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Apartment 3-G, 1/17/08

Not to try to apply “reality” to Apartment 3-G or anything, but: don’t these people live in New York? You know, the city with one of the most extensive and useful public transit systems in the world? I don’t know if you’ve heard, but in New York lots of people ride the subway instead of taking a cab — even middle-class white girls! By themselves! This will probably shock the A3G creative team, but post-Giuliani it’s practically like riding the monorail at Disneyland, with only a slightly higher possibility of encountering a unconscious, smelly hobo.

Maybe the route from Blaze’s apartment to Lu Ann’s doesn’t lend itself to subway travel, but it is kind of weird that you never see any of these kids on the train. I mean, obviously Margo would refuse to board public transit of any kind, but Lu Ann and Alan, with their high-paying jobs of art teacher and starving artist/part-time curator/junkie, respectively, seem like prime candidates for MetroCard ownership.

Family Circus, 1/17/08

Much as it warms my black, black heart to see a Family Circus kid weeping openly, I’m a little disturbed by the sudden shift in this feature from its standard “Little kids say and/or mispronounce the darnedest things” to some kind of Pluggers-style play on words (for certain limited definitions of “play”) by an omniscient narrator. On the other hand, I admit to being pleased by the image of a perpetually sobbing PJ being hooked to electrodes and used as an alternate source of power for the Keane Kompound after they became convinced that being connected to the utility grid kept them under the thumb of the “gummint.”

Pluggers, 1/17/08

Speaking of “plays” on words: Hey, Pluggers, you get a pass on this one because it doesn’t make any sense at all, in that it’s not at all clear what if any alternate meanings of “swinger” and/or “family tree” are being referenced here, but don’t let me ever catch you inching towards doing a joke about “plugger swingers” again, OK? Ever. I mean it. There will be rage.

Mary Worth, 1/17/08

WHY YOU PUNCHIN’ YOURSELF, DR. DREW? WHY YOU PUNCHIN’ YOURSELF?

I’m assuming that Drew is assuming the “Serious High School Senior Yearbook Photo #2” pose in panel two because he’s casting his mind back to the sweet net of physical love he cast over Vera — she thought she could escape, but her struggles have only snared her further! Faithful commentors suggested a number of more plausible reasons for Vera’s change of heart. Good: Vera’s pregnant! Better: Vera got the clap, and she knows from where! (Note that these two suggestions are not mutually exclusive, obviously.)

The Phantom, 1/17/08

I’m pretty sure that tomorrow we’ll see that the stem-less word balloon in panel three is emanating from the Phantom himself, aka Ghost-Who-Buttresses-The-Patriarchy, who’s going to tell them a little something about the Jungle Patrol, specifically that it’s not for “girls.” Diana, who’s heard this spiel before, has already taken a phone call. Possible sexism aside, everyone who thought that in yesterday’s “That’s the answer! Jungle Patrol!” they had found a catchphrase for the new millennium must now admit that “Whoa, girls! Let me tell you a little something about the Jungle Patrol!” is even better.

In other news, when I first saw panel two, I thought cop-lady was grabbing waitress-lady’s left boob. I really, really want the Phantom to be more interesting than it is.

They’ll Do It Every Time, 1/17/08

Today’s TDIET is submitted by faithful reader Harold, who pushed this family-friendly feature to the brink with his demand for red-hot just-out-of-the-shower action.

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The Phantom, 1/16/08

Hooray, I did it! I managed to get through the entire previous incredibly moronic Phantom storyline without mentioning it in this blog once! This one is just getting started, and may turn out to be just as dumb, but I can’t resist today’s installment, in which Diana Walker (aka The Phantom’s Imported Caucasian Bride) is, as our narration box tells us, chatting with her friends about their career choices. (Side note: Hey, narration box, do you think that you don’t need a verb just because you have an exclamation point? Hmmm?) It sure was nice of Diana and her friend the cop to arrange to meet their friend the waitress for lunch while she was working the lunch shift. “It’ll be fun! We’ll talk while you serve us our meal! Maybe we’ll even tip you!” As if that wasn’t bad enough, cop-lady is stealing waitress-lady’s lifelong dream. “That’s the answer! Jungle patrol! Be sure to think of the adventures I’m having out on the frontier the next time an old man yells at you because his coffee’s too hot!”

