Miscellaneous

 Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.  I had quite an amount of fun, I don’t know about you.  Our feast consisted of turkey, stuffing, cranberries, pie, the usual set of foodstuffs.  Vegetarian options for those among us who, for some strange reason, had a problem with envisioning helpless animals slaughtered, were provided.  After, a few friends and I tromped upstairs to look at terrifying personals ads.  Good times.  The rest of my weekend will most likely entail working on a history project, and trying to sneak into the Twilight movie (my friends and I will buy tickets to another show so the theater won’t lose any money, but I refuse to fund Stephanie Meyers’ operation in any way)(we are seeing it because we feel it would be silly to mock something without knowing the material thoroughly—that’s why I read the books, no matter how painful they were.  Every.  Purple.  Paragraph.) I’m sorry to fans of the series.  I’ve been rather preoccupied by hating on it of late.  It’s just that it’s a very divisive issue among my friends and I.  Yeah.  You heard me.  Forget the war, the elections, women’s rights, the environment.  The driving force of contention in our group is sparkly vampires.As I said, sorry.If you like it, that’s fine and dandy.I just don’t, and I’m not going to shut up about it any sooner than you’re going to shut up about liking it.But I do respect your opinions as best I can, so if I come off as a little arrogant or mean, it’s not intentional.That said. I am already sick of the relentless commercial bombardment for the upcoming holidays.  It’s bad enough that they had to start a few weeks early due to the less-than-amazing economic situation we’re in right now, but the commercials seem almost more desperate this year.  More blatant, you know?  Less, “Oh, maybe a member of your family may enjoy this product.  It’s pretty awesome,” more “IF YOU DO NOT BUY THIS A PERSON FROM OUR COMPANY WILL COME TO YOUR HOUSE AND DO UNSPEAKABLE THINGS TO GET YOU TO BUY THIS PRODUCT.”  Sorta creepy.  It does not encourage consumer happiness.  What’re your guys’ thoughts on this?  Holiday advertisements are always a bit overzealous, but this year it’s particularly bad.  Agree?  Disagree?  Thoughts?

It has, lately, been a study in wins and losses.  Wins and fails, really.  (more…)

Biking to and from the Y every morning has gotten easier lately.  Some of it has to do with the newly-installed light on the front of the bike, so the number of accidents due to running into things has been almost halved.  Also, I have found a jacket with secure pockets, so I can listen to Emilie Autumn and frolic about in the dark to song without worry of my musical device falling off (although the resulting scramble through the leaves in the cold and dark is a most lively diversion).  The old people are as feisty as ever, and I’m feeling okay.But this is the time in the school year where everything gets harder.  School is pressing down on me like a bear rug worn as a cape.  The online grade system is a Big Brother of sorts, the kind that warrants capital ‘B’s and allusions to fascism.     I am anxious all the time, and am too anxious to do anything about it. So: good luck, readers of Miscellaneous, in slogging through the worst part of the year.  It will get better.  It will, it will. 

The trees, more red, more full of life.Or am I just seeing things? Chicago is still the bitterly cold, bitterly divisive city it always has been.  Cars still crash, and from them, drivers cuss, or blood pools under their seats, or they are flung from their windows and onto the pavement outside.  Children are killed.People are abused, they are beaten, they are trodden underfoot.People die.  But something seems brighter today, seemed brighter yesterday.  Something made me want to stay up all night eating pizza and staring with unnatural intensity at the television, clipping my nails with compulsive fervor.   I switched between FOX and MSNBC, laughing at the difference in reporting (it was “Hmmm, this guy would have to pull off some sort of miracle in order to win,” versus, “well, the race is still in its first stages, and it’s far too close to call”).  My friend was over, and we had a good time jumping off of the couch and doing shamefully embarrassing dances in the general direction of the TV when Obama won a state.  The pizza wasn’t bad either, although it could just be my selective memory. That day, it was unseasonably warm. And the day after.The day after that, of course, it rained– a combo-breaker, but that was okay.  The lady at the coffee shop and I smiled at each other, recognizing the other’s tell-tale sleepy eyes, triumphant smiles.  We had a nice time being obnoxious and loud liberals.I’m just trying, you see, to take down notes of everything I can.  The t-shirts we wore, what everyone around us said, how we rushed through our studies so we could run to watch TV.  So I can look back later and remember.   I wish I could take some form of credit for this monumental victory, but I cannot.  I’m not even old enough to vote.  Sure, I went out and TRIED to get people to vote for our guy, but that was about all I could do short of walking in and voting, pretending to be older than I actually am.  Which would be impossible.  I’m pretty sure I’m too pellucid for that sort of thing.But this is historic.Chicago is still cold, still big, and horrible things happen here every day.But lately, it seems a lot warmer.And the sky looks far more blue than it did yesterday. 

