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Judge Parker, 10/25/09

I know I’ve been kind of missing in action over the past several Judge Parker storylines, as they just haven’t had that classic mixture of ludicrous and emotionally detached that first drew me to this strip. But I have high hopes for the noir-ish plot brewing now. “D’Vito” is a transparent Bernie Madoff stand-in who was gunned down hours after making bail, and “Henry” is one of his victims, an apparent patsy set up for the murder — oh, and also dying of colon cancer.

Anyway, coming events promise to offer lots of opportunities my favorite Judge Parker recurring theme: that the privileged main characters can just barrel ahead and do whatever the hell they want because rules don’t apply to them. Sam, smelling a rat in this case, visited Henry in jail and essentially told him (Henry) to that he (Sam) would be serving as his (Henry’s) defense attorney, a proposition to which Henry never actually agreed pre se. Nevertheless, I’m sure that the police will allow Sam’s law partner to poke around all the potential evidence in Henry’s house. Also, in those first two panels: lying to get evidence from someone who may be a potential witness or co-conspirator? Sure, why not? All that, and soothing a troubled millionaire whose feeling are apparently tender after he assaulted a photographer are all in a day’s work for Sam Driver: Smug Dick at Law! Oh, and as panel three assures us, there will also be breasts.

Slylock Fox, 10/25/09

Is this the cruelest Slylock Fox Sunday mystery ever? One must picture Max Mouse, finally allowed to go work on a case on his own for once, carefully counting off the paces in some rural backwater, digging enormous holes with a shovel three times as long as he his tall, desperately looking for Slick Smitty’s ill-gotten gain — all while the perp himself is just standing there with his girlfriend, laughing. You have to imagine the level of anxiety he must have reached before he finally pulled out his itty-bitty cell phone to call his boss, who will of course never allow him out of the house alone again now that he’s shown his incompetence at basic ratiocination. It’s a sad, sad day for tiny prey mammals.

Dennis the Menace, 10/25/09

I have to kind of admit that I kind of like this Dennis the Menace for the glimpse it offers us into Henry and Alice’s bucolic pre-Dennis lives. I imagine them in college, both of them tall, gangly young people recruited for their skills on the volleyball court. I like the thought of a pair of mirror-image crushes from afar — Henry attending games played by the women’s team, Alice going to the men’s games, each pair of eyes settling on a player that strikes their fancy, with a long physique that looked good in those short volleyball shorts. Then, at a party thrown by members of one or the other team, the two finally work up the nerve to talk to one another, and, over a few cheap keg beers, begin to see the dim but hopeful outlines of a future together. It will be a future dominated by their awful, hated son, of course, but it would be impossible for them to know that, so let’s leave them for the moment in their youthful happiness.

On that note, I also appreciate the fact that the strip has left to our imagination exactly how Dennis has managed to turn a game of volleyball played in an apparently dry yard into some kind of mud-soaked nightmare.

Beetle Bailey, 10/25/09

In light of the many Beetle Bailey strips that depict man-on-tree sex, I find at least one form of camouflage depicted here particularly troubling.

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Mark Trail, 10/5/09

It’s becoming increasingly clear that Mark Trail’s clan is part of a network of isolated, hard-working, rural-cabin-based families who don’t get many visitors. Our reluctant poachers actually have more than a passing similarity to his old friends who own Sneaky, except instead of harboring sinister raccoons they just have a cat — a heavily sedated or dead cat, if the limp, compliant way it’s just letting Cindy tote it about is any indication. Anyway, one wonders how they all stay in touch. They could swap rustic livin’ tips on the Internet, or at least they could if any of their rustic shacks were actually connected to municipal electric or phone lines.

There’s something distinctly unsettling about Mark’s quick transition from “Rusty has been complaining about my cooking” to “You’re a beautiful young lady, Cindy!” The best case scenario is that Mark is going to set her to rustling up some grub for his young ward, both as a way to get her accustomed to her womanly duties and to see if she’d make a suitable mate for the lad once they both reach the traditional Lost Forest marital age of 13. But more likely, part of the purpose of this camping trip is to teach Rusty that sometimes when you’re very hungry, you need to eat things that you wouldn’t eat otherwise, and Nature’s Way is to start with the smallest and most feeble. (You’ll notice that we haven’t seen Sassy in a while.)

