From: "John Weeks" <[platypus 26] at [hotmail.com]> Subject: NZ Trip Journal Day one: Comic Chat Date: Fri, 11 Sep 1998 22:49:22 PDT Hello all. I'm writing for an audience that is Australian, Kiwi and American, including both people who are obsessed by comics like I am, as well as those who have other interestsälike some of the academic Southeast Asia specialists who are also reading this. I've tried to be as complete and self-explanatory as possible, including many (possibly redundant) references and links. I should probably put in _more_ descriptive detail, I think...but it's seventeen thousand words already and I've got to finish up. I just hope that there's something for everyone, okay? Apologies if the formatting is lame, I'm still figuring out my new email account. - John Weeks New Zealand Trip Journal: North Island, Part One Day One: Comic Chat. Melbourne-Auckland. Tuesday, March 11. I begin the day with three hours of sleep. The night before there was a farewell party on my behalf at the Stork Hotel. Which carried on to the International Bar. Which carried on to a noisy, boisterous cab ride home. Which carried on to my housemates getting a ride to Chapel Street and getting a "goon". (Australian dialect for jug wine.) Which carried on to them staying up all night while I tried to sleep. Yesterday had been about as much fun as you could have sober. I didn't want to suffer on the plane, and had lots of last-minute things to take care of. Boxes to tape up and mail, things to give to people, stuff like that. And while I really regretted to go, I'd always had leaving hanging over my head. I've finished Grad school and teaching college, and while I had a few local job possibilities, none panned out. With my student visa running out, it's time to go. I'm actually kind of relieved to get things tied up. I crawled out of bed and called for a taxi. My inebriated housemates Greg, Michael and Kieran were there, and wanted to ride (40 minutes in rush hour traffic) with me to the airport. While I appreciated the gesture, I knew I'd have to kill them after the first ten minutes. So I said my goodbyes there in Malvern, outside the house I'd lived in for two years. I loaded in my stuff and took off. There was a quick stop at the Post Office, to send $A150 in files and comics to the States via seamailäone less task to leave for the boys. All told, I'd spent maybe $A300 on postage in the last week. During the ride I notice I have a sunburn and lots of little abrasions from all the weeding and gardening we've been doing during the last two days. We'd made a frantic effort to get the house up to snuff for the landlord. Last time my roomies moved out he'd really lit into themäthis time I wanted to make sure that I got my bond back and that things would be cool, so Michael and Kieran could keep the place. Sure enough, he rocks up an hour early and is all smiles. At least the house is shiny and clean like a Spray n' Wipe commercial. After going through the usual airport hassles I got on the plane. Wanted to do a little sketching, but I forgot and packed my sketchbook in one of the suitcases I'd checked in. Ah well. I've still got some notes for interview questions in my pocket. Missed a few folks, I've done about ten interviews before I left, mostly of bands and comic people I dig. Hopefully I can do a few more in New Zealand. Can't understand why people complain about airline food. There they are, doing something people have dreamed of for thousands of years, and then what do they do? Piss and moan about the food. Go figure. I try unsuccessfully to nap on the plane. I read an in-flight magazine bit about Hercules and Xena: Warrior Princess. There's a great article on Borges in the Australian review of books. I've got other stuff to read too: two New Zealand minicomics that zinester Jane Curtis (_Losergirl_ http://digitarts.va.com.au/losergurrl/) has sent me. I've got one issue of Nice Gravy (#7) by Indira Neville, and apparently she runs a little publishing group called Oats Comics in Hamilton. Her comic is simple, but playful and fun. I particularly like the cut-out glasses on the back cover. ("Cut out, place on your face and run around in your underwear!") You can get it via P.O. Box 1320 Dunedin New Zealand New Zealand. No cover price. (After I'm back from NZ I find they have a website, at http://www.freeyellow.com/members3/oatz/) I've also got Toki Wilson's comic, the eponymous _Toki_. It's pretty chunky with lots of different strips. Comics about fruitbats, aliens, thoughts on the death of Curt Cobain, short wordless bits, short wordy bits. Shows plenty of potential for a first effort. (Toki Wilson, 37 Blacks Road, Dunedin, New Zealand.) I'll have to see if I can track these two down. Unfortunately I haven't been able to get any phone numbers from Jane, so I've mailed 'em information about where I'll be staying in NZäI'll see if they get in touch. I've also managed to get some tips from Dillon Naylor's http://www.hydraatelier.com/popculturemain.htm housemate from NZ, Mike Cole. He's given me phone numbers and addresses