Category Archives: Mostly everything else.

I get to meet another one of my heroes! (Chris Ware, author of Jimmy Corrigan)

I MET CHRIS WARE!

Please excuse me– iTouch photos aren’t the best.

This is turning out to be the best year.

I mean, this spring, I actually met another one of my cartoonist heroes, Art Spiegelman. And I actually talked to him about how much I loved Chris Ware, another cartoonist. To prove this, let me cut-and-paste a bit out of that blog post (written way back in March) to here:

I’ve loved Chris Ware’s stuff for years now. In fact, one of the very first blog posts I’ve ever written was actually about his work. His comics are extraordinary. Lonely. Beautiful. Tormenting. When I first read one of his graphic novels, Jimmy Corrigan, the Smartest Kid on Earth, it haunted me for weeks.

How, then, did I get to meet this amazing cartoonist? I credit this one to my roommate.

I had to go. I HAD TO GO. THERE WAS NO NOT GOING TO THIS EVENT. So, last Saturday, I biked recklessly to the venue, an old church in Copley Square.

There was a long line, and the church filled up fast. Graphic novels are trendy, after all! There were four authors presenting this panel: Gabrielle Bell, Chip Kidd, Charles Burns, and, of course, Chris Ware. They all talked about their inspirations, most recent publications, and experiences in the world of “serious” comics. (Well, except for Gabrielle Bell, who instead read us two short stories she illustrated herself.)

Her story went a little like this.

Chris Ware went last. By the time we got around to him, he didn’t have much time to speak about much. However, he did give us a good 15 minutes of powerpoint slides and witticisms. 

I ended up purchasing his monstrously large new book, Building Stories, to get it signed. Let’s just say: I have never dropped that much money on comics, ever. But it was so worth it. 

Because I got his autograph. And a photo. And I got to talk to him!

If you did read my post about Art Spiegelman, you can see that I get starstruck pretty easily. It’s just a symptom of meeting the people I admire more than anyone else in the world. As a result, I got a little bit, uh, nervous. So I had a nervously awesome conversation:

Am I a cartoonist? I wasn’t sure how to answer that. I mean, I draw cartoons. I blog comics. But I’ve never really thought of myself as a cartoonist. Cartoonists are the ones who go publish books and cool webcomics and make money and go to art school and are famous. I am a biology student who is a nobody and is struggling in her basic drawing class.

I should just do it, huh? But, isn’t that easy for Chris Ware to say, successful cartoonist as he is? And I’m not a particularly talented person, bursting with creativity and ideas every minute.

And that’s how I met the amazingly brilliant and humble Chris Ware.

Here’s a husky in a bowl. I hope you like it.

I am just totally and utterly

In the meantime, please enjoy this quick designs I did for my school’s Vietnamese Student Association. I whipped these up SUPER fast, so they’re not the cleanest! Hopefully you get the gist.

Meanwhile, did I mention that I got hired for co-op next semester? Chyeah!

When a bio major takes an art class

If you just look at my blog, you’ll know I’m not that great at drawing. It’s pretty clear that the only thing I know how to draw are people, and even then those people are frumpy and cartoony and disproportionate.

And if you read my blog, you can probably can tell I like comics. I do. One of my dreams is to, one day, publish my own comic book. Of course, with my art skills as they are right now, this probably isn’t doable. My imagination is restricted by my sheer lack of drawing skills. This is sad. This needs to be fixed.

So I thought that it would be a great idea to take an art class this semester. Foundations of Drawing 1, to be exact. I could learn art! Learn to draw! Improve my art skills!

Except, I forgot that this was college. Where we are graded on merit in addition to effort. Also, I forgot that I was a biology major.

My first day of class looked a little like this:

I was pretty nervous. I was the odd man out, after all. What was I doing here? I can’t draw the way all these kids can!

I knew I would have to try hard to get a good grade in this class. Our first assignment was to go outside and draw landscapes. So, on a nice fall afternoon, I went out and sketched…

The results were less than spectacular.