I’m updating a little early this week.  Halloween, you see.  I’m going to rock my costume (I’m going as a Freemason, for those that didn’t read my earlier update), and my friends and I have already mapped out a route to take.  The last two years, I didn’t go trick-or-treating because (foolishly), I thought that one could outgrow it.  But I’ve redrawn the line.  First, you do it for the free candy.  During middle and high school, it’s more of a social thing.  Trying to one-up your friends, costume-wise, is a big part of it, as is just traipsing around the neighborhood at night.  I think the cut-off age is in college, when one is doing it to be hip and ironic.  After college, it crosses over from “hip and ironic” to “creepy possible child molester.”  An important distinction.  Wannabe hipsters, take note.    Speaking of going places in the dark, I’ve taken up working out at the Y.  I had decided, after much study of the patterns and whatnot, that it was imperative that I exercise somehow.  Exercise ensures that I’m attacked by the fats.  Vicious, attacking fats.  It also de-stresses me markedly less angsty/obsessive.  I’d go into more detail, but it’d be a little TMI.  So.  Since there were no sports at school that I could readily join without either prior experience or about seven extra inches of height (the options were gymnastics and basketball), and I didn’t have the time then anyway, I decided to do something in the morning.  Before it got darker, I made it a habit to run two or more miles each day.  However, the days became shorter, and, needless to say, it’s inadvisable to jog through the streets of Chicago in the dark.  So, a dilemma.  Run at night, avoiding the lurking Pedobears as best I can?  Or join basketball, and get laughed at not ONLY for being a conspiracy theorist, but for being a short conspiracy theorist who can’t play basketball for crap.  The solution was simple.  About two miles away, there’s a YMCA.  I read the online brochures, and found that the place offered morning classes in cardio.  The thing was, taking them would involve getting up at five, riding my bike (rather, my mom’s bike– she wouldn’t let me take my bike because, given that it is the cutest thing ever, it would most likely get stolen regardless of it being locked up) there in the dark, and getting to school, if I hurried, in a barely timely fashion.  Also, public showers.  Also, sweaty people.  But I decided to risk it.  It’s far worse to be mentally unstable and lethargic than to be biking around in the dark for maybe fifteen minutes (biking is better than running because it takes a shorter amount of time, and one goes faster while doing it.  So the Pedobears would have to have, like, rocket boots in order to catch me.  And goodness knows, I bike faster than the black helicopters can fly, so I’m safe from them too). The class I’m taking is filled with adorable old people.  I mean that in the least condescending way I can.  I have a feeling that if I hinted at something less than glowingly positive, they would kick my ass.  They can out-exercise me easily.  That’s right.  A relatively in-shape seventeen year-old cannot compete with lively septuagenarians.  Four days a week, we sweat to remixes of songs from the 70’s (”MACH-oh MACH-oh maaaaaan!  I want to be a MACHO MAAAAN!”), and collectively complain about our failing thighs.  Then I shower (luckily, in the early mornings, almost nobody is there), bike to school, and start my day.  I heartily suggest morning work-outs for everyone.  Unless they have other things to do.  Like sleeping.  Or drawing.  Or reading books by Barbara Ehrenreich.  I would not blame them for wanting to skip for those reasons.  Otherwise, it is encouraged.  It gives you pep and energy for a lovely day.  A lovely day of dealing with people.  And disappointments.  …And disappointing people.  You know what?  I think I’d rather frolic with my old-people friends than go to school.  It’s painful, but it’s worth it. 

  Halloween is a pretty cool holiday.  Sure, it’s turned relatively tame in comparison to when it was in its earlier, wilder days.   And it has become more commercialized, but really, what holiday celebrated on a mass scale in the West hasn’t?  It’s an interesting thing, having the entire world dress up once.  It’s like going to a never-ending convention, sans most of the terrifying smells and general nerditry.  As if we were all cosplaying.  Not only that, but it’s nice to see a holiday that isn’t blindingly cheerful.  Cheerful isn’t bad, but it gets hard to keep up after a few weeks of preparation.  Halloween is all, “Yeah, okay.  We’re all going to traipse around the neighborhood splattered in fake blood, demanding free food.  Be cheerful if you want.  You don’t have to though, although this is quite fun.”  I like that.  The appeal of free candy cannot be overstated either. But wait, what’s this?  You have a problem?  And it’s not for weird, Jack Chick-y, fundamentalist reasons?  You don’t have a costume?  WELL. I have a solution.  You see, I am a master at Halloween costumes.  Sure, there have been past missteps (an unfortunate home-made Pikachu costume from third grade springs readily to mind), but most of the time I’ve been pretty good (in 8th grade, I was a shrubbary, in 9th, it was Kyle from South Park, and this year, I plan on going as a third degree Freemason).  So I think this qualifies me to give advice.

