and Herriman for his own work, and his own generation (thanks again, Mike!). I also steered them all to the strongest comic strips collections in the CCS library, and urged them to make time to sit down with the books and read some of the strips. Losing yourself in these marvelous early works is essential, and that's the best opportunity presently available here.

All in all, I think it was a good session. Now to get to work on next week's session... covering the whole of post-1919 comic strip history in 2 1/2 hours.

Hey, James, want to crash the party long enough to sing the praises of Roy Crane?
_____

If you don't check the comments posted on earlier blog posts, allow me to bring to your attention a significant followup to my Monday post on regional comics.

This from one of the participants in the Brattleboro Museum & Art Center 24-Hour Comics Marathon of August, a gent who also teaches comics in Keene: Marek Bennett, who is an active member in the (hyper-)active Keene Comics Group (who had already sponsored their own 24-Hour Comics session a couple months before the Brattleboro event -- and most of 'em came to that one, too!).

Steve --
Amazing synchronicity! On this very day (September 19th 2005), my new weekly comics series launched in the Keene (NH) Sentinel. It's called Monadnock History Comics, and will be archived at my website,

here.

I'm aiming it towards teachers, and developing some curriculum to guide students in creating their own local history comics; I'll just post this announcement and let the project's website explain itself.
-- Marek

Thanks, Marek, and I for one will be visiting your site often!

Marek's Monadnock History Comics are the relevent portion of the website, and I urge you to check 'em out

here.

History in the making, and a timely contemporary of the celebrated Texas History Movies I referred to on Monday.
____

Yesterday afternoon, Robyn Chapman broke out fragile copies of an Alaskan newspaper her grandmother had edited throughout the 1960s and '70s. The paper serviced a tiny community a-way up North, and Robyn's grandmother had graced every issue with a regular page-two comic strip of her own creation. It was crude but effectively delineated, and judging from the look of it (the labored look of some panels, thickness of the line, and pasted-in typed word balloon text) guessed that Robyn's grandmama had been working at times with those stubborn mimeo stencils of yore -- a sort of carbon-like non-paper that had to be cut into with metal tools, which stymied any but the most simplified and labored illustration efforts. I used to work with those damned things in my elementary and junior-high school years (1960s), which jived with the dates on a couple of the newspapers Robyn was showing us... my heart goes out to her grandmother!

Anyhoot, another cool example of regionalized comic strips, and a subject ripe for further research. Certain film archive and academic circles have embraced the preservation and study of home movies (16mm, 8mm, and Super 8) of prior generations, and this equitable turf in the comics medium is equally worthy of scrutiny and preservation.

Of Jim, Jobs, and Journeys:

I've been a bit jib of late, jittery at the juncture I've placed myself in, thanks to recent jeopardous jargon about Jim. Just this weekend, I jumped into a bit of a jam, injudiciously juxtaposing Jim for James's Dad.

Mystery Solved! Thanks to CCS student Elizabeth Chasalow, I finally know who I was talking to last Saturday -- the fellow named Jim, he-who-was-not-James-Kochalka's-Pop -- and without further ado, here's Elizabeth's email resolution to this rather tawdry and mildly embarrassing dilemma:

"I'm preeeeetty sure the guy you met was Jim Jarvela. He
was soft-spoken, and leaned in to talk, and I drew him a little alien who looked like it just wanted to hug itself, and then you drew him one too... It's Jacob's dad. (Jacob's the one with the square-ish glasses, brown hair, and chin fluff, if you haven't figured them all out yet) So, there ya go."

Jacob, natch, is a fellow CCS student. Gee, Jacob, why didn't you say so?

Thanks, Elizabeth -- that joyously jibes with (and jolts) my jumbled memory -- and jolly apologies to Jacob, Jim, and James. Justice is served! You may judge me a jester, jape or jeer at my jabber, or form a jocund juvenile junto to jail me as a jongleur -- but please, just don't jab my jugular!

Hope this jejune joking leaves you jazzed enough to join me as I further jiggle my jaw, jotting jovial journal entries in a jiffy.
_____

If email is any barometer of the national temperature, my having received no less than 42 emails with attachments of the composite photo of past-and-present President Bush enjoying a father-and-son fishing expedition in flooded New Orleans is telling. (I'll spare you the photo; I'm sure you've seen it. Best email lead-in is from Chris Kalnick, sardonically referring to father-and-son Bush "liberating unfortunates from Katrina's flood waters.")

So is the fact that I have, as of this afternoon, received 27 email variations on the following:

Q: What is Bush's position on Roe vs. Wade?

A: He really doesn't care how people get out of New Orleans, as long as they do it on their own.

Remember, you read it here, uh, 97 times after you read it elsewhere.
_______

Last week, I announced the upcoming Burlington Literary Festival's one-day comicbook symposium, which is happening next Saturday in Burlington, VT. It begins at 1 PM with an illustrated lecture by James Sturm, continues with the 3 PM panel moderated by yours truly (featuring James Kochalka, Tom Devlin, and Greg Giordano), and concludes with a 7:30 PM evening panel with Alison Bechdel, Harry Bliss, and LJ Kopf.

I'm really looking forward to the event, and hope to see some of you there. I've already posted tons of information

here...

...and the Festival website is

here.

If you have questions, contact Barbara A. Shatara (Outreach & Reference Librarian) -- or anyone, really -- at the Fletcher Free Library; phone: 802-865-7211 -- FAX: 802-865-7227.

Again, it's all happening next Saturday, September 24th, at the Fletcher Free Library on 235 College Street in Burlington, VT. Here's the directions, for those able to make the drive:

Directions to the Library: The Library is located on the corner of College Street and South Winooski Avenue at 235 College Street. We are located one block east of Church Street. The Roxy movie theater is across the street from the library.

From Route 7 South In Burlington, go through the rotary and stay on Shelburne Road. 100 hundred yards after the rotary bear right on to South Union Street. At the first traffic light take a left on to Main Street. At the next light take a right on to South Winooski Avenue - take your next right onto College Street. The library is immediately to your right.

From I-89 Take exit 14 west off of I-89 and proceed west on Route 2 toward Burlington. Drive past the University of Vermont. Continuing down the hill, you're now on Main Street, take a right onto South Winooski Avenue. Take your next right onto College Street. The library is immediately to your right.

Marj and I are looking forward to spending the day in Burlington, though I suspect she'll be bopping and shopping while I'm lopping off sentences and conjugating comicological verbs on the panel. I'm particularly psyched about the evening event, and it's a hoot the Literary Festival has expanded its canvas to include our favorite medium.

I'll post one more reminder next week.
___

There's another upcoming event some of you might be interested in: I am presenting a Halloween Horror Comics slide lecture at the Brattleboro Museum and Arts Center on October 27, 2005. I promise it will be lively, gory, and mucho monstrous fun!

I'll post more info as that date approaches, but just a head's up for those of you interested -- and yes, the Comic Art in the Green Mountains is still in place at the Museum, featuring original art by yours truly, Frank Miller, James Sturm, Rick Veitch, and James Kochalka.
___________

Jeez, what a lackluster bunch of drivel. OK, livelier insights tomorrow AM, I promise. Back to work...

A Post about My Day One Teaching at CCS, with No Kittens or Devil Tomatoes in It

You know, vet blogger Neil Gaiman posts all kinds of neat stuff, including "name the kitten" contests and "what to do with my Demon Tomato" and such. Here, you just get gnat-boy-Bissette. Well, until a kitten stumbles to our door or tomatoes we don't grow sprout horns, this is what you get.
_______

Day One at CCS: My first class at the Center for Cartoon Studies has now come and gone, and I reckon it went pretty well, though you'll have to ask the students themselves. When Rick Veitch and I got together for a bit Monday afternoon (I was picking up copies of MaxiMortal for the class -- required reading along with Gerard Jones' Men of Tomorrow), he asked, "are the students doing imitations of you guys yet?" At Kubert School, we all had our teachers down in the first week or two (with the exception of Hy Eisman, whom no one could mock as well as Hy himself did). You gotta have a sense of humor in this biz!

As I entered the classroom, James Sturm was leaving for the day, bag slung over his shoulder and clearly exhausted. He quietly said, "I forgot how exhausting teaching could be," and was gone. I intended to ask if he wanted to have supper in town, but so much for that!

(Note to self #1: Whatever James looks like as I enter the classroom is a fair approximation of how I will feel three hours later. Observe and plan accordingly. PS: Pack a return-home meal easily devoured in the car; discourage yogurt or oatmeal, even if still teaching after all my teeth have fallen out.)

