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Side Ponytail (music blog)
always trying to be like hopey, but truth be told, I’m a izzy/maggie hybrid of dysfunction.
(Source: dearheartdontstopfighting)
Ugh, I cried so hard the first time I read this.
(Source: swimmingwithnuns)
Here’s a comic by Jaime Hernandez about white people and black people and Latino people and punk and rap. Some things:
- I wonder whether this is autobiographical or fictional. It feels autobiographical, but he usually doesn’t do that.
- I like how it captures the feeling of being 30+ and arguing with 20-something know-it-alls— knowing that they’re full of shit, but slowly realizing it won’t matter because you’re not saying what they want to hear. Causing a lull in the conversation because you weren’t supposed to disagree.
- The white girl’s shirt is hilarious to me. That’s the only way that character possibly could have been dressed.
- I can’t decide whether seeing white rock groups doing rap songs feels 1999ish or timeless.
Good ol’ even-tempered Ray. If this were me, the page would’ve looked more like something out of Prison Pit.
“The conventional way to handle this sequence would be to show the ghosts of Maggie’s past passing in front of her. What Hernandez does, though, is trickier — the book’s title is singular, and Maggie is, as she puts it, ‘an old graveyard ghost’ herself, hovering around the fringes of scenes she experienced and things she never saw, in the building where she once belonged. That’s the difference between memory and history, Hernandez suggests: Memory can lose a crucial detail — like, say, the declaration of love that Maggie’s aching to hear — or dissolve into immaterial nostalgia, but the past is real, immutable and growing all the time, and it’s haunted by the present.” —from Douglas Wolk’s insightful review of Ghost of Hoppers in Salon
For the 10th anniversary of Love & Rockets in 1992, Jaime Hernandez drew Maggie and Hopey saying all the things that, if you are Jaime Hernandez, people say to you all the fucking time.