Funky Winkerbean, 1/16/08

Not being married to a band director, I guess I can’t be expected to truly understand the horror that they go through, but I admit to not seeing the connection between being left home alone as your partner leads a group of teenagers through a forced march through the parking lot while they play an Andrew Lloyd Weber medley and this unappetizing combination of foodstuffs. There are a couple of possible explanations here:

• John’s total inability to cook, which I had blamed on a terminal case of Stereotypical Comic-Strip Maleness, is actually some sort of little-talked-about side effect of marrying a band director. Enormous bowls of M&Ms and six-packs of BEER-brand beer are actually the best he can do for hospitality, considering his condition. Since the other members of his meeting are in the same boat, they can’t complain about it.
• Being a band director’s spouse in Funky Winkerbean is some kind of double-whammy of crushing depression, and so the only thing for it is a tasty combo of alcohol and sugar. In fact, I’m not convinced that the colorful tablets in those bowls are actually M&Ms. I think the band directors are going to make their troubles go away with a cocktail of cheap beer and bootleg prescription pharmaceuticals — the “M&Ms” ruse is just to keep the kids none the wiser.

Judge Parker, 1/16/08

OK, I totally take back what I said earlier about Sam not being a sexual harassment risk. There’s really no good explanation for his pose in the third panel unless he’s about to casually look down and say, “Hey, whaddya know? My pants just came undone! Could you help me with that … partner?”

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The Phantom, 11/4/07

I’m not a big defense policy expert or anything, but I’m pretty sure the US Air Force is not in the business of handing out free jet fuel to random Vietnam War-era aircraft, no matter how friendly the country is whose flag is painted on the tail. Perhaps Bangalla is willing to turn a blind eye “enhanced interrogation techniques” (likely, if the slap-happy antics of the Unknown Commander are any indication) and demands payment in sweet, sweet petroleum products.

The Phantom NEXT! boxes are pretty generally awesome, but few have brought me as much pleasure as today’s. “Avast, swabbies! Be sure ye be wearing yer film badge dosimeter, lest ye suffer from radiation sickness! Ahhhr!”

Zits and The Middletons, 11/4/07

At last, two Sunday comics that aren’t afraid to admit the hard truth about teenagers: that they’re nothing but barely controlled hormone-soaked lust-beasts. Today’s Zits honestly hits a little too close to home for me, as one of my high school’s guidance counselors was a primary subject in my teenage fantasy life, which I’m sure was also true for most of the other boys and several of the girls. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately, in the interests of me having coherent conversations about college application essays), I was assigned the other guidance counselor, who was a avuncular fiftysomething dude, and who was very nice but whose naked lower back I was frankly glad to never see unprompted in my mind’s eye.

Today’s Middletons is an instructional example of how the throwaway panels at the beginning of a strip (so named because some newspapers remove them to make layout easier) can really change the tone of a comic. The complete strip today offers a poignant look at that moment when young people are on the cusp of adulthood, beginning to think of grown-up matters while still clinging to childish things. But the version in my paper started with the “Cool clouds” panel, and thus was basically two teenagers talking about girls they want to bang. On the bright side, Baltimore Sun readers were spared the unsettling undertones of the “do you want to see the frog in my pocket” exchange.

Judge Parker, 11/4/07

Speaking of raging hormones, I’m getting pretty tired of every improbably proportioned female in this strip hurling herself at Sam Driver. His wife I can sort of understand (though you think she’d have given up by now), but what Sam’s got that justifies, say, Trudi lunging at him lips-first in the next-to-last panel is beyond me. It’s like he’s doused himself in some chemical that makes him irresistible to women (“reverse alcohol,” in the memorable formulation of Dinosaur Comics) — not because he wants to seduce them, but because he enjoys rejecting and humiliating them. If I want twisted, passive-aggressive psychodrama in a serial strip, I’ll read Mary Worth, thank you very much.

Spider-Man, 11/4/07

Not being evil myself, I wasn’t aware that a lack of sleepiness was one of the benefits of pledging one’s allegiance to the dark side. Think of all the extra sinister plotting — or, alternately, dusting and laundry — you could do with that extra eight hours a day! It does not, however, come as a big surprise to me that Peter Parker would rather snooze than fight evil.

Hi and Lois, 11/4/07

The creators of Hi and Lois do not appear to understand how and by whom municipal tax rates are set.