Though there will be two massive assignments at the halfway point and end post of my 14-week class, I made it clear from minute one the only requirement for a passing grade in my class is to show up. I've got the final session (3:30 PM to 6 PM) of the most jam-packed day in the CCS schedule, so I see myself as an instructor in that I will share as much information and visual stimuli as possible while covering the history of comics in 14 sessions, and as a showman in that it's my job to keep everyone awake long enough to absorb the shit I'm tossing at the fan (heh heh, savor that metaphor, oh Constant Reader). Henderson State University professor Randy Duncan put me in my place earlier this year when he explained to me that he can cover the history of comics in, like, ten minutes. Ya, well, so what, Randy? I can summarize Moby Dick in one short sentence, too. So I'm grand-standing at 14 weeks; still, it's a lot of ground to cover, and we managed to skate from the 12th Century to 1912 and only go over schedule about twenty minutes yesterday. However, because I didn't circulate a variation on Randy's handy-dandy class questionnaire, it took until 6 PM to discover at least some of my students had never, ever heard of Winsor McCay, which I cleverly inundated them with nevertheless.

(Note to self #2: Bring more Winsor McCay.)

I made the mistake of loading and unloading my car before class with over a dozen boxes of materials for the CCS -- two boxes of books from Rick Veitch (Rick donated slightly-damaged copies of the BratPack collected to the students, too), a box of Comics Journals duplicates from my collection, and tons of stuff from the CBLDF. Thus, I was a somewhat stinky, sweaty 50-year-old cartoonist presenting myself to my class Day One, wearing my now-stinky, somewhat sweaty gekko t-shirt.

(Note to self #3: Always pack a change of shirt for CCS; maybe a change of shorts and/or Depends, too. You never know if a moose will wander onto 91 en route to CCS and cause one to shit oneself, if one survives the car wreck. Better yet, don't pack and unpack a full carload prior to teaching on Mondays.)

Furthermore, it took longer than anticipated to prepare all the handout materials. As I mentioned to everyone from the get-go, covering the history of the medium in 14 weeks means we cover breadth of material with little depth -- unfortunate, but that's the reality. I will be annexing every session with abundant handouts (yesterday I provided two chapters on decoding Mayan and Mixtec Codices; a cherry-picked selection of early American single-panel comics from the 1700s to 1860s; a handout originally prepared for my Journeys Into Fear horror comics lecture, featuring a sampling of J.G. Posada's work and two complete full-page Winsor McCay Dreams of the Rarebit Fiend strips; and photocopies of my 1975 independent comics studies proposals to Johnson State College, just to show that I had been in my student's shoes 30 years ago, before the term "graphic novel" even existed). Now, I had either prepared myself, or left last week with Robyn Chapman, most of the material, leaving only the two chapters on codices to copy, and arriving an hour early to see to completing those two handouts. Alas, I had not reckoned with the inevitable non-cooperative stapler and length of one of the chapters. Robyn saved the day, and I managed to clear the stapler of backed-up-bend-staples without ripping open any of my fingers.

(Note to self #4: Bring my Bullhonker Stapler next week, and never, ever present oneself to class bleeding like a stuck pig. Sweating is bad enough. PS: Be sure to ask Michelle or Robyn where CCS First Aid kit is, in case, despite all precautions, I do rip my hands to pieces fucking with the goddamnedmonkeyfelchingmotherfuckershitass stapler.)

All in all, the first session went pretty well. Ever the showman, I consciously incorporated some video clips into the presentation, the best of which were undoubtably the McCay animations. The clip from Carl Dreyer's Vampyr (1931), however, should be avoided at all costs in the future (I should, however, find some method of using it during future trips to the dentist; Dreyer works better than novocaine any day of the week).
Though I've got to be careful not to use video too often -- animation is not comics, nor did I present it as such -- it is occasionally of great value. The fact that some of the students were unfamiliar with McCay and his body of work definitely meant the inclusion of Little Nemo (1911), Gertie the Dinosaur (1914 -- not 1912, as many sources erroneously state) and The Pet (1921) was worthwhile.

(Note to Self #5: Avoid silent movie clips, as students will be unable to stay awake sans soundtrack. PS: Bring rubber bands to fire at students drifting to sleep during sadistically-selected silent film clips in future.)

Well, I could ramble on, as I did in class, but you get the idea. Listen, you should have been there. If you'd just shown up, you'd have an 'A' for the day!

This first CCS group is pretty amazing, and I'm eager to work with them beyond just the comics history sessions (excuse me, the class is actually entitled "Survey of the Drawn Story"). I'd like to be able to associate more than just names with faces: I've yet to see anyone's art, and that's something I hope to rectify soon enough.

_______

Oops -- reckon that wasn't James Kochalka's dad I met on Saturday. Relative? Friend of James' Dad? I don't know -- the man spoke softly, and it was noisy in the CCS beehive. Anyhoot, a correction, and this from James hisself:

"I read on your blog that someone at the CCS grand opening introduced themselves to you as James Kochalka's father, Jim. My father's name is not Jim, and my father was not at the opening. Either you mistyped, misheard, or someone played a little joke on you I think! He is a "gent wearing glasses" though, that much is true. If you had been able to attend the opening at the Brattleboro museum, you would have definitely met my father for real.... I don't fault you for missing the opening at all, although it would have been fun to have you there. You probably would like my dad if you ever get to meet him. He's 87 and very friendly and open and even goofy. He was making up poems off the top of his head for Peter Money!"

Thanks for letting me know, James. Well, that cinches it -- besides, the fellow I spoke to told me he was 53 (at the time, the math struck me as odd, I must say -- but hey, some Vermonters do have their first children at age 15). Hmmm, the mystery remains. My apologies to James and to whoever it was I met -- my mistake. James added:

"P.S. I taught the first class today and we're off to a good start! Very exciting."

It is, indeed (on both counts)!

[Postscript: It was CCS student Jacob Jarvela's father; I've revised the original post to note that fact. Sorry!]
_____

This just in from Al Nickerson: "Remembering The Creator's Bill of Rights and the discussion of creator’s rights continues with a letter from Erik Larsen (thanks, Erik). Erik addresses Dave Sim's letter concerning The Creator's Bill of Rights and the Neil Gaiman vs. Todd McFarlane feud..."

Yes, it does,

right here.

Erik addresses Dave, ignores mere-gnat-Bissette completely, and opens succinctly with, "Heck, I’ve never read the darned thing." Erik concludes his first paragraph with, "At the end of the day, the Creators’ Bill of Rights real value may come from simply spelling things out in a form people can understand and utilize in their negotiations with a potential client," which is what I've said from the start, so I'll take this as reaching some consensus, even if Erik has never read the darned thing and clearly doesn't care to talk to me.

I'll only further mention that Erik and Dave sidestep the Gaiman/McFarlane issues as they did first time around, agreeing to dis the all-female jury and how unfair to Todd they were in their judgement, and that's that. (C'mon, everyone, all together now! "Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhh -- poor, poor Todd McFarlane.")

Which brings me back to Neil's devil-horned tomato.

More CCS opener weekend impressions:

It was remarkable how many people -- and what a diversity of people! -- passed through the CCS doors on Saturday. It was a blast to meet so many of them while doing sketches for 'em, all the while looking up and over at the other lines standing at the sketch stations.

One gent wearing glasses came over and leaned in toward me, introducing himself as Jacob Jarvela's father [note: in the original post, I mistakingly named this fellow as James Kochalka's father!] Jim and asking me if Forrest J. Ackerman and Famous Monsters of Filmland had played any part in my growing up. "You know it!" I replied, and we ended up talking about his own affection for FM and his visiting the Ackermansion in its glory days, before the lack of interest in it becoming a museum and the auctions eroding the Ackerman collection. I mentioned my visiting Ray Harryhausen's London home in London back in the early 1990s, and when I told Jim about Mr. Harryhausen showing me his Gustave Dore first editions collection, building up to the revelation of an original oil painting by Dore, Jim paused and said, "I just had a shiver go up my spine."

Robyn Chapman is already one of the anchors at CCS, though I expect she might shrug or blush that off just now. Amid Robyn coordinating many of the CCS opening day tasks, all while clicking as many photos as she could, I bustled in Saturday with a trio of folders with handout material for my first class tomorrow afternoon. Just what she needed: another distraction. Robyn accepted it without hesitation and made sure we went over everything before Marj and I left for the evening. Bless you, Robyn!