•  Cheap Costumes Can Be Win, Too

You don’t have to go to great costs to purchase a great costume.  My friend, who is going as a steampunk pirate, got most of her ensemble from Goodwill.  If you could theoretically withstand the awful Halloween CD they were blaring when we were in there, you could find something of use.  I got some great pants for, like, five dollars.  Around this time of year, you can also get a few used pre-made costumes (not that I recommend those generally, for reasons mentioned below).  Another good thrifty thing to do is to dress as a person from a TV show (one that’s not a cartoon, and doesn’t feature giant robots– not that the aforementioned are bad, they’re just hard to emulate, costume-wise).  Plainclothes cops are fun.  I was seriously contemplating going as Detective Munch from Law & Order: Special Victims Unit, but then I realized that I would be too sexy.  And that I’d get the disturbing urge to marry myself, or to have myself whisper sweet things about the JFK assassination in my ear.  Which would be hard to do and disturbing to observe.  And if you don’t watch TV, you might want to try going as a character from a book.  Gregor Sama would be easy, as would Hester Prynne or someone like that.  This way, you could simultaneously impress the hell out of your less literarily-minded friends, and get away with a cheapo costume.

• Don’t Buy Pre-Made Costumes

Because they suck.  The ones available are either hideously ugly, or skimpy/tacky and hideously ugly.  Don’t do it.  Just don’t.  I know the appeal of walking around disguised as a slutty Girl Scout/Queen of Hearts/ Betty Boop/ Cavegirl/ Beergirl/ whatever is appealing, but you can make, most likely, a better costume on your own.  Ditto for the guys’ costumes.  They’re usually cheaply made and ugly.  You can make something ugly by yourself, for half of the price.

• Get Something You Can Walk In

Sure, a giant bunny suit is hilarious.  But is it well-ventilated?  Could it survive a trek around the neighborhood?  To your workplace?  To your school?  I love giant bunny suits, but make sure that they can be worn anywhere, for long amounts of time.  There was this awesome inflatable Sumo-wrestler costume at my old school, and it had this whole ventilation system that came with it.  A good way to wear costumes with a lot of bulk is to run wires underneath the big, fabric parts.  Bend the wires away from your body and the costume will stick that way.  This way, the fabric won’t cling to you and you won’t be all disgusting.  Aside from that, anything is fair game.  The more obscure your costume is, the better.  Have fun, friends, with your delicious free candy!  Also, as an aside, updates may be sporadic.  Computers, you know, are weird and do not like me.  This has become a problem recently. 

I wrote a little bit earlier about college admissions. To summarize in the most eloquent way I can: they are scary. And they will get you in the night. Forget monsters, I have the admissions people under my bed. Them and math. Math looks terrifying. What’s more, it’s hard to do well in school when you’re off missing days to go LOOK at the colleges that won’t accept you because you’re not doing well in school. It goes around, see? So I am going to try and make it easier for you by visiting colleges and, after each one, typing up an insider’s report for you. Well, not an insider’s report, but something you’d get if you were to visit the campus. I’ll fill you in on the food, which majors seem to be the most popular, how nice the campus is, and what scores you may want to try for if you want to go (I may rely on outside resources for this—I am not the Princeton Review. I do, however, own the latest tome, which has the information needed).

As a disclaimer, I am a little biased. I will not be visiting every college, and have a decidedly artsy theme in mind, so if you’re looking for in-depth investigation of business schools, I cannot help you. It’s not that I have something against business schools, but I am not going to become a businessperson, I don’t think. Thus.

First on this magical mystery tour is the University of Chicago. Mom, my friend, her mom and I all piled into the car and drove into the city (Yes, I’m aware that I basically just told you a close approximation of where I live. And I’d TOTALLY be easy to find, because there aren’t any teenage girls here except for me, and none of them use the name ‘Anna’ as a pseudonym. At all. So pedos, your job is an easy one.) The sun was shining, although the morning was a little nippy. Prospective applicants: Chicago weather hates you. It hates you and wants you dead. Its sole element of predictability is that winter and summer are both extremes of nasty. Right now, however, it’s fall and the days are more crisp than acerbic language professors.

