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Kudzu, 3/5/05

Just in case you were wondering.

Kudzu is the most egregious (but by no means the only) perpetrator of what I like to call Vacation Cloud syndrome. Were you ever forced to sit through the slides or photos of someone’s tropical vacation, where they insist on showing you all 219 pictures they took of tropical skies because “each one is so different”? And, I mean, you could spend the long time in studying the pictures, and eventually you would see that in there are subtle variations in the interplay of light and shadow that give each picture a unique feel. But you wouldn’t do that, because it would be a goddamn waste of time. Kudzu is a little like that: I’m sure that each one of the “Spiritual Weatherman” or “Preacher Dunn Gives A Eulogy” or “Doris The Parakeet Watches TV” strips has its own individual charms, but, really, will the payoff be worth the effort in figuring out the subtleties? Sadly, the answer is no.

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Longtime readers know that I am very strict about my commenting-on-one-comic-from-each-day policy. Except, you know, when I’m not. But Sunday’s pickings were pretty slim (except for the appalling Family Circus that was well covered in the previous post’s comments section), and there were two comics on Monday that screamed out for attention, so here they are.

Curtis, 3/7/05

In its continuing efforts to offer a positive image for today’s black teens, Curtis has taken some interesting steps. First it portrayed its tweenage hero as a leering, bug-eyed misogynist (I still can’t get the phrase “nothing more to him than a sexual playtoy” out of my head). Today, we see that he’s so hypersexualized that even his relationship with his bed is layered with lust. Now I have as hard a time getting out of a warm bed as the next guy, but the blandishments (which we can only hope are happening inside Curtis’ cap-adorned noggin) used here are way too smooth-jazz-style flirty for my taste. For reasons I can’t quite put my finger on, I find the term “hunny-pot” particularly vile.

The ass-scratching in panel two is a nice touch as well.

So that’s what’s going on in Harlem. Meanwhile, down in Midtown:

Apartment 3-G, 3/7/05

Why don’t you relax and enjoy your “Cereal”-brand cereal, Margo? Every night that Mim spends in some sex-crazed 19-year-old’s filthy Bed-Stuy walk-up is a night that she doesn’t sleep on your couch, which as of two weeks ago was your primary concern in life. For her part, Tommie here shows us that, thanks to her roommates’ longstanding policy of ignoring her, she’s quite good at holding conversations with herself. She’s her own best friend!

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The Lockhorns, 3/8/05

Today’s Lockhorns isn’t particularly cruel, but is notable: I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen Loretta in a good mood as a result of something Leroy’s done. I’m going to give her the benefit of the doubt and guess that she’s actually pleased that he’s going to get into shape, not because he’s just embarrassed himself in front of the himbo behind the counter. Leroy, of course, has no illusions about his chances of becoming buff; his own grim visage indicates not only his foreknowledge of his own personal failure, but also that he realizes that Loretta’s disappointment will be all the bitterer because her hopes were once ever-so-briefly lifted. Our muscled he-clerk, meanwhile, seems gripped by the soul-sucking listlessness that affects nearly everyone who has the misfortune to wander into the same frame as the Lockhorns. Presumably the two of them are so fundamentally unhappy that their ennui radiates off of them in infectious waves.