Yesterday afternoon, CCS board member Bayle Drubel and her husband Richard hosted a big-fun BBQ shindig at their beautiful home in Hanover. It was a motly crew of CCS faculty, board members and students from all walks of life, there with families, high energy, and appetites. We converged at CCS at 4 PM, and I brought in the laserdisc player Alan Goldstein donated to CCS and a heap of laserdiscs for the CCS library from Alan's and my own collection, and I got to meet and chat with a few more of the students (forgive me, folks, it will take me time to match names and faces). John from Ludlow arrived in his pickup with his brother, whom I met, and Alexis in his pickup ended up being our 'point man' in the caravan of vehicles en route to Hanover. Marj and I drove Sam and Ross -- two CCS students from Massachusetts and West Virginia, respectively -- to and from the BBQ, dropping 'em off at the venerable Coolidge Inn upon our homeward-bound pass through White River. To think, some months ago, this is the lobby I walked into for the CCS fundraiser where I met Alison Bechdel and where Art Spiegelman spoke -- now, some of the students are living here. It's all real now; it's more real this morning, as they're ending their first class ever on the first day ever.

Bayle and Richard were incredibly personable and generous hosts, and their multi-tiered back yard gardens provided a memorable arena for the first CCS blowout. Or, I should say, second -- some of the students were still bleary-eyed from their own partying the night before, and that's the important first blow-out, where the real bonds and lasting energy happens. Anyhoot, this was the first blow-out we got to indulge in, and it rolled from a little after 4 until 6:30, the day before school starts. As James said, "A great way to kick off our first year." We got to chat with some of the Board members and a few students (including one from Holland!), chow down on hot dogs and/or burgers, and wander Richard's splendid gardens, which the Drubel's cultivated in a mere four years (according to Richard, it was all brush, brambles, and dirt when they moved in). The little kids loved it, and were soon rolling down the lawn at the base of the gardens, down toward the Dartmouth pond while students, faculty, and friends of same played frisbee and Sam soaked in the warm waters of the pool on tier two or three, down from the house.

Richard was a fascinating man, first talking about comic strip favorites (and bringing down the local paper to show me the return of Berke Breathed and Opus to the color Sunday pages) before conversation eased into talk of plants and his garden. I rather teasingly replied to his talk of how obsessive garden-and-plant lovers could be with a question about sundews (tiny carnivorous plants that once grew along the pond my kids grew up with on Lower Dover Road in Marlboro), and Richard knew exactly what I was referring to. No carnivorous plants in Richard's garden, but no telling what grows in the greenhouses we passed on our way out to the cars at the end of the BBQ...

Marj and I ended up sitting at the peak of the grassy hill that inclines down to the pond, where kids little and big were rolling with glee. The little ones, of course, could do so with impunity; it was comical to see older bodies trying for the same pleasures discovering head-to-neck-to-shoulder distances proving no longer condusive to the graceful rolling of childhood, or the post-roll dizzy rattling their pins.

The pond, it seems, is not the most alluring body of water to be found in NH. Bayle grimaced as she described the carp-kill that had to be removed from the pond a couple years earlier, while I watched what must have been trout breaking the surface to scarf down the late-afternoon insect cusine flitting over the surface. The pond is a fixture of Darmouth winters -- a preferred skating surface, and also home to some sort of polar-bear-like ritual involving Dartmouth students chopping through the ice to swim in the winter waters -- and a wedding gathering at the Dartmouth Outing Club at the end of the pond two or three houses away were serenading all with a lively mix of music blaring. This led to dancing by the cattails at the edge of the pond, as Richard told Marj and I the Outing Club is also the site for an annual Jewish ritual involving the casting out of sins via bread thrown onto the water. That means the fish are growing fat on sin at least once a year, which is already feeding a story idea for down the road... another unexpected dividend from yesterday's gathering.

There was much, much more, but that's all I care to share right now. It was a great day, all in all, and I can't wait for tomorrow -- my first day of teaching. Will let you all know how it goes....

So, the Center for Cartoon Studies opened yesterday at 1:58 PM, and a grand and glorious day it was, too.

The drive for Marj and I from our home to the CCS doors is about a 90 minute haul. It couldn't have been a more beautiful day -- sunny, cool, mild -- and though it's still late summer, there were a number of maples along interstate 91 beginning to show their colors. The characteristic first-bloom of autumn: radiant orange leaves at the uppermost tips of top branches, punctuated by the occasional raptor overlooking the roadside, eyeing possible game. The hawks and falcons are out on days like yesterday and today, hunting even at midday. Still, about 25 minutes shy of White River Junction and the CCS, I caught a glimpse of my odometer when it hit one of those rare mileage palindromes: 133331.

We drove into White River about a half-hour before the scheduled 2 PM opening, and Marj got her first look at the CCS operation. Marj was mighty impressed, though the crowd of new faces and names was a bit overwhelming. For me, many of these faces and a few names are already familiar, including a few of the students, one of whom (John Nicolls from Ludlow, VT) I first met at the 24 Hour Comic Marathon in Brattleboro a couple of weekends ago. One student made a point of telling me she'd read "Moving Day" on the blog, and that was gratifying -- hope it provides some link between her own experience this week, month, year and my own in '76.

James Sturm and Michelle Ollie have been hard at work all summer with the help of numerous contractors, sponsors, and a number of interns, including Robyn and Allie, who were both at the opening; Robyn is working at CCS for this first year, but Allie popped in to savor the event though she's back at college seeing through her senior year at Smith. They've completely renovated the old Colodny "Surprise" Department Store -- the word "Surprise" is indeed on the original awning that stills shields the front door and display windows -- which had never housed a surprise like yesterday's. But first, Michelle and James had to shoo us all out of the building onto the sidewalk for the ribbon-cutting ritual and opening festivities.

James Kochalka's son happily tugged the ribbon down before it was due to be sheared, but no worries: Michelle and a little scotchtape took care of that. With CCS-t-shirt wearing students, a lot of faculty and staff, visiting dignitaries, fans (and faithful donators to the CCS library like Tom Laurent, who drove up from Western MA to be there), and curious WRJ citizens crowding the sidewalk, James climbed atop a milk crate (alas, no soapbox) and declared: "It's 1:58, but what the hell," and launched into a short, sweet speech. The ribbon was cut, and James Kochalka mounted the crate to debut the official CCS school song, which was roundly cheered and will no doubt be sung in the hallowed halls of CCS for eons to come.

After much huzzahing and gnashing of teeth, we tottered back inside and manned our respective stations. Guests could sample a generous spread of food, snacks, and drinks, and each were given an official CCS sketch board with a series of blanks in the bottom left-hand corner where they could choose the subject of their sketch: "Dog," "Alien," "Stick figure," etc. Students and some faculty were seated in the main classroom area at tables, with the respective subjects posted, and guests could then go up and get their sketch completed right before their eyes. It was a two-hour sketching marathon; I joined one of the students I'd met earlier this summer, Elizabeth (Chasalow), at the "Alien" table, and we drew tons of aliens of all shapes, sizes, textures, and dispositions. It was quickly established that my aliens tended to be vicious and toothy (no surprise there), at which point I established the entry line to all guests who approached me, "Would you like your alien benevolent or malevolent?" Elizabeth's were all benevolent, given her nature, while mine ran the gamut. One family with two little ones, Emma and her younger brother Ben, were eager to get their alien sketches toward the end of the afternoon. Ben's dad assumed he'd want a benevolent alien, but when I asked "scary or friendly?", Ben scrunched up his face and bellowed, "SCARYYYYY!" Emma got a sketch with both benevolent and malevolent aliens at repose, and all seemed pleased with their booty.

James and Michelle had also set up a "Finishes" table -- where students added blue and gray tones to the sketches -- and another student manned a "Quality Control" table where each sketch was rubber-stamped with the red CCS logo, thus marking it as an official harvest from CCS, Day One.

My favorite moment nobody else saw: At the end of the day, we all blundered around outside in a haze of adrenalin and exhaustion. The littlest kids, though, were wired. Peter Money, poet and CCS faculty member, hunkered down on the sidewalk to entertain James Sturm and Rachel Gross's daughter (who had been drawing chalk aliens on the board behind Elizabeth and I earlier) with a poem. She stopped for a moment, paying rapt attention to Peter, than dashed away with a laugh.

OK, now we're off to the CCS BBQ!

Next Weekend: Comics and Cartoonists in Burlington Literary Festival...