As we were opting for the day-long tour, we got breakfast with our indoctrination. This was a good move on the college’s part. Maybe it’s mind-control, but my opinion of the place brightened increasingly as I came upon a table trembling with the weight of donuts, scones, muffins, coffee, juice, and mini-croissants. A spread of carbs that would tempt even the most feverent of Atkins zombies. As we had to get up at around six thirty (on a weekend!), the coffee was taken advantage of with impunity. Our group of about three hundred parents and children was then herded from room to magnificent room (half of the campus buildings we saw that day were done in this glorious, gothic style, their beauty magnified by the brilliant oranges and yellows outside), signing up for classes to sit in on (my friend and I chose a course on Soviet art, due to love of propaganda posters), getting meal tickets for lunch, reading flyers.

Two announcers gave an hour-long introductory speech. The first guy was okay. I wasn’t really paying attention to him, I’m embarrassed to say. The flyers in my lap had pretty pictures. These were more important at the time. Sorry, first guy. I’m sure you were excellent.

The second speech-giver irked me like no other. And by ‘irked,’ I mean, ‘if it were appropriate and not rude to do so, I would have walked out.’ Instead of giving us a general overview of the college, an idea of what to expect, a rundown of things to come, he prattled on for an hour about stuff that interested him. And how AWESOME he was. And how high school students couldn’t think. And how all the other colleges he went to/taught at were better. And—oh! I know he was in something to do with social sciences or economics, but he couldn’t seem to get off of the topic of the free-market versus a more controlled economy. About half of his speech was on that subject. He somehow politicized it FURTHER, bringing up the presidential elections when it was absolutely unnecessary to do so. Granted, the Obamas’ house is close by, and the election is a hot issue, but a welcoming speech for prospective students is hardly a place to whip out politics. It was aggressively annoying.

After the disheartening start, our large group split into packs, each one going to a different activity. Our quartet decided to go and learn about possible financial aid, because this sort of thing usually comes up when you sign your parents’ (or your own) souls over for education. The lecture was held in a beautiful, spacey, attic auditorium (there really is no other way to describe it). Along the walls was a hand-painted, Medieval-style mural, and the windows had these intricate black swirl designs on them. The fantastic decorations instantly washed away residual grumpiness. It also helped that the speaker was far better at what he was doing, more helpful, and less pretentious. And he was very, very honest when he said that the University of Chicago is expensive. $53,000 dollars, including room and board and all that. I suppose that they have to pay for the nice buildings, classes, and donuts somehow.
But that IS a staggering amount of money. Luckily, the UoC offers both income and merit-based scholarships (in some cases, fully paid tuition), so if you care enough to go for them, they’re there.

From there, we left for a short tour of the campus. This was, by far, my favorite part of the day. The crispness in the air lingered, and the buildings were even more fetching than we had previously thought. Except for a few dorms (new ones, in fantastically ugly colors), most of what we saw validated somewhat the outrageous price. Our tour guide was informed enough, telling us about famous graduates, good majors to choose, and how many movies had been filmed on-campus (one room was used for a scene in the Harry Potter movies—which should give you an idea of the pervasive style). The guide mentioned that fraternities and sororities make up about 10 percent of the social scene, and that it wasn’t very much of a party school. I also enjoyed the statue right outside the Economics department. Years ago, the relatively conservative UoC Economics people decided to commission a work of art for the front of the building. Little did they know that the sculptor they had hired was a raving socialist. When the sun shines a certain way upon his creation, the shadow it creates is of a hammer and sickle. I admire the sculptor’s balls.
The guide did mention that, since Chicago is one of the largest cities in the U.S., there is a good chance of being mugged. There is transportation about campus should you desire to take it, and security is moderately tight.

Post-tour, it was lunch-time. Like most things so far on the campus, the food was good but expensive. The flyer-handing-out-people at the beginning had kindly given us food coupons (good for eight dollars), but they didn’t cover the costs of our lunches (I got a small vegan burrito with two sides and a soft drink)(my friend got egg-rolls, rice, and a soft drink). However, I am still impressed that they volunteered to help us with the cost of lunch at all. Paired with the previous coffee and pastry extravaganza, I was quickly (and shamefully) realizing that the quickest way to a hungry, sleep-deprived potential student’s heart was through foodstuffs. They will try to get you, and you will succumb. Be prepared.

