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dean trippe | moonbase one

Ask me something   I made Something Terrible, created Butterfly, co-founded Project: Rooftop, co-host The Last Cast podcast, ramble on Twitter, and I have a
website.

twitter.com/deantrippe:

    secondarymutation-deactivated20 asked: It was a bit classless that you reblogged the Lobdell story and felt the need to include a plug, in the form of a link, to your own comic. Way to make it about you. The part that you're sick of is that YOUR work is associated with Lobdell's sexism and not Lobdell's sexism in and of itself? Don't co-opt the issue, talk about the problem without shifting the focus to how it relates to you.


    Answer:

    I only added the link after making the post, in case someone questioned my use of the word “literally.” And I think my comic speaks PRECISELY to why I find this kind of behavior particularly horrible within the field I’ve dedicated my life to.

    But since you asked, yeah. I am infuriated that this shit continues within the business of superhero comics, which one would expect to have higher standards of conduct, given the inspirational and progressive nature of its subjects. This guy gets to write Superman? Are we in a parallel, evil universe?

    The fact that women are second class citizens in this world disgusts me. When I was working with an orphan outreach program in Uganda, I learned that wives there had to kneel on the ground in order to speak to their husbands. When I was building toilets in the most impoverished areas in eastern India, I spoke to women who had been set on FIRE by their husbands for not producing male children. Since posting Something Terrible, I get emails every single day from women whose lives were derailed by sexual violence, often in their childhood homes. You think I shouldn’t make the issue about me? It’s humans with MY physiology committing these acts and perpetuating these systems. What the hell is going on with MEN?

    The other private response I got to posting about this was from a dear friend writing to thank me for always posting about these events, and to tell me that she’d experienced similarly victimizing offenses from Mr. Lobdell over a decade ago, and that events like that have influenced her to keep a lower profile in this business, despite her incredible talent. (Thanks a lot, Scott. The world is a worse place because of people like you.)

    As a dude working in this business for over ten years now, I have never and will never stop calling these assholes out for their sexism, racism, and homophobia, because this IS my house. AND YOURS. The sign on the door says “You’ll Be Safe Here.” That should be true for every single person reading or making comics. And if adding a link to my story that is helping men and women who have experienced sexual violence all around the world offended you, then we really have dramatically different gauges for what is offensive.

    It offends me to not see more men speaking out about these stories, I assume because they’re afraid of not getting more work. I guess that’s preferable to thinking it’s because they’re all just cool with it. It really is a small industry once you’re on the inside. There are only a few major employers. I say what I want because I was raised by Batman and a mom worth ten of him. I’d rather work alone than with any of these exclusionary clubhouses. I can’t judge those who choose their livelihoods over speaking out. I posted what I did because I’m not ruled by their fears, but by an intolerance of injustice, borne of experiences explained in the link that so offended you. (If anything, by the way, that comic proves I don’t need the Boys’ Clubs. More people read it last month than their top ten books combined.)

    You think I’m co-opting the issue, even though all I did was share a link about an issue that needs far more attention with my followers, with three sentences of commentary about how these continued offenses make me feel as a male comics creator, along with a link to my friend Rachel’s much longer (and better) post on the subject. I can only speak from my own point of view, but I linked to two others that I hope my fans made time to read.

    Scott Lobdell is one more bully on our block. As always, the system favors his kind. But they’re going to lose anyway. Because we’re on the rooftops. We’re lights in the sky.

    I sincerely don’t mind you calling me out, but I hope you’ll accept that if you don’t want to hear my POV on these issues, the best thing to do is block me. Because I am never, ever, going to stop.