I'll be posting more tonight and tomorrow (AM and PM) on the Center for Cartoon Studies events this weekend, but here's an announcement that may be of interest to y'all, particularly if you're in driving distance of Burlington, VT. I'll be there, so read on:

* Saturday, September 24, 2005: I'll be in Burlington, VT next Saturday with a bevy of marvelous cartoonists as part of the Burlington Literary Festival, which shows we're all "moving up" in the world, eh? The fact that this comics event at the Fletcher Free Library in downtown Burlington is popping up in the context of the Brattleboro Museum and Art Center's ongoing exhibition of VT cartoonists (yours truly, Frank Miller, Rick Veitch, James Kochalka, and James Sturm) is indicative of a real change in the cultural winds in my home state. More on that next weekend; in the meantime, you can find all the particulars about next weekend's event

here!

The event be at the Fletcher Free Library (235 College Street, Burlington, VT 05401), and for more info you can call 802-865-7211 or FAX 802-865-7227, but here's all I know:

This event was brainstormed by Barbara A. Shatara, Outreach & Reference Librarian at the Fletcher Free Library, and my good pal John Rovnak, who used to own and manage Comics Route in Manchester, VT and hosted one of Vermont's first expansive comics-related events in the mid-1990s, the ACE/Independent Comics Exposition (also in Manchester, VT, at the historic Equinox). The Burlington Literary Festival is a city-wide event, celebrating all facets of writing and creativity in Vermont, but this is the first year I'm aware of that the event has expanded its parameters to embrace comics, graphic novels, and cartoonists.

The comics-related portion of the Literary Festival programming kicks off in the Fletcher Free Library's Main Reading Room next Saturday at 1:00 PM with an illustrated lecture by the great James Sturm, who is presently amid the opening week flurry of activity at the newly opened Center for Cartoon Studies in White River Junction (much more about that tonight!). James is founder and director of the CCS, and needless to say he's best known for his comics and graphic novels (all of which have been translated into several languages and have won numerous awards, including "Best Graphic Novel of 2001" by Time Magazine).

You know, I might as well give you the whole scoop (and nothing but the scoop) on James, since he'll hereafter be a constant presence in my life and on this blog.

Let's see, where's the official bio? Ah, here 'tis:

In 1991 James received a Master of Fine Arts from the School of Visual Arts in New York City, moved to Seattle and co-founded the alternative weekly, The Stranger. That same year Fantagraphics began publishing his Eisner-nominated comic book series The Cereal Killings. During the next five years James was the art director of The Stranger, collaborated with syndicated columnist (and talking head) Dan Savage producing two issues of the comic book Savage Love. In 1996 James received a Xeric grant for his comic The Revival. From 1997-2001 James lived in Savannah, Georgia and taught at the Savannah College of Art and Design in the sequential art department. In 1998 Drawn and Quarterly published the story Hundreds of Feet Below Daylight, the second in a trilogy of American historical fiction pieces. Three years later came the last installment of the trilogy, the best-selling and award-winning graphic novel The Golem's Mighty Swing. The book has been translated into several languages and was named "Best Comic 2001" by Time Magazine. An avid collector of Marvel Comics in his youth James wrote and designed the 2004 Eisner award winning Unstable Molecules, a four issue series and trade paperback featuring the characters based on the Fantastic Four, and published by Marvel Comics. James' writings and illustrations have appeared in scores of national and regional publications including The Chronicle of Higher Education, The Onion, The New York Times, and on the cover of The New Yorker. James is also the founder and active member of The National Association of Comics Art Educators; an organization committed to helping facilitate the teaching of comics in higher education.

Now you know all you need to know about James, though I'll be sure to post embarrassing and intimate details about any compelling or particularly vile personal habits he might have in the coming weeks, months, and years.

OK, enough on James. Back to the Burlington Literary Festival. So James gives his lecture at 1 PM, then a new group convenes in the same area -- Fletcher Free Library's Main Reading Room -- at 3:00 PM for a panel I am moderating, which has a silly title I won't repeat here (Why do they saddle us with these risible panel titles? Thankfully, "Pow! Whap!" is not part of the title, so I suppose we'll count that as a blessing). It will basically cover how we work, how we got into the business, and how we eke out livings therein. Who's "we"? I'm so glad you asked. I'll be sitting alongside James Kochalka, Tom Devlin, and Gregory Giordano, a fine group of fellows, two of whom I'll be teaching with at CCS starting this week.

Some background on everyone: Greg Giordano managed the first-ever Vermont comics convention I ever attended (and perhaps the first-ever VT comics con, period), which was at the Sheraton Inn in Burlington. Greg is a Burlington comic book artist, and his website is

here.

Greg's a fine fellow and key to the ongoing Burlington comics scene.

James Kochalka is known to most of you, but again, since he'll now be an ongoing part of my life at CCS and hence a frequent persona in this blog hereafter, as will Tom Devlin, who is likewise teaching at CCS, I'll post their official Burlington Literary Festival bios here, just by way of introduction for those of who aren't familiar with them or their work:

James Kochalka's comics have been published internationally by almost every alternative comics publisher; he's recorded several music CDs under the name James Kochalka Superstar (making him a favorite at college radio stations across the country); and he's developed animated cartoons for Nickelodeon. Best known for his graphic novel, Monkey vs Robot, and his critically acclaimed Sketchbook Diaries, Kochalka currently lives in Burlington, Vermont.

Tom Devlin is the publisher and visionary behind the art-comics publishing house Highwater Books. Specializing in comics that don't fit into the publishing profiles of other companies, Highwater has carved out a niche in the comics publishing world as an idiosyncratic, art-first/artists first comics publisher. Devlin also draws an infrequent strip on the Highwater Web site. In the past, Devlin has guest-edited The Comics Journal, managed a Diamond Comics Distribution warehouse, designed covers and content for nearly all the other independent comics publishers as well Harvard University Press, sat on the Steering Commitee of the Small Press Expo in Bethesda, Maryland, lectured at Universities in Massachusetts, Rhode Island and Montreal, had artwork displayed in galleries in Boston and Portugal, and managed a comic store.

OK, we'll be informative and entertaining and engaging as hell, and we'll also be signing our work after, which will be available and on sale right then and there, shameless hucksters that we all are.

After they clear our mangy hides out of the seats and we scatter like sheep to go have dinner, the Burlington Literary Festival will reconvene in the Fletcher Free Library's Main Reading Room for that evening's event at 7:30 PM: the Cartoonists Panel with Alison Bechdel, Harry Bliss, and LJ Kopf. Alison will be the moderator, and if here's the skinny on everyone at the evening panel:

Alison Bechdel's comic strip Dykes To Watch Out For reproduces the texture of 21st century life, queer and otherwise, in exactingly high resolution. From foreign policy to domestic routine, breastfeeding to chemotherapy, postmodern theory to parenting practice, the finely-drawn characters of Dykes To Watch Out For fuse high and low culture in a serial graphic narrative suitable for humanists of all persuasions. The Comics Journal says, "Bechdel's art distills the pleasures of Friends and The Nation; we recognize our world in it, with its sorrows and ironies." Bechdel grew up in rural Pennsylvania. After graduating from Oberlin College, she moved to New York City, where she began drawing Dykes to Watch Out For as a feature in the feminist monthly Womanews in 1983. Ten book-length DTWOF collections have since appeared, nine of them -- including Spawn of Dykes To Watch Out For and Hot, Throbbing Dykes to Watch Out For -- published by the pioneering feminist press, Firebrand Books. The most recent volume, Dykes and Sundry Other Carbon-Based Life-Forms to Watch Out For, was released by Alyson Books in the fall of 2003. Her bi-weekly strip is syndicated in over 50 periodicals. Bechdel's work has become a countercultural institution. "Hers are thinkers' comics," writes Harvey Pekar, "full of the stuff that classics like Gasoline Alley and Doonesbury are made of." Bechdel's work appeared recently alongside Aaron McGruder's Boondocks and David Rees' Get Your War On in Attitude 2: The New Subversive Alternative Cartoonists (NBM, 2004). Four of her books have won Lambda Literary Awards for Humor, and The Indelible Alison Bechdel won a Lambda Literary Award in the biography/autobiography category. Utne magazine has listed DTWOF as "one of the greatest hits of the Twentieth Century." In addition to her comic strip, Bechdel has also done exclusive work for a slew of publications including Ms., Slate, The Village Voice, The Advocate, Out, and many other newspapers, web sites, comic books, and 'zines. Her work has been widely anthologized and translated.