for a few folks, one of whom, Kelly Sheehan, also has been a good source of info. Thanks to Kelly, I've got a lot of suggestions and phone numbers. I get into Auckland Airport. I'm feelin' dog tired. I wait through lines for immigration and luggage. They have a little stand with free tea that perks me up. I take my luggage to the luggage storage place, which will hold mine for roughly a week. I've got five piecesäa briefcase, a small and large backpack, and two suitcases. I'm loaded down, since I'm taking all my gear back to the States. They charge me $NZ96 which seems a lot, until I remember the exchange rate: about 58 cents American for one NZ dollar. I take a shuttle into town. Man, am I spending money today. There's a farm with rusting machinery right outside the airport. You wouldn't see that in many Western countries. Auckland looks nice, apparently recovering from the power outages. There's a humming diesel generator on every street. To recap: a few weeks before I left, Auckland had a catastrophic failure of its power grid, plunging much of the city into darkness. The power system had been privatized a few years back and the new entity, "Mercury Power", had been trying to make itself an attractive acquisition for a foreign buyer. In the hottest summer in years, the four old main cables supplying Central Auckland's power failed, within a few days of each other. The part affected was the central business district, arguably the people who stood most to benefit from privatization. Now the citizens are baying for blood, and new revelations about the dodgy company are reported daily in the newspapers. As I pulled up outside Auckland City Backpackers there was another huge piece of generating apparatus sitting on the pavement, with thick cables snaking inside the building. I registered and got a bunk in a shared room, with six people. The hostel's a pretty big place, and I chose it cause it has a number of advantages. In-house travel agency. Storage service. Internet. http://www.acb.co.nz/acb.html Café. Bar. Laundry. Centrally located. There is one disadvantage, to be revealed several paragraphs later. I call my pal Liz in Dunedin. She's my main reason for coming here; she's invited me to stay at her place. She's a Southeast Asian studies academic like me. We arrange plans to hook up tomorrow, but I'm on the late side, and the travel agency is closed. Dang. Comrade Clint Cure (_Wang_) http://www.inJapan.net/members/Kelvin/QRay.html had corresponded with a local cartoonist, Ant Sang (_Filth_) and suggested I get in touch. I'd given him and his cartoonist housemate, Alex, a ring back in Melbourne. They were keen to hear more about some Australian small press stuff. So I call Ant and Alex and arrange to meet up. They're night owls so we plan to meet around ten PM. On my way out I notice an internet kiosk. "Orb". They have a "comic chat" feature, which looks quite familiaräyes, the drawings featured are by Jim Woodring! Wild. http://www.jimwoodring.com/ You have a conversation in real time, with other online folks, as one of the characters he's designed. This must be part of the work he said he was doing for Microsoft. (I haven't tried this, but if you want, you can have a go at http://www.eu.microsoft.com/ie/chat) I step out for some much overdue food, lugging my briefcase. I try to obey my unspoken vow to avoid McDonalds, Burger King and the like. I'm lucky this time. I find a cool, cheap Japanese place. It's more for Japanese diners, I thinkäthe bookshelf full of manga tells me that. I have some hot Miso soup and burn my tongue. The TV's on a local syndicated MTV show, which plays lots of bands I've never heard of. One video is "Joy of Sex", by Chris Knox, and it's a reminder to me to check out some more of NZ's local culture. I'd seen him once, back in Melbourne. He was cool, even drew a cartoon in my sketchbook. After about a half hour of wandering around darkened streets I find where Ant and Alex live. It's an area of mostly boarded up shops, and I wander into a little courtyard between buildings and find their entrance. I ring the bell and I'm invited on up. At this point it's about ten thirty at nightäreally about twelve thirty for me. Ant and Alex have a nice studio pad with musical gear and comics strewn all over. I've got a briefcase full of Australian minicomics and I lay it on them. I'm planning on going down to the South Island for a few days, and don't have room for all the comics I've got. Figured they'd dig it, and they're appreciative. They show me their stuff. Alex has been doing a weekly strip for _Fix_, one of the free papers in Auckland: _Largely Critical_, with some collaboration/co-starring by Ant. It's patterned after the "Critics at Large" strips Evan Dorkin and Kyle Baker did, collected in Dark Horse's _Instant Piano_. Patterned after? It's very close, at the beginning, though it gradually develops a more original style and tone. I wonder what Evan will think of this. http://www.houseoffun.com/ It's fun to read, with heaps of goss on the Auckland scene. It's a week to week chronicle of