Deciding that two more classes were too much for the day, my friend and I opted to hear the spiel about the arts department, and then leave. We figured it was almost like seeing the Soviet Art class, but shorter. We found out that the college puts on thirty-something shows a year, and techies are very much needed. The art department on the whole though is not as strong as some of the other departments, and, to combat this, a new building is going up in 2011 that will be completely for the arts. My friend and I also met another girl there who belonged to the same internet-created subculture. Interesting, that.

On the way out, we got handed a bunch of protest flyers, and had a tour of the bookstore (it’s a bit large and impersonal, but quite friendly). On the whole, the experience had been positive. UoC was the second school I had visited with designs on becoming a student (Loyola was the first, due to the fact that I was assured a free ride if I were to go there), and the first one I liked.

PROS—
No matter what you decide to do, you’ll get a good education. The campus is beautiful, and everything is top-of-the-line. From the snapshot we got, the student body seems diverse and well-rounded. Social Science and Economics majors seem especially popular. It’s in a big city, and it’s not really a party school. And in spite of being in the big city, the campus has retained a magical, rustic charm.

CONS—
These are more personal, but I wouldn’t mind going to a place with more emphasis on creative writing, visual arts, or psychology. Also, the tuition costs (according to the flyer) are pretty up there. Once again a little personal here, but I would rather go somewhere far away from home. I feel that part of college is getting out there and exploring, both academically and literally. The crime rate is also pretty high in Chicago.
Not really all that much to complain about, though.

Overall score: 43/50

Poetry is fun to write. Doing so is like the equivalent of making a personals ad—you use words as if they cost money—the key is trying to get the most meaning out of as few of them as possible. I’ve been writing poems lately, as I have not had the time for long stories so much any more. It provides an opportunity to tweak with my style, and for me not to hate on poetry as much. Poetry gets misrepresented by way angsty teenagers a lot, and said teenagers (myself included) often do the genre a great injustice. Most of what I hear of poetry comes from the annual classwidecontest at our school, where we are each required to stand at the front of the classroom and let our completely unbiased peers vote on who they think did the best job.

I was beginning to dislike English class (not because of the subject or teacher, just the cruel children who came from good homes)(if you get the reference, you’re one step closer to being awesome) for awhile there, so I started disliking poetry a little too. And even if my class weren’t filled with the sort of people who would belittle someone for something over which they had no control, I’d still hate the poetry unit. Hearing a good poet read is almost worse than hearing a bad one. Because at least with the bad, you can still have that power of one-upsmanship. Even if they’re complete jerks, you can remember you still have a shred of what they can never touch. With someone who beats you at what you think is your own game, there is no more advantage.
The only thing that one can possibly do then is retreat to a desk at the very, very far back of the classroom, and hope they stop finding your obsession with symmetry novel and hilarious.

For laughs (speaking of), I have been trying to perfect the art of writing tremendously awful teen poetry. You could say I was inspired by my classmates. Ideally, one would mix his or her metaphors, try to draw parallels and come up with perpendiculars, and find new and inventive synonyms for the word ‘tears.’ Not that I am in any place to judge, but still, it’s fun.

Here is my attempt at the Most Stereotypical Teen Poem, Fraught With Emotional Peril:

My life is like
A huge pit of despair.
A neverending disappointment like
Melted ice-cream and sadness.
Sadness like finding out that
Linkin Park isn’t making another album until,
Like, 2009 or something.
The only thing that makes it bearable is
My dog.
His fur is shinier than a dentist’s drill, and he is
Sweeter than artificially flavored cough drops.
Every day, he and I frolic with abundance.
I can rely on him for many things.
Like drool and other joys of life.
But back to despair.
Lately, I have not been feeling so well.
I think it’s math.
And various foreign languages.
But mostly math.
And
The more I think about it,
The more weight piles onto my shoulders.
Not literal weight—that would be weird.
Besides, paper is rather light and I’d need, like,
Ten, maybe fifteen tests to make an impact.
Maybe twenty. I don’t know.
Crystalline droplets pool on my paper
And I crinkle it in frustration.
My dog is not there.
My boyfriend is not there.
My life is a pit of agony.
Darkness surrounds me.
Woe!

In somewhat related news, John Ashbery seems to be a pretty ballin’ fellow. His poems are, to a neverending sense of relief, not as bad as the one above.