Harry Bliss was born in upstate New York and studied painting at The Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts, Illustration at The University of the Arts (BFA) and Syracuse University (MA). Bliss was illustrating for Gentleman's Quarterly, McCall's, Business Week and other national magazines in his final year at The University of the Arts. In 1997 he was asked by the art editor of The New Yorker to submit cover sketches. His first cover for The New Yorker appeared on January 5, 1998. Shortly thereafter, his black and white cartoons began appearing in The New Yorker; to date Bliss has published fifteen covers and numerous cartoons and illustrations with the magazine.
In addition to his work for The New Yorker, he has contributed cartoons to Playboy, Nickelodeon, Archaeology, and illustrated book covers for writers such as Lawrence Block, Dorothy Uhnak, Bob Dole, Ben Yagoda, and Fiona Buckley. He has received awards of excellence from Print, Society of Illustrators, Communication Arts, National Society of News Design, Inc., and Art Directors Club of New York. His first children's book, A Fine, Fine School by Newbery award winning author Sharon Creech, was a New York Times Bestseller. Other books for children Bliss has illustrated include Which Would You Rather Be? by William Steig, Caldecott winning author and creator of Shrek, Countdown To Kindergarten by Alison McGhee and Diary of a Worm, a New York Times Bestseller by Caldecott winner Doreen Cronin. Bliss's next book, Don't Forget To Come Back Candlewick Press), is due out in February 2004.

L. J. Kopf had his brief bid for local fame when his Edge cartoon appeared in every issue of the twelve year (1978-1990) run of the Vanguard Press, a Burlington news and arts weekly that laid the groundwork for Seven Days. A collection of the best of those Edge cartoons, entitled Into Every Life a Little Edge Must Fall, was published by Fantagraphics Books and is still available. Mr. Kopf continues to draw cartoons. By day, he works as the Children's Librarian at the Richmond Free Library in Richmond, VT.

OK, that's the lineup. I'm looking forward to being there -- hope you'll join us!

A proper, non-huckster blog posting will follow this evening, after I return home from this afternoon's CCS Grand Opening event. Hope to see some of you there; in any case, see you Constant Readers here later.

Moving Day, Conclusion

Dave hit the water.

Waning sunlight caught the spray from his plunge. There were colors: blue, green, brown, red.

With the crack of flesh striking water (and what else?), sweat broke on my forehead and lip, I shivered -- and then Dave was gone, out of sight.

___

To make a long story short, Joe Kubert scanned my meager portfolio and the single copy of Abyss and said, “You’re just the kind of student we’re looking for. Can you start this fall?”

Thus, moving day approached, and I rushed to it.

Now, the leap from Vermont to Dover, NJ was a big move indeed. Culturally, I knew I was in for some seismic shocks, but I had no idea how many, or how primal those could be.

For instance, I had lived all my life looking people in the eyes. In my native state, it’s a human thing, not a confrontational stance: the eyes are the person, more often than not, the means of initial contact. But as my first couple of trips to Manhattan had taught me, looking other people in the eyes as we did at home was either an affront or an invitation in the Big Apple -- eyes darted away, afraid, or locked with your own, suddenly hungry. There seemed no median between those reactions, and both startled me. In NYC, making eye contact was a threat to some -- during my first-ever trip to NYC in ‘74, the look of naked fear that distorted one Manhattan woman’s face walking past me after I’d made eye contact really jolted me to the core. It was an open door to others -- primarily, circa the late ‘70s, crazies, Moonies, or religious fanatics (both of the latter were particularly thick in urban areas at that time). Having already skirted Moonies more than once in Port Authority, I had no desire to offer those kinds of inadvertent invitations. But it was part and parcel of my upbringing, who I was, who I am... and I was heartbroken, during my first walk in downtown Dover, to see the same unspoken “eye contact rules of conduct” applied in NJ. Joe Kubert and his family were atypical of Dover’s population when it came to casual eye contact -- sigh.

But moving day is inevitably a physical exercise, a displacement and reorientation of home, heart, and, uh, one’s shit.

First, let’s talk about moving one’s shit. Specifically, in this case, my shit.

As I mentioned, my parents had sold our Colbyville home and store on Route 100, and when I moved to NJ, they were moving to North Port, Florida (my sister Kathie was going with them, too, though her own stint in the military overlapped this period -- ah, this is my story, not Kathie’s, so suffice to say we were all leaving Colbyville and Vermont).

During my two years at JSC, I had compacted most of my belongings into the tiny dorm room I shared with not one but two roommates my freshman year. My sketchbooks, comics & comix and records were essentials, of course, and had come with me. But beyond that, I had been free to leave the rest of my life in my bedroom in Colbyville: my books, a huge library of movie-related tomes and clip files, my art, furniture, drawing table, odds and ends. That was no longer an option. There would be nowhere to stash my stuff any longer -- all that could come with me would be all that would fit in a tiny Carriage House room (the Baker Mansion Carriage House was, at that time, the only ‘dorm space’ available at the Kubert School) which would be shared with someone else.

Since leaving home to attend JSC, I had prided myself on traveling with no more than I could carry in one ragged old Scout backpack, keeping my clothes and necessities to a minimum (this was a practice I maintained for years, until I married and we had children). With the imminent move to Dover, NJ and my new life as a budding cartoonist, I now worked to strip my worldly goods to the bare minimum. This occupied much of the remaining summer of ‘76, and resulted in some pretty bizarre scenes.

See, I had a lot of shit. For one thing, I had enough books on film to donate to not one, but three libraries, including UVM and JSC... and still had to leave some behind in four boxes on the floor of my JSC summer dorm, hoping someone who gave a shit would find them. Ditto my one-drawer file cabinet full of newspaper and Variety clippings on horror and exploitation films of the era, which I’ve no doubt ended up in the Johnson land fill. I sold as many of my LPs as I could to friends and JSC students that summer, breaking up my massive jazz and soundtrack record collection. On my last day at JSC, I still ended up hauling the last of it -- five boxes! -- to a sweaty fat man somewhere in the Northeast Kingdom who gave me five dollars for the lot, take it or leave it. There went my original releases by Charlie Parker, Miles Davis, Danny Zeitlin, Cannonball Adderly, Jerry Goldsmith, and much, much more. It sucked, but there were no options. Only those few I couldn’t live without (though of course, I could) went with me to my new life and much tighter accommodations at the Kubert School.

One of the comedic low points came when a group of my Johnson cronies and I made a run to Montreal and bought as much Maximus Super as we could afford -- and get across the border with -- and brought ‘em back to our room in Governors Hall to savor an afternoon of drinking and schmoozing. At that time, Maximus had a much higher alcohol content than any beer sold in the US, so this was a treat, even for a relative non-drinker like myself.

Now, I knew my parents were planning a family ‘moving day’ auction at the Colbyville house. What I didn’t know was that Dad had chosen that very day for the setup of the tent for the auction: a huge, circus-sized tent, with a central pole, pitched in our driveway. Without prior arrangement or announcement, Dad showed up at JSC and marched into Governors to collect his son, who was by that time fairly tanked on Maximus. To the high hilarity of my drinking buddies, I trundled off with Pop for the 45 minute drive to Colbyville to take my place in the tent assembly. I was in no shape to hold an outsized elongated center pole steady, but there I was, teetering like a stewed sailor and weathering whatever cussing was flung my way as I held onto that pole for dear life, fighting gravity and vertigo until the job was done.

The auction was one signpost of the move; my farewell to JSC was another.

To be honest, I don’t recall the final hour at my family home in Colbyville, but I do remember my farewell to Johnson, my first home-away-from-home. I took a last lingering look at my Governors room -- coincidentally, the same room Joe Mangelynx and I met in my first day at JSC in ‘74, the room we shared with a third roommate that first semester away from home -- sighed at the orphaned boxes of books and that damned one-drawer file, and walked away from JSC for good.
______

Once I was at the Kubert School, I found myself in a new community that felt more like home than any I can remember since childhood. For the first time in my life, I was among people who were into everything -- and I do mean everything -- I was into. We lived, breathed, ate, shit, slept, talked and drew comics from our first day onward.

I’d left home -- two homes -- to find home. What’s the old saying? “We are born into the families we grow up with; we make the families we choose to be part of.” I had made many fast and lasting friends at Johnson, by happenstance of being tossed together in the half-basement of Governors Hall (the ‘subfloor,’ hence our adopted moniker ‘The Subhumans’), and by the gravitational pull of shared interests and at-first-undefinable emotional ties.