bands and events as well as Alex (mostly) and Ant's (somewhat) lives. Alex's desperation and pathos is fun to watchäKyle and Evan are a little more secure in themselves. Heck, they actually make money for their comics. Ant shows me the last issue of _Filth_ , which is the all "Black Sheep" issue, finishing up a long-running storyline. He hasn't been doing much since then but has been thinking about doing another comic. I'd reviewed earlier issues for a 'zine back in Oz. Off the top of my head, I remember it for its stylized, expressive take on youth culture issues. Like any semiautobiominicomic (say that three times fast) it could get a little self-indulgent, but at its best _Filth_ had some good moments. Like the story in #1 about how to correctly take a poop. Or the conversation - alienated youth with alienated rockstar - with Kurt Cobain's ghost. That was a tricky one to do, pulled off nicely. And Ant's style is very nice, clean inking, good, angular linework. Reminds me just a little of early Bob Fingerman. (_Largely Critical_, no cover price, _Filth_, $4.00 NZ cover price. Alex Beart/Ant Sang, P.O. Box 105019, Auckland, New Zealand.) In addition to all this, both artists are in a comic compilation, Mainstream, put out by the Art and Design School of the Auckland Institute of Technology. They give me two issues. It's standard formatäif you didn't know any better seeing it on the stands you'd think it wasäwelläa mainstream comic. It's late. I bid farewell and head back down Queen Street, trying to navigate using the little map in my Lonely Planet book. I sit down for a minute. Two big drunk Maori guys come up and sit down on either side of me. "You a Christian, mate?" one asks. I tell him I'm kind of agnostic. Picking up on the accent, "How long you been in the country?" "Eight hours." That blows him out. "Eight hours.." he repeats, stunned. "Whoa. Eight hours." Like it's incomprehensible. I tell him I gotta get back to my hostel. He's still flipped out, "Uh, yeah, seeya mate." I get back to my dorm room and crash. There's a disco next door. Unfortunately they don't have good taste in music, it's "Bye Bye American Pie." I don't get to sleep until four in the morning. Why couldn't the power be out _there_? Next: South Island ______________________________________________________ From: "John Weeks" <[platypus 26] at [hotmail.com]> Subject: NZ Trip Journal Day Two: Savages. Date: Sun, 13 Sep 1998 00:16:44 PDT Day Two: Savages. Auckland-Christchurch. Thursday, March 12. Didn't sleep well, got up early. Went to the travel centre on the hostel's ground floor and checked into flight times for Christchurch. I'm really groggy. I haven't had a good night's sleep in over a week. I go looking in search of real breakfast food. I get a bagel with fresh NZ lox, mmm. Then I look through some of the local bookstores. Finally awake, back at the hostel, I make arrangements to fly to Christchurch. I'm not real keen on buying heaps of plane tickets, but I've got to get down to Dunedin. Plus I've got the bond back from my place in Melbourne. That's pretty much what I'm traveling on. I wish I had one of those international student hostel cards thoughäthat could save me a bit of money in buying tickets. Off to the airport againä.I think I'm gonna get familiar with this place. I try to get my laptop out of storage but they need a day's advance notification. Dang. Could have used that down in Dunedin. I look at the NZ Business Herald. "The Government's "Hands Off" response to the Mercury Energy debacle - while ideologically correct - runs the risk of bringing New Zealand's economic reform into disrepute." Dear me. I push my stuff on a cart over to the Domestic Terminal. Waiting for my plane, I wander into the giftshop and stumble onto something really cool. It's a hardcover graphic novel, _Maui_, an abbreviated collection of Maori tales. I snap it up for plane reading. Cool! The _Maui_ artist has a style reminiscent of Mike Mignola, and ably adapts these classic mythic stories. The only complaint I have is that it could be longer. I'll bet I don't see this this book in any actual comic shop here. The flight attendants serve snacksämore salmon. I feel a little nauseous, from the plane, not the food. Outside the window, the sheep look like maggots for a second. I deplane in Christchurch and grab my backpack. I take a shuttle out to the University of Canterbury to meet Liz. She's of American origin, a religious studies student specializing in Theravada Buddhism & folk religion. I haven't seen her in about a year, but it's just like old times when she walks up. I heft my backpack over to her office and chill out there while she meets with her supervisor. Then we go to the school travel agency and check on plane reservations. Liz lives in Dunedin, further down on the South Island. She splits her week in half, flying up for class and then coming back down. It seems to work. I found it hard to believe that she'd commute by flying, but all told it's cheaper than the time and money involved in driving. I get a ticket for Dunedin. We try to get