Shaped Like a Melon

It has recently come to my attention that short, fat, round characters in the'Mix are a consistent source of humor, and after this realization I felt the need to share briefly with my illustrious companions on the Road of Cosmic Hilarity.



While we all know that short, fat and round is cute, it wasn't necessarily clear to me that this equates with funny. I know feel strongly that it does. Let's observe yesterday's Dilbert:







Dilbert has been consistently monotonal for the past umpteen years, and I have a feeling I'm one of the only Chron readers who bothers to open up the Business section and read this 'Mic (another reason I thought I would address this today). But here, Scott Adams has tapped into one of the great veins of cute imagery, and produced... Humor! Dogbert in a suit is incontrovertably funny. Look at his fat little body! No neck! No neck is hilarious!

We've seen great animated characters displaying these traits (see Miyazaki's My Neighbor Totoro for perhaps the most shining example of the round-fat-cute phenomenon) for many years, but this seems to be shading over now into the Treasured Pages. Lord, I even enjoyed Lio the other day when it included a funny little monster with a squat body and just his eyes poking out. Lio! I hate that comic, and all it took was for Marc Tatulli to draw a rotund beastie, and here I am chuckling all over the floor (as opposed to chucking all over the floor, my typical reaction).

This leads me to another thought: perhaps this is the reason I enjoy Garfield so much. He's fundamentally a funny little fat-round dude. Perhaps this brand of humor has been lurking amongst us for decades, and I just never realized it. Though as the PSin'A has already addressed, there's nothing fucking funny about a weird coffee shop gag, 15 years too late. I hope whatever intern got to run wild with that one has been shipped over to Blondie and reduced to drawing the make-up lines on her cheeks for the rest of his life.

So I'll be on the road for a month or so, and this might be my last post before then. I'll leave you all in the capable hands of MG69, RStBK666, the PSin'A and the rest of the colorful characters here at RDaCw/T. Hopefully I'll have some bizarre and culturally untranslatable French 'Mix upon my return.

This so riled me up, that I forgot to title this post

Hi. I made the mistake of reading Garfield this morning:

Does this make anyone else as uncomfortable as it makes me? Who the fuck is this "Xan"? What is Jon even doing going into this "Xan's Cafe Caffeine" when Irma knows exactly how he likes his coffee?? Is gentrification really so bad in Pittsburgh that her diner closed and this asshole's cafe opened up??? And maybe most importantly, what in the name of all things natural is a human being in the Garfield-verse doing with a FUCKING nose of those dimensions???? Seriously: something that makes "Adam@Home" look ahead of its time by comparison should not exist, and the sack of shit who draws Adam watched enough episodes of Friends to piece together what a barista was 15 years ago. I for one am hoping that the clown at PAWS, Inc who is responsible for this sorrowful misstep gets a stern dressing-down from the guiding force behind the pen himself. But I'm resigning myself to at least a few more of these strips in the meantime.

In other, more pleasant news, I think it's safe to say we can expect some coincidence-based wackiness to liven up the lives of the Patterson clan this week. A certain fallen tree sure will make it a little harder to "leave" that house...eh?! I'm getting the feeling April might not be staying with John and Elly for too long, though. I'm wondering/hoping that where she winds up may have a little something to do with the difficulties Iris is having caring for Jim on her own? My heart for one would be warmed to see April giving back to the man who gave to her so generously.

Finally, to Fusco nay-sayers, I direct you to today's strip, and invite you to eat your words.

Nothing but net, Duffy.

Happy Trails

As 'MG69 blazes nostalgic in the Sub-Continent, I sit
in a windowless, climate-controlled room, alone save
for the bewildering prattle of my co-worker and the
thought-provoking musings of the PSin'A. Here's where it's brought me:
I've really come to love Peanuts, though I think that when it's
over, it's over. As my cosmic colleague has pointed
out, the departure of the strip is a momentous
occasion, and I think it should be respected. I'll
never forget the end of Bloom County, and Opus, my
beloved friend of many years, walking off into the
sunset. I still break out my dusty, dogeared Bloom
County collections every now and again, and I still
shed a tear every time I finish Happy Trails, the final book.

