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Curtis, 12/21/09

IS NOTHING SAFE FROM THIS BLASTED RECESSION? The one thing that has kept all of America going in this blighted recessionary wasteland was the knowledge that, if we could just make it to December 26, we would have the annual Curtis Kwanzaa Fable to enjoy. But now we learn that this year’s tale won’t involve awesome drug-induced mayhem like giant telepathic otters and bat-winged bears, but will instead merely consist of the last few employed Americans being hit up for money.

Slylock Fox, 12/21/09

Let us pass over today’s sordid crime with only a passing nod of approbation for the perp’s amphibian insouciance, and instead focus on the TERRIFYING DEVIL-THING casually trying on shoes. Those ears aren’t shaped properly for her to be a fox or even the demon Queen of the animal hell Slylock inhabits; I must therefore assume that she’s some kind of lesser Dark Angel, trying on some spiky heels for grinding into the faces of damned souls down in her subterranean punishment realm.

The Phantom, 12/21/09

As a longstanding fan of the Phantom’s saucy narration boxes, I’m bit unsettled to learn that our host for the strip is actually an aged, bloated Billy Dee Williams, so desperate for work that he’s willing to cram an ascot into his collar and spout cheeky nonsense.

Gil Thorp, 12/21/09

Wait … but .. basketball? Milford sports tend to be more or less mutually exclusive, so this seems to indicate that football season is over. But wasn’t the football team actually kind of good this year? What about the playdowns? It bothers me that I’m more tuned in to the championship picture in the Valley Conference than I am to the fortunes of any of the real-life NFL teams for whom I ostensibly root.

And what about Duncan Daley’s simmering drunken rage? I certainly hope that he interrupts Milford’s first game by wandering onto the court, confused and belligerent, with that case of beer still hoisted on his shoulders.

Mary Worth, 12/21/09

Thank goodness the creators of Mary Worth finally realized that America simply couldn’t take any more strips featuring Wilbur typing in front of his computer; any more excitement along those lines and there would have been riots in the street. Today’s strip is still pretty good though, with Adrian and Dr. Jeff making goofy facial expressions and hand gestures (what’s Adrian playing peek-a-boo with, I’d like to know), and Mary disregarding basic kitchen safety by attempting to simultaneously open the oven and lean over the pot on the front burner (with its handle sticking out into the walkway, no less!) to stir whatever’s boiling in the back. In other words, while Wilbur is eating lonely white-bread sandwiches and agonizing over his past mistakes, the Corey Clan has been helping themselves to the “medicinal” pot brownies someone brought Scott.

Apartment 3-G, 12/21/09

Every once in a while, the characters in Apartment 3-G talk like actual New Yorkers. For instance, it makes total sense that a proud Manhattanite like the Professor would bobble his head in shock as he blurted out “Ruby has friends in Queens?!” I’m assuming he’s emphasizing that last phrase just as he would if he were saying “…on Mars?!” or “…in hell?!”

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Mary Worth, 11/16/09

So, it looks like Scott is going to be A-OK, now that Dr. Jeff has given him and his sexy legs the once-over! Adrian is of course a doctor as well, but her medico-vision was disabled by grief and estrogen, so it was important for Jeff to make sure. (A competent doctor who was not a relative or potential relative of the patient was unavailable, as Dr. Jeff has made sure that everyone who works with him at Santa Royale General is one of his cronies or offspring.)

Anyway, with a mighty MEANWHILE, our narration box thrusts us pell-mell into the next storyline, and panel two shows us why we keep tuning into this feature. Who is making a phone call, and to whom? Is it someone calling to tell Mary that she’s wearing a hideous canary-yellow skirt-suit just like the one Mary’s been wearing all week, presaging a “Single White Meddling Biddy” storyline? Let’s hope!

Dick Tracy, 11/16/09

Here is the ethical dilemma for me as a Dick Tracy reader: each and every storyline inevitably ends in a scene of gruesome violence — with people being electrocuted or torn to bits by vicious dogs or run over by bulldozers — that I am genuinely shocked and discomfited to find on the comics page. And yet the rest of the strip is so baffling and dull that these flesh-mangling episodes are all I feel that I have to look forward to in this feature. Thus, I’m feeling pretty cheated right now, because despite several months’ worth of foreshadowing, not a single person in this interminable circus storyline has been mauled by a tiger, despite many chances for such a thing to happen. One can only hope that the plot’s various ne’er-do-wells have been spared that fate so that Dick can line them up and shoot them in the face one by one.

