It’s (Still) A Man’s Man’s Man’s World

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Not quite a year and half after being launched and the DC imprint, Minx, is kaput. Minx was focused on releasing comics oriented for female teens. I had high hopes for what Minx meant to the comics industry. It was something I would regularly bring up and mention to my colleagues – a beacon of hope to get comics into the hands of students everywhere.

First off the press back in 2007, The Plain J.A.N.E.S. was such a refreshing read that I was thrilled with where Minx would push the industry. I bought a class set of the graphic novel to incorporate into the graffiti unit Mark and I taught. His seventh graders ate it up and my eleventh graders breezed through the text as well.

Unfortunately, the rest of the Minx catalogue – at least what I perused of it – didn’t match the quality of The Plain J.A.N.E.S. It didn’t even come close. Sure, I ho-hummed my way through The New York Four, but that was only because it was a “Brian Wood Book”.

Looking at the titles that existed under the Minx imprint, I’m not exactly surprised by what happened. However, the idea of helping to bridge the gender gap in comics was exciting. I don’t know if the failure of Minx will further scare away other publishers from expanding in such a way.

I think this is also an appropriate place for an aside about how comics have emerged as a part of my day-to-day reading habits. I initially came towards comics with the same sense of self-righteous ‘I only read graphic novels’ attitude I see in some of colleagues. I liked Chris Ware, read Maus, the “important” Alan Moore work, and therefore was more than a little elitist in my comic book habits. It was through the patient handselling of the two Davids that run Secret Headquarters that I began to diversify. I’m pretty confident that Y: The Last Man serves as a sort of gateway comic as well – students swear by it and it’s the kind of book most people can pick up and need to read in the same kind of fervor that some get afflicted with Harry Potter or – more recently – Twilight. At this point, I’ve begun wading into the fell fledged heroes in capes and masks kinds of comics. I still like “the other kind” of comics too, but I’m an equal opportunity offender. More pertinently, not to out her in any way, but the example is worthwhile; Rhea is also reading pretty much whatever ends up in our routine purchases. That means she too has undergone a transformation towards accepting more mainstream comics. No, she didn’t need Minx to get into comic books, but it took a lot of patience, conversations, and trust in the local comic store guys to get to a place where either one of us are interested in comics beyond the snob’s canon.

There is a whole ‘nother argument to be made about the thrill of serialized storytelling, its potential impact on teaching & learning, and the reason it makes reading easier. However, I wanted to focus primarily on Minx at the moment, so that will have to wait.

The DFW-Plex

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So for the past two weeks I’ve been secretly reading tons and tons of blog posts, articles, obits, and tributes to David Foster Wallace. This has significantly affected my productivity – I literally spend significant portions of my free time reading what other writers and bloggers have to say about a writer that could have written circles around them on any day of the week.

Having read much of his non-fiction, a chunk of his short stories and still working my way through the beast, I was more than saddened to hear of his death. I even struggled through two thirds of that damn book on infinity before realizing I was barely understanding any of what he was writting. It’s gotten to me more than I thought it would. And yes, I’m a bit tired of the forwarded college speeches, recycled stories, reflections on his teaching, analysis of references to suicide in his writing, and links to his appearance on the Charlie Rose show. I’ve reacquainted myself with all of these through my blog perusing travels. However, the most interesting artifact to come out of this is the copy of his college syllabus. There was a point while at UCLA, that I regretted not attending the Claremont Colleges (I’d applied and been accepted for early admission to Pitzer) solely based on the fact that “THE DFW” taught there. I’ve exhausted by DFW-related blog reading. Let the other forms of procrastination return.

“Guess You Only Get One Chance in Life to Play a Song that Goes Like …”

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I’ve apparently dropped the ball. It wasn’t until last Thursday, when I casually picked up the LA Weekly, as always, that I saw Frank’s mug on the cover, carefully thumbed to the corresponding feature, anxiously read through the contents, confirmed the details, and dealt with the realization that Joe’s Garage is finally getting a proper theatrical release. In Los Angeles. This Month. In my past lifetime as a fledgling music snob critic, this would have been something I’d have seen coming like months possibly even years in advance, in my old age as an educator these canine-like instincts have dwindled. Sigh.

If you feel overly aware and are wondering about the run-on and fragment sentences above, that’s how my mind was working at the time. It was that giddy, near-breathless feeling of anticipation with which my eyes read through the news.