    — 3 months ago with 293 notes
    #dean trippe  #scott lobdell  #rambling  #comics  #sexism 
    From Preacher, by Garth Ennis and Steve Dillon.
I gave my son this little speech yesterday, quoting it from memory.
Field’s five now, but I’ve known he was one of the good guys from the minute he was born. I don’t know how or why. But I was right. He’s kind-hearted, tries to make people laugh, has a genuine hunger for knowledge, and cannot finish a snack without offering me a bite. For the life of me, I’ve no idea what makes him so good. He doesn’t even make messes, except on extremely rare occasions. He tried to give a homeless guy a cookie when he was almost two. He delights in creating his own new superheroes, but has no interest in making bad guys for them to fight. “They just help people, Daddy.”
I have kind of a hyper-empathy thing going on, which makes a lot of normal things difficult for me. It’s hard for me to “look out for number one” and focus on my own career and finances. I’ve let people bully and cheat me without repercussion or condemnation, because of a sincere, overwhelming desire inside me to always be who I want to be regardless of who they are, especially when I knew more about the struggles they were going through than they knew about mine.
When I repeated this above exchange to Field, holding him just like this, then hugging him just like this, he pulled back after a few seconds and asked, “But why are there so many people who do bad things?” I told him I don’t know. Maybe they didn’t learn that you need to help people, not hurt them. Maybe they had hard lives that made them meaner than they would’ve been. But, and forgive me for being this blunt without explanation, but my childhood was no goddamn picnic, and the idea of hurting someone without immediate, intervention-requiring cause, disgusts me.
I don’t mete out justice. I don’t live in a zero sum world. But you know what happens to every rapist, racist, bully, abuser, and killer? Their punishment is DEATH. Their time on this planet is limited. I don’t have to seek vengeance on them. Death awaits them all, and the world will be well rid of their stain on the soul of mankind. But I feel sorry for them, anyway. And the reward for living a good life of helping people and improving your community? ALSO DEATH. The fairness of this, the FINALITY of this, comforts me in a way I suppose some would find strange. I want to leave a legacy of encouragement and laughter, and I’m not afraid to be nothing again, after everything I’ve been lucky enough to be. And I have been far luckier than I deserve.
A couple of years ago, I read Jon Ronson’s excellent book, The Psychopath Test, which discussed the nature of anti-social personality disorder, which amounts to a complete lack of basic empathy, a condition that cannot be treated or cured. It is a fact of their biology, according to those who study it. Ronson and I share the opposite affliction, an OVERWHELMING feeling of empathy. Recently, it’s started to worry me that this counter-condition, to which I now attribute my caring nature, my need to never refuse anyone’s request for help, my emotional debilitation (and honestly, hellpits of anger) at the horrors perpetrated by humans against humans, is all, in total, merely a fact of my biology.
Every story I liked growing up told me, “You are who you choose to be.” But what if we’re not? What if it’s almost entirely nature, with very little nurture in the mix? My father abandoned my sister and me when we were children for a life of crime and drugs. I have spent my entire life believing that my job was to build myself into NOT HIM. And I’ve done that. But I have felt every temptation he faced that I know of. And I know a lot more about him than he knows about me. But I’m like my mom. I overextend myself to help people, because I know that even my modest capability levels will aid others in their projects, and while I need to feel valuable on the planet, I have never needed to be THE GUY. I am always content to be THE GUY WHO HELPED. I always will be.
I don’t know why there are so many of “the bad.” I always hate the stupid, pointless crimes and feel sorry for the jerk perpetrator for whatever circumstances and choices led them to being so lame. But now I’m afraid maybe we all just fall somewhere on the spectrum of empathy, locked into our genetic code by dumb luck. I’m even more afraid that those of us who care too much are inadvertently letting dickholes run the world by being overly empathetic to the useless desires of people who can’t imagine doing the same for us.
I do not understand how we find ourselves on a resource-rich planet of such overwhelming beauty and extravagant abundance and our every effort is not spent making sure every other member of our species is clothed, sheltered, fed, educated, and provided with lifetime healthcare. Because if you think the current systems are working out alright, you haven’t been where I have.
There are enough resources, food, land, and energy, but greed and fear prevent us from sharing. Why aren’t children like that? Is it because those who HAVE must self-validate every scrap of useless garbage they own by preaching their idiotic mantras to the HAVE-NOTs? Or are some children like that, actually, already pre-destined to think only of themselves?
I want to believe we are who we choose to be. But if that’s true, we are not making the right choices. I don’t know if I am, either. But I’m finally working on the stories I want to tell, trying to draw things that bring a little light into your life, and keeping my son safe and loved and free no matter what it takes.
This is a ramble, not a sermon. But if I could encode a thought into everyone’s DNA, it’d be this:
"Use all of your abilities to help everyone you can."
Honestly, I think that’d solve just about everything.