But what would it mean if Bloom County was printed again
in my newspaper as a Classic 'Mic? When we invest
ourselves in the emotional effort to come to terms
with death, loss, and the end of a beloved comic, it
seems to me that it cheapens that emotion if that's
not really the end. Of course there was Outland, and
now Opus, but I think Mr. Breathed went the correct
route by making Outland so unlike Bloom County.
Nonetheless, I rarely read it because of what it
represented to me. Another consideration with a comic
like Bloom County, as opposed to the timeless
innocence of Peanuts, is that the topical humor
wouldn't make any sense reprinted 20 years later.
Classic Doonesbury? I hope we never see it. I really
do enjoy Peanuts (particularly Snoopy's brothers; who
the hell knew?), but I feel like nothing would make
Charles Schulz happier than a bright-faced young 'Mix
hopeful getting his shot in the slot now occupied by
C.P. Who knows, maybe it could even be the PSin'A himself...?
Maybe the world is finally ready for Greenbeard.

Happy Trails to you, comics buddies. Especially you, 'MG69.

The Not-So-Golden Oldies

just a few minutes ago i realized i hadn't read FBFW since last sunday's blissfully text-heavy present to moms and future moms everywhere. having not much to do on the remainder of this friday workday, i decided to grab the old cyberboard and hang ten all the way on down to 'Mix Beach. what greeted me there was a "Classic Peanuts" strip.

as much as i want to discuss FBFW, i'm going to eschew another extolling of Lynn's unflinching ballsiness with this Grandpa Jim's Shitty Life arc (seriously, is she reading this blog?? they addressed his bathroom issues just days after i cracked wise about them) to discuss the phenomenon of "Classic" comics.

now I grew up in a Boston Globe household, so Peanuts was confined for me to two realms only: the televised realm and the realm of the Boston Herald. the tv specials and the strip were like night and day, as i remember it. TV gave you more snoopy and woodstalk than you could shake a stick at, while in print Peanuts was a shakily-drawn Moebius 'strip' (get it) of the same fucking gags over and over again: a baffling reflecting pool of that type of humor from the 60's that seems to be intended as childlike but is actually for adults to wax nostalgic about childhood to. Who liked this comic enough to actually subscribe to this Garfield-free, magazine-shaped newspaper? Not anyone I wanted to know, that was for sure.

Don't get me wrong. I gained an appreciation for Schultz a few years ago, roughly around the time the ads for the Christmas special started to make me emotional. To me as a child, though, Peanuts was just confusing and off-putting, much like the existance of the Boston Herald itself. I held both in the same wary gaze i saved in my early youth for sweet cereals, war toys, commericals, and maraschino cherries--- unconscious, near-moral judgement of inanimate things and the people that were allowed to experience them, instilled in me accidentally by my parents' strict routine of PBS and health food. my status at the time as a staunch Garfield loyalist probably didn't help, either; I'm sure the whole cat/dog thing only exacerbated matters and stressed a feeling of opposition that wasn't really there.

my point is-- I guess I have a pretty pronounced issue with 'classic comics,' but man does it make me feel complicated things. as someone who has often thought that he would be a passable 'micsman, it's discouraging to know that it is practically impossible to make a living as such and see spots on the page that might give an unproven talent a real shot, be instead reserved by the work of a dead man (and work already available elsewhere in published form, no less). that combined with my practically prenatal distaste for Peanuts perverts the very aim of "classic" strips to its opposite end when I am the reader, making the familiar irritating and worn-out rather than reliable and nostalgic.

