"I Don't Do Sketches From Memory"

So yesterday was a day for the comics. First, I had a comic featured over at Stripper's Corner (which sounds dirtier than it actually is). Then I had a comic featured in the Oklahoma Daily, and someone actually sent me an email in regards to said comic (and the email contained words of praise, no less!). Also, the girl I submit comics to at the paper sent me an email about some College Cartoonist Award thing I'm going to try for. So there was a lot of comical love goin' down for the ol' Chuck yesterday.

And now I have another comic in the newspaper again today. I actually rule that paper now, they just don't realize it yet. I keep wondering if the other "cartoonists" (having seen their work, I use that term loosely) are going to just quit. I wish they would; it would mean I didn't have to share my space with hacks.

That's all sounding a lot more conceited than I originally planned, but the fact of the matter is, the rest of the people who do comics here just...aren't really that good. Either their art is crappy (one guy in particular has a style that's way too jagged and has too many corners, while another has characters who always look like this even when they haven't beaten their heads against a filing cabinet) or the comic's just aren't funny, or they're so specific to a certain time, place, and group, that only about five people are even going to chuckle at the damn thing. Then again, I've been trying to draw comics since I was in high school, and I also have existing characters with clearly-defined personalities to work with already. I'm just sort of advantaged in the comiking, I guess.

Anyway, these are all just small steps in my plan to take over the world with humor. The next step is to convince people to pay me to draw funny pictures. Once that's going, then all will be well. Or something.

~chaos cricket

Song of the Moment: The Wallflowers, "Into the Mystic"

"What Planet Is This?"

Well, I'm starting to finally get in a better mood, though I'm still not entirely sure why I was so depressed/moody all of last week. Perhaps it was the change in the weather, or the fact that I was only able to run like twice (legs were killing me, and weather was not permitting), or maybe just a bunch of crap happened right at the beginning of the week that colored the rest of the week in shades of gray, black, and other murky neutral tones.

Anyway, in the finest tradition of my rants, I'm gonna make fun of stupid people, because they're so damn plentiful and make it too damn easy.

The first person I want to attack/berate/make fun of is this guy who writes for the school paper. I won't mention his name, because it's not really pertinent, but suffice to say he's got high ideas of himself and a low opinion of anyone who disagrees with him. He's also an English major, so I think that might have something to do with his basic pompous nature.

Well, on Friday last, this guy wrote an article for the paper advocating paying the student athletes for all the hard work they do. Because the full scholarships, room and board, and special perks (like having someone like me available to proofread their papers for them) aren't enough. Because having their books provided, laptops loaned to them by the school, and receiving a free education isn't enough compensation. No, since this guy maintains that student athletes have to work twice as hard as regular students to maintain decent grades, and since he believes most student athletes think they'll go on to play professionally (even though [1] he admits that only about 1% of them will and [2] most of them don't actually think that, except for a lot of the football players), we ought to give them monetary compensation. Basically, he wants to pay them for having delusions of grandeur.

If the school's gonna do that, I want them to start paying me because I think I might be able to become a syndicated cartoonist someday, or at least be able to live off my comic (and hey, if I can convince them to pay me, I will be able to, just as the student athletes would be professional ones if they were paid. That's sorta how "professional" is defined: you get paid to do it). The idea is actually rather perverse, I thought, and I was offended down to my very soul by the idea.

Hell, here's an idea--why don't we get rid of all the student athletes and just hire professional athletes? We wouldn't have to give them room and board, or provide them with the academic center, or pretend we're interested in educating them like we do the student athletes (because I'm fairly certain most of the coaches and administration at this school are only paying lip service to the idea of "they're here for education." They're really here to bring the university lots of money). It's the perfect set up; all it lacks is common sense and a healthy dose of reality.

That was rather therapeutic.

~chaos cricket

Song of the Moment: Yoko Kanno & the Seatbelts, "Space Lion"

"You've Got A Lot Of Nerve"

I feel like a fake sometimes. Like I have to continue smiling and joking while things fall apart. Like I have to fiddle while Rome burns. "Outside the dawn is waking, my makeup may be flaking but my smile still stays on," as Freddie Mercury croons. I'm stressed by a dozen little things at once, but I feel almost obligated to continue laughing and cracking jokes and being the clown of the world, sans stupid wig and custard pie. But why? Who gave me this job, this role? No one but myself, though now I feel as though it's expected of me. It's like once people accepted me in the role of humorist and fool, they couldn't accept me in any other role. I got typecast by reality. Admittedly, it's a role I feel very natural in, and I enjoy making people laugh. But it also kinda limits me. Whenever I feel down or upset, it's almost like I can't express that, because it doesn't meet everyone's expectations.

So I force the humor, even when I don't feel like being funny. I do it for the benefit of others mostly, but I guess it's also for my own benefit. I've always used humor and laughter as a defense mechanism, and years of being picked on in elementary and junior high school helped me form a wit and sense of humor that's quick and occasionally very barbed. Admittedly, I didn't express most of my thoughts or comments when I was in those formative years; rather, they remained unspoken. But in those years, I developed the sense of humor I have now--a little sarcastic, a little wry, a little odd. When I got into high school and actually started speaking up, it surprised many of my old schoolmates. Which I enjoyed--taking them on in a battle of wits became enjoyable, because most of them entered the contest unarmed in comparison.

In a way, the humorist part of me is self-created, self-imposed. I want to be the funny one, the guy everyone thinks is humorous and entertaining and a proverbial hoot to talk to. I want to have energy and wit and exuberance. But I don't want to be so two-dimensional, so flat. There are other aspects of my personality. And hell, sometimes I just feel depressed and shouldn't have to keep making with the funny, right? Admittedly, I don't want to be depressed as often as I was (for ridiculous reasons, it seems in hindsight) as an undergraduate. But I don't think I can maintain some sort of manic energy and always be upbeat and funny. It just doesn't work that way.

There was a reason for this rant, a very good reason, and now it all seems pointless.

~chaos cricket

Song of the Moment: Bob Dylan, "Positively 4th Street"