COMICS CULTURE SHRAPNEL from CBEM 334
This past Sunday I was contacted by several friends about getting together, hanging out and talking. Life-affirming kind of stuff. I thought it was a good idea, and was all set to travel the two hours (from my house) to Washington Heights and have a nice picnic.
But first, there was this little thing in Brooklyn I thought I should check out.
I took the train to Williamsburg, which was enough of a voyage in itself. Getting there requires that I take the subway 15 miles or so into Manhattan, then transfer and take another train back out to Brooklyn. The subways were running fine, so it didn't take as long as I thought it would. Important to keep in mind because I had a timetable to stick to.
Williamsburg is nice. Very humble, working-class, pleasant to look at. Reminds me of Park Slope, which is somewhere I used to live, now populated by yuppie scum. But none of that element was here.. yet. Almost all of the people I passed were young, bohemian, intellectual. A lot looked like they listened to punk music while reading Camus. Something like that. I think I would live there, if I could. Certainly a prospect to consider after graduation.
What a great neighborhood for a comix convention.
I walked down the street some nine blocks to the building, a rather non-descript brick facade with rusted gate and a bombed-out interior. It was a bit intimidating, until I heard the hum of many voices wafting down the stairs.
"SP-Xiles: Brooklyn's First Emergency Comics Convention"
Entering the loft I was simply amazed. So many people! Exhibitors hawking their wares off blankets on the floor. People milling about, looking through mini-comics and hopping over displays in a desperate attempt to move through the room. The loft was pretty nice, a large space decorated with pop-culture portraits of cleaning products and board games. I just loved standing there.
I walked around the room maybe five times, trying to look at all the products being offered. I flipped through many books, finding some self-indulgent while others charming. Eventually I bought stuff. I also got freebies.
I started talking to some guy off to the side, just chatting casually about whatever. The stuff I read, the things I like, the conventions I've been to...
I can be self-indulgent too.
Eventually he hit on me, I broke the bad news to him, then things got somewhat uncomfortable. I felt a little bad. I'm used to talking to complete strangers in a geeky setting and them not thinking about romantic potential. They see me as pure dork. Guess this setting wasn't geeky enough. Small press? More trendy.
Then I left to meet my friends. I suppose I could have stayed longer, but sometimes there are things more important than comics. I think.
Dipsh*t Epiphanies
K. Thor Jensen
60 pages, B&W
September 2001
www.shortandhappy.com
I don't particularly know what attracted me to this comic. The cover is not particularly striking, being a photocopied page of panels advertising "Mars! Stars! Scars! Bars! Masks! More!" No exciting images, no overflow of obvious humor. More a subtle wit, if anything. And irony. Oh, the irony.
I think what first caught me was the title, which would be a phrase to describe a friend of mine who annoys me terribly. And yet I still consider him a friend. Sometimes he amuses me, him and his sad wretched life.
He is nothing like the protagonist in the comic, which was supposed to be somewhat autobiographical, so then I'm talking about the creator. My friend and Mr. Jensen are nothing alike.
However, I found myself identifing a bit with the stories, in that weird irony life always has. The way real life feels like a stale comedy, where things are either awkward or unintentionally funny.
The book starts off with a somewhat surreal story about an outing at Mars 2112. For those unfamiliar, Mars 2112 is a theme restaurant in Midtown meant to simulate a futuristic trip to... um, it's pretty obvious. I've never been there, but I understand the feelings in the story, about wanting to hook up with someone but not quite getting there.
Following that is a story about the disappointments and exhilaration surrounding snow days. It's short, but cute. Then there was a (awkward) funny piece about being at Small Press Expo. Or rather, being there too early.
I didn't like the rest of the book. Maybe because it's an example of the self-indulgent confessional melodrama that haunts the small press. But the last few stories don't count against the book too much, since they only make up the latter third. My opinion wasn't dragged down terribly since the first narrative holds the collection up wonderfully.
On a closing note, one part in particular amused me:
My boyfriend is an Irish DJ. Coincidence has a weird irony of it's own, don't it?