I’ve never understood people who say comics aren’t art. Comics make up such a broad genre that to make such a generalization is just ignorant. Also, it’s closed-minded and a bit elitist, in my opinion. Being someone who wants to draw cartoons for a living, I find myself constantly having to play their game, validate my work by living up to the snobs’ arbitrary values. Because, goodness knows, cartoonists certainly aren’t as ‘good’ at draftsmanship as, say, classical painters. So it’s perfectly logical that they constantly have to show others that, yes, they can draw, and yes, they can do more classical stuff too and no, they’ve never heard the ‘wasting your skills’ thing before. Ever. And it never gets old.
I’m not getting a persecution complex or anything—it’s just… frustrating. It’s not as if both forms of art are really just mind control any way. Except cartoonists can write.
Who also annoy me a little are those who insist upon calling them ‘graphic novels.’ I guess it’s just a way to legitimize their love of cartoons to the aforesaid pretentious, generalizing folk. To make themselves look a little more sophisticated. So I understand it a little more. Doesn’t make it any less annoying.

Anyway.

I’m sure you’ve all read Maus or Persepolis or maybe even American Splendor. Everyone loves that stuff. Maybe you’ve seen a drawing by Robert Crumb, or paged through The Watchmen because of the upcoming movie. Or maybe you read the daily comics, and can remember some really great ones (Bloom County, The Far Side, Dilbert, Calvin and Hobbes, The Boondocks when it was in the papers still and not animated). So I’m going to try and not mention those. It’s not that they’re not amazing, but there’s a wealth of other work out there that comparatively few people know about unless they’re obvious comic fans. Therefore.

Marlys (Compiled in The Greatest of Marlys), Linda Barry

The charming, heartfelt tales of a loud, bossy girl, her family (her cousins Arna and Arnold, her sister Maybonne, and Freddie, her brother), and their respective lives. Barry’s writing stands out—each of the characters is hilarious and completely believable. The drawing style is swoopy, flowing, and childish. Sometimes a bit hard to make out, like Barry is trying to cram a hundred words of information into a tiny, tiny box (which she is). A lovely, realistic look at childhood and growing up.

Johnny the Homicidal Maniac, Jhonen Vasquez

You’ve probably seen a reference to this, somewhere. It’s a classic cult comic book, by the same fellow who did the slightly-more-mainstream Invader Zim television show. I picked it up when I was around ten or eleven. Probably shouldn’t have been reading it (it was violent, I was a bit unstable to begin with), but as the eponymous Johnny would say, it’s just art, not a “guidebook for damning yourself.” It got me through a lot, surprisingly, and influenced my style quite a bit (although I’ve never learned how to depict blood splatter the way Vasquez does). Okay, basic plot: a man named Johnny (he’d also accept ‘Nny’) goes around and kills people, using their blood to paint a wall in his basement. He waxes philosophical (Vasquez, although claiming not to be a thing like Nny, sometimes uses his character’s frequent monologues to make his own points), talks to a floating bunny head and two Pillsbury doughboys, visits heaven, hell, and convenience stores. It’s frightening and cathartic and dementedly hilarious.
If you’re looking for something in the (sort of) same vein, sans a few of the gallons of blood, check out Lenore by Roman Dirge. The cartoonists are good friends, and, although Lenore isn’t as violent, it’ll still satisfy your craving for something vaguely spooky. However it isn’t as well-written (in my opinion), as you will see when you get into the rhyming verse.

Fun Home, Alison Bechdel

This is one of the rare cases (like JtHM above) where both the writing and drawing are both good. Fun Home entails the relationship between Bechdel and her perfectionistic, distanced, and closeted father. When she is in college, he kills himself, and after he dies she continues to find out more about the side of him she never knew. But the relationship with her father is not the only thing that makes Bechdel’s comic an intriguing one. As I said, the illustrations are something amazing, both realistic and stylized at the same time. Bechdel once said in an interview with Ted Rall that she took Polaroid pictures of poses for her comics, and drew off of those. It shows; all the people are in perfect anatomical scale, every piece of scenery flawless. Not only that, but literary and theatrical allusions abound, which is only appropriate (her dad was a high school English teacher, her mom an actress). Bechdel’s work is a perfect mix of dark humor and poignancy. Go and read it. Go.

Lackadaisy Cats, Tracy Butler

And the online comic. If you don’t particularly feel like going out and buying a book, or checking one out from the library. The first thing you notice when you’re looking through Lackadaisy is the spectacularly detailed art. Done in sepia, the drawings feel as 1920’s as the plot. And, if you haven’t figured from the title, the comic stars cats. Really, really cute cats. With guns. And booze. And a touch of sociopathy. If that’s not incentive enough, I don’t know what is.