Our second assignment was about composition. We were to draw objects and try to frame them nicely. I tried my best, and…

I actually really love my art teacher. She’s super-nice, really fair, and very sensitive about critique. She understands people who are coming from another major, though she still expects you to produce good work. However, she’s also an art teacher. Like how some people don’t understand scientific jargon, I don’t really get art terminology.

So I was really nervous when I handed in my first graded homework assignment. Every homework we hand in is peer-critiqued. In other words, we hang everyone’s stuff up on a wall and bash them, one-by-one. I knew my homework was bad…

I’ve been struggling a bit this semester, as my classes (especially this one) have been more time-consuming. I was also convinced that I was going to fail this drawing class. I seriously considered dropping it, and called my sister in a panic.

I decided that it all hinged on what I received on our first graded homework assignment. The one where my composition was poor, that is. Our professor handed back our work…

I GOT A B! I got a B. Despite my art being awful, I didn’t fail!

And that is probably the only time I will be happy with getting a B.

How an Asian girl is trying to be more Asian

So I’ve been trying to reconnect to my culture lately.

It’s true. I’m a twinkie. Yellow on the outside, white on the inside. My Vietnamese is terrible. I’m really awful at eating spicy food. I don’t have tons of Vietnamese friends.

At the same time, though, I’m very proud of being Vietnamese. Because it’s my culture. It’s part of my life. Because tôi là người Việt Nam!

Yeah. I Google translated that one.

So in an attempt to be more Vietnamese, I decided I needed more Vietnamese friends. I decided to do this by joining the Vietnamese Student Association, a student-run club based around– as they put it– “friends, food, and fun!” The VSA isn’t restricted to Vietnamese students, either– we have Chinese and Indian and American students as well.

In fact, I was going to join VSA last year. Except when I signed up, this happened…

I knew deep down that it probably wasn’t true, but I carefully avoided going to VSA anyway. I went through all of freshman year with predominantly non-Asian friends. Now, this is something I wasn’t used to. My hometown has a very high Korean population, so I had a lot of Asian friends in high school. Even my American friends were relatively knowledgeable about Asian culture. So it was when, in college, I ran into things like

I decided

And then I joined VSA.

VSA, of course, turned out to be the opposite of what I expected. Actually, I’m not sure what I expected. Perhaps I expected a bunch of super-Asian kids speaking only Vietnamese and being super cliquey.

Instead, I found a club full of a bunch of cheerful, friendly people, full of jokes and amicability and terrible puns.

The club (in addition to holding meetings) hosts social events like game nights, a yearly cultural show, and movie outings. We even went out to eat dim sum the other day. For those who don’t know what dim sum is, it’s a style of Chinese food prepared in small, bite-sized portions. Every dish costs a couple of dollars. Everybody eats family style, sharing dishes and fighting for the food in the middle.

When I say fighting, I mean battling. 

Because our group (of 12+ people) had to wait for a table for over an hour even though we had made a reservation the day before. We were angry. We were stressed. We were hungry.

It was like being home again.

And that’s how I’m trying to be more Vietnamese. I’m even taking a free Vietnamese class on campus! It’s a challenge. But hopefully I’ll do my good ol’ Vietnamese grandmother proud.

Exhibiting the warning signs of super-nerdy syndrome

I mentioned it before.  This semester has been, for me, so far, to use Californian slang, hella hectic. All my classes are time-consuming. I’m trying to both be social and not fail out of college at the same time. I haven’t even had time to go to the gym. I haven’t even had time to blog. I’m at the end of my tether.

And when a person’s at the end of their tether, survival instincts kick in. Except when you’re me, a stressed out college kid, survival instincts actually means super-nerdy mode. 

Yes. I’m no pre-med student, but I have diagnosed myself with super-nerdy syndrome. Not the I-like-video-games-and-comics-nerd, but the I-study-so-much-I-need-glasses-also-I-don’t-sleep nerd.

