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Author: admin | 01.02.2014 | Category: Tinnitus Hearing Loss

Hear the Sound does some interesting things with the newspaper strips that it reprints; O’Neill takes full advantage of the book’s impressive page dimensions, making use of negative space (see fig. As well as being different from Collective Unconscience, O’Neill’s 1969 reprint collection was unlike other early softcover collections of underground comix, such as R. At the conclusion of the book, the two main characters (Fred Bird and Hugh) are as they were at the start, which is the same state they exist in at various intervals throughout: they are walking along a road musing on philosophical conundrums.
The “lack of any coherent sequence” or “restitution” in the plot of Hear the Sound chimes in my head with the notion of the “chaos narrative” (97) as described by the medical humanities scholar Arthur W. Some of those interruptions shed light on the historical context of 1969, the year in which Hear the Sound was published. At the end of the Second World War the so-called ‘baby boom’ occurred in America, a demographic explosion that stemmed from servicemen and women returning to civilian life and starting the families they had deferred while the conflict was ongoing.
Frank’s chaos narrative is subject to “life’s fundamental contingency,” where subjects have lost their sense of agency (102-03).
The ability of Fred and Hugh to endure the events of the book and make it through to the final page is worth one last comment. Where sources lack pages numbers I have determined them by counting the front cover as [1] and numbering the following pages accordingly (including recto and verso sides, regardless of whether they had been printed on). Robert Reece of Furious and Brave and I have challenged each other to an essay-writing contest. When considering the comparative merits of any work of art, taste being subjective, it is necessary to develop a set of criteria by which the different works can be judged.
And it is based on fact and logic, limited and uninteresting though they may be, that I enthusiastically state unequivocally that Archer is a superior animated series to Futurama. My first task is to establish a set of criteria by which the relative greatness of a work should be judged. Timelessness: Perhaps the only important criterion – which show will outlive its run on television?
There are undoubtedly some of you who, perhaps because you are being held captive by an evil wizard, have not watched Archer.
Sterling Archer (code name: Duchess) is a highly-trained, highly-skilled spy who travels the world womanizing, drinking, and generally getting up to no good (to hilarious effect). It would be easy to identify the protagonist of Archer as the show’s main comedic engine. However, a show’s ratings are a poor proxy for its quality, and I am certainly willing to overlook the fact that Futurama punches well below its weight class.
Archer is a show that you can fall in love with before the first episode (in which a lying Sterling has to invent, and then pretend to track, a mole within the agency to cover his own reckless spending) is finished airing. Futurama, on the other hand, cleaves heavily to the sitcom formula that served its older sister The Simpsons so well. There is a literal timeless element to Archer as well – the show takes place in no time period and all time periods. By way of contrast, the very premise of Futurama ensures that it cannot help but fail in this category.
I will use as my final yardstick for this comparison a show that is widely considered to be one of the best ever – Arrested Development. So while I admire Robert’s courage and sportsmanship in defending what is so self-evidently a losing position, I cannot help but pity the monumental task ahead of him, in digging his beloved Futurama out of its pit of inferiority. Once you’ve read both essays, go to the poll and vote to say whose was more persuasive! If I offered this nifty link as a peace offering, would you let me be Switzerland in this issue?
Thomas Edison amazed the world in 1877 when he invented his “talking machine,” the first instrument ever to record and play back sound.
The phonograph, as the machine came to be called, made indentations on tinfoil with a stylus. In April 1878 Edison licensed rights to sell the phonograph as a machine for office dictation.
Cover and interior pages from The Collective Unconscience of Odd Bodkins (c) 1973 Chronicle Publishing Co. Hear the Sound is made up of somewhat self-contained episodes, with titles used to signify a new stage of the story, although after the first chapter the end of each episode clearly segues into the one that follows. Earlier in the decade student-led anti-war activism and the support given by young protestors to the African-American Civil Rights movement had fostered an acute consciousness of intergenerational antagonism in American society.
