Halloween party

Another excellent flat party. It was more talky than dancy until someone stopped messing with the volume control on the stereo. For some reason there was a prodigious amount of wine and women in their mid-twenties, but I am not complaining. It didn’t finish until 3:30am. No-one threw up, broke windows, puked on the neighbour’s cat, started a fistfight, or decided that the “least drunk” should drive, so it wasn’t a party for the newspapers.

Decidedly Non-Party Soundtrack:
Psonic Psunspot ~The Dukes of Stratosphear
Permanent ~Joy Division
The Gorey End ~The Tiger Lillies & Kronos Quartet

Party prep

Soak chickpeas. Clean Venetian blinds. Vacuum. Move loose stuff into cupboard. Chop up crepe paper. Borrow ladder. Nail crepe paper to ceiling. Install cobwebs. Clean bathrooms. Make hummus. Make 8-hour playlist. Rearrange lounge furniture. It had better be a good party.

Meeting the cartoon historian

I was invited to a NZ Cartoon Archives function tonight at Capital Books. British cartoon historian Dr. Mark Bryant happened to be in town, so the Archives and Press Corp got together for a chinwag. I was the only cartoonist there, and for a time the youngest person in the room by 20 years, until a rather brusque Phd student turned up. He was unimpressed until I mentioned Brunswick, and I hope none of you will think less of me that I found his momentary flicker of awe extremely satisfying. I also met a certain famous illustrator who had never heard of me, but was extremely miffed that it took me a few minutes to recollect who he was. I had to choke back a mighty oath when introduced to someone as “the young aspiring cartoonist”. It’s all comparative, matey-boy.

The best conversation I had was with the guest of honour, who was not at all well. I think he was gratified that I was a fan of H.M. Bateman and Fougasse, and helpfully pulled out a copy of his Dictionary of 20th Century British Cartoonists and Caricaturists when I asked what kind of injury crippled Fougasse at Gallipoli. He’s also the only person I’ve ever met who’s actually sat at the Punch table.

More graphic novel reviews

Nicolas
Pascal Girard
Drawn & Quarterly 2008

A matter-of-fact, rather melancholy book based on the author’s own childhood and the loss of his younger brother from lactic acidosis. Being a naturally resilient young boy, he doesn’t really see what the fuss is about, until years later in adulthood when he finally processes his grief. A small and brief book (72 pages) with simple drawings, this is a good example of a story which is best told in graphic novel form – not something to be extended into a novel, or provide a readymade storyboard for some bloody high-concept cash-cow film.

A Drifting Life
Yoshihiro Tatsumi
Drawn & Quarterly 2009

An autobiographical account of the early career of famous cartoonist Tatsumi who pioneered the gekiga style of comics in Japan, taking inspiration from American cinema and pulp fiction to develop a new and gritty style of visual storytelling. This 856-page book tells the fascinating story of the young and somewhat naive cartoonist escaping from an inevitable fate of civil service in 1950s Japan through his passion for comics. Encouraged by his idol Tezuka Osamu, he develops his craft with the assistance of his occasionally jealous brother, and is later alternatively exploited and supported by Japan’s emerging manga industry. His claustrophobic worklife is given historical context by interesting vignettes of Japan’s difficult and often humiliating postwar reconstruction. Something of a brick of a book, and not for readers with weak wrists.

Appetite for Detention
Sloane Tanen
Bloomsbury 2008

Tanen has published several unsentimental books using photos of tiny pipe-cleaner chickens in model settings acting out the neuroses of 21st century humans. This one is unusually narrative, following nine students from various classic cliques through the school year. This is unaccountably hilarious when depicted using tiny chickens.

Animal Collective
Fupete & Jacklamotta
Drago 2007

Not really a graphic novel, more a collaboration between two Italian artists which has resulted in this charming collection of drawings about made-up animals, including the Post Elephant (whose parents watched too much Blade Runner and have seen things you people wouldn’t believe), the St. Freak Kalimocho, and a curious creature known as the Giraffe. Fupete (Daniele Tabellini) draws cute animals with details picked out in gold, like Klimt if he were a six-year-old girl, and Jacklamotta (Robert Rebotti) produces smudged and scratched Photoshop collages.

Jaquie Brown and the in-joke vortex

It’s good to see a new series of The Jaquie Brown Diaries. Last year this was easily the best NZ comedy on air. The rise-and-fall of Jaquie Brown’s hyper-alter ego was fun to watch because of an extremely good and focused cast, despite the easy and somewhat lazy premise of satirizing Auckland’s media scene. The new series continues to deal with her epic decline*, but unfortunately by making a lot of in-jokes about Auckland radio it seems to have disappeared somewhat up its own arse.

I’ve never heard of James Coleman, and I suspect many people outside Auckland who’ve never listened to Channel Z or watched Sunrise have never heard of him either. Jaquie returns to Radio “Hautaki” to work with her crass, angry, balding nemesis, but it’s not actually funny unless you know it’s based on the past working relationship of the actors, and how are those of us outside a very small Auckland industry expected to know this – without reading about it in the magazine supplement of the Sunday Star Times?

It’s like those scenes in Family Guy when Peter Griffin will mug at the camera and recite a line from an ’80s American TV ad – it’s in the shape of a joke, it’s delivered as a joke, but because we were never exposed to the original object of reference, it’s not actually funny.

Still, Friday’s episode did made local comedy history by finally giving Josh Thomson (Welcome to Paradise’s Tongan John) something funny to do on TV. At least, I think it was him.

* Like Scarface without the cocaine.

Sunrise

Rudeness

Today I was supposed to go to a working bee in Strathmore, but I innocently asked what sort of gloves we should bring and was snarked at. So after that, I didn’t really feel like going. If someone’s rude to you because you’ve been rude to them, I can understand, but I hate it when someone’s rude to you just because they’re having a bad day or they aren’t a very nice person.

I probably should’ve gone to OdESSA’s last performance tonight, but I haven’t seen much of the band since making them a music video four years ago.

And I definitely should’ve gone out with Pippa, but I guess I just don’t feel like going out much at the moment.

Mah terlet dun gawt stoley

MAH TERLET! GAWDSARN IT! LOOKEE WHAT THOSE KIDS DUN DID TO MAH TERLET!

Instead of fixing our broken toilet first, the plumbers fixed our not-really-broken toilet, so for about six hours, like the Lord Lucan case, there was nothing to go on. I took this photo because it’s not often you get to glimpse ’60s plumbing and hundred-year-old wood.

More new wallpaper

There’s several Man Ray photos here, but I’m more interested in Lee Miller than Man Ray.

I’m resigned to the improvements announced by Apple to their iMac range. I can live without that extra 1.5 inches of screen – it’s not like a TV, where they can can get larger and larger and the only limit is the size of your wall. I’m also happy about not having a wireless keyboard, because my one is the longer version with a useful number keypad. The new mouse sounds interesting, though. The most obvious visual refinement of the model, the fact that the thin black border around the iMac screen now goes right to the edge, is of spectacular disinterest to me. The extra zip in processing power would be nice, of course, but until NZ gets decent affordable broadband there’s not that much point – it’s like driving a Maserati on a dirt track.

Sanguinity Soundtrack:
Chant Darling ~Lawrence Arabia
The Very Best of Buddy Holly & The Crickets
The Magic City ~Sun Ra