For me – and I’m sure Zappa fans everywhere – this is a big deal. If you’re unfamiliar with the plot of Joe’s Garage, it’s because you’ve been living under a rock for some time or you’re just not aware that we’re basically living Joe’s Garage right now. Ok, so the actual storyline may seem a bit ridiculous … the Weekly story pretty much nails it. Those of a weaker constitution may want to skip the synopses:

The play opens with an Orwellian “Central Scrutinizer,” a large robotic puppet who speaks through a megaphone and whose job is to enforce laws “that haven’t yet been passed.” A local policeman counsels Joe to drop his music and engage in more church activities, but Joe’s sweet Catholic girlfriend, named Mary (of course), abandons him for a backstage pass to see another band. After following that band on tour and after being used as a sex toy by the band’s roadies, the exhausted Mary is dumped in Miami, where she enters a wet-T-shirt contest to raise enough money to get home.

When Joe learns of her plight, he goes into a funk of depression, contracts venereal disease, and seeks religion — at the door of L. Ron Hoover and his First Church of Appliantology — to pull him back up. Membership in the church costs Joe his life’s savings, and he is ordered “into the closet” in order to find salvation by having sex with home appliances — so much more safe and titillating than with human beings. There’s a three-way orgy between Joe, an appliance named Sy Borg and a “modified Gay Bob Doll”; Joe accidentally destroys Sy Borg’s circuitry during a golden shower episode and is imprisoned for being unable to pay for Sy’s repair. In prison, Joe is gang-raped by record executives and other riffraff. He eventually emerges into a new world, where music has been banned, but he does land a good job in a muffin factory.

Sure, it may sound a bit crude, but this was the satirical picture of the future with which Mr. Frank Zappa chose to launch an attack on censorship – it was a battle that continued in court, on television, and in his writing. As much as I am a huge fan of Zappa’s music, it’s his work protecting free speech that speaks to a larger audience.

So, that being said, you should know that – unequivocally – Frank Zappa is a genius. For a while, as an undergrad, I used to wear a shirt that said “WWFZD?” No one could be as simultaneously profound and offensive  as Frank Zappa. As far as musical talent, he’s one of the most accomplished guitarists and composers in just about any genre. And his expectations and requirements of band members are pretty much legendary. Read the rest of the Weekly article to get a sense of time signatures being used throughout Joe’s Garage – a sweet rock opera that starts with the most mundane of chord changes – nothing more than a glorified version of “Louie Louie.” And did you know that Frank Zappa invented xenochrony?

Yes, Joe’s Garage will offend. Yes, that’s Frank on the album cover. Yes, he is in Blackface. Yes, he is offending you. Yes, this is good for your soul.

On Borders Not Being Crossed Quite Yet

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So tomorrow is a social kick off event for the graduate program I’ll be starting in a week. It would be a generally wise decision to go rub elbows with my soon-to-be academic colleagues. I’m told that this whole networking thing is the name o’ da game, after all.

However, tomorrow – at the same time, no less – is the orientation meeting for our school’s iDesign Transition Team. And while I’ve respectfully rescinded my name for Transition Team membership, it will be the beginning of a landmark process of grassroots reflection, planning, and implementation for and by my school’s community. It will be the start of positive progress at our school and my input (like all stakeholders) is welcomed.

So … networking will not be happening this weekend. Sorry future classmates, my students’ interests are still first.

Castles with Farley

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“We find after years of struggle that we do not take a trip; a trip takes us. …The certain way to be wrong is to think you control it.”

I’m sleeping at the beach. (It’s one of the few times I’m convinced to go. And though it’s a scientific fact that I cannot get sunburned, Rhea’s forced me to apply a thick coat of SPF 8 million. In any case, I’m here, dragging too many books, comics, and notepads to make any kind of leisurely affair out of the effort. After exhausting myself in setting up a makeshift office upon strewn towels and lawn chairs, I promptly nod off. I vaguely remember Kyoko whining about some sort of relationship problem to Rhea and hearing Farley say something about building a sand castle though changing his mind and making a generic homicide investigation style outline of a human body.)

Not sure how much time has passed, I awake to Kyoko: “That looks great, Farley!”
I hear a mischievous giggle from way off.

I brush some sand out of my hair and sit up: about 10 feet away from me she is laying there peacefully. Farley’s adding another clump of substance to her hips for good measure. I stand up and realize this woman is easily 12 feet tall. She’s got a stoic yet serene expression and she’s resting at Dockweiler Beach more comfortably than anyone else.

I walk over to where she wasn’t just minutes ago and admire the giddy enthusiasm Farley has for his new maiden. With a quick dash, he’s grabbed some seaweed and applying a healthy dose of au-natural pubic hair to the woman’s crotch and armpits. A flock of on-duty police officers stamp by and smile happily at the creation.