The counterculture was closely associated with this bulging youthful population and their angst is audible when the revolutionary in Hear the Sound laments “the instability of my war baby generation” [88].** Fred and Hugh also seem to represent the generation coming of age in the 1960s, with comments flung at them such as “You kids have no respect for your elders” [14], and when Hugh calls out for God to show himself, a watching turtle complains “his whole generation is a bit loud” [9].
We can take this back to Hear the Sound to understand the construction of its narrative as an emblem of countercultural anxiety in the late 1960s. They have survived, and if no higher or nobler set of relations has been reached, then the equilibrium with which they began the book is nonetheless resumed.
Each of us has 2,000 words to write a persuasive essay defending the honour of the superiority of our favourite animated series.
In the absence of such criteria, any comparison swiftly becomes an exercise in who can express the most fervent support – a contest of fanaticism rather than a proper comparison.
Now, it behooves me to mention at this point that I have a deep personal affection for Futurama – I would not dream of arguing that it is a bad show.


This criterion works in harmony with the other two to separate the Seinfelds from the Dharma and Gregs. He is joined in his hijinx by the gorgeous and equally-skilled Lana Kane, his sex-fiend and former spy mother Mallorie, the comptroller of the spy agency Cyril Figgis, head of Human Resources Pam Poovey, and a varied cast of regular characters. Each episode is a melange of overlapping plots based highly on the interactions and motivations of the ancillary characters. It is this ability to hit you wherever your funny-bone is located that makes Archer pull well ahead of Futurama – a show that is clearly written for an audience of nerds and nerd camp-followers (which is what made me love it so much in the first place). Indeed, it had extremely strong ratings at its outset – ratings that steadily slipped over time. However, the true genius of Archer is something that cannot be fully appreciated until you’ve watched a number of episodes. Every plot-line is neatly resolved at the end of the show (with a few notable exceptions that are played up for comic effect).
It makes reference to time periods that intentionally defy accurately pinning it to a single decade, or even century. We find ourselves being asked to enjoy a 31st Century Earth that is more or less identical to our contemporary world. My only guess is that he will have to lie, or bank on the fact that his readers aren’t as clever as mine. I’ve watched both shows and love both, was looking forward to seeing how you guys approached it. Plus if you were really Swiss you’d have tried to bribe me with chocolate and questionable banking practices.
The stylus vibrated up and down as an attached diaphragm responded to sound waves—like the phonautograph recording device developed twenty years before. During the spring and summer of 1878, public audiences paid to see and hear Edison’s talking machine.
To appreciate how these strips have been reworked it is instructive to consult O’Neill’s following reprint collection, The Collective Unconscience of Odd Bodkins (1973). Hear the Sound stands out because it offered readers a book-length sequential art narrative populated by recurring characters. The order of events is irrelevant: it would make no difference if the discussions took place at different times (since they lead nowhere), or if characters entered the narrative earlier or later (since the essential relationship between the main characters and their environment does not change).
Frank provides a typology of self-narrations of illness and one of his categories, chaos narrative, refers to stories that do not have an upward trajectory ending with health and restoration.
As the 1960s dwindled to an end it seemed more obvious every day that the forces of the American government would respond to anti-war protests with violent repression, two notorious examples being the repression of the march on the Pentagon in 1967 and at the Democratic Party’s convention in Chicago in 1968 (Marwick 545, 668-69).
Hugh is the more philosophical of the two, but one feels they are both questing to find meaning in their lives, searching for a value structure which living by will make sense.
This is not so different from what Frank does with his theory; he postulates that the failure of chaos narratives to get a hearing with doctors, scientists and other medical professionals is due to modernity’s fixation on progress, an obsession with what can be fixed and improved (111-14). This is a pragmatic qualification to countercultural optimism, and not a source of despair. I must confess that, were this to be such a challenge, I would surely come up short – Robert is far more practiced at defending positions based on the strength of his emotion and passion alone.
Nor would I argue that it has not made its contribution, such as it is, to our popular culture.