    From Preacher, by Garth Ennis and Steve Dillon.

    I gave my son this little speech yesterday, quoting it from memory.

    Field’s five now, but I’ve known he was one of the good guys from the minute he was born. I don’t know how or why. But I was right. He’s kind-hearted, tries to make people laugh, has a genuine hunger for knowledge, and cannot finish a snack without offering me a bite. For the life of me, I’ve no idea what makes him so good. He doesn’t even make messes, except on extremely rare occasions. He tried to give a homeless guy a cookie when he was almost two. He delights in creating his own new superheroes, but has no interest in making bad guys for them to fight. “They just help people, Daddy.”

    I have kind of a hyper-empathy thing going on, which makes a lot of normal things difficult for me. It’s hard for me to “look out for number one” and focus on my own career and finances. I’ve let people bully and cheat me without repercussion or condemnation, because of a sincere, overwhelming desire inside me to always be who I want to be regardless of who they are, especially when I knew more about the struggles they were going through than they knew about mine.

    When I repeated this above exchange to Field, holding him just like this, then hugging him just like this, he pulled back after a few seconds and asked, “But why are there so many people who do bad things?” I told him I don’t know. Maybe they didn’t learn that you need to help people, not hurt them. Maybe they had hard lives that made them meaner than they would’ve been. But, and forgive me for being this blunt without explanation, but my childhood was no goddamn picnic, and the idea of hurting someone without immediate, intervention-requiring cause, disgusts me.

    I don’t mete out justice. I don’t live in a zero sum world. But you know what happens to every rapist, racist, bully, abuser, and killer? Their punishment is DEATH. Their time on this planet is limited. I don’t have to seek vengeance on them. Death awaits them all, and the world will be well rid of their stain on the soul of mankind. But I feel sorry for them, anyway. And the reward for living a good life of helping people and improving your community? ALSO DEATH. The fairness of this, the FINALITY of this, comforts me in a way I suppose some would find strange. I want to leave a legacy of encouragement and laughter, and I’m not afraid to be nothing again, after everything I’ve been lucky enough to be. And I have been far luckier than I deserve.

    A couple of years ago, I read Jon Ronson’s excellent book, The Psychopath Test, which discussed the nature of anti-social personality disorder, which amounts to a complete lack of basic empathy, a condition that cannot be treated or cured. It is a fact of their biology, according to those who study it. Ronson and I share the opposite affliction, an OVERWHELMING feeling of empathy. Recently, it’s started to worry me that this counter-condition, to which I now attribute my caring nature, my need to never refuse anyone’s request for help, my emotional debilitation (and honestly, hellpits of anger) at the horrors perpetrated by humans against humans, is all, in total, merely a fact of my biology.

    Every story I liked growing up told me, “You are who you choose to be.” But what if we’re not? What if it’s almost entirely nature, with very little nurture in the mix? My father abandoned my sister and me when we were children for a life of crime and drugs. I have spent my entire life believing that my job was to build myself into NOT HIM. And I’ve done that. But I have felt every temptation he faced that I know of. And I know a lot more about him than he knows about me. But I’m like my mom. I overextend myself to help people, because I know that even my modest capability levels will aid others in their projects, and while I need to feel valuable on the planet, I have never needed to be THE GUY. I am always content to be THE GUY WHO HELPED. I always will be.

    I don’t know why there are so many of “the bad.” I always hate the stupid, pointless crimes and feel sorry for the jerk perpetrator for whatever circumstances and choices led them to being so lame. But now I’m afraid maybe we all just fall somewhere on the spectrum of empathy, locked into our genetic code by dumb luck. I’m even more afraid that those of us who care too much are inadvertently letting dickholes run the world by being overly empathetic to the useless desires of people who can’t imagine doing the same for us.