But those of us who came together at the Kubert School, Year One were there because of communal interests. We were a pioneer brood, the first Kubies, and it was all a new adventure, unlike any anyone had ever had before: for Joe and Muriel, for our instructors, for every one of us. Rick Veitch often tells me this time of year how a special feeling washes over him -- how seminal that September of ‘76 was for all of us -- and I reply, “ya, I know what you mean.” Whether the experience proved good, bad, or ugly, we were all exploring something fresh, new and experimental. I was lucky to be part of it, and am forever thankful for everyone and everything that brought me there at that unique time.

There’s some debts you never repay (I’ll save that long list for my bio page). But I owe something special to Dave Booz.

I don’t know if I would have made the leap of faith I did into the Kubert School and the unknown of a future as a cartoonist without Dave’s leap from the ledge as a touchstone in my life.

Both were potentially dumb moves -- either could have resulted in disaster. I saw classmates crash & burn at Kubert School, just as I had at JSC, and any one of ‘em could have been me (unlike Dave, I, at least, had a safety net, a place to go other than down, should the worse happen). But in my case, it turned out to be the right move at the right time.
_________

In a heartbeat, it was over.

Dave broke the surface of the water on the rebound, tossing water and hair out of his face. He spat and spouted and then turned and grinned like a rock star up at Mangelynx and I.

“Hey, what’re you pussies waiting for?”

The red I had glimpsed was the rust-red of the round-edged rocks at the base of the pool Dave had kicked up. He was fine; the pool was shallow -- about four and a half feet deep -- but deep enough to jump into, even from 20 feet above. As long as you kept your legs tucked and ready to spring off the rocky bottom, it was easy pie.

With great relief, Joe and I made the jump, one at a time. Dave didn’t just stay clear; without hesitation, he began negotiating the crawl down over the ledges from that pool to the larger swimming area below. We scrabbled over the rocks like crabs, grinning and laughing and stoned with the whole experience. Thanks to Dave, we were soon drying off and heading back to the dorms within the hour.

Sometimes, somebody just has to make the leap.

You screw up your courage, you give up the only footing you know --

-- and you jump.
____

(To Dan, to Maia, and to everyone at CCS, Year One.)

Moving day: Part One

All right, enough of my political rants. You can read that everywhere, anywhere on the web, from much better informed folks than me. Here's something you can only read here:

My 19-year-old son Dan is moving out of the house this week into his first apartment. It's a big step, a big change, and one I can empathize with, for reasons we all understand.

That, coupled with the fact that I begin my faculty work with the first-class-ever at the Center for Cartoon Studies in White River Junction, VT in about a week-and-a-half, is bringing back rich memories of this very week in my life 29 years ago. As a break
from my ranting about the grim realities of this week, I'll share some of those memories with you now.
__

During my second year at Johnson State College, a bunch of us went swimming at a spot we'd been told about, far from the campus. My friends Dave Booz and Joe Mangelynx and me wandered away from our amigos to explore the ledges above the main swimming hole. It was a gorgeous afternoon, sunny and hot, and we decided there might be some interesting spots in the waterfall-riddled ledges above the main swimming hole. So, wearing only our cutoffs and dripping wet, we found a pathway up around to the topmost set of falls, and went exploring.

We ended up stepping our way down a series of smaller pools formed by a progression of waterfalls. At one point, the only way down to the next set of falls and uppermost pool was a rotting rope tied to a narrow but sturdy tree leading down to a wide overhanging ledge. Below the ledge was a crystal-clear pool, the sunlight shimmering off its surface.

Booz, being the ballsiest in such matters, didn't think twice: he shimmied down the rope, stepped out onto the ledge, and shouted up to us, "so, what are you waiting for?"

I made the climb down second, and then Joe did the same. Joe was (and most likely still is) a strapping fellow, built like a football player, and damned if that rope didn't break when he was about to set foot on the ledge.

So, there we were: on the ledge. The rope was gone, we couldn't go back up.

The pool was below, but there was a big problem: we couldn't tell how deep it was. The sun was shining directly down into it, and we could see every one of the perfect, round stones covering its floor with incredible clarity. We could damn near count those rocks on the bottom -- that’s how crystal-clear it was.

That pool could have been six inches deep, it could have been six feet deep: we simply could not tell.

I don't recollect how long Joe and Dave and I sat up on the ledge. We perched there a loooooong time, it seemed, until our friends were shouting up from below, asking where we were. A few shouts back and forth established we were OK and would be down soon, and all the while Dave hunkered down at the edge of the ledge, staring down into that pool. We all pondered that pool until we rationalized every possible scenario: the only option was to jump, which seemed like no option at all the longer we stared at that pool.

As the afternoon wore on and the sun moved and dropped the shadow of the ledge over us, we began to shiver: it was getting cold standing on the rock, and even with the shift in light, we couldn't tell about that pool.

Was it so shallow that we'd shatter our legs hitting those stones?

If we tried to land on our seats, was it so shallow we’d smash our hips?

Was it deep enough to cushion the sizable drop into those waters?

We just...
couldn't...
tell.

It was getting later and colder.

It was Dave who finally laughed, "Well, fuck it." He gave us a grin, and made the leap.
___

I was 21 years old and moving from Johnson State College to Dover, NJ. It was a momentous move in my life -- a definitive turning point, the most radical I'd ever dared. I was diving off a ledge into a body of water I couldn't make out below or beyond; I didn't know if I was diving into a pool six inches deep or an ocean. But this was the week I made the dive, and I've never regretted it.

I'd been a student at JSC for two years, ostensibly arriving two years earlier to study art, but instead pouring most of my energies into the theater department (thanks to Richard Emerson, who was the dept. head at that time and my advisor) and running the film program at JSC. My plans to study art were immediately derailed upon my arrival due to the small size of the college and the fact that seniors, logically enough, had first pick of classes; by the
time lowly freshman Bissette got to sign up for his classes, there were only two miserly art classes open to me, so theater is was.

As it turned out, this was for the best: Emerson was a fantastic fellow and great teacher, and I worked my ass off in his technical theater studies, particularly loving the study and application of theater lighting. The McCandless Theory of lighting the stage, it turned out, was central to the color work of two of my all-time favorite artists: the cinematic Italian horror and fantasy maestro Mario Bava, and Kansas City cartoonist extraordinaire Richard Corben. Whether Bava or Corben knew of McCandless, I had and have no idea, but McCandless's theories of light, color, its meaning and techniques beautifully articulated the visual universes of Bava, Corben, and all of theater. So, my JSC theater studies ended up feeding my art in ways I wouldn't have imagined possible. By my second year at JSC, I had talked Emerson into indulging a year-long independent study of Bava's films, and talked the rather imperious head of the art department, (the late) Peter Heller, into indulging three independent studies on comics: (1) to produce three comics publications and publish them, (2) to steep myself in a full semester of anatomical studies, and (3) to write a paper on "The Comic Epic," which was a radical thing at the time.

An aside: How did that go? Well, as for (1), only one published comic was completed, Abyss #1, that ended up being my key portfolio piece when I applied to the Kubert School; as Peter Heller said when grading time came, "This is remarkable -- I never thought you'd finish even one, much less publish it. Forget about three, I knew you were overreaching. You finished one. So, good for you." I completed (2), but Peter was so depressed by the comics I chose to analyze that he dismissed that project altogether, simply acknowledging it as "completed" and moving on. This was before the term 'graphic novel' even existed, and Peter had refused to permit adapted works (like Joe Kubert's Tarzan into the blend; thus, the works I studied in that pre-graphic novel era were Enemy Ace, Kamandi (alas, New Gods had been canceled before completion, so it had been rejected by Peter as being irrelevant), Kona: Monarch of Monster Isle, and Jack Katz's just-out-of-the-starting-gate The First Kingdom. Peter couldn't stomach looking at any of them -- Charles Schultz and Pat Oliphant were the only contemporary cartoonists he had any respect for -- so that was that. As for (3), I indeed completed initial anatomical studies to Peter's satisfaction, drawing every bone in the human body from three-to-four different views (working from the science lab skeleton and a brace of anatomy books), and four different views of the full skeleton. "Good, good," Peter muttered while gritting his cigarette holder between his teeth, "now, we get you to UVM to draw from cadavers. You must learn to draw the entirety of the human body. You've got the stomach for that, yes?" Well, no -- my one session drawing from a cadaver was a bust, not due to squeamishness, but because I couldn't take my eyes off the dead man's face, wondering who he was, had been, and how his body ended up where it was. End of aside.