Such a crude comparison is clearly not worthy of the refined and discerning audience of this piece (and besides, for that specific category, Archer would win in a walk). Is the humour balanced with other important dramatic elements – empathy, action, romance? How do these shows stack up when it comes to reaching an audience and having some kind of impact on the larger culture?
As one example, mandatory drug testing at the spy agency leads Pam, receptionist (and later revealed to be multi-millionnaire) Cheryl, and wheelchair-bound field agent (later revealed to not need the wheelchair at all) Ray to seek out the advice of the head of the agency’s lab, Dr. Am I saying that you’re essentially a quasi-racist bigot if you think Futurama is better than Archer? The show is equally comfortable setting itself in the Cold War era in one episode, then abruptly blasting off into the future of space travel in the next. Even the celebrity cameos are all from an era that we know – how could it be funny otherwise?
As a gesture of conciliation, I am stopping this analysis 30 words early, and am donating those words to him to allow him to apologize for wasting your time. I thought you had a more creative approach, and while Robert argued for why Futurama was good, he didn’t really argue why it was BETTER than Archer.
Edison’s breakthrough, conceived during work on telephones and telegraphs, reversed the phonautograph’s recording process to allow for playback.
Edison would not work on the phonograph again until 1888 when, in a frenzy of invention, he applied for seventeen patents on new sound technology. The recordings quickly disintegrated with repeated playing, and the sound quality left much room for improvement. The latter volume stacks the horizontal rows of comics four to a page, a conventional arrangement for newspaper strip reprints and one that retains the original interrelationship between panels (in terms of size and space) that readers would have experienced discovering them in a newspaper (see fig. 2 and 3). Successive chapters clearly follow on from one another: for example, the concluding relationship between characters at the end of chapter 4 is relationship with which chapter 5 begins (see fig.


The book’s penultimate page feints a denouement, a nugget of wisdom, as Hugh tells Fred he has “learned one thing.” [127] We turn over to the last page, anticipating a revelation, and we get a full-page spread, using the maximum possible area to fix one’s attention on this concluding tableau and the promise of enlightenment.
By 1969 the main political organisation of the youth movement, the Students for a Democratic Society (SDS), was fragmenting: some ex-SDS members called for a Leninist vanguard party to spearhead an American revolution, whereas others formed the Weathermen (later the Weather Underground), a secret organisation that waged war against the US government. To the older, more conservative characters in Hear the Sound (Lucille Marie Gartersnake and the cantankerous turtle in the opening scene) Hugh and Fred symbolise their entire disrespectful, noisily restless generation.
In the late 1960s the socially transformative potential of the youth movement was sliding into violence and the American state was also going to more extreme measures to counter the avowed threat of revolution. In Hear the Sound the representatives of the youth movement cannot overvault the existential questions and dramas of 1960s America, but despite the efforts of Sam the 100% American Dog and the murderous, dogmatic (sorry) nationalism he represents (Sam morphs into Adolf Hitler after eating a magic cookie), the emissaries of authoritarianism have not triumphed.
We have not seen each other’s essays in advance, nor co-ordinated in any way (aside from agreeing on publication date and length). Such an argument would not only be easily demonstrated as false, but it would be shockingly disingenuous. As a result, Archer is not hamstrung by dated pop-culture references or parochial concerns. This is done intentionally, to spoof things we see around us, but it also ties the show inextricably to a specific period of time and a specific culture, all while claiming to be futuristic. 1973) brought together his comic strip Odd Bodkins in one large book (132 pages including covers, 12” by 9”); Odd Bodkins was first published in the San Francisco Chronicle and then syndicated in other newspapers. O’Neill writes in his prefatory comments that in organising the strips in Collective Unconscience he chose to “put them into place by tone, not the actual dates” [9]; this reinforces further the sense that these comics have been deracinated from their original context of publication.