    I do not understand how we find ourselves on a resource-rich planet of such overwhelming beauty and extravagant abundance and our every effort is not spent making sure every other member of our species is clothed, sheltered, fed, educated, and provided with lifetime healthcare. Because if you think the current systems are working out alright, you haven’t been where I have.

    There are enough resources, food, land, and energy, but greed and fear prevent us from sharing. Why aren’t children like that? Is it because those who HAVE must self-validate every scrap of useless garbage they own by preaching their idiotic mantras to the HAVE-NOTs? Or are some children like that, actually, already pre-destined to think only of themselves?

    I want to believe we are who we choose to be. But if that’s true, we are not making the right choices. I don’t know if I am, either. But I’m finally working on the stories I want to tell, trying to draw things that bring a little light into your life, and keeping my son safe and loved and free no matter what it takes.

    This is a ramble, not a sermon. But if I could encode a thought into everyone’s DNA, it’d be this:

    "Use all of your abilities to help everyone you can."

    Honestly, I think that’d solve just about everything.

    — 8 months ago with 142 notes
    #dean trippe  #rambling  #please ignore 
    Emmett T.

    I call my son “Field Trippe” on the internet, but that isn’t his name. His name is Emmett. I gave him that name for a lot of reasons. It means “universal” in its English origins and sounds like the Hebrew word for “truth.” It reminds me of Emmett “Doc” Brown from the Back to the Future movies, which I loved so much when I was a kid. I didn’t know about the Twilight character, but what are you gonna do?

    I knew about Emmett Till.

    Not to make it sound too magical, because it wasn’t always, but growing up in a rather multicultural part of the South taught me so much. Against a backdrop of Confederate flags and old whites begrudgingly turning to the Republican party as the formerly segregationist Democrats had embraced diversity, my young friends and I saw each other as people first, our different heritages and experiences ADDING to our friendships, rather than subtracting from our opinions of each other. I started DRAWING because in third grade, one of my black friends, Cedric, showed me how to draw Ninja Turtles. That’s why I have this job. Without that afternoon, and the months of trying to impress each other, I have no idea what I’d be doing right now.

    So far, my son and I have had two discussions about race. When he was almost four, I asked him if he’d noticed that people sometimes have different hair colors or skin colors, and he said he had. I asked, “It’s cool, right?” And he said yeah. That was it! (He and I both think the other’s hair color is the best one, btw.) Then, when the Supreme Court recently ruled that the Constitution prevented the denial of marriage to those wishing to marry same-sex partners, I asked if he’d heard about gay people. He said he hadn’t and asked what “gay” meant. I explained that while most boys like girls and most girls like boys, romantically (meaning they might want to get married and hug and kiss a lot), a very small number of people are born liking the same gender, and that now they could get married (I know the ruling isn’t universal, I’m talking to a five year old), and that the news made me happy. Then I told him that it used to be against the law for people with darker skin to get married to people with lighter skin. “Isn’t that silly?” I asked him. He made a weird face and said, “YEAH.” Like it was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. I CAN RELATE.

    But I know that one day, my son will learn about a boy with his same name, who was horrifically tortured and killed just for the color of his skin. I’ll probably be the one to tell him. Because, LIKE A LOT OF IMPORTANT THINGS, it sure as hell wasn’t in the textbooks I grew up reading.

    I’ve seen the picture of Trayvon Martin’s dead body. It’s heartbreaking and infuriating, but the thing that gets me the most is that I cannot fathom how his hoodie, skinny pants, backpack, and kicks gave someone the impression HOODLUM. Or CRIMINAL. Or THREAT. Except that his murderer saw only his skin color, and had his own diseased idea about what it meant. Knowing the details of the encounter, I can’t for the life of me think of anything Trayvon could have done to escape from George Zimmerman with his life.