Minimum Security, Stephanie McMillan

I belong to the small faction of very (very) liberal cartoonists that despises Ted Rall’s stuff with passion. Could it be because he’s not funny? Or that his drawing style grates? Or that he’s not funny? Okay, I exaggerate. I guess his stuff is okay sometimes. I don’t want to generalize. I guess he’s like our version of Mallard Fillmore, but with less bizarre, drunken anti-Semitism and more… bad drawing and weirdly placed racism. His early stuff was better, and I do support him for trying to kick Ann Coulter in the nuts (in court), but…. So as I was writing this, I felt guilty for not indoctrinating you all with at least one far-left comic. Try Minimum Security. The style reminds me a little bit of Georges Grosz’s ink drawing, and the various plots will either work you into a satisfyingly frothy rage, or make you feel embarrassed when they point out your own hypocrisy.

Drawings by Pascal Croci

I say drawings here because only one book of his I have been able to find in English, and something was lost in translation. Which is to say, the writing was not very good. However, in French, the dialogue improves considerably and feels less jilted. If you do not understand French (one of my friends does and helped me with reading some of the original stuff), then just stick with the pictures. Because they’re done in a pretty neat style that looks completely original.

No, this column has not turned into empty advertisement. I just wanted to have the opportunity for you guys to dig back at me. I dislike Twilight with intensity, many of you enjoy it. However, it is not so easy for you to critique my favorite books/comics. Now that you have a short list, feel free to hunt for flaws, and proceed to point them out to me in a mildly condescending way. Which is sort of what I did with Meyer’s book. And, if all else fails, you may find you like some of the stuff I recommended. You never know.

In other news, I missed the live VP debate yesterday. Was busy at a PSAT/NMSQT preparation class. Meh.
Here is my opinion, shortened and condensed:

I have to say, I love the IDEA of Palin (about damn time we got another woman in the White House), but her actual politics I find repulsive. Also, about everything that comes out of her mouth (I tried and failed to narrow this down) I find repulsive.

McCain seems like somewhat of a nice fellow (when he’s not debating) who seems to genuinely care about his country. So much so, he’d run at any age, just so he could do his part. That said, I do not feel that he would make a good president at all. He’s only a ‘maverick’ when he’s pandering to independents; otherwise he promises to be more of the same. And, on a completely unrelated and petty note, his smile is creepy.

Biden is a little better that Palin VP-wise, but… I mean, sure, he’s okay—he’s even good sometimes. Just—Obama is so fantastic, and then there’s BIDEN. It’s a let-down no matter who’s sitting next to Barack. It’s like putting a wedding cake next to a muffin. Muffins are delicious in their own way, but the cake is awe-inspiring.

And now you pretty much know my opinion of Mr. Obama. It’s love, folks. He could be a bit more liberal, and he does do a little pandering on the side, but that man is what this country needs right now.

The best part about this is when I look back on this in a few years, I’ll disagree with everything here. Hello, Future Conservative Anna! ’Sup?

Other opinions welcome. Do tell. I’m still holding out for Obama/Ehrehreich.

Last week, I tried to talk about Twilight. That was fun. Our nation is one divided on the subjects of politics, sports teams, and sparkling vampires (like sparkling apple cider, except with awkward baby-sexing overtones), and it was pretty apparent from the comments gotten. Which is good—it would be a neurotic, exceptionally boring world if everyone thought the same way as I. Actually, that would be pretty terrifying. Nobody would know how to work technology, nobody would trust the government, and we’d all by trying to outshine each-other by being as verbose as possible. Can you imagine it? Businessmen would flounce to every assignment in vampy 50’s-style dresses. Architects would have to deal with getting buildings EXACTLY even on BOTH SIDES. Ann Coulter would… well, she wouldn’t be there. Which would suck. What would us liberals ever do without Ann Coulter? Where would we be without someone to make the other side look ridiculous? She practically does my job for me.
But I digress.
Books.

There are other crappy (in my opinion) ones out there. Some of these even are Not Twilight. But we won’t focus on those today. I’m just going to tell you about neat reading material. Once again, in my opinion. I do want to hear what everyone thinks of these, if they’ve read them.