it at a student rate but my lack of an international student travel card means it costs a little more. I've just gotta get one of those things, it's gonna cost me if I don't. The Religious Studies department is having a barbecue so we head on over. Free food! We chat and catch up. Liz is getting ready for the yearly conference of the American Association of Asian Scholars, and is a little apprehensive about preparing her paper. I tell her about an idea for a paper for an upcoming book on weird religion she's involved with. She's positive and encouraging. We take the bus through central Christchurch to her friend's place, where she lives when in town. Her friend's husband is preparing for a conference too, he's a botanist or ecologist or something. I think that ecological issues in this area of the world are a little more obviousäthe European invasion, cultural and biological, was a little more recent. For example, I was surprised to learn that deer had been imported to NZ, and it's hotly debated whether they should be removed, hunted or left alone. Then there's the issue of rabbits, which have caused much trouble to native fauna when introduced in NZ and Oz. http://www.maf.govt.nz/MAFnet/index/rcdindex.html Liz's friend is another American -- they're just all over the place. She's got a nice place and is friendly, but tonight she's a bit apprehensive because her daughter is out seeing a rock band, The Savages. Privately, I think that's a pretty positive and constructive thing to do, but parents will worry, I guess. As we're beginning to crash out her daughter returns. Turns out the band wasn't _The Savages_ - it was _Savage Garden_. ______________________________________________________ From: "John Weeks" <[platypus 26] at [hotmail.com]> Subject: En Zee Day Three: "Superman and Green Lantern" Date: Sun, 13 Sep 1998 00:25:09 PDT Day Three: "Superman and Green Lantern" Christchurch - Dunedin. Friday, March 13th. About six hours of sleep. I'm feeling weak, I'm definitely coming down with a cold. Liz and I head out, have breakfast in town. She wants to get to work on her conference paper. She's having part of it emailed to her by her French collaborator, and she wants to make sure that it reads well. We part ways; she goes to campus, I head off to explore Christchurch. I visit the Post Office and write a few postcards. There's a band playing in the city square. There are lots of little food stalls and arts & crafts booths. I look for The Wizard, a famous eccentric public figure who makes pronouncements there, but he's not in today. Another strange figure does appearäan abnormally tall woman dressed in a sort of medieval outfit wearing white face paint. There's gotta be two people under that dress. The Japanese tourists go nuts taking pictures. Well, first things first. Off to the comics stores. I want to distribute some of my comics, and see if I can complete my collection of the New Zealand comic _Pickle_. The first one is _Heroes for Sale_. It's a cards and comics store more than a comic store. They have one issue of _Pickle_, and it's one I don't have. They get points for that. No, I don't need any gaming dice, thanks. They don't take self-published comics. http://www.heroes4sale.co.nz _Comics Compulsion_, nearby, is a lot more together. It's got a lot of rack space devoted to comics. (181 Manchester Street, Christchurch. (03) 379-7866) There I'm pleased to glom on to some minis by Adam Jamieson. _Blink_ is a dream comic, he's got a bit of a Paul Pope influence but he's using material undeniably his own. I like his brushwork. I'd say it's on a par with Jesse Reklaw's stuff. (http://www.nonDairy.com/) I find three issues from 1997, I notice he planned to do his comic fortnightly. That's pretty impressive, I wonder if he lived up to his claim. #1 finds a surreal art gallery, a midnight picnic with Tom Waits, childhood insecurities and some dream sketches by fellow cartoonist Timothy Kidd. #2 Has a moment of retribution, urban addiction paranoia, plus contributions by Karl Wills and Peter Johnstone. #3 is one long dream, with appearances by "Shirley MacLaine" and Clint Eastwood. The conclusion is the cover, in a charming sort of circularity. I wonder what he's been doing since then. (_Blink_ has a cover price of $3.00 NZ, from Adam Jamieson, P.O. Box 5722, Wellesley Street, Auckland, NZ.) I ask the manager if he takes small press comics on consignment. He's politely negative; he buys small press outright if he thinks it'll sell, but rarely picks up a title. Small press doesn't sell, he says, plus they "squeeze out" other items if he carries too much. Yeah buddy, squeezing out all those back issues of the superhero comics you overordered? On the way out I look at the boxes and boxes of mostly unsold Marvel and DC comics. I tell you, alternative comics can get over anywhere except a comics shop. Walking down the street I see a wall plastered with posters for an upcoming musical gig. They've appropriated an image of Adrian Tomine. Rather, I should say, it is Tomine's image. Rock on, dude. http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/6112/ It's time for lunch. I sit down, have a bite, and rest. My stomach is a little upset. I read my issue of _Pickle_. Suddenly I realize it's an hour lateräI'm really tired. I've got a sore throat. My tongue is still burnt. I could go for a nap. I think I have a fever. I force myself to get up and wander about a bit. I eat a Hawkes Bay Delicious Red Apple. I think about a story I've been polishing for over a year. How am I going to get any work done if I keep living at the pace I do? I sit and draw the city's Memorial Arch in my sketchbook. Two girls at a nearby café are being boisterous and noisy. Later I realize -I think- that they were trying to get my attention. Yep, I'm out of it. (Insert chorus of Babylon Zoo's "Spaceman" here, OK?) I walk down by the river bank. It's quite charming, grassy and lined with trees. A nice spot for contemplation. Gondoliers pass by with boats of tourists. I head back to the square. I get a large orange juiceäI'm going to have to be good and take care of myself. I feel like crap. An old guy who looks like the "digger" stereotype comes up to me and tells me that I look "handsome". I wait for the pitch but he walks off. Some days you've just got it, I guess. There's a caravan park called the Amber Park Caravan Park, which I want to take a picture of for a friend bearing a similar name, but it's a bit out of the way. I put it on the agenda for the return trip. http://www.abc.net.au/loud/artists/carvan.htm http://minyos.its.rmit.edu.au/~s9652448/articles/johnny1.htm I arrive on campus a little early, so I kill some time in the bookshop. I buy the book _He Died With a Felafel in His Hand_, John Birmingham's opus about Australian share house life. The cover is a classic shot: a bar of soap with some short and curlies stuck on it. I'd wanted to get this before I'd left for America, it's a lucky score. I meet up with Liz and retrieve my backpack from her office. Then it's off to the airport and separate flights to Dunedin. I read Felafel on the plane. At the baggage claim I grab my stuff. My backpack is starting to fall apart, I noticeäfortunately I'm not doing any real trekking on this trip. I meet up with Liz's husband Ed and their daughter Polly at the baggage claim. Ed's tall, thin, quiet and bearded, and Polly's young and energeticäten, I think. How did I get so old and tired? Batteries, I think. They run down over time. The airport's located a ways out of town. We travel through rolling green hills to the city proper. Dunedin's actually quite spread out, one of the largest cities there is in terms of size, though not population. Liz doesn't think Dunedin is a "real city", like Christchurch. Dunedin's population is mostly students attending the four colleges in the area. They've acquired a generic derogatory term: 'scarfies'. Ed works for the largest school, the University of Otago. He's American - he and Liz emigrated together. We head down the main drag. Polly quizzes me if I like Hanson or the Spice Girls. She's negatory on the first, thumbs up on the latter. We have pizza at Liz's place, a charming house on the slope of a hill. It's in a student neighborhood, and I'm told sometimes it can be a bit noisy. I drag out some photos and bring them up to date on what I've been doing in Oz. It's good to catch up. I meet Kitty, another of their kids. A family friend, Inez, arrives, and we head out to a local venue, The Arc. On the way they point out the Octagon, the city's center, bordered by a church, an art gallery, a number or restaurants, and much more. The Arc is a sort of nonprofit bar/coffeehouse/artspace. It's quite nice. It's got a little something for everybodyäcomputers in one corner, a stage in the back. If I was a student here I'd be digging this place. Ainis introduces me to one of tonight's performers, Demarnia, who's having some licorice root tea 'cause it's good for the throat. I take a tip and get some to medicate my own still-sore throat. Demarnia is the first performer, under the appellation Cloudgirl. She plays and sings on a table in the middle of the audience, illuminated by the glow of her Macintosh. She's got a heap of electronic equipment but in spite of that the music is quirky and personal. I'm charmed by her cool and sorta creepy cover of Donovan's Sunshine Superman. Liz tells me she usually plays with another person as a duo called _Cloudboy_. http://www.coffee.co.nz/cloudboy _Mestar_ is up next. Apparently some of the members got their chops in a Celtic band before this, though I'd never know it if I hadn't been told. It's a home crowd, which means they start moshing when there's only fifteen people standing up. It's cute. _Mestar_ plays straight ahead long hair distortion pedal crowd surfing head banging rock which wouldn't be out of place in Portland or Seattle. It's poppy, peppy and enjoyable. http://www.coffee.co.nz/mestar/ The crowd was loving it and Liz's daughter Polly was bopping away. Me? I was slumped against the wall, sitting with the rest of the old folks. My throat's better, the licorice root tea seemed to