Dennis the Menace, 10/5/09

Today’s Dennis the Menace offers an amusing set of metaphorical nesting Russian dolls when it comes to absolute and relative chronology. Henry Mitchell is the father of a child who, I’ve always assumed, is in the 6-8-year-old range; obviously there’s an extremely wide range of ages that Henry himself could be based on that, but if pressed, I would place him somewhere between 35 and 45, and probably at the lower end of that scale. So, yes, he’s safely in the generation that spawned the whole “cartoons for grownups” phenomenon, which really took off with the monster success of the Simpsons twenty years ago. Which in turn of course means that Dennis could not possibly remember a time when cartoons were, in fact, for kids.

And yet, Henry goes about his day wearing black pants and a white shirt and a bow tie most of the time, which marks him out as a Stereotypical ’50s Dad, which has him being born in, I dunno, 1920 or so. This makes him about 90 years old, or means that he’s watching the 1955 version of Aqua Teen Hunger Force or Family Guy or whatever (and note that one of the cartoon characters is himself sporting Henry’s trademark outfit) on the DuMont Network.

Apartment 3-G, 10/5/09

Make fun of Dr. P (side note: my new nickname for the Professor is “Dr. P”) all you want, but before I met my wonderful and charming wife, I had a certain attraction to women who were mean, bad, and/or crazy (see also my devotion to Margo Magee), so I can sort of see where he’s coming from here. Pill-addled? Possibly suicidal? Hinting at a troubled, mysterious past? Shouting into the phone at someone who is probably supposed to be bringing her more drugs? Sign me up!

Pluggers, 10/5/09

You know, this cartoon would be a lot less confusing if the sarcastic postal clerk weren’t himself capable of flight. “Sorry, we don’t deliver via carrier pigeon anymore. I mean, I’m a carrier pigeon myself, but … you know, union rules. Now they’ve got me behind this desk, and let me tell you, it’s a drag.”

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Crock, 9/2/09

My maternal grandmother grew up on a farm in Oklahoma, and after a brief but exciting (and husband-netting) stint working in Los Angeles during World War II, moved to a very small town in Ohio where she would live for the rest of her life. She was never an early adopter when it came to gadgetry and was in fact pretty technophobic — I’ll always remember when, as a teenager, I tried for the third or fourth time to explain to her what the buttons on her VCR did, and said “It’s just like on a cassette player!” and she admitted that she had never figured out how to work her cassette player either. That said, one futuristic appliance that she did buy before anyone else I knew was a microwave oven. I literally cannot remember a time when her beloved “micro” wasn’t on its little stand next to her kitchen table, which means that she must have bought it by 1982 or so at the latest. And it kept right on working, as near as I can remember, until she passed away in 1998, an awful good run for an appliance (and a marked contrast with my current microwave, which we got as wedding present less than four years ago and which is already flaking out, though that’s a rant for a different time and place, the place presumably being a long, detailed diatribe to be sent registered mail to the Panasonic Corporation). Perhaps one of the reasons that my grandmother, who was born in 1922, was able to easily integrate this modern wonder into her workflow was that all of its features were controlled by knobs, like the conventional oven that she was already familiar with, but unlike, say, every microwave sold anywhere for the last fifteen to twenty years.

In case you’re wondering what the point of all this is, I’m trying to say that the creators of Crock are unfathomably old.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 9/2/09

Rex Morgan didn’t waste any time taking story elements that should be interesting — the plight of our seniors, a marriage troubled by adulterous yearnings — and making them incredibly boring, so boring that these ladies eating out at some midscale Italian place actually means that things are looking up. I’m sure that I’m going to get dozens of irate letters defending the genius of various Italian grandmothers for this, but alfredo sauce, satisfying as it almost always is, doesn’t really leave tons of room for subtle, secert variations, in my experience. It’s pretty much just cheese, cream, garlic, and butter, right? Still, deceased Yugoslav President for Life Tito’s recipe must have been pretty good to get Berna free restaurant meals out of it; or, alternately, it may have been actively poisonous, which would explain why Berna looks like a deranged serial killer in panel two, and why Becka calls it “wicked.”

Apartment 3-G, 9/2/09

Speaking of rapid descents into boring, it’s taken only 48 hours for the Professor to botch his potentially interesting prescription drug abuse storyline by maundering off into a bunch of snoozeville blah blah about Greek surnames. That knocking at the door is an Apartment 3-G producer, come to tell the Professor that his tryout as a central character is now concluded, and to remove him with an enormous vaudeville-style hook if he doesn’t come quietly.

Dennis the Menace, 9/2/09

Either that or he’s decided to skip “menacing” and head straight on into “troubling paranoia.”

Hi and Lois, 9/2/09

While I don’t condone property destruction to prove a point, it is worth noting that Trixie has been the same height since this strip debuted in 1954. She’s probably not getting any taller, and it’s about time the family recognized that and added some accommodations in their home for her condition.