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And now, a little something for the gentlemen

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Apartment 3-G, 8/29/04

Apartment 3-G, like all other forms of visual entertainment, needs to please that all-important demographic of males between the ages of 18 and 54 (aka “the violent and horny years”). It can’t offer much by way of car chases and explosions, so it makes up for it with occasional cabana fantasy sequences like this one. I’m not really sure what the bizarre undergarment that Margo is wearing in the first panel is supposed to be, but once she changes, things really get started. She’s upstaged, of course, by her new boss’s bikini-clad daughter. The mention of “private school” offers us a tantalizing hint of jailbait, but because Apartment 3-G has a sketchy drawing style and a complete lack of cultural cues understandable to anybody under the age of 65, it’s impossible to tell with any degree of certainty how old she actually is; the oversized cocktail glass indicates that she probably just goes to Vassar or something. All in all, however, it’s still pretty sleazy, though nowhere near as bad as the time that the tiny-towel-wrapped trio of roommates spent an entire week sighing ecstatically in a sauna.

Actually, current plot developments may lead to car chases and explosions yet. The secluded mansion, the eccentric and domineering billionaire, the team of weirdly submissive female servants dressed in matching jumpsuits — all signs seem to indicate that Margo’s new client is some sort of James Bond-ian supervillain. This should make for a more exciting storyline than LuAnn’s studio’s ventilation problems. Hopefully the whole thing will climax with Margo battling an army of bodyguards, or possibly robots, for control of a giant death ray — while still wearing her borrowed bathing suit, naturally.

By the way, my hometown paper cuts off the first two panel of this strip on Sunday, so this is the first time I’ve seen the logo in the first panel. I have to say that the grinning, floating, disembodied heads of our heroines creep the living bejeezus out of me.

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Foppish adventures on the high seas

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Mark Trail, 8/28/04

No one has yet submitted a Mark Trail entry in my summarize-the-soaps contest (Enter now! Operators are standing by!) but I’m beginning to think that it’s even more loopily entertaining when I’m baffled by the plot developments. Today we meet Otto, a cravat-wearing, contraction-eschewing, possibly European cook (though “chef” would no doubt be a better term for such an obvious aesthete), and Primrose, his … well, what are we, exactly? In the second panel, Primrose looks like a lemur, or maybe a marmoset, while the in the third she takes on the appearance of an ordinary house cat. (In the first, she looks like a cardboard cutout, but let that be for the moment.) As amusing as it would be to have one of the minor primates on board for this adventure, I think it’s pretty clear that pencil mustache + cat = villainy. And if the colorists are to be believed, he’s a shade swarthier than everyone else, too. Watch out, Mark!

I’d also like to point out that the bearded man in the middle of the first frame, who I assume is this voyage’s commanding officer, seems to have stolen his uniform from a 1970s airline pilot, or possibly a movie about 1970s airline pilots. This is one shady operation.

Meanwhile, I hate to make fun of Mary Worth, but … oh, who am I kidding. I love making fun of Mary Worth; it’s one of the main reasons I started this blog. Anyway, be sure to check out today’s installment, as it contains the first use of the phrase “my very own meth lab” that I’ve seen in the comics outside of Dennis the Menace.

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Jesus Christ on a pogo stick, what in the name of God is THAT?

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Mary Worth, 8/27/04

Much, MUCH more alarming that subtle changes in Rex Morgan, M.D.’s artwork is the presence of this freakish she-man in Mary Worth. The deliberate cultivation of gender ambiguity as an expression of one’s innermost self or as a cultural critique is one thing, but I think this is just some seriously crappy drawing. The diagonal folds towards the beltline of that too-small tank top made me think that it was actually a woman’s leotard at first (and there’s a challenge to all you Photoshoppers out there if I ever heard one).

I’m assuming that this individual is the ne’er-do-well son of the object of Wilbur’s affections. Actually, now that I look at him more, I have to say that he most resembles what He-Man (a cartoon figure with his own set of fascinating gender issues) would look like if he stopped using steroids.

I have to say that I’m really “digging” his mental use of hip drug lingo. Now that I’m back, I urge any Mary Worth-ites out there to take up my challenge and summarize the series of fascinating events that brought us here, or to the present moment in any of the soap opera strips. I’ve got a couple entries already, but I’ll wait a day or two before posting them to give others time to play along.