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Panels from Blondie, 3/14/10

Sunday’s Blondie as a whole, in which Dagwood chases (or is chased by?) a tiny owl that may or may not be a figment of his imagination through his own house is itself a worthwhile bit of fine entertaining madness. Still, I have to say that the two throwaway panels on their own constitute a delightfully weird bit of art that deserves to be showcased in isolation. Dagwood’s just trotting along, presumably from the couch to the refrigerator, or from bed to the bath, hands in pockets, when he gets WHOO’d at. I love that his immediate reaction is not fear or panic at this unfamiliar sound, but just a mere and casual “what?” as if he could work this whole thing out if only he could hear it better.

Panel from Mary Worth, 3/14/10

Mary Worth’s epigraphical madness continues, as she’s moved beyond indie rock darlings like Leonard Cohen and Daniel Johnston to late 19th/early 20th century radical Emma Goldman.

SEPARATED AT BIRTH???

If it turns out that all of Mary’s seemingly petty meddling has been part of a long-term plan to further the cause of anarcho-syndicalist revolution, I for one will be very impressed.

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Dick Tracy, 3/13/10

I have been told that comics artists often save material they think is kind of weak — or, in continuity strips, not particularly plot advancing — for Saturday, which is the day with the lowest newspaper circulation. Thus, it came as a mild surprise to see someone actually get shot in Saturday’s Dick Tracy. But then again, someone expiring relatively quietly after receiving a single bullet to the gut is kind of weak material when it comes to Dick Tracy violence, so hopefully this is just the beginning in a sequence that will drench the comics page in blood by, say, Wednesday.

Hi and Lois, 3/13/10

Remember the grim scene in Leaving Las Vegas when Elizabeth Shue can only interest desperate drunk Nicolas Cage in her sexually by pouring liquor all over herself? Well, this is the sexless suburban version. Hi can only be bothered to think about basic household chores if he can associate it with his beloved alcohol.

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Apartment 3-G, 3/12/10

Well, it’s been ten whole weeks — which is what, 48 hours of strip time? 72? — since Margo cleansed away the memory of her dead fiance in holy fire. Now it is time for her to find a new mate! This may bruise your bourgeois sense of sentimentality, but Margo has needs — needs for balding, slightly jowly dudes who are well-connected in the art world. Oh, there will be pleasure, Jack, at least for someone.

Spider-Man, 3/12/10

Ha ha, the only way Peter Parker could be a worse negotiator would be if his eyes popped out of his head and made an AH-WOO-GA noise. I look forward to the next two to four weeks of edge-of-your-seat action, in which our hero tries to cash this check without paying excessive fees, despite the fact that he doesn’t have a local bank account.

Mark Trail, 3/12/10

“That Senator Wallace, he’s a real politician! Remember that time when he campaigned for office, got elected, and then served in the Senate? Man, that’s just the sort of thing a politician would do!”

Marmaduke, 3/12/10

Marmaduke will of course serve as his own defense attorney, at the Hague.