be working, but I'm pretty tired. We head out from the gig a little early for home. My room has two big windows right up against the bedäI can see the lights of the city fading off into the distance. Man, I can taste that sleep. ______________________________________________________ From: "John Weeks" <[platypus 26] at [hotmail.com]> Subject: NZ Day Four: Double Wetsuits. Date: Sun, 13 Sep 1998 18:42:32 PDT Day Four: Edinburgh South. DunedinäSaturday, March 14th. Okay, so it's Saturday in Dunedin. I should go out and do something: walk around, check out bands, snoop for comics, look at landmarks, scope out the place. I won't be back here (if ever) for years. Dunedin is known for its music, its cultureäit's the Athens, Georgia or Austin, Texas of the southern hemisphere, from what I'm told. What I _do_ is collapse and hang out at Liz's house. I'm beat from constant travel and lack of sleep. I sleep for about ten hours and wake up, have breakfast, and chill out. It's a quiet overcast day. I squint at some of the comics that Ant and Alex have given me. _Mainstream_ is an art-school anthology with the usual range running the gamut from lameass superhero/fantasy to genuine talent. In the latter category, #1 finds some nice Siencewicz-eque art by Paul Rogers, Ant's tale of a friend who passed away and Pui Shan Li's manga stylings. Alex does a story featuring someone who looks and acts an awful lot like John Constantine. ($4.95 NZ from Tuatara Press, P.O. Box 105019, Auckland NZ.) #2 is an 80 page special and opens with Simon Rattray's "The Fumigator" - a fun, professional looking parody of tough guy comics. Pui Shan Li shows the world through "Cat's Eyes", Saret Em provides a commentary on form in "The Canvas." Ant's "Little Buddha Boy VS. The Hopping Ghosts & The Angry Heart!" is great Kung-Fu philosophical fun. ($6.95 NZ from Tuatara.) I do some laundry. All three of the school age kids have a party that night. - The oldest kid, Eliot, wants to appropriate the family sound system for a party that night. After some discussion it's agreed that they will rent some equipment which he will pay off by working for his Dad. - Polly is going to a dance her school is having with a boys' school. Liz and Polly head to the mall to get a dress. - And Kitty is going to a slumber party at a friend's. Ed and Liz take Kitty to her party. I come along and we take in Lookout Point on the way back. (The hill has some more impressive name, but I forget. If you want facts and objectivity, read a guidebook.) Ed tells me a little about his and Liz's struggle to emigrate to NZ. For maybe two years they'd extended their visas thirty days at a time. Lookout Point is awesome, I wish I'd brought along my camera. The hill is topped by a statue, and there's a wedding party there, taking pictures. You can see the whole panorama of the bay down below, the town spread out like an atlas map. Its design has been patterned after Edinburgh, regardless of indigenous NZ geography. It's quite spread out, but that adds to its charm. Ed tells how this used to be a popular Southern Hemisphere port, with its large sheltered bay. That status was eighty-sixed pretty much when the Panama Canal opened up, allowing a shorter route. Now the area is coming to be favored by cruise ships. There are even surfers here, he tells me. I'm surprised. "Really? The water must be so cold." "Yeah, they use double wetsuits." Back at the house, Polly takes off for her party. Over dinner, Ed concludes the story of immigration adventures. I use a calling card and ring Tony Renouf, a local anesthesiologistäer, anthologist. A comics dude. He works at a record store in town, _Echo_. I make plans to drop in and see him tomorrow. I also try to find a number for Toki Wilson but there's no luck. Polly comes back and she's stokedäshe's danced with some forty-odd boys. She'll be a terror when she gets older. I look at some of Liz's books before I go to sleep. I've got to copy down some of her titles. I've got to just read more books. I've got to think about when to take French. I've got to look into scholarships. I've got to send out more thesis copies. I've got to get some sleep. At least I have clean clothes for tomorrow. ______________________________________________________ From: "John Weeks" <[platypus 26] at [hotmail.com]> Subject: En Zed Day Five: Students and Slackers Date: Sun, 13 Sep 1998 18:49:42 PDT Day Five: Students and slackers. DunedinäSunday, March 15th. Another ten hour sleep. Polly brings me some coffee and I drag my groggy self out of bed. I'm feeling a bit better. It's great kicking around here, being a lazy bum. Liz and Ed go to church. Liz is a little worried 'cause she still hasn't been emailed the second part of her collaborative paperäand she's presenting it next weekend. Inez pops by to say hello and drops off two CDs: One of Chris Knox's (_Seizure_, with some classic tunes - one featured in the recent film _Topless Women Talk About Their Lives_ http://www.loud.net.au/noise/display_stories/1-90000/601-900/display_stor ies_756.html) and _Arc: Music of Dunedin_. Cool, she