My father told me about Rachel Gold a few months ago. I don’t remember exactly how it came up; I was probably talking about how women in comics are still an anomaly, and treated as such, and how I’d been patient with this for a while but that it was starting to grate on me. He told me about Rachel Gold, how this Austrian cartoonist had created her because he thought she’d have an easier time getting work and escaping criticism, and how he’d turned out to be right.

“When discouraged political cartoonists sit behind a beer and complain, sometimes the talk turns to the idea of pretending to draw as a woman, to take advantage of affirmative action minded editors who might prefer cartoons by a woman, and affirmative action minded award juries who might be more inclined to give awards to a female cartoonist.”

My father and I have never really seen eye to eye on this. When I was working on my journalism school thesis about women in comics he encouraged me to reach out to outspoken, disgruntled male cartoonists who’d been passed over for the fairer (ha) sex for jobs and awards. I know their complaints well, because I grew up around those same tables, eavesdropping on the embittered shop talk (and no one does embittered shop talk quite like cartoonists). I remember a long-running joke that someone should pretend to be an Asian woman to get a comic strip syndication deal. But it wasn’t a joke, really; more like a suggestion, a dare. And here I was contemplating my male pen name and looking around and wondering: if it would be so easy for that Asian woman, why isn’t she here already?

My father chastises me for drawing myself big-nosed and hipless. He thinks that being a woman is a help to my career, while I see it as a detail at best; at worst, a real hindrance. When editors want a woman, they want her because she is other: they want the “female perspective,” the feely relationship stories and autobiographical travails. They don’t want her opinions on world affairs. I think it’s true that women who choose to write these personal narratives often do find the success that drives those guys so crazy — though simply as a sideshow to the main attractions. But while the literary, indie comics world and even mainstream, superhero comics have seen their female ranks grow in recent years, it’s still a very sorry state of affairs on the editorial page.

I am one of three women out of 80+ artists currently working with Cartoon Movement. There is one woman with a full-time staff position at a newspaper, out of 75 such jobs in the country. Where are these affirmative-action minded editors in all this? The disgruntled male cartoonists would argue: they’re in the Pulitzer decision room. While there are a dozen, maybe, female cartoonists who deign to take on the editorial work that has traditionally been a male game, three of them have been awarded that top prize — a small consolation, I think. Because remember, two of them don’t have jobs.

This righteous gendered indignation is not true only of male editorial cartoonists. I have heard plenty of indies whining about who drew themselves naked in the shower this week, who’s got the newest book deal, and the relation between the two. When I’ve pointed out gender inequality in awards and organizing in this tiny world, I’ve been bullied and name-called by those same dudes — who would bristle at any “sexist” suggestion. What’s wrong with me? I must be jealous. Why don’t I want to live in their world? Why would I expect anything to change?

Well, why would I? And that I don’t really know. But I remain stubbornly optimistic here — because what else is there to do? It’s not like we can all quit and become poets.

You may have seen these in my Shared Items in the sidebar, but if not…

The nice folks at Vegansaurus loaned me their soapbox for a little bit of rant and a little bit of comics talk. And then the Daily Cross Hatch was kind enough to post my Open Letter to SPX, wherein I ask a lot of questions I heard in whispers over the weekend. So basically this post is to alert any of you in case my body washes up in the Bay soon. I’m writing my last will and testament. Who wants my cat?

Well, I’ve made it to the medium-big-ish time: Valleywag covered me covering social media kids covering themselves.

So hi potential new blog customers! Please direct all hate mail to my helpful assistant — I will be busy working overtime so I might scrape together enough alt-weekly journo wages for this fancy new iPhone thing I’ve been hearing so much about. I’m shooting for the cortex-enabled 2012 release.

Apparently the FBI is currently looking for paid informants to infiltrate that hot bed of political action… the vegan potluck! This actually sounds like a dream job, except for the whole “only getting paid upon someone’s arrest” thing. (But I’m wondering how the freaking feds are finding these potlucks when I’m stuck home, cupcake-less.)

Anyway, I really think this plan needs some reworking. I guess the Bush administration isn’t (yet) tracking SuperVegan — those guys really aren’t kidding when they say all they do is eat and gossip.

Nick: You’d protest capitalism — if you weren’t working.

Susie: I’d bite that hand that feeds me til it bled, if I weren’t so damn hungry.

Last week Radaronline.com broke the story that there’d been allegations of cheating on the open-book, take-home ethics final (there must be a j-schooler interning there). The story was later picked up by the Times and now everyone’s freaking out about the immoral Columbia j-student body. The strangest aspect of this story is that no one is attempting to address the central issue: how, in fact, do you cheat on an open-book, take-home ethics final? It’s also strange that people seem to find this surprising, though perhaps this surprise is just hiding their glee at watching the privileged falter. Or something.

A current j-school student has started a blog dedicated only to this topic, which I might express surprise at just to hide my glee at watching the privileged be idiots. S/he vehemently defends Mr. Sam Freedman, the unfortunate new professor lecturer of the ethics course. “He’s the captain and we’re just sailing on his ship right? As long as we get to our final destination, who the hell cares?”
No comments. Now that’s surprising.

Some background: Trina Robbins is the self-appointed expert women cartoonist “herstorian” (and herself a rather crappy woman cartoonist) and founder of the now predominantly male-run women cartoonists organization Friends of Lulu. When I did my journalism master’s thesis on women cartoonists, TR didn’t return any of my e-mails; this was also the case for lessers in the same mold, e.g. Heidi MacDonald, who generally suck up to cartoonists, men and men cartoonists, but who seem to be threatened and/or out of their element when it comes to women infringing in their womanly territory (trad male hegemony tactics, girls: divide and conquer). I wonder how TR and HM get along.

Now: I’m not so much a fan of Aline Kominsky-Crumb either, mostly because I don’t care for her work (though she’s worlds better than TR) plus the odd impression she makes in Crumb. However, my opinion of her has increased at least 47.3% after reading this interview she gave to Daniel Robert Epstein for the Suicide Girls (big gender WTF there as well).

This snippet works on so many delightful levels. Not only does it confirm my opinion of TR, but there’s cat-fighting, misogyny, narcissistic wounds plus the goddamn Suicide Girls? Amazing.