but that brings me to the other side of the coin: the fact that i recognize the phenomenon of "Classics," Peanuts or otherwise, as valuable to the 'mix at large. for one, it daily (but subtly) acknowledges the hard truth that, in the 'mix, all are not created equal. some are just better than others, and i think that's something that this world of Brevities, Lios and -- I'll say it -- Pearls Before Swines should remember before they go getting too comfortable. For that matter, so does it give your Conleys, Johnstons and Borgmans something to strive for. And although my comics-reading is done almost totally online these days, I hold the memory and experience of reading them on the page quite dearly. I recognize the love that a person can have for a particular strip, and the bereavement that its sudden absence can make you feel (I can, to this day, feel the bitter sting of US Acres' unceremonious replacement by Fox Trot one cold January morn-- "First day on the job and they're already treating me like dirt," indeed). Especially for more ocd-tendencied 'mixers such as myself and 'MD420, a beloved strip's replacement fundamentally alters the rhythm of the whole experience, and rarely for the better.

Shit, now I don't even know what to think. Sorry for the long post, I guess this is a bigger topic than I thought.

Parting Shots

Before I go visit my dear friend on the other side of the world, I'd like to give Don Asmussen a serious thumbs up. I believe that I once, in an earlier work, referred to Don's contribution "Bad Reporter" as "the only legit thing our sub par local paper has to offer," or something of the sort. I stand by that statement. Yesterday our pal Donny (why not?) blessed readers with this gem:



Bad Reporter only appears a few times a week, which makes it all the more exciting, is pretty much always funny, and is often sort of innapropriate, but not in a way that makes me feel funny inside (see the Fusco Brothers), rather in a way that makes me think "Way to go Donny, push the limits!" in a cheerleady sort of way.

Also, after being forced to look at pictures of Phil Spector's hair on the front page without any comment from the "good reporters" covering his trial, I delighted in a bit of mockery. Because, seriously, this man is clearly a psychopath.



And a genius and stuff too. If I had the technological capability to post a Ronettes mp3 I'd do that.

I say, Donny (you hate it when I call you that, don't you?), you oughtta address another hair crisis in our times: Nick Swisher's decision to cut his flowing mane, which I guess he was only growing out to donate to cancer patients in the first place. Sigh. Nick Swisher's hair: I hardly knew ye. If I had the technological capability I would create an epic photoshopped image of me caressing his shining tresses with tears in my eyes.

See you in a few weeks blogosphere! I would appreciate it if someone would create a binder for me filled with the 'mix I'll be missing, preferably laminated.

Wednesday

Can someone please tell me why Jerry Scott and Jim Borgman decided to frighten me this morning? Who is that weird hoofed shark sporting Hitler's mustache? I was frightened/confused right out of my forced chuckle over their obvious piercings joke. I had to look at the color version on the www to figure out that it is their buddy Tim (here). Phew! Next time Jerry and Jim please draw him a little more in the frame. This isn't some Friday Night Freak Fest, its the goddamned 'Mix! I sent them an angry email and I received this in reply:
No written reply to accompany it? Of course not! You crafty bastards... go ahead and laugh it up.

Moving on, I would like to officially pledge my support for the Fusco Brothers. To turn to the page of someone else that is smart enough to like this comic please go here: here
(*ding!*)

Take me to your reader--your comics reader, that is!