saved me thirty, forty bucks. I feel good that I'll get at least a token exposure to some of the stuff hereäa snapshot's better than nothing. Eliot returns from his party and is put to work with his Dadäno sleep for the weary. I step out in the afternoon to see if I can catch up with the aforementioned comic guy Tony Renouf. It's a bright day, a little on the cool side - it was shorts weather in Auckland, but down here I need a coat. Unfortunately the record shop is closed. Tony did mention an art exhibition at "Fuel" Café, so I step in and admire the framed comic art on the walls. They're exhibiting work by two artists, Glenn Ross and Colin Andrews. Glenn has a distinctive styleäthick line weight, heavy on the inks for his naturalistic stories. His stories all seem to have an almost-yet-not-quite true qualityäthey're not all real, but they _could_ have happened. Colin Andrews' "Lewis" is a Buddy Bradleyesque character starring in tales of Antipodean slacker life. His 'bigfoot' caricature style is nicely detailedäif he'd had the good sense to be born in the States he'd be well known in the small press. The two have collaborated on a comic called Gulp! Extra points to Colin for his Wolverton cover riff. (_Gulp!_ - Glenn Ross/Colin Andrews - $3.00 NZ, C/O Fuel Café, 21 Frederick Street, Dunedin, NZ. (03) 477-2575.) I'm stoked to see the Café selling the comic so I ask if I can give them some comics to sell. I'm referred to the manager, Scott Muir, who's holding court at a booth in the back. He's intrigued by the idea of selling another comic and is happy to see mine. The exhibition has been good in terms of feedback and customer traffic, and he's pondering doing another. He gives me a free coffee (do comics rule or what?) and I give him some copies of my various publications to sell. While I can't say I distribute internationally with clockwork regularity, it's always good to have another comics-friendly shop on the list. I also get a number for Colin Andrews. I call and find out that he's working at First Church, a historic building here. I trudge back up the hill. I notice some of those silvery Nitrous Oxide cartridges scattered on the pavement. Someone's, um, making a lot of whipped cream? Definitely a student neighborhood. Liz and I chat some more that evening. She shows me a slew of fascinating books, I'm impressed by one in particular on temple design. Liz also gives me a valuable tip on the UMI thesis service, which can get you a copy of any MA or Ph.D thesis registered with the service. She also suggests a few valuable journals to keep up with. We listen to the _Arc_ CD and _Moana and the Moahunters_ among others, on her CD changer. Maori Rap! Like Aussie rap, the novelty value is undeniable. The sore throat is back. I conk out. ______________________________________________________ From: "John Weeks" <[platypus 26] at [hotmail.com]> Subject: EnZee Day Six: South Park; South Island. Date: Mon, 14 Sep 1998 23:26:35 PDT Day Six: South Park; South Island. DunedinäMonday, March 16th. It's a bright sunny Monday and the kids are all set for school in their uniforms. When I first came to this side of the world I thought I lived in a heavily Catholic areaäonly private (and usually religious at that) school kids wear uniforms in the States. Eliot tells me that some of the kids from school get to test chocolate at the Cadbury plant in town. Sounds like a good gig. Come to think of it, I've noticed a few brands I didn't even see in Australia in NZ stores. Ed heads off for work. The phone rings. Someone asks for "Eeed." It takes me a while to realize that they're asking for "Ed". It's the only time on the trip that the NZ accent throws me. Those who accentuate trans-Tasman linguistic differences can tend to exaggerate, I think. I look at some of Liz's hard-to-find books on Buddhism and Southeast Asia. While doing so, I tape the CDs Inez lent me. I like the Alastair Galbraith track on the _Arc_ compilation. He was met with a hero's welcome when I saw him in Melbourne, and I saw him perform twice. The first time didn't do much for me but the second (for a smaller crowd) was a lot more powerful. I guess you'd call his stuff free noise. I dunno, I'm not a music critic. http://www.coffee.co.nz/cd/ I step out to Echo records and meet Tony Renouf. He's an affable fellow, tall, thirtyish. He takes a short break and gives me a big stack of comics to look at. He's done an anthology of mostly Dunedin folks called _Umph_. Hmm, all these sound-effect like titles. Umph! Gulp! We make plans to meet at Fuel later. (_Echo Records, 343 George Street, P.O. Box 6368, Dunedin, New Zealand. (03) 477-9451) Walking down George Street, I see a wooden Tintin bust at an import store called _Yaks and Yetis_. I'm told it's from Thailand. I'm compelled to take a picture of it. I walk around the Octagon and take more pictures. I manage to navigate to First Church, where Colin Andrews should be working. There's a heap of workmen doing renovations, but no luck. He doesn't seem to be there. More exchange with Liz. I wonder if I should continue