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Panels from: Apartment 3-G, Rex Morgan, M.D., For Better or for Worse, Mary Worth, Mark Trail, 2/24/06

With apologies to Dusty Springfield:

The look of love
Is in your eyes
The look your smile can’t disguise

The look of love
Is saying so much more
Than just words could ever say

And what my heart has heard
Well it takes my breath away

I can hardly wait to hold you
Feel my arms around you

How long I have waited
Waited just to love you
Now that I have found you

You’ve got the look of love
It’s on your face
A look that time can’t erase
Be mine tonight

Let this be just the start
Of so many nights like this
Let’s take a lover’s vow
And then seal it with a kiss

Now that I have found you
Don’t ever go
Don’t ever go
I love you so

Have a romantic weekend, everyone. I hope it’s going to happen for you.

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Mary Worth, 2/15/06

Mary, Mary, Mary. If I want uninteresting, unattractive characters making boring conversation, I’ll read Judge Parker. If I want a conflict resolved by off-camera deus ex machina, I’ll read Spider-Man. But Mary, I’ve come to expect more from you. This is the strip that brought us Smitty Smedlap, Tommy the Tweaker, Barfin’ Anna Tieg, and Rita “The Cocktail” Begler, after all. But the current plot — which, painfully enough, has dragged on since October — has slowly slid from dull to soporific; now it seems that my hopes for a months-long risible courtroom sequence, in which we’d be treated to day after day of Wilbur Weston squirming and uncontrollably perspiring, finally bursting into tears during an ill-advised attempt to take the stand in his own defense, have now been dashed.

It perhaps says something about my hardened, post-modern inability to feel empathy that Wilbur’s slack-jawed, limb-flailing spasm of joy in panel two inspires me to only vague feelings of disgust. It no doubts marks me out as shallow when I say that his irksome fashion choices (that electric blue cardigan doesn’t really work with the baby blue dress shirt, and the khakis unappealingly bunched at the crotch don’t really work with anything) aren’t helping. Still, I hold out hope that Mary Worth has some more trials — metaphorical if not literal — in store for our portly agony aunt. Will a heavily armed Jane Hand get past Charterstone’s security and launch us into a tense hostage drama? Will even the hint of legal trouble prompt Wilbur’s syndicate to replace him with an unthreatening-advice-generating computer program, forcing him to take on a increasingly degrading series of jobs that require no particular skills but do require a lack of self-respect? Will Wilbur spin around in his office chair for the next twelve strips, giggling like an eight-year-old boy who’s just heard a joke about poop? Only time will tell.

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Happy New Year, everybody! How was your Chrismakkuhzatice? I got me a bunch of real nice presents, both comics-related (Complete Calvin and Hobbes, In the Shadow of No Towers, Persepolis) and otherwise. Meanwhile, of course, the various comics have marched on in their merry ways. There was some Christmas cheer:

At Christmas dinner, Judge Parker’s Sam Driver felt a need to not only help cook but to dress up as a chef for some odd reason. Is that a cravat he’s wearing? Or is it the front of a cape? Is he supposed to be “Chef Man”?

Gil Thorp took Christmas day as an opportunity show off both his freakish family (I think his son played Steve Austin’s boss in the Six Million Dollar Man) and his ability to speak in cursive.

And Mark Trail got to show off just which side of the War on Christmas he’s on. Notice that Jesus gets glossed over in the opening panels (which many newspapers don’t even print) so as to give more space to Santa, the gift-giving pagan nature-spirit amalgam who has supplanted our Lord and Savior in the greedy, greedy hearts of America’s children. At least we don’t have to stare at any more reindeer ass.

Not everyone took time off for the holidays, either:

Apartment 3-G’s Lu Ann cheered us all up with the most revealing outfit in the history of Apartment 3-G. Her little black dress makes Tommie’s clashing-greens golf shirt/sweatshirt combo look even more like something out of the late Victorian age.

In Spider-Man, some suicidal schmuck has decided that offing himself in Spidey’s accidentally discarded costume would be good for a larf. His worries about being “corny” are clearly misplaced, as this comic is a nonstop cavalcade of cheese.

Mary Worth’s Jane ex-Hand has instantly aged twenty years in deciding to instigate the most ludicrous tort case in the history of common law. Her case against “Ask Wendy” will no doubt be soon followed by cases brought against syndicated horoscope writers for failing to predict disaster and against Omar Sharif for shoddy bridge advice.

Mark Trail remains boring beyond belief, but now the dog-lovin’ hillbilly gal has magically turned blonde.

Anyway, hopefully this little catch-up whets your appetite for all things comical and curmudgeonly in 2006. Many people take milestones like the end of the year to re-evaluate their creative endeavors, or take their pet projects to the next level. Well, I have absolutely no big plans or surprises for you in the new year. You’ll get more of the same and you’ll like it! Well, there’s one exception: I hearby declare the end of “First Post.” Seriously. Put a comment on this site that serves no purpose but to indicate that you posted first and it will be purged forevermore by me. You have been warned! Josh has spoken!