The fervor with which Farley dives into any activity is an infectious one. And while there were numerous escapades throughout July and August while we worked on the Black Cloud, I think a day at the beach and the temporal nature of art feels like a nice homage.

Bringing Cloudy to Life: A Photo Essay

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As initial planning for the Los Angeles version of the Black Cloud Game unrolled, we knew very early on that the Black Cloud, in effigy, would dance at the game’s concluding celebration. Often times, what’s been great about the Black Cloud Game is coming up with ideas, concepts, and processes that are innovative and not necessarily worrying about how those ideas will actually be executed. Case in point, the Pufftron sensors and the Black Cloud Monitoring Network are so advanced technologically, that I constantly admire the hard work that goes into creating them. In regards to creating the Black Cloud persona – aka Cloudy McPufferson – there was always a sense that a costume would be ready for our final event. However, not until mid-July was someone selected as the official designer for the Cloudy costume. After making several inquiries and concluding the no one was available to complete the costume within the required time frame and budget, Rhea took it upon herself to create the costume. Below is a series of photos documenting Rhea’s design process.

Initial Planning and Storyboarding

Rhea sends out an email to the Black Cloud team as well as a series of source photos, sketches, and miscellaneous ideas.

 


Building the Form and Outline

Selecting a general attack strategy, Rhea converts her room into McPufferson Headquarters.

After rolling in sewing form, Rhea goes shopping for the initial materials to build the costume. Where do you go when you need to build a cloud of information? Home Depot of course.


This is one of two bags of batting that were used to give Cloudy volume. Cloudy will never be as muscular as I am, though.

 
Using a canvas base, a hoop-skirt based design is used for the Cloudy’s underlying form.

 

The top of Cloudy will be secured with a traditional hard hat. The inside of the hat seems a bit tricky. I don’t think this is how you wear it.

Pillow test.

Fabrics!

Rhea presents samples of possible Cloudy fabrics both in person and via email.


The Black Cloud Team looks, touches, and discusses the various options (lots of pictures were taken).

Very nice, Greg.

Eventually, 17 yards of this fabric were purchased.

Dying


A significant portion of the fabric used for the costume is hand dyed. Sadie looks concerned, as usual. Not pictured, Kevitron and Dorka helped dye and eventually sew part of Cloudy. Thanks!
Sewing and Building


The different cloud pieces are slowly layered onto the hoop form.


Hmmm … Cloudy’s nose is looking a bit too phallic. Eventually it seemed to blend in just fine. [For the record, Cloudy McPufferson is “androgynous and anomalous” as clarified by Laura.]


Cloudy has twenty-five eyes. They vary by five different colors. Currently it looks like he may be missing a few.

At Last


To a killer musical concoction, Cloudy McPufferson did indeed dance! Check out Cloudy’s last-minute built spats.

 

Although an occasionally frightening figure, Cloudy is a benevolent cloud. Thanks for bringing it to life, Rhea!

Border Crossing: The Chinkle-Chankle of Mixed Connections

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Look, this is going to have to come out sooner or later so I’ll state it bluntly. In a few weeks I will begin a doctorate program in Urban Schooling. Yes, I will STILL be teaching at Manual.

Okay now that we’re all on the same page
I’m starting a new blog category as introduced with this post’s tag. Allow me to explain. I’m not really interested in journaling specifically about my graduate school experience or the minutiae of dealing with two full-time schedules (I recognize that I already do a lot of whining on this here blog). Instead, what I plan to write about in the Border Crossing series is to discuss the experiences between the two places I’ll be traversing. Ask most teachers and there is a recognized disconnect between “research” and “practice.” (Yes, I realize a certain department at a certain school I’ll be taking classes from tries to bridge this. No, I’m not ready to write about that … yet.)

There is no common middle ground and people talk about and at each other passionately. But do teachers really listen to the ivory tower? Do professors really examine what really happens in schools? Does this knowledge really get shared in some kind of equitable way? Really? (Aside from exceptions here or there, my gut feeling is that these are obvious and obviously rhetorical questions.)

Goal
Border Crossing is to document, question, and ask for open ended thought from you about the differences and mixed/missed connections as I move from leading students to undertaking my own studies and back again (and back again) [repeat]. It is a personal inquiry into a journey looking at education from two different perspectives. It may not be a comfortable ride all the time.

“- And Neckwus begat Fleckwus,the King of Spit. And Fleckwus spoke out of his chinkle-chankle.

– What?

– I’m sure that was the word. I’ve never forgotten it. ‘Chinkle-chankle.’”