my thesis research under the rubric of Art History, Creative Writing, Religious Studies, or Southeast Asian Studies. I go down George Street to meet Tony. Along the way I stop at nearby _Bag End Books_, a local comic shop. Tony recommended it, and he used to maintain an NZ comics shelf there. "Do you have any issues of _Pickle_?" "What's that?" "It's a comic by a New Zealander." And I'm still missing an issue or two. "No." "Do you have any New Zealand comics?" "No." Yay globalization. Yay free trade. Of course, Fuel Café is right next door. The comic shop doesn't have local comics, but a café does. You can find good comics anywhere but in a comic shop. I meet Tony at the Albert Arms, his local. Glenn Ross is there, and Morrie Brown is there too - both _Umph_ contributors. Genn's a young fella, Morrie's a bit older. From what I can gather, Tony's been instrumental in organizing things in Dunedinäexhibitions, anthologies, comic jams. He says he's been avoiding that role for two years, but I can see his resolve weakening as I whip out my Australian comics. We spend about an hour and there's plenty of interest and enthusiasm all around as they read Kirrily Schell, Michael Fikaris, Amber Carvan and many more. I get some food 'cause I'm hungry. Miraculously we manage not to get any beer or food on the comics. Tony's put together quite a lot in the past few years. I ask him how he manages to get all these people to contribute to his stuff. "Standover tactics, mate," he tells me. (A standover man is a role harking back to Australia's criminal past. A standover man is a criminal who preys on other criminals, extorting the location of their loot by, well, beating and 'standing over' them 'til they confess. The modern equivalent would be, say, Chopper Read.) http://www.smh.com.au/daily/content/970719/national/national2.html The attitude to comics in Dunedin is more one of ambivalence than disinterest, Tony says. It's hard to tell what sort of reaction you'll get. Five-oh once rolled up on him when he and some friends were putting up posters for a comic launch. After some tense moments the cops busted out laughing, and the poster remained on the Police Station bulletin board for four months. Tony invites us all back to his place in the hills outside of town. We taxi on out. On the way I can't help but think of the connections I make with comics: I just met this guy today and he's treating me like a long-lost relative. I'm getting better and better at sniffing out the comics people in every town I go to. Glenn tells us that he's looking to get back to the countryside. He finds even Dunedin too big, and wants to get out to where he can hear himself think. He's a soft-spoken fella, kinda huskyä.another quiet cartoonist. Tony's house is a cozy little place stuffed with comics and artifacts of pop culture. The house itself is postwar public housing that was privatized fairly recently, like just about everything else in NZ. He introduces us to his partner. Tony's father-in-law (partner's Dad, I guessäwhatever) comes over and we hide out in his study while he drags out more comics. I try to keep up. I'm particularly taken with an anthology that had different interpretations on "Jack and the Beanstalk", from nearly everyone in the NZ Small Press scene. It accompanied an exhibition of NZ comics put on by Carl Wills, and it's got little profiles in the back, great for someone who's getting up to speed like me. That's right, Carl Wills was the one who was profiled in the last _Hate_. http://www-personal.umich.edu/~troq/Comix/hate.html I also dig an all-Maori strip Tony's done. I tell Tony and the others that they're welcome to send me some comics to sell at the summer conventions I'll be visiting in the States. Tony's already thinking of some effort to do especially for that. http://www2.comic-con.org/comiccon/ http://www.indyworld.com/spx/ Tony also provides suggestions on various bits of NZ culture, like Peter Jackson's films, which I always seem to miss. _Bad Taste_, _Meet the Feebles_, _The Frighteners_. http://www.filmscouts.com/matinee/frighte/filmmkrs.html My nose is running like a faucetäI'm getting a cold for sure. Hey, it's time for South Park. I didn't have a TV in Oz so I watch it here for the first time. It's great, of course. http://www.juice97.com.south.html Tony's partner drives us all home, which is really nice. I ask if he and Morrie and Glenn have any words for the North Island comics folks. "Tell them 'they can't hold a candle' to us! " Tony says, referring to the power outages. Back at Liz's place they're sitting around in the parlor. I chat with Eliot a bit about my past Djing career. The kids are doing their homework so I bring down some papers of my own to sort out. I talk with Ed about the state of the world. I think it's eminently rational to move to a quiet place like this to raise your kids. Too bad they can't adopt. ______________________________________________________ John Weeks [platypus 26] at [hotmail.com] (310) 541-4520 P.O. Box 13172 Torrance, CA 90503 USA http://www.comicuniverse.com/JWEEKS.html