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Apartment 3-G, 4/11/07

Panel one: The touch on the shoulder, plus the nature of the conversation, establishes that these two gentlemen are well acquainted with each other, and, despite minor conflicts, keep each other’s best interests at heart.

Panel two: An exaggerated look at the watch, plus a call to make plans later, indicates that one of the two characters needs to run.

Panel three: Oh no! Readers might not realize that these two are old friends, and about to part! We need a narration box, stat! As a bonus, it will screw up the rhythm of the strip, implying that there’s been some kind of gap in time between panels two and three!

Spider-Man, 4/11/07

I’m uninterested in the latest example of J. Jonah Creep’s epic self-absorption, and my curiosity is only vaguely piqued by the flight of that … brick? videotape? bundle of hundred-dollar bills? Whatever. I am, however, intrigued by the concept of a thought balloon coming from off-panel. A similarly positioned word balloon offers a comics-panel approximation of a situation in which you can hear someone but not see them; this seems to show that SOMEWHERE nearby, SOMEONE is thinking … but WHO?

Gil Thorp, 4/11/07

When I read today’s Gil Thorp, my eyes slid right over the bizarre wildlife analogies and traumatizing Paris Hilton joke to settle on that … thing … that the first basewoman is holding in the third panel. Is it a trash can lid? An enormous pair of black panties with a frilly trim? A rip in the fabric of space and time, revealing the soul-destroying black abyss that lies beyond our universe? After about a minute, I realized that we’re just supposed to be looking directly into the maw of a fielder’s mitt. That’s a minute I’ll never have back, and I resent it.

By the way, it appears that Hadley Baxendale and Steve Luhm fought for equal rights in vain: While I’m sure the baseball diamond has been mowed with laser-beam precision, the softball field appears to be covered in ankle-deep grass. The right fielder is standing in a particularly wooly patch, though, if we continue with the African herbivore metaphors, she may believe that it provides camouflage from predators.

Dick Tracy, 4/11/07

It’s hard to believe, but I’ve managed to avoid commenting on Dick Tracy ever since we met the completely demented Queen of Diamonds character. Today, things just get weirder as she discards her costume for reasons that are no more obvious than those that drove her to wear in the first place. It’s not like a lumpy person in a skin-tight black bodysuit with a face like a playing card is exactly inconspicuous, even if she isn’t carrying a supernaturally glowing gem.

Judge Parker, 4/11/07

For those of you not following along at home, Neddy and Abbey, fleeing from their ‘80s punker attackers, have ducked through a door off of an alley and into some mysterious workshop full of industrial supplies that they can turn into weapons. Presumably they will blow-torch their nemeses into submission, then dump their charred figures onto the steps of L’Académie française, where they will be dealt with for their crimes against French grammar. It looks like somebody’s gunning to have their strip turned into the next ultraviolent Robert Rodriguez-directed big screen comics adaptation.

Mark Trail, 4/11/07

Many of you have already noted that Mark is flying to confront Dan’s grieving widow on the back of a majestic goose, and driving from the gooseport in some kind of vehicle that lacks seats. I’m more disturbed by how excited Cherry is about the whole thing. “Oh, Mark, I’m so glad you didn’t call the police with your suspicions. I love it when you go off half-cocked on impromptu voyages of vengeance! Go get ’em, tiger! Don’t beat anyone to death unless you feel like it!”

Family Circus, 4/11/07

This, combined with this, leads me to believe that the Family Circus has a bee up its butt over recent findings that most Americans, including most of those who consider themselves Christians, are completely ignorant of the basics of the Bible and Christian theology. Obviously it will climax with an angry, melon-headed mob demanding that public schools bring back religious instructions for their poor, hell-bound students. Obviously their parents can’t be trusted to do it! They’re just as dumb!

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Family Circus, 4/6/07

I’m not a Christian, but even I know how theologically troubling this Good Friday installment of the supposedly Jesus-friendly Family Circus is. Hey Dolly, they don’t say “Jesus was an adorable baby wrapped in swaddling clothes surrounded by cute animals for your sins,” you know what I’m saying?