hi friends,
potsmokinalien here with a fresh perspective on the comics of the SF bay area, that perspective being the ramblings of someone who does not live anywhere near SF. i will be stopping by occasionally to provide thoughts on the ha-ha's and hmms that comprise our reaction to the daily comics.
speaking of which-- lately i find, probably as a result of my pseudo-obsessive love for FBFW, that moreso than laughing, the "hmm" reaction really has been what i've been getting down with in the 'mix--not the brow wrinkling "Hrmm...." of discomfort and annoyance that, say, LIO might instill in the reader, but the "Hmh." you might say to yourself when you are walking down the street hung over on a weekend morning and (not that this happened to me recently or anything) you see a high school kid in a football uniform crossing himself before he walks onto the field down the block. A feeling that you have been let into a private moment in somebody else's life. does anyone actually prefer it when FBFW's punchline is an actual joke? usually it is kind of corny: some kind of play on words, or as in today's strip, the usage of less-than-20-year-old slang. to me, the best kind of FBFW punchline is either a heartwarming life lesson or a poignantly expressed emotion--Liz's reactions to Anthony's "taken" status for the wedding; Jim's recent, controversially interesting musings on his struggle with old age; everyone's conflicted emotions and excitement on the real estate upheaval of last month.
while johnston is unquestionably Queen of the Hmm, it's nice to see the other masters of the form getting the hang of it. conley's an old hand by now, and i feel like the guy who does pearls before swine is learning, which just goes to show you it can hide in the last place you'll expect, and be absent from where you'd assume. i think that might be what bugs me about sally forth, as a matter of fact. it has this reputation for being this polite, pleasant comic but really, how can it truly be when there is never any hmm whatsoever, no emotional heft or consequence to anything that happens in that strip at all? maybe the reason sally is always smirking is because her life is better than the reader's. when she dies, all she will do is make some wry comment about how she hopes they wash the linens in heaven twice a day or something, and then when she gets to heaven god will be ted and she'll be like "ted! i didn't know you were god!" and he'll go "Come on... a footrub every night before bed? It should have been obvious!"
anyway, believe it or not the original thing i was trying to do here is, i'm starting a grandpa jim patterson death watch. i'm giving him 2 months. today's strip is making me wonder if iris has got it in her to stick it out with him even that long. stay strong, lady! this man ran for miles, with a gunny sack and a rifle on his back, for your freedom.

Out meta-ing the meta-'mix

Did anyone notice a particularly Pearls-Before-Swine-esque crocodile adorning the box of sugary cereal in Baby Blues yesterday? Looks like Rick Kirkman and Jerry Scott aren't too busy enforcing reproductive heteronormativity to take a moment to give Stephen Pastis a taste of his own medicine. Before you know it the entire page will descend into such an orgy of self-referentialism that you'll be lost without the fearless bloggers here at RD&Cw/T.

BRIEFLY NOTED

Thursday:
Jeremy's got diarrhea, and I've got a serious case of the giggles!

"Elderberries will return," but for now we're getting "these classics." I'm sure you all remember when the Boondocks began reprinting old strips, only to fade off the page forever. Now, Elderberries is a pretty crap comic, but given its subject matter (old people) I can only assume that it's authored/illustrated by a pair of geriatrics, and I feel concerned that either Joe Troise or Phil Frank has broken a hip. In my brief attempt to research the matter further, I came upon a delightfully apt website for the cranky, technophobe residents of the Elderpark retirement home.

Friday:
Bliss implies that if we could see what was going on under the table, we would see an erection.

As if Guy and Rodd thought the lower left hand corner of the page shouldn't get TOO sexy, they depict the least scandalous stripper i've ever seen, dressed as if she's about to take a dip in the Pacific circa 1945.

I'm ready for a new week and some new storylines. While Get "The Mailman" Fuzzy was nothing short of its usual genius this week, and shall recieve some well-earned attention in the near future, comixdood has correctly observed that both Garfield and FBorFW are currently in Boring-ville, and I'm ready to take a stroll over to Excitementropolis. I'll see you there!

Guy and Rodd Must Die

Enough with cute animals and groovy dudes, enough
appreciating pleasant humor and grumbling
good-naturedly about mediocre strips. Let's talk
violent insurrection on the comics page. There's a
disease spreading throughout the 'Mix, and no, it's
not the VD i'm sure everyone's catching - that is, if
they're all copulating as much as Ben seems to think
they are - it's something much more nefarious, more
vile, and certainly more maleficent (tip o' the pin to
Walt. Fun is Magic). This shit needs to stop. It needs
to BE STOPPED.

That's right, kids, we're talking about poorly worded
comic strips.