The decision to even apply to the Kubert School had been a major leap of faith. Peter told me from our first discussion, "Listen, little man, you're going to be competing with New York City art students to get in there, the best of the best. Look at your chin: I can see the weakness in you there, in your face. You won't be able to hack it. You need to stay put here. There's nothing for you there."

I spent that final blissful summer in Johnson, prolonging my JSC stay by tutoring at the College's summer learning program. The campus was and remains an insular, lovely spot, and it was a great way to see out my stay at JSC. That was a maturing process: I was tutoring high school students who still didn't know how to read or write, which astounded me at first. I worked in particular with two students, one a tow-headed young man who was frustrated with anything that forced him to work indoors, the other a brunette young woman with intense green eyes who grew up on a horse farm and didn't see why reading was so important, though her frustration and the toll it took on her sense of self-worth was readily apparent at the close of our first session. She was hungry to make connections, doing so often by diverting our studies: knowing I loved horror films, she regaled me with her account of a film she'd seen that spring at the drive-in, Don't Open the Window, which had made a big impression on her. I assigned her to write a synopsis of the film, and write a new ending; it was the only writing assignment she'd completed with any passion. I was accepted as a peer by the other tutors, most of whom were older than me, either seniors at Johnson or graduate students, while I was a lowly college sophomore bolting from what would have been my junior year to pursue a new adventure: entering the first-class-ever of a wholly new college in Dover, NJ, The Joe Kubert School of Cartoon and Graphic Art, Inc.

To everyone but my closest friends at JSC (including the three who had talked me into going to the Kubert School: Jack Venoooker, Mark 'Sparky' Whitcomb, and Steve Perry), this was a crazy endeavor. In 1976, the thought of anyone, much less a hick from Duxbury and Waterbury, making a career in comics was a reckless, delusional undertaking -- I mean, comics weren't a profession, they were a hobby (to quote my old buddy James Harvey, "Art it just a hobby"). To be pursuing it at a brand-new college that wasn't even accredited, could not offer or accept grants or scholarship, and was furthermore based in (groan) New Jersey, seemed crazier still. Only Peter Heller took it seriously, but did so only to test my mettle; when I applied even after Peter stared me down and cut me down verbally, he called me into his office with an arrogant wave of the hand, pointed to the empty chair next to him, and bellowed, "You did it anyway, didn't you?" I nodded yes, and he smiled and said, "Good for you." And that was that.

My parents (who, thankfully, are still with us) were making the big move to Florida from our home in Colbyville, VT. My Dad had worked hard to convince me to stay put, to take over the family store and make Colbyville my home. I think he thought I'd settle down with Jill Chase, my high school sweetheart who lived up on Blush Hill (Jill would marry and remarry, live in Japan, and raise a daughter). I had no interest in such plans, much less staying in Colbyville.

More on that in a moment: first, I have to impress upon you the precipitous drop I was about to make from that cliff-ledge into I-didn't-know-what was made all the more perilous by the fact my parents had sold the store and home and were pulling up stakes to move to North Port, Florida.

There was, after this week 29 years ago, literally no going back. There would be nowhere to go back to.

So, my saying no to considerable pressure to take over a thriving business -- the store and our home, a living and a house -- was a big fat no, and one at the time that seem completely irrational. Give up all that -- a certain future -- to try and find a means of making ends meet in comics???. It made no sense to my father.

But I had to do it, I had to give it my all. I knew if I didn't, I might regret not taking that plunge every day of my life -- whatever it led to, I knew I had to make the leap.

When my best friend Bill Hunter was found dead in his basement two years before (an apparent suicide), I swore I would make use of the time Bill no longer had and do what I wanted to do with my life. That was making comics -- and the Joe Kubert School sure looked like a lifeline to me! My father had always expressed his disgust with my staying indoors and drawing, and my desire to make comics made no sense to a man who'd served in four branches of the US military, worked as a lineman for the Green Mountain Power Company, and went into business for himself twice: once with the Eagle Oil Company (a heating oil business based in Duxbury), and again with Bissette's Market, of which there were three incarnations. My brother had done the Bissette name proud when he joined the Air Force, but I wanted no part of it, and my need to draw and tell stories simply didn't fit Dad's worldview.

That all changed in a heartbeat: the moment my father and I met Joe Kubert. When Joe shook my Dad's hand -- that steel-crushing Kubert handshake I still love -- my world was forever altered, for the better.

(Continued tomorrow)

A few announcements today:

* The grand opening of the Center for Cartoon Studies is Saturday Sept. 10 from 2-4pm. There will be a ribbon-cutting ceremony, students and faculty will be doing sketches for the public; there will also be a table selling graphic novels, comics, and books (the Vermont cartoonist table). This is the big day for Director and founder James Sturm and everyone at The Center for Cartoon Studies!
C'mon up, down, or over to White River Junction, VT; for more info, phone 802-295-3319, fax 802-295-3399, or pop on over to

the CCS site.

* My daughter Maia Rose has an exhibition of her photography at Mocha Joe's in downtown Brattleboro, VT. No web link I can post, sorry, but if you're in the area, stop in for a cup of java and a look at Maia's latest body of creative work. Lovely, evocative stuff, if I may say so myself!

* Speaking of Vermont artists with works on display, check out VT cartoonist Ethan Slayton's work, now up and waiting for eyeballs in Burlington, VT. Some of Ethan's current comic work is hanging at Speeder and Earls Coffee house on Church Street in Burlington for the month of September. The Burlington Art Hop is happening this coming weekend, September 9th and 10th, which only sweetens the view. If you won't be anywhere near Burlington this month, well, hop on over to

Ethan's site.

* Looking for info and interviews on horror comics? Check out Richard Arndt's expansive and ever-growing site on horror and independent comics. Richard has posted exhaustive bibliographies and related in-depth interviews (including a couple with yours truly) for "The Early Independents," Warren's seminal genre mags (Creepy, Eerie, Vampirella,, etc.), Marvel's competing 1970s explosion of horror black-and-white zines, as well as Mike Friedrich's Star*Reach, the ribald Skywald horrors, SpiderBaby Grafix's Taboo, the influential UK anthology Warrior (from which sprang V for Vendetta, Marvelman aka Miracleman, The Bojeffries Saga, and more), the short-lived Web of Horror, and more. It's just a click away --

Horror Comics!

* Is Katrina one shock too many for the US economy? I'll spare you the details here, but highly recommend you give Reuters' Economics correspondent Mike Dolan's Sept. 1 article a read at

this site.

In short, the Administration whose best advice to all of us after 9/11 was to keep on shopping is ill-prepared, to say the least: As Dolan succinctly puts it, "U.S. economic health is so dependent on keeping its increasingly indebted households shopping that another drain on their already-stretched budgets could batter the economy." This Labor Day weekend in southern VT saw a plunge in the usual traffic and business, as gas prices inflated to record levels hereabouts ($3.25 a gallon and much higher). Locals are dreading the heating costs for the coming winter; coming on the heels of sky-rocketing property tax bills and fuel costs, many are already wondering what essentials they'll go without to make it to spring. As I said late last week, this is only the beginning...

OK, just a little more on 24-Hour Comics and the extreme variations -- prompted by emails from some readers:

According to

this official-sounding source,

the rules are as follows:

"As originator of the challenge, Scott McCloud has established rules for a comic to qualify: It must be begun and completed within 24 consecutive hours. Only one person may be directly involved in its creation, and it must span 24 pages, or (if an infinite canvas format webcomic is being made) 100 panels."

The latter was news to me, but as I consider only life "an infinite canvas" (though that may change profoundly in the wake of the Bush years), but what the hell. Continuing:

"The creator may think about it beforehand and gather research materials and drawing tools, but cannot put anything on paper until he is ready for the 24 hours to begin. Any breaks (for food, sleep, or any other purpose) are counted as part of the 24 hours."

Relevent to this passage of the "rules," a poster named 'kc' posted the following on cartoonist Ryan Armand's blog (see below for link, in due time):

"Is it cheating if I already have a story in mind for a 24 hour comic? It feels like I'm cheating."

Well, maybe -- you'd have to consult with Scott, I guess. For the record, when I did mine, I believed not thinking about it beforehand was a prerequisite; I've no evidence of that having been a "rule," or a rule that was later revised, but that was my understanding at the time. Scott did prepare, in that he visited a library and brought home a random stack of books for inspiration. Knowing that, I reckon the "think about it beforehand and gather research materials" was and is groovy, but I'll say this:

For me, it was liberating to not prepare or "think about it beforehand." There was a clarity that arrived, and I can say for a fact that I never, ever would have manifested/channeled/created (choose your mediation flow) "A Life in Black and White" had I meditated at all upon a possible subject or focal point. In clearing my head (a rare event), something unbidden bubbled up, and amid that a fragment of half-remembered text also drifted to the fore (from Charles G. Finney's The Circus of Dr. Lao, one of my favorite books), becoming somehow vital to the narrative destination point that presented itself.

