This Is Not.

This improv comedy genius blew my rhetorical mind the first time I saw him perform.

Understanding Comics is an interesting approach to defining the line between what is art and what is writing.  Often, these two concepts intertwine, but we get hung up on our strange word associations that create boundaries for *clean* interpretations.  I particularly liked chapter 2, where McCloud breaks down the fact that nothing is really what we say it is, especially if it is represented on paper.  The fact that "this is not a pipe" and "SPLAT is not a sound" is simple enough to understand, but still a huge concept.  Reaching back to some of our earlier readings, the realization that things are not at all what they seem to be reinforces the idea that we are living in a somewhat simulated environment--a matrix.  However, it's a pretty realistic simulation; one that we would probably all buy into if we weren't exposed to a constant stream of theories that try to debunk our worldly construct.  And that makes me wonder, in light of Alex's post last week...is it rhetorically responsible to debunk our matrix?  Or is it irresponsible to take the world apart without really knowing how to put it back together?   Oddly, this question is also asking, do we stay put and learn to be satisfied, or do we venture into the unknown, ignorant but hopeful that we can create a better construct? 

McCloud's book itself is a super cool concept, but an acquired taste, especially for those of us that never read comics.  I made it to page ten, reading every word on every page, and then my eyes drifted to read only the pictures until about page 20.  I probably missed some things like definitions, but overall I don't think I missed a whole lot of content by ignoring the words.  This is one example of proving whether or not art can be writing; if I can summarize roughly the same amount as someone who read all words and no pictures, then it's a pretty even exchange rate of information.  That being said, combining pictures and words is a lot more for the reader to process, and therefore a little more mentally exhausting.  It's probably a learned skill, something that you get faster at with practice, but as a beginner, it can be a little distracting.  I'm stretching a bit here, but this reminds me of what it's like to help the elderly check their email (yeah, I'm in with the old crowd.  They write fat checks.)  They think every fucking side ad is something that needs to be clicked, as if the advertising companies are trying to be helpful by providing shortcuts to their inbox.  Modern folk (for lack of a better term) almost don't see the ads at all, because we got used to filtering them out.  For the elderly, it's visual overload, so they fall prey to advertising's cheap tricks.  Similarly, while reading McCloud's book, I'm not sure where to look, and if I come across a page with too much, I skip ahead for something a little more bite-sized.

Kinda what it's like to read Understanding Comics

"But if who I am matters less, maybe what I say will matter more" (McCloud, 37).  Damn, what a concept.  And I think I buy it, although I'm sure that there are plenty of people in history who said nothing of importance, yet their names are well known.  And the flipside is true as well; tons of thought provoking maxims are credited as anonymous, because whoever said it first wasn't famous enough to get credit.  This circles back to the "shit happens" principle.  Really, none of us matter, and some last minute thesis paper we write may be quoted in history books 200 years from now.  Similarly, a thesis that has taken years to develop with some really crucial findings may become buried underneath a pseudo-intellectual-philosophical twitter feed, because it had more followers or however the hell twitter works.  What does this mean for us?  Make every sentence count, write it as if you intend to be quoted throughout the ages.  Of course this type of diligence can be exhausting, and unrealistic.  But wouldn't it be a real bitch if you were remembered for saying some stupid shit that you really only typed to meet your word count, or complete your blogging quota?  Maybe we should be a little more conservative with our words, and only say something when we are really inspired to weigh in on a topic to eliminate a mountain of bullshit.  But then again, if we take on this perspective, we may never find an appropriate time to talk/write, because it seems like we all have to publicly vomit all of our rambling before we can get to the real substance of our thoughts.