    I tried to encode the lessons I most want my son to know into his name, in case anything happens to me. “Universal Truth” right there in his first name, so he’ll know to care about what can be proven, known, and used to help everyone. His middle name means “like God” in Hebrew, “friend” in Arabic,” and shares a couple of syllables of my first name (Dean’s my middle name, btw). I didn’t name him after Doc Brown, but my son sharing a name with a famous fictional scientist makes me happy.

    And when he learns about Emmett Till, and the history of our country, I want him to feel the weight of how different his life would be if he had to walk around with secret — and holy-shit-not-so-secret — racists eyeballing him and looking for an excuse.

    Trayvon Martin’s murder has haunted me, as though my completely imagined position as a preacher for superheroes and their basic gospel, “Use all of your abilities to help everyone you can,” requires me to make sense of this, if not for anyone else, at least for myself. But fear and the maddeningly incomprehensible lack of basic empathy continue to create villains, and we continue to arm them against us. That is not sense. It is nonsense.

    I feel like a complete idiot for being surprised by this verdict. I guess I might have seen it coming when the police didn’t even want to arrest a guy who shot a kid. But I’ll never forget today. We still live in a country Emmett Till couldn’t have survived.

    What the hell is wrong with us?

    — 9 months ago with 166 notes
    #trayvon martin  #george zimmerman  #emmett till  #no justice  #ramble  #rambling 
    "Super heroes need to smile more. Cheer up, guys, you’re saving the world. I mean seriously, why wouldn’t Tony Stark custom weld a fixed smile into the Iron Man helmet? I almost always draw super heroes smiling and floating around clouds. I always think, “Maybe I should just draw a serious face this time,” but then, “Nah.” I guess it’s just my Silver Age fixation, but I liked it when most of the super heroes were pals and fought crime more frequently than each other."
    I was interviewed by Mighty Fine and Marvel.com about my “Avengers Assembled" t-shirt design, drawing, superheroes, and other stuff. [Suffer through my rambling here]
    — 1 year ago with 67 notes
    #avengers  #dean trippe  #interview  #t-shirt  #mighty fine  #marvel  #comics  #design  #rambling 
    Movies of Earth

    Dear World,

    These are the terrible movies you went to see in theaters:

    Avatar
    Transformers: Dark Side of the Moon
    Star Wars: Episode I - The Phantom Menace
    Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull
    Spider-Man 3
    All of the Twilight movies

    These are the awesome movies you probably didn’t see in theaters:

    The Iron Giant
    Fight Club
    Speed Racer
    Scott Pilgrim vs. The World
    Serenity
    Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol

    It’s more profitable to make terrible films that you’ll go see in the theater than to take any risks and try to make a good movie with a single original thought and a competent filmmaker with storytelling chops beyond casting famous people and dropping in some fart jokes.

    Now go see John Carter [OF MARS] while you still have a chance, like someone who wants to see more awesome movies and fewer that make you doubt the intrinsic worth of your own species.

    — 2 years ago with 66 notes
    #movies  #john carter  #rambling  #a princess of mars 
    What is Dean Trippe Reading?

    From Robot 6:

    The only really terrible thing about being a comics creator (besides the pay and constant fear you might’ve been happier or at least healthier with a menial day job of any other kind) is that you know what good looks like.

    I’ve become insufferable as a comics fan. I don’t like most writing, drawing, coloring, or lettering, and I’m sure as hell not shopping in a store that doesn’t let me flip through books to see if they look interesting. I can’t invest in crossovers anymore. I don’t even care about characters, even though I think nearly every mainstream comics character could be interesting. I follow creators because I’m spoiled.

    Because I read Tom Strong, Promethea, Planetary, The Authority, Hellboy, B.P.R.D., Robin: Year One, and All-Star and Superman, I know comics can be absolutely incredible. When my favorite creators team up, that’s when I get interested. Were I President of Comics, I’d make it so every comic was amazing. Somehow. So vote for me.

    What meets my impossibly high standards? Here you go…

    Full article here.

    — 3 years ago with 6 notes
    #rambling  #press  #comics  #reviews