09.30.04 blowin' in the wind

Today's Non Sequitur comic strip really struck a chord with me. It depicts a guy whose ultra-powerful leaf blower caused him to tip over a car as he was blowing leaves into the street. The caption reads: "The WMD of Suburbia."

I hate leaf blowers with a fiery passion. They are major purveyors of noise pollution, and they don't even get rid of the leaves -- they just move them around. You know, when I owned a house, I did the same thing without any noise, using a miraculous tool called a "rake."

Planning to watch the debates tonight? Read this first. Personally, I plan to get all of my debate coverage from my #1 news source, "The Daily Show."

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09.28.04 love and death

I spent half an hour or so today going through some old correspondence & memorabilia that hadn't been touched in probably 7-8 years, in a so-far futile effort to find copies of the comic strip Homeboys' Neighborhood that James might have sent me during its brief run in Detroit (see the comments page for discussion). It's sort of interesting to see what I saved, though. Suffice it to say that I had a totally different life 10-15 years ago.

One thing I had torn out and kept: a special Valentine's Day article from Ladies' Home Journal's Feb. 1990 issue by the novelist Louise Erdrich. "For months I prepare to spend Valentine's Day in Paris by trying to lean, from French tapes, the language that my husband, Michael, knows so well," the essay begins. "I know I have found not only my life's love, but someone I can travel with," she continues later on. And the note at the end of the article says, "Ms. Erdrich has kept this special love story a secret from Michael. Its publication, plus a surprise trip back to Paris this month, is her special gift to him. Happy Valentine's Day!"

Six years after this article was published, Erdrich and her husband, author Michael Dorris, separated; in 1997, he took his own life amidst allegations of sexual abuse involving their children. "I think in the end he could not imagine a life without the woman he loved best of all," said Simon Schama, one of the people who spoke at Dorris' memorial service at Dartmouth College.

It's unbelievably sad to think that the story of this madly-in-love, talented young couple would end like that. The article's subhead says Erdrich's story will "warm your heart," but at 14 years' remove, it gave me chills instead.

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09.26.04 offline

For the past 48 hours, I have been offline. I checked my e-mail on Friday afternoon, then spent several enjoyable hours with friends visiting from out of town, went home and straight to bed. On Saturday morning, our internet access was gone.

It's yet another SBC problem, the kind we have suffered occasionally during the years we've had residential DSL; none of the problems have ever been our fault, and yet we suffer by being thrown into the Byzantine world of phone trees, first-line and second-line technical support, waiting on hold for hours, and employees who know less about computers than we do. It is the weekend, which, of course, makes it all the more difficult to get help.

There are, of course, many things for me to do that don't involve computers. I catch up on the latest "Queer Eye" episodes stored on my TiVo, solve the New York Times crossword puzzle, do laundry, read the Peter Lovesey novel we'll be discussing at my next book club meeting. But what I have realized this weekend is that by and large, my life is now online, and I find that a little unsettling.

Over and over and over again, things come to mind and then I realize I can't do them beccause I'm offline. I want to add the "Office Space" DVD to my Amazon wish list -- oops, can't. What time should we leave for San Francisco tonight? I'll check 511.org to see how the traffic is moving -- no, scratch that. I'll work on some stuff for one of my clients -- uh-uh, they sent me the changes on Friday afternoon and I hadn't yet downloaded them to my hard drive. I wonder what the latest baseball scores are? -- nope, I'll have to watch TV 'til they show up, or wait 'til tomorrow's paper. I have some items to donate to Wardrobe for Opportunity and I need the dropoff locations -- darn, I have their site bookmarked.

The crazy thing is that I made it through the first 20 or so years of my life with no internet. I was an early adopter; I had an e-mail address years before the World Wide Web existed. During the past decade, however, I have started working online, making friends online, shopping online. I receive hundreds of e-mails a day; I picture them now, piling up in my two e-mail accounts, my spam folder filling with offers to refinance my mortgage and meet cheating housewives. I think about all the time it will take me to go through them when I'm back online. Right now, I feel like one of those Sony robot dogs after its batteries have died; my body is still here, I have not gone anywhere, but I'm not effective, I can't perform my tasks. The line connects me to my computer; I am tied down, I cannot break free.

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09.23.04 stripping

About a zillion years ago, I wrote for the Baltimore Sun newspaper. For some reason, I have hung onto a gigantic box of all my old articles (this was in the days before everything went online), even paying to have it moved across the country. It occurred to me that I could probably free up some space by throwing a bunch of these newspapers away -- the duplicates, at the very least -- since it's safe to say I don't plan on going back into journalism, and even if I wanted to, I can't imagine a bunch of 15-year-old clips would get me very far. For fun, I pulled out the June 25, 1991 edition of the Today section. Broadway producer George Abbott was celebrating his 104th birthday (he made it to 107!); "City Slickers," "Jungle Fever" and "Don't Tell Mom the Babysitter's Dead" were playing in the theaters; Regis was still paired with Kathie Lee, David Letterman aired at 12:30 AM on NBC, and "Law & Order" was on (some things never change).