Several commentors have suggested that Ma Keane is attempting to exorcize the demons out of Dolly, but I think it’s instructive to compare this panel with Tuesday’s installment. The visual echoes imply that Dolly is about to get smacked with that crucifix; we might assume that its religious meaning is incidental, and that it was merely the closest heavy object to hand.

Gil Thorp, 4/6/07

The first panel of today’s Gil Thorp is just evidence of how far this strip (and by extension America) has slipped from the good old days, as “the doc” is some touch-feely psychotherapist who’s helping Tyler get in touch with his emotions and discover the reasons why he felt a need to hit himself in the back of the head with a stick until he bled; obviously his coach should be telling him to man up, push all those troubling “feelings” deep down inside, and hit other people with sticks instead. The third panel is completely incomprehensible to me. But I like panel two. I like the fact that Assistant Coach Kaz spends his spare time lifting free weights in … well, I don’t know where he’s supposed to be, exactly; it looks like he’s in the exercise yard in prison. I also like the fact that it’s totally obvious that Kaz has had some eye work done.

Apartment 3-G, 4/6/07

The “Lu Ann is being possessed or dying or something and nobody cares or even remembers she exists” bit is now becoming actively hilarious to me. And do we need any more proof that the Professor’s years of “paternal” attentions to the girls in 3G were basically driven by a desire to get into the pants of one or all of them? Now that he’s managed to somehow snag a babe even younger than them, his interest in their sordid paint-huffing adventures has vanished.

The Lockhorns, 4/6/07

I have no idea what this is supposed to mean. But it is true that, thanks to Leroy’s listlessness and inattention, Loretta is like El Niño in that she comes once every three to eight years.

Slylock Fox, 4/6/07

Wow, for someone who in the next few minutes is going to die either from suffocation or from a trip through a walrus digestive system, that fish sure is looking pretty darn cheery.

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Blondie, 4/5/07

True story: On recycling day in our neighborhood, the big trucks from the sanitation department drive around at walking speed; one guy’s in the cabin driving the truck, and another one is walking along the sidewalk, picking up the bags of cans and throwing them in the back. One day last fall as I was walking towards my house, I saw the recycling truck stopped at the corner, with the driver hanging out the window and laughing. When I got a little closer, I could see his partner, an enormous dude in a jumpsuit, hopping his way through a recently chalked hopscotch board, with a huge grin on his face. Anyway, no snark here, just wanted to note that today’s Blondie reminded me of that, and stave off complaints that nobody has actually drawn a hopscotch board on the sidewalk since 1962.

Apartment 3-G, 4/5/07

Oh ho, it’s a meeting of the minor-characters-one-generation-older-than-the-protagonists minds as Margo’s hilariously stereotypical immigrant mother ambushes Professor “Big Papa” Papagoras. The Professor has clearly guessed nothing of the sort about Margo, as he’s surely spent too much time in his love nest with Gina to be keeping track of his neighbors’ sex lives, but he seems surprised that anyone would be planning to propose marriage to someone incapable of what humans call “love.”

Baldo, 4/5/07

Hey, remember last week, when I said something nice about Baldo? Well, since then, Tia Carmen has been explaining to El Mustache del Sexy, in harrowing detail, how she came to arrive in America. It seems that Baldo and Gracie’s mother was killed by a drunk driver in a horrible accident years ago with Baldo and Gracie in the car; their father, overwhelmed by the prospect of raising two kids by himself, called his Tia Carmen to come help raise them. Today, she speculates on the divine purpose behind such horror. That’s right, Baldo and Gracie: God killed your mom so your Tia Carmen could get laid. Sorry ‘bout that, but they don’t call ’em “mysterious ways” for nothing.

Oh, also, on Sunday this strip’s “hilarious” April Fools “joke” featured heavily armed INS agents bursting down the door to the Bermudez home and dragging Tia Carmen away screaming into a paddy wagon while the children wept. I feel less bad about this now that I’ve seen today’s installment.

Pluggers, 4/5/07

Oh, for … that’s a whole lot of unnecessary verbiage in that caption. Here you go: “A puppy is a plugger personal trainer.” GOD DAMN IT PLUGGERS, DO I HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING AROUND HERE? Sheesh.