I might be wrong on this, though. There are greater nerds than I. Read the symptoms and tell me what you think.

1. I study until I am about to fall asleep on my textbook

Seriously, I determine my bedtime by the time in which I am about to pass out. Sad? Yeah.

2. I passed on watching anime to study instead

3. I had this conversation with my sister

4. I react to this Noah and the Whale song like this:

I have a problem. But it’s alright. Grades are good for something, right?

I HAVE A NEW FRIEND. I AM SO EXCITED I HAVE TO WRITE A POST ABOUT IT

LOOK AT THIS FRIEND I FOUND.

IT’S A CHARIZARD! A BIG, PLUSHIE, HONEST-TO-GOODNESS CHARIZARD.

Why am I so excited?

Well, I broke one of my mugs recently and wanted to replace it. If you’re me, that means going to the nearest thrift store to pick out a nice, hopefully unchipped cup that reads something like “Pikes Peak, Colorado” or “Fabulous, Las Vegas!”

So I stopped by my local Goodwill Outlet store for a nice dig. And when I say dig, I mean actually dig. While Goodwill stores are nicely laid out in pretty racks and all that, Goodwill Outlet stores are usually just huge bins of clothes and knickknacks for people to sift through.

Like this.

And, while browsing, I dug this fine fellow out of a bin of unmatched boots. Why was he there? Why had no one claimed him? Why was he abandoned in the first place? I was asking myself all of these things as I tenderly drew him out of the pile.

I was astonished. Stunned. Amazed. Overjoyed. I stood for a good two minutes just staring at the Charizard in total, utter amazement.

I unabashedly walked up to the front counter. There was no price tag on this poor Charizard. How much would he cost? 5 dollars? 10?

One dollar?! How could the price of this fine Charizard be so low? This guy obviously deserved better than this. I took him home in a blaze of glory.

So now I have a giant stuffed Charizard sitting in my room. A nice run through the washing machine and he’ll be good as new. Don’t worry– he has other friends to keep him company!

Yeah. I like my pokemon.

Spontaneous comics from a scatterbrained student

This is my life right now:

I’m sure you all understand. School, work, life– they’re busy, yo!

So you’ll have to excuse me if I don’t write a proper post, but instead regale you with the disorganized, sporadic ramblings of a stressed college student. Whatever. This is my blog. I do what I want!

(I thought cooking for myself meant I would eat less. I’m not eating in the buffet-style dining hall, after all. WRONG!)

(I like to keep myself in denial about my schoolwork. Speaking of denial…)

(It seems like only yesterday that it was a beautiful 80 degrees… how is it the first day of fall tomorrow?!)

(I totally still want to make a video blog, though. Even if I suck at it.)

And that’s all I’m giving you. There are so so so many posts I want to write, but haven’t found the time for. I apologize profusely– I’m a bad blogger, I know, and as the semester continues to build posts may get more and more, uh, sporadic. I’ll keep doing my best! You do too!

(I’m pretty sure that’s the closest to a stream-of-consciousness post I’ve gotten. I’ll try not to go all Holden Caulfield too often, I promise.)

Welcome to the world of mobile internet

My parents did not know what to get me for my birthday this year. They decided to ask me directly.

I, never opposed to receiving things, answered swiftly.

My mother was especially distressed. She did not just want to give me money, as she knew I would save it away in my bank account forever and ever. Yet all the things I wanted were not really practical. She consulted my dad, who happens to be in love with his newfangled Blackberry Playbook:

And he decided to get an iTouch for me. Now, I’ve never had a smartphone/smart device before. I actually just got texting last year. I’ve always believed that, while smartphones are nice and all, there’s no need for one. I remember my middle school days when kids would always get iPods and iPhones and whatever newfangled devices were out there.

And really, at that age, there’s no need for one. Now, though, I’m in college. I’m almost not-a-teen! I could use an iTouch, right?