To give further evidence of Fred and Hugh’s affinities with the counterculture, near the end of Hear the Sound they eat some magic cookies and access an intra-diegetic hallucinatory environment (by which I mean they disappear from their existing narrative space and reappear in a new space within their thought balloons) (see fig. The very youth movement of the 1960s seemed to be deviating from Todorov’s “minimal complete plot,” which was meant to culminate in a revised equilibrium. The protagonists are free to keep walking and philosophizing, and they may find the answers to their metaphysical questions yet. He doses them with a highly psychoactive substance that results in him having to hunt them down with a tranquilizer gun.
The show even once had to resort to time travel into the 1950s in order to make its jokes work (which they did, please don’t get me wrong). O’Neill is probably best remembered in American comics history for being part of the Air Pirates collective, a group of underground creators who were successfully sued by Disney for depicting the corporation’s copyrighted characters in lewd, drug-taking scenarios. So: the title, layout and selection of material frame Collective Unconscience as a reprint collection – a “Collective” [9] – but one is invited to read the comics in Hear the Sound rather differently, as a continuous sequential art narrative (albeit an unusual narrative divided into chapters). Continuity of space, time and character, however, do not guarantee that Hear the Sound is a narrative; better yet, we might say it has the vestige of a narrative, but not one that moves a great deal.
One of the minor characters in Hear the Sound embodies the countercultural move towards forcing political change by acts of violence, a scruffy-haired man with a moustache who frenetically sets off machine guns and cannon fire into the landscape (he is firing at no discernible targets) as he proclaims “you can’t have change without violence!!” [72] (see fig. That being said, I recognize superiority when I see it, and I simply cannot deny that Archer is a better show, for reasons I will detail below. This all happens alongside an entirely separate plot arc involving Sterling, Lana, and Cyril being hunted for sport in the jungles of Nicaragua. As a community of animation loving individuals, do you would want to divide us along such arbitrary lines? There are twinklings of the Air Pirates controversy in Hear the Sound – a figure looking very much like Mickey Mouse cries “Dirty commie Jewish monolithic hippy anarchist!” [125-26] and tries to shoot one of the main characters with a machine gun – but I’m interested in how the book can be read as an extended meditation on the counterculture at the end of the 1960s.
Characters do interact in time, and on a local level their actions trigger reactions that usher some supporting characters out and others in, but at a global level the text is essentially atemporal. Some of the minor characters also point to a fractured relationship between the counterculture and the United States of America, such as Batwinged Hamburger Snatcher, whose quest is to wipe out all hamburgers because they represent America to the wider world [30-31].
The book’s “frenzied but flat” (Frank 103) narrative speaks to the uncertainty about the countercultural project that had set in, certainly by 1969. Todorov’s seminal formulation of the “minimal complete plot,” the movement from an original “equilibrium” through an “imbalance” to a “different” equilibrium, is not easily mapped on to Hear the Sound (75). Like the gag in the final panel of a newspaper strip, eliciting laughter before the strip continues the following day, the end of Hear the Sound is where the comic ceases but not where it concludes. During their meanderings Fred and Hugh encounter some personifications*** of the polarised political positions of the late 1960s, such as Carl Marks the commie turtle, and Sam the 100% American Dog, who dines with Richard and Pat Nixon.
Let’s draw a yellow ribbon around a cartoon tree and end this needless animation war. There are undeniably disruptions that detain Fred and Hugh from their strolling and philosophizing, but these are always temporary. Laing, a Scottish psychiatrist who pioneered highly unorthodox therapeutic methods in the 1960s, enjoyed enormous popularity in America as an intellectual leader of the counterculture (Staub 64; see also Burston). He would go on to write more radical texts, but in 1960 Laing published The Divided Self, a book identifying family life as a smothering, pathological environment in which authentic selfhood is thwarted and one’s being is jeopardised. Another of the moustachioed revolutionary’s sayings – “The jester is the only one who knows the end of the joke” [82] – could almost be a line from Bob Dylan’s “Subterranean Homesick Blues,” the song from which the Weathermen took their name.



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Comments to “I hear a sound in my left ear”

  1. Lived with T for as lengthy day.
  2. I went to my GP and was told hearing aids can.


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