Comic Relief

I know I've already made a mention of Iron Man, but he's making another appearance thanks to The Graphic Classroom. I've been considering the idea of covering comic books in the classroom thanks to several notable titles which I feel exemplify the art form, demonstrating its vast and unique potential. Comic books hold a distinction as a truly American creation, yet for whatever reason are not widely studied or explored. There has, in the past, been a stigma associated with them--namely that they "rot your brain"--but I feel that their potential to teach and inspire is no different than such works as the Harry Potter, City of Ember, the Artemis Fowl series, etc.

I know what sorts of thoughts still exist regarding comics: "Comic books are just a cheap story set to pictures" or "Comics are all a bunch of violent pictures strung together with profanity and nudity." Yes, some comics are nothing more than these. Just like some books are nothing more than cheaply-written sex scenes and mushy drivel (this is why books by Zane or Stephanie Meyer books aren't taught as literature).

Comic books retain a distinct ability to get into a character's head in a way that has yet to be effectively translated into other mediums like books or film. Additionally, the worlds created by comics are--more or less, but not exclusively--the new myths of the 21st century.

With this in mind, I submit the following list of comics as worthy of exploration:

Civil War
Superman/Batman:Supergirl
Superman/Batman: Absolute Power
Invincible Iron Man vol. 1
Just about anything from the Fantastic Four

Words I Hate or Better Understand What You're Really Saying

The existence of words which pick out inconceivable concepts causes me some consternation. It isn't imaginary constructs like griffins and dragons that bother me, since we know that these words pick out a specific set of things which exist apart from the real world (well, most of us know that, anyhow). The words that bother me are words like "nothing," "magic," and "random."

"Nothing" is an interesting word since, unlike any other word, it is a label that becomes invalid once it is attached to any object or notion. Its meaning has spread to a variety of related uses, but it is this use in which it is assigned to pick out "the absence of stuff" which conflicts with my ideals. Aside from the lesser infraction of assigning a name to something which has no other qualities to define, I feel that the greater infraction is the false sense of complacency that such a naming creates. Having such a word tricks me into thinking that I can understand it, when the human mind is wholly incapable of understanding anything about the absence of anything as there aren't any attributes for us to examine.

"Magic" is a word I hate because at best (if it is "real") it picks out a necessarily unknowable technique and at worst (if it is fakery and illusion) it is a layered term which, at its heart, means nothing more than deception though attempts to cover it up with performance and grandeur.

I'll start with the worst case since it is vastly more frustrating, despite being simpler. The word "magic" and the act of doing magic are closely related and understanding one allow you to understand the other. Despite the simplicity of this all, the word is very clever at duping us. I feel a better term for the worst case of magic is "talent." A magic trick--or illusion--is nothing more than a technique which has been designed and rigorously rehearsed to deceive an audience. Is it "magic" when Peyton Manning throws a football between two defenders into the awaiting arms of his wide receiver? No. It is rehearsed and practiced. Is it "magic" when a surgeon delicately maneuvers to snip off an abnormal growth while avoiding the sensitive vessels around it? Nope. Somehow we expect these feats from these trained professionals, but are captivated by a man who practices repeatedly just how to shuffle a deck or pay attention to a small detail or bend his body in just the right way.

The "best" case of "magic" is an altogether different story. In this case I'm tapping into a power or source in order to perform various feats which cannot be explained. "Oh man, that guy just materialized fireballs!" The mechanism for this process is unclear. Where did the fire come from? How did I make it appear? How did I then command it to behave in the exact way I demanded? Being able to answer any question about the process would allow it to be studied as a science. But in order to remain in the realm of "magic" we have to not be able to know anything about it. And yet somehow the magician is able to perform his skills despite his necessarily not being able to understand anything about it.

Finally, "random" is one of the most misused words I can think of. The heart of the word is in a sense of disorder (but really it's more of a sense of fairness in which anything has just as much of an opportunity to occur as anything else), but it is often used to describe a conscious action which the speaker regards--for whatever reason--as either too complex for inspection or just confusing. "That was a random comment" does not mean "that comment was patternless or chaotic" but rather "I don't know why you said that." The closest thing I can think of to a truly random comment (since every word that leaves my mouth is a conscious decision at some level) is speaking in tongues, in which I just seem to turn my coherence filter to "low" and string together the most senseless string of sounds to throw anyone off my scent. "He must be speaking on tongues! No one could ever go hahablagastoppogaruugen unless they were touched by some divine presence!" If something truly had no form, no pattern to it, it would be incomprehensible to the human mind (fun fact: humans understand the world around them by breaking it down into patterns).

Your pictures folder is NOT random because you made a decision to put each and every one of those pictures in the folder!

How the God of War Created Man

Slaughterer: blood brother,
blood seeker,
clad in steel and dark lions,
furious tyrant upon
your throne of barbed-wire.

You laughed with
your black tongue as you
flung the old gods, stone-fisted,
into the earth, their bronze faces
buried in the dust.

You seduced our wives while we
slept, spreading your vile seed.
Your bastard sons burned
our straw houses, our soft
-feathered prayers, our children
with their terrible fires.
Under their whips
we rebuilt
and carved their legacy
into our flesh.

Hatin' on Da Baby Daddies

I hate the term "baby daddy." I hold nothing but the utmost contempt for the word and the fact that it has so thoroughly infiltrated our culture. Among several flaws with the term, the greatest, I feel, is that it is generally a prescriptive--rather than descriptive--label. And yet at the same time I must respect the concept behind the term; no other word in the English language picks out the specific set of criteria that "baby daddy" picks out. The need for such a word (though I should want for one that is less slang and more connotatively neutral) is significant if we are to accurately and--more importantly--honestly describe ourselves. Especially here in America, the nature of our relationships is blurring and evolving all the time: our definitions for family, interpersonal relationships, and even our selves are in constant flux.

It has become quite apparent that he status of the American family is in upheaval (not turmoil or jeopardy as many would have you believe). The concept of a family unit being strictly isolated to a mother, father, and 2.5 children seems, at times, as easy to find nowadays as a car phone or a dot matrix printer. However, despite this shift, the expectations that a family "should" be comprised of a wed man and wife as well as the children they have produced together is still persistent, even among many people whose family structure does not match this ideal.

Maybe if we were more informed about all the various ways a family can look, if we gave ourselves the language to honestly describe ourselves, we might not be so quick to bite and snarl at people whose differences would otherwise seem like "an attack on the institution of the American Family."

Land of the Lotus Eaters

Yes, Tony Hoagland, I, too, am asleep in America. And its noise is invading my dreams; my alarm clock becomes the sound of traffic outside, Oprah becomes the sound of my sophistication, porn becomes the sound of my idling thoughts. When I'm fortunate enough to wake for a moment I realize it's all as senseless as the time I chased Frankenstein across Mexico on a train with no tracks or the time I fled from zombies in New York by jumping from building-to-building and dodging the nets they threw at me (yes, zombies wield nets, and do so quite well).

And just as we all dream of falling, of breaking off our teeth, of showing up late for class naked, so, too, do we all dream of having consequence-free sex with beautiful strangers, caring about the mundane exploits of recognizable celebrities, and treating teachers with less respect than men who race cars for a living.

No, I, too, am asleep. And when I wake I am too upset by my dreams to get out of bed and wake up the few people I can. I wait for Odysseus to carry me away to his ship, since only a hero can do what is so far beyond the reach of the rest of us. I know that he's never going to arrive, and yet I'm too afraid to awaken even one of my companions by myself because I know I can't wake them all.