Regardless, I was super excited to get my iTouch. I mean, the internet! Instant knowledge whenever I wanted! I could go on Wikipedia at any time! Google things! Look up maps when I was lost! Yes– I would never be lost again! I opened the box with the greatest reverence.

And you always read about all those fancy new apps people are designing. I read PopSci. You can turn your iTouch into a remote control! Use it to start your car! Deposit checks! The possibilities are endless! I had an incredibly powerful piece of technology here, one that could do anything! I just felt so incredibly advantaged to have access to this technology. This was it!

So now, what was I going to go with this little technological marvel? Why, what anyone else would do, of course.

Yeah. I guess I’m just another spoiled suburban kid.

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(Okay, okay. So I do check my e-mail and stuff on the iTouch. And I finished reading The Picture of Dorian Gray as a result of this iTouch. I DO THINGS WITH IT! I SWEAR!)

Do you remember 9/11?

Last July I visited New York City with my German host sister and my real sister. We decided to visit the nearly completed 9/11 Memorial, built where the World Trade Center once stood. The memorial wasn’t quite open to the public yet– to get in, we had to line up at the 9/11 Visitor’s Center and get tickets.

The memorial featured two gigantic waterfalls and reflecting pools in the two exact spots where the Twin Towers were. Around each pool, the nearly 3,000 names of the deceased were carved in bronze. The pools were surrounded by trees, stone walkways, and newly planted grass. All around the plaza, we were dwarfed by the construction of the new World Trade Center.

Visitors were cheerfully walking around, chatting, and smiling for photos. It was a warm July day, after all, and sunny, and we were lucky enough to have gotten into the memorial before its official coronation. The place was packed with people.

The September 11th attacks happened over a decade ago, in 2001. I had only just turned eight. That September, I was just starting the third grade. My teacher that year (Mrs. Casey) had a little morning activity called “Casey’s News.” Each day, she would assign one kid to look up the weather and another to look up current events. The next morning, these two kids would come into class, stand inside this big cardboard box painted to look like a TV, and present what they had found. It was a fun little tradition she had been doing for years in the hopes of getting kids to pay attention to the news.

On the morning of September 11th, I was assigned to get the current event.

My school, unlike most schools in my area, didn’t close that day. My sister tells me that many kids were picked up by their parents, though. I simply remember taking the bus, walking home, and checking the internet to see what was up and happening in the world.

Naturally, you can imagine what I found.

In all of the horrifying images and videos, however, I just didn’t understand what had happened. I don’t know why. I was only eight. My vocabulary was limited. I had watched war movies before. I just didn’t quite get the news articles I was finding. I recall asking my mom, that day,

I don’t remember her face when she answered.

Although I didn’t fully understand the scope of 9/11, I knew that it was big. I therefore proudly presented my newsflash the next day.

The horrors of 9/11, then not fully understood by my eight-year-old self, quickly vanished under bigger concerns like “How do I write cursive?” and “I don’t want to eat this gross school pizza!” It’s been 11 years since then. I admit that I don’t think of 9/11 often, or at great length. I’ve seen the photos, read first-hand accounts and cartoon recollections, and I know how terrible that day was. But I never truly understood, or perhaps, been able to begin to imagine the horrors of that day until I visited the memorial. Seeing those massive, black holes where the Twin Towers stood put into perspective the scale of the disaster, and the terror and suffering that went on that morning.

So I’m writing this post as my own remembrance. For those who went to work that day, only to find their office in flames. For the people who ran into the building, searching for loved ones. For the rescuers who risked– and lost– their lives for those they had never met. For the survivors who still feel the effects of the attacks today.

I know I wasn’t there. I know I’ll never fully understand what happened that day. I’ll never quite comprehend the fear, the bravery, the tragedy, the despondency. But I can remember.

And I hope that you, dear reader, can take a moment to remember it too.

So I ask: where were you on September 11, 2001? Feel free to let me know in the comments below.