Recommendations:

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, Michael Chabon
This book has everything. It’s, for me, the equivalent of steak, diet soda, Ethiopian food, cookies, and chicken noodle soup in a bread bowl, all in the same meal. See, a boy smuggles himself out of Nazi-occupied Europe in a coffin, comes to America, becomes a cartoonist, and the story progresses from there (and there’s even a little bit of romance). It’s set in the 30’s-50’s. The writing is superb. Chabon makes his characters sympathetic and real. And, at the same time, the whole thing is plausible. It’s completely outrageous, plot-wise, but the way it’s written makes it sound completely normal. It’s as close to perfect as a book can get while not BEING perfect.

The Hunger Artist, Franz “Abs of Steel” Kafka
So… TECHNICALLY not a book. A short story IN a book, maybe, but screw you, Franz doesn’t need your petty labels. It’s about this fellow who starves himself as sort of a side-show attraction and watches as, slowly, he goes more and more unnoticed. The crowds around him dwindle, and he is left starving himself only because it is his art, it is what he does. It’s a powerful message about artistic integrity. There is no word that is irrelevant, no word that is out of place. The story just completely sweeps you away. Depending on what anthology you buy it in, you may also get ‘In the Penal Colony,’ another short story by the same author. Read that, too.

Soon to Be A Major Motion Picture, Abbie Hoffman
Where would we be without our epic 60’s radicals? They stood for free love, justice, idealism, and lulz. Some were a little self-righteous, but Abbie Hoffman was the real deal. He not only started the whole ‘Yippie’ movement (look it up), but was arrested close to fifty times, almost got shot, had to get plastic surgery on two occasions, both of which had nothing to do with vanity (once because a police officer had bludgeoned his nose so hard that it no longer worked like a nose should, twice because he had to go into hiding and needed to disguise. He couldn’t see his family, and spent most of his time on the run. But more on that in the book). Abbie fought for feminism, for civil rights, for gay rights, for peace in Vietnam using his unique brand of street protest theater. He was outspoken and funny as hell. Soon to Be… is an autobiography of a real revolutionary. He got away with it.

Please Don’t Kill The Freshman, Zoe Trope
Do you treasure your inferiority complex and wish to keep it alive? I know I do. That’s why I read PDKtF whenever I can. Trope published the first version of her book at fifteen (!), then later signed on for more money than most people see in a year, to a larger company. At first, I tried rationalizing. You know, the, “Oh, she must have connections. I could write like that… if I wanted to. She just got published first.” And then I realized I had to stop. Because her writing kicks so much ass. PDKtF is a chapbook/autobiography creation, detailing Zoe’s years in high school. It reads like a slightly out-of-focus dream. Trippy and frank simultaneously. Good if you’re a writer in high school and you need your ego knocked down a few notches.

Assassination Vacation, Sarah Vowell
Sarah Vowell is obsessed with presidential assassinations. Which isn’t that bad, really—it makes for compelling reading material. In this book, she goes on a pilgrimage of sorts, providing an informative and hilarious monologue, peppered with actual, useful facts. The poem Giteau reads before being executed is hilarious, as are her descriptions of various historical happenings. It’s the right mix of personal and informative. It’s almost a show and tell, but is kept alive with variety. I haven’t read any of Vowell’s other work, but am tempted to after this book.

The Lost Continent, Bill Bryson
This book is the reason that one of my aspirations is to visit tiny little towns all over the Midwest as part of a road trip. Bryson does just that, journeying through mountain ranges, cheap hotels, little hamlets that nobody but the inhabitants and the readers of Bryson’s book know of. The book can be read out of chronological order—the episodes in the towns he visits are more like short stories than parts of a larger book. Bryson’s wit is evident, and most of his books read like some mix of Douglas Adams’ work and a travel guide. Super-fun for road-trips or planning vacations. It is my ‘comfort book,’ something I read when I want familiarity. I guess the literary equivalent of tater tots.

Them, Jon Ronson
If Vowell has an assassination vacation and Bill Bryson has travels in small-town America, what does that leave Jon Ronson? Extremists, of course! At least, the ones who allow themselves to be interviewed/followed around by the subtly hilarious Ronson. He visits a jihadi training camp, Ruby Ridge, a PR-conscious Klansman, Bohemian Grove, survivalists, and David Icke. There, of course, is more, but those are my favorite bits. He is as objective as someone from the mainstream could ever possibly hope to be when dealing with these subjects. Also, I want his job. But he does it better than I could which, I suppose, is why I’m not out there talking to Randy Weaver, and he is.

Plus quite a few others. I was going to give you reviews of all my favorite books ever, but that would’ve been silly. I tried to pick from a wide spectrum; my tastes are schizophrenic, so there was variety inherent anyway. Do suggest your own favorites. Maybe next time, I’ll do comics. That’d be fun.