Nothing goes further to ruining a joke, and my morning
bowl of cereal (or pasta, if Isaac's cooking) than a
poorly worded strip. I mean, if the art looks like a
two-year old's vomit painting (i.e. if I drew it), it
can still be funny if it's a well written gag. mmmmm,
except maybe for Clear Blue Water. That art caused
more than a few vomit-paintings in our household. You
could blind a child with that shit. But barring
that... where was I? ah yes. Seriously, Guy and Rodd,
do you think that just because your shit is on a piece
of paper that doesn't move, it means you can abandon
the concept of comic timing altogether? No! of course
not. You were going to answer yes, I can see it in
your beady little eyes. But you were going to be
wrong. Comic timing is just as important in writing,
maybe moreso! And it's not just the timing. Bad timing
and pacing is only one symptom of VD (verbose
dialogue). Comics that suffer from this pitiable
disease also often display another fatal flaw: Poor
Wording. Sometimes the sentences are just so painfully
awkward. And here's the fucking ironic thing: The
comic strip is called BREVITY!! God damn it, I'm
becoming enraged just thinking about it! Most episodes
of Brevity have painful run on sentences, when in fact
one or two words would have done. And no fucking
subtlety. Let's look at a recent strip:



Above and beyond being generally stupid, and vaguely
offensive, look at that sentence! It's terrible! Does
no one edit this nonsense?? Come on. If you feel like
you need to make this idiot joke, how about something
a little more concise. A little more BRIEF, if you
will. Perhaps these poor, hapless goons don't know
that the word 'brevity' is derived from the word
'brief,' you might think to yourself. Ah, but you'd be
wrong. If for some reason you choose to inflict Guy
and Rodd's website on yourself (GuyandRodd.com), you will see a
foolish sight-gag that clealry demonstrates before the
court that they DO know what the word means. Guilty!!
Guilty!!!! GUILTY!!!

Let me clarify that wordy comics don't have to be bad.
They just have to be written well. A good wordy comic
is a treat, because your pleasure lasts longer. I
mean, who likes it when FBorFW or someone does an
all-visual Sunday strip? Not me. You've got a longer
format, the opportunity to tell a more developed joke.
Seems like a waste, or dare I say a cop-out? Let's
contrast comics like Brevity and Curtis (another
offender of the highest order) with something like Get
Fuzzy, or Sherman's Lagoon, both of which are blessed
with impeccable pacing and wording. Even with a joke
that isn't terribly overt, as in the case of many
installments of Get Fuzzy, it's a pleasure to read
because it's streamlined, it flows like a glorious
river through the hills and dales of our morning 'Mix
experience. I find that I often reread those strips 2
or 3 times right in a row, compelled by some outside
force to follow the sensuous flow of that river
without end. And then Brevity appears on the horizon
like a dam, killing the thousands of happy fish that
swim lazily through the patches of sunlight dappling
the page. A river of blissful ink, teeming with happy
life, destroyed all in the name of the twisted vision
of Guy and Rodd! I mean, for God's sweet sake, when I
get to Brevity, it makes me excited to get through to
Dennis the Menace. Thatthought alone makes me feel unclean.

And so I say to them (to you, Guy and Rodd, if you're
reading this): Stop. Just stop. Seriously. I'm not
fucking around anymore. I've got a shipment of
Kalashnikov's coming in tonight, and we're not going
to take this lying down anymore. Death to Guy and
Rodd, pretenders to the name. Long live true brevity
on the Comics Page!

p.s.: 'Mimefield'? Come ON.

Come On In, The Water's Fine!