Back to the online encyclopedia's rules:

"If the cartoonist fails to finish the comic in 24 hours, there are two courses of action suggested: stop the comic at the 24-hour mark, or continue working until all 24 pages are done. The former is known as "the Gaiman variation", after Neil Gaiman's unsuccessful attempt, and the latter is called "the Eastman variation", after Kevin Eastman's unsuccessful attempt. Scott McCloud considers both of these to be "noble failures", and he'll still list them on his site as long as he believes that the creator intended to finish the project within the specified amount of time."

Ah, noble failure; I know it well.

But at least I was a noble "success" with the 24-Hour Comic!

In seeking the most extreme variation (that was not a "noble failure" variant), the wonder of email brought this to my box this morn, as if it were the answer to my quest, courtesy of the amazing Mr. Ryan Estrada:

"My name's Ryan Estrada. I recently did a 168 Hour Comic. The reason I mention it is because the introduction to the comic is a
history of challenge comics. But not a real history, a sleep deprived crazy history full of lies. And it talks about you. You can read it..." Well,

here.

But, hey, before you jump over there, read on; it gets better.

"Recently," it turns out, was earlier this month -- just about three weeks ago. All this manic activity, in Asia and in Brattleboro, before the October 7th "24 Hour Comic Day"!

In his text intro to the Incredible 168 (actually 172) Hour Comic, Ryan writes:

"For those of you just tuning in, here's what's happening and why. In 1990, Scott McCloud invented the 24 Hour Comic. A challenge to draw a 24 page comic book in 24 hours. Many artists took the challenge, and in 2004, Nat Gertler started 24 Hour Comics Day. I was one of the thousands of people to take the challenge that day, heading up the South Korea team. Sadly, I only finished 12 pages. I decided to go into training, so I would be better off the following year. I did the first 48 Hour Comic. (If you look on the features page of my site, all of the comics with exclamation points are excerpts from the 48 hour comic). It worked out so well, I did a 72 hour comic shortly thereafter. I planned a 96 hour comic, but decided instead to go to tsunami relief in Thailand. While I was doing that, Behrooz Shahriari did a 100 hour comic, and smashed my record. This last 24 hour comic day, I succesfully finished my 24 pages. The training is complete, but now, I have a record to get back. Now, it's personal. You're going down, Bez."

Noble intentions, however base the drive ("you're going down, Bez" -- so now, it's Red Harvest in the timed-comics-marathon sweepstakes). But Ryan was in for a rude awakening; later in his profusely-illustrated blog, he writes:

"I just got an e-mail from another Ryan. Ryan Armand. He cracked a joke on Comixpedia last week that he was going to steal my thunder by doing a casually done 168 hour comic this week while I was working on this one. At least, I thought it was a joke. Apparently it wasn't. He says he finished his 168 hour comic this afternoon, after working on it a few hours a day all this week. And it's up online here. He even blogged about it... If someone is messin' with me, they're doing a real good job. And if no one is messin with me, than I say this; Ryan Armand, you are awesome. But I guess I have to keep going. I don't want to tie."

Tie? How about, you don't want to die?. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Go, Ryan!

Now, this is madness, but it's intoxicating madness, eh? You talk the talk, you gotta walk the walk.

On Ryan Armand's blog -- the relevent portion is

here

-- there's some really lively strutting still in view:

“So apparently one Ryan Estrada is making a 168 hour comic... That's like a 24 hour comic, times seven. He'll be awake the whole time maybe, and it will be a feat of iron man comic making... and I think that that is just ridiculous. To show how ridiculous and simple a feat it actually is, over the same amount of time that he spends on the comic, I too will make a 168 page comic. Except I will do it very casually, while getting plenty of sleep, spending copious amounts of time arguing on the interwebs about nothing, playing cinematic soccer games on my SNES, watch a complete japanese drama series(or two?) and maybe jogging.”

What a glorious braggart, what an imperial pig! This is hilarious. And now, what was inherently a non-competitive creative challenge (one is, after all, tidily in 'competition' with oneself in Scott's original concept) has now turned into -- Iron Cartoonist! An online arena sport!

To paraphrase David Lo Pan (to be read aloud in the appropriate reedy James Wong voice), "Two 168-Hour Comics -- what can it mean?"

So, I extend my warmest respects to both Ryans -- here's hoping you've since caught up on your sleep.

And to think, all this hyper-activity happened this month.

Ryan Armand's finished product is

on this site

-- go ahead, check it out.

I just hope we don't arrive at the first escalating-competitive-extension of the 24-Hour Comic resulting in death rather than mere bravado, wild comics that wouldn't otherwise exist (sweet nectar!) and madness. It's becoming a bit like frat-party drinking binges, and too-little-sleep and too-much-caffeine (or whatever) can, after all, take a mortal toll, too.

Long before Scott invented the 24-hour comic, much less Ryan and Ryan inventing the 168-hour-comic, Gene Day did himself in via such a route (meeting Marvel deadlines while living on coffee and air). I'd hate to see it happen again in a whirlwind of competing 475-Hour-Comic marathons -- shit, losing Gene Day was bad enough. We need every standing cartoonist we can get in this dire age. And besides, Scott would forever blame himself.

For anyone interested, Ryan Estrada's full site -- which is quite an astounding record of not only his marathon comic-creation binges and psychic purges, but also his time in Asia, is

here.

"Keep on rocking, brother," indeed!

________________________

On to other matters:

I am currently struggling with my perception of what makes a graphic novel an inherently different form, and teaching the evolution of the graphic novel (as part of my CCS ciriculum) this year.

To that end, Eddie Campbell and I have been trading some emails back-and-forth, and CCS founder (and grand cartoonist) James Sturm and I have also exchanged words a bit more emphatically; we'll see where it all ends up.

The central role of the utilitarian format of serialized periodical publication in traditional comic book form of expansive works that are conceived as (or, more to the point, evolve into) graphic novels is the most fascinating bone of contention, it seems, and one I'm relishing just now.

More on this topic on another day.

Test, eh? Well...

It all began with the monster movies I grew up on: Ray Harryhausen's stop-motion creatures, 1950s sf gems and turds, the Universal rogue's gallery (Dracula, Frankenstein, the Wolf Man, the Creature), the Hammer horrors, Mario Bava's BLACK SUNDAY. It all began with the beloved comics of my youth... STAR-SPANGLED WAR STORIES ("The War That Time Forgot!"), GORGO (see cover at right), KONGA, and best of all KONA, MONARCH OF MONSTER ISLE!

Welcome to Myrant, the Bissette blog. It'll be anything goes, day to day, but out of this will emerge a chronology of my current adventures -- as a writer, as a cartoonist, as a teacher. As of September, I will starting a new adventure, teaching at James Sturm and Michelle Ollie's amazing new Center for Cartoon Studies in White River Junction, VT (see LINKS on the RIGHT of the screen; lots of good stuff there to check out besides the CCS, too!).

This turn of events brings a major arc of my life and career full circle: I began working as a pro in comics as a student at the first-ever class in a new experiment in education, the Joe Kubert School for Cartoon and Graphic Art, Inc. in Dover, NJ (Sept. 1976-June 1978). Now I'll be among the faculty for the first-ever class at the Center for Cartoon Studies -- a new experiment in education -- on the other side of the classroom. The fun begins after the September 10th Grand Opening, and who knows where it'll go from there! I'll be posting my thoughts, perspectives, and misadventures here, so stay tuned!

At the time of this first blog posting, I have also completed the first volume in a new book series, S.R. BISSETTE'S BLUR, compiling my weekly newspaper column "Video Views," which appeared in the Brattleboro Reformer from Sept. 1999 thru October of 2001. Volumes 2 and 3 are now completed and being formatted, all of this out soon from my dear friends at Black Coat Press.

This weekend seems momentous, too: The Brattleboro Museum is hosting a remarkable 24-Hour Comic Creation marathon, which has already attracted an incredible 48+ (final count forthcoming later) participants. I am the Crypt-Keeper, so to speak, the Master of Ceremonies who ushers in and ushers out the event. I'll be posting at length, here, as well as providing links as they're available.

OK, enough for now -- more to follow... time to begin the blog proper. This was not just a test.