Hey, everybody! Just thought I’d briefly toot my own horn and point out that today is my ninth blogiversary. That’s right, I’ve been making fun of the daily comics more or less daily for nine years now. Which is … impressive? Horrifying? An internet eternity? Whatever. Thanks to everyone who’s been reading my blog since the beginning, or who only just now started. I really appreciate your patronage and support! If you’re interested, here’s my first week of blogging, which is in some ways cringeworthy for me to look at now and in some ways pretty much what I’m still doing. Will I still be doing this nine years from now? Who even knows! I would’ve pegged this blog’s lifespan at about six months back in 2004, so I’m done making predictions.
By the way, just to prove I’m still “hip” and “with it” now that this blog thing is on its way to Internet dinosaur status, I have a Twitter and a Facebook and a Tumblr and a Google+, and you might want to click those links if those are things you like!
Anyway, I begin my tenth year of blogging the only way I know how: by whining misanthropically about Gasoline Alley.
Gasoline Alley, 7/11/13
Shockingly, the Wikipedia entry for Gasoline Alley does not include a complete list of all the characters in the strip’s sprawling cast. For that, you have to go to this lovingly maintained site that, like mine, was created in 2004, though it maintains some classic 1997 Web design aesthetics. Anyway, I was really hoping that Slim’s befuddlement in panel two meant that he had never seen this lady before in his life, and she was using his low emotional state and pliable mind to worm her way into his life and rob him blind. But no, it appears that Slim does in fact have a daughter named Gretchen, which means that his complete failure to recognize her puts him in the running for the worst dad of all time.
Mark Trail, 7/11/13
So not only is Mark not wearing a disguise, but he went undercover at this illegal poaching camp by registering under his own name! Lucky for him there’s no way for anyone to quickly determine if, say, someone were a prominent crusading journalist who wrote for a high-profile magazine focusing on outdoor living. Since all of our knowledge is limited by our own memory, Mark’s secret is safe, forever.