Luann, 11/16/09

For the record, this is a bad idea because Brad will try too hard and screw everything up, plus TJ will attempt to seduce Brad’s mom. His whipped sweet potatoes will still be exquisite.

Curtis, 11/16/09

I have never claimed to some kind of consistency in my comics likes and dislikes. Thus, while Marvin’s endless poop-smeared antics repulse me, I will always laugh at jokes about Curtis’s little brother picking his nose with malice aforethought, especially when this is indicated by comical sound effects.

Hi and Lois, 11/16/09

I realize that “nostalgia music” was more or less necessary to set up the punchline here, but for full sneering-at-old-people effect, I prefer “dinosaur rock” myself.

Oh, and Vintage Guitar magazine? It exists, my friends. Order it now for the dinosaur rocker on your Christmas list!

Spider-Man, 11/16/09

Newspaper comic strip Spider-Man trufans have been enjoying this plot so far, but have been waiting with mounting anxiety for the moment when the plot will hinge on the non-functioning of an ordinary household electronic device. Never fear, faithful readers! You know this feature always comes through for you!

More Josh-on-the-radio news! If your local public radio station carries Dick Gordon’s “The Story,” I am on it, today, talking nostalgically about being laid off during the last recession! In the Baltimore area it’s on WYPR at 8 pm. I will post a link to the podcast when available!

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Curtis, 11/9/09

This may not be interesting to anybody else (though really, what’s the point of having a blog if you can’t write about things that aren’t interesting to anybody else?), but I was sort of intrigued by Curtis’s father describing The Day After Tomorrow as a “Dennis Quaid movie.” I mean, yes, Quaid got top billing, but the film featured an ensemble cast, and you certainly wouldn’t call it a Dennis Quaid vehicle. It got me wondering whether films with large casts jockeying for screentime aren’t sort of Rorschach tests, with people seeing as most prominent the actor with whom they have the most in common. So, whereas middle-aged dad Greg Wilkins might call the film a Dennis Quaid movie, younger adults might consider it a Jake Gyllenhaal flick, whereas short sixtysomething Brits would identify it as an Ian Holm film. (As a believer in the auteur theory, I’d call it a Roland Emmerich movie myself, and who else is going out on opening day with me to see 2012, the latest from history’s greatest artiste of delightful computer-generated mass destruction? Anyone? Anyone?)

Getting back to the comic, I’m sort of amused by Curtis’s “Um, yeah” in panel three. “Dad, The Day After Tomorrow was a huge Hollywood blockbuster with an enormous marketing budget, so obviously I saw it. I’m the film industry’s perfect consumer! It’s like they grew me in a lab!”

Shoe, 11/9/09

Have you ever noticed that virtually all of Shoe’s distasteful romantic interludes are depicted as occurring in bars? I’m not just talking about the creepy courtship; even the sort of relationship talks that you’d expect to take place at home, or in the car, or in one of the more secluded booths at Pizza Hut, or really just somewhere that provides a little privacy, are instead aired out with Shoe and some interchangeable member of his cast of soul-deadened lady birds bellied up to the same bar where they presumably first set bleary, bloodshot eyes on one another. It leads one to believe each partner has someone or something at home that much be kept in the dark (e.g., children, spouse) or kept secret (e.g., porn collection, spouse) about/from the other. The logical conclusion is that the entire duration of these ephemeral relationships takes place at smoke-filled watering holes, with the drunken lovers hopefully retiring to the backseat of one of their cars to get it on rather than taking up a valuable toilet stall in the men’s room.

Marvin, 11/9/09

In somehow even more distasteful romantic news, today we learn what odor Marvin finds sexually arousing: the unguent one has smeared on one’s nether parts to soothe rashes caused by sitting in one’s own urine or feces for extended periods of time.

Marmaduke, 11/9/09

Hey, lady, don’t try to impose your square heteronormality on Marmaduke! Unfettered by humanity’s hang-ups, he’s free in his polymorphously perverse state to flirt with either the carefully groomed poodle or the big butch terrier, or both, whatever strikes his fancy. And anyway, this being Marmaduke, he’s probably not planning to “flirt with” anyone so much as to “kill and eat” them.

Funky Winkerbean, 11/9/09

Meanwhile, Wally Winkerbean, his life torn apart by a cruel twist of fate and his mind tortured by traumatic brain injury and PTSD, has decided to drink himself to death. Gonna be a fun week!