Well readers, welcome to my first (and only) sober blog. There has been a lot of sentimental blogging about the 'mix and i fully intend to jump on that bandwagon. I would like to talk about something that really tug tug tugs away at my heart strings: Summertime. We all know its coming. Unless you are a complete fool, you are thinking about it obsessively with every wrinkle of your 'meat space' brain. Whether you're a kindergartner or a bitter 9to5er, the summer brings the hope that you will be able to do whatever the hell you feel like doing. Summer assists the ebb and flow of memories. Summer assuages the pain of Winter, and the sexual rejection of Spring. Summer is and always will be the most awesome time of our lives. And who do you think has tapped into the pit-stain yearnings of The People in a way that only some freaky shaman could? That's right blogosphere dwellers! Steve Alaniz and Francesco Marciuliano. The recent run of Sally strips has been raking the muck from our post-modern world and getting to the truth of what it means to be a righteous human being/family unit.
Let us have a recap of what has happened in the last week: Mon: Ted is chillaxin' in his neighbors pool (a true American hero!) Tues: War-painted faces, brandishing a yo-yo and a baseball glove, Faye and Hil have TP'd their own house in a summertime-freedom frenzy. Wed: the Forth fam is sweating it out on their couch, ice cream is melting, and Sally is having Looney Toon like hallucinations. Thurs: Ted Forth is a pillar of righteousness in the guise of a little league baseball coach. Fri: Hilary has caught the brightest firefly ever. (There are no fireflies in the Golden State, but the this strip really struck a chord with me. It takes the imagination of a child like Hil and the greatness of a mom like Sally to treasure a bug's ass and I love them for that.)
And so we find ourselves in the now, looking at today's strip. (If you haven't seen it go to http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/cgi-bin/comics/archive.pl) I had a visceral reaction of joy to this strip. I can't find words to describe how i feel about the awesome way in which Sally and Ted are constantly exploiting our square world (maybe heart-rainbow explosion?) It hearkens back to a time before Hil was born, and Sally and Ted were a couple of happy-go-lucky free-spirits. (Sally! if i didn't have so much respect for Ted i would sweep you off of your feet and marry you!) The fact that they have managed to maintain that 'spark' while raising a child and having a boring office job is truly robust, and universally inspirational. Let us do another quick recap of the week. Mon: OMG HA HA! Tues: HAHA! cute. Wed: HA! so true! Thurs: HA!HAHA! Ted = #1 Fri: only an emoticon can describe this, ;) then... Sat: OMG! ROTFLOL!!! WHAM!!! back to the good ol' yucks!
Mr. Alaniz, Mr. Marciuliano, i salute you.

New Friends, New Discoveries, Old Flannel

I would like you to join me in welcoming Mr. "Dick" Scott R. aka Rst_bilkeane666 (wtf?) to our tightly knit blogging team. In Scott's own words: "I feel like I will only want to write stuff when I am drunk."

In other news, Bizarro took a blogrific turn today, adding fuel to the fiery thesis I plan to write on MODERN TECHNOLOGY IN THE COMICS. For the next couple of weeks I will be keeping a careful tally of the strips which feature new media (cell phones, esp. txt msgs, blogging, the myspace, etc.) and then will enlighten all of you as to the ways in which this practice annoys me. The count for today is 2: the aforementioned blog reference in Bizarro, along with a cell phone reference in The Elderberries, although it was sort of half-assed. So maybe the count is at 1.5.

Holy Shit! In a failed attempt to bring today's Bizarro to the cyber-pages of this blog, I discovered that Dan Piraro, creator of Bizarro (way to rhyme your name to your comic, dorko) is vegan! Apparently all of those barnyard and laboratory 'mix were actually his attempt at animal rights activism. I'm gonna have to say that I did not recognize Mr. Piraro's political intent, and mistook his efforts for mere jokes, driven by sarcasm and a general mockery of our (post)modern era. Decide for yourself.



Finally, I would like to bring to everyone's attention some information I gleaned from the back page of today's San Francisco Chronicle, which I believe falls within my critical domain. After all, Bizarro's on the back page every day, along with Bad Reporter, the only truly legit thing that our sub-par local newspaper offers us. But what I wish to address is not a comic at all, nor is it Dear Abby, a personal fave (although it sucked today - I hate it when it's all responses.) Let's talk Entertainment Report, which informed us that Courtney Love is auctioning off almost all of Kurt's stuff because "My daughter doesn't need to inherit a giant bag full of flannel shirts." Well I sure as hell do! How much would it be ok for me to spend on a flannel shirt of Kurt Cobain's? Liiiike...$5000? What if we all pooled our money to get one? But who would get to keep it? I'll work out the details and get back to you.