Since Josh of "I read the comics so you don't have to" blog fame does his comics-reading in the Sun, I thought I'd also list the contents of the funny pages way back when. Will it surprise you that most of these strips are still around today? From top to bottom of the page:

Doonesbury
Sally Forth
Sibling Revelry
Brenda Starr
For Better or For Worse
Mother Goose & Grimm
Apartment 3G
Curtis
Mary Worth
Rex Morgan, M.D.
Luann
Smith Family
Crock
Beetle Bailey
Herman
Ziggy
Real Life Adventures
Marmaduke
Bizarro

I believe only two of these comics have since bitten the dust. I had totally forgotten about The Smith Family, which, according to this page, ran until 1994, and Sibling Revelry. On the face of it, Sibling Revelry looks innocent, but this letter writer notes that it "perpetuates the myth that divorced men are 'gullible and easily manipulated,' eager to avoid custody, terrified of being alone with their children, and actually thankful they don't have to spend more than a few hours with them each month."

Due to the paucity of info about either of these now-defunct strips on the web, I thought I would reproduce them here:

Who, pray tell, is the hidden figure who brags of his or her "ultimate power" over the small child's moods? A parent? A sibling? A sadistic child psychologist? Also, the phrasing ("Gobs of sweets are essential for sound teeth") sounds oddly old-fashioned, suggesting that despite the 1991 date, strip creators "Mr. & Mrs. George Smith" were still mentally in an age where Uncle Miltie ruled the tube and milkmen still made home deliveries. Meanwhile, note the appearance of the characters in Sibling Revelry -- Lori, who looks rather normal; her little brother, whose nose, ears and feet are all ridiculously outsized; and Willie, who bears a striking resemblance to a troll. If, as the letter writer I linked to above suggests, the siblings are children of divorce, you almost have to wonder if they even had the same father. This kid makes Darryl MacPherson's schnoz look petite by comparison.

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09.22.04 r.i.p. russ meyer

Russ Meyer has died at the age of 82. I will admit to not being that familiar with his oeuvre, which includes such titles as "Vixen!," "Europe in the Raw," "Finders Keepers, Lovers Weepers!" and "Beneath the Valley of the Ultra-Vixens," but Meyer did direct one of my top favorite 10 movies of all time, "Beyond the Valley of the Dolls." "BVOD" is a timeless masterpiece that I have been fortunate enough to experience twice on the big screen; why it hasn't been released on DVD, fully restored and with commentary tracks (I'm sure "BVOD" screenwriter Roger Ebert, who has done commentaries for several other DVDs, would be more than happy to supply one), is a mystery. "BVOD" has everything -- sex, violence, drugs, death & destruction, attractive women playing rock 'n roll music, the Strawberry Alarm Clock, dialogue like "This is my happening and it freaks me out!" and "You will drink the black sperm of my vengence"... seriously, this movie is so f---ing great, it's almost scary.

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09.21.04 land of the "lost"

The first thing you should know about "Lost," which premieres tomorrow night on ABC, is that it scared the bejesus out of me. The second thing you should know is that it airs from 8-9 PM, which used to be known as "the family hour" back in the Dark Ages when I was a kid. What were you thinking, ABC? This is a 10 o'clock show if ever there was one. If "Lost" was a movie, it would probably be rated PG-13. From 9-11 PM on Wednesday, after this harrowing drama has aired, ABC will be running the innocuous "Bachelor." I know which show would give me nightmares, and it's not the one involving Chris Harrison and long-stemmed roses.

Anyway, if you have a higher tolerance than I do for incredibly realistic-looking plane crashes, bloody gaping wounds, and mysterious, man-eating creatures, you really should check out "Lost." For one thing, it's beautifully shot on location in Oahu, which stands in for a remote island somewhere in the Pacific where 48 survivors are marooned after their plane goes down. For another, "Lost" is genuinely compelling television. Like the first season of "24," it hooks you instantly. By the end of the two-hour pilot (it's been split up, so the conclusion will air on Sept. 29), you'll probably be caught up in the fates of its many characters. My favorites so far are the perceptive, intelligent 9-year-old boy (Malcolm David Kelley) who had been en route to America with his father, whom he's never really known, after his Australian mom passed away; and the Iraqi Republican Guard vet played by Naveen Andrews, a.k.a. That Really Hot Guy From "The English Patient."

No doubt you'll have your own favorites -- heck, with 48 recurring characters to choose from, there's someone for everyone! Just don't get too attached; with all of those scary monsters running around, I'll bet the cast of "Lost" gets whittled down, "Sopranos"-like, over the coming weeks.

Because so much of what's on TV is utter crap, when a show comes along that dares to display some creativity, style and intelligence, the critics go ga-ga, as they have been doing over "Lost." But there's nothing profound about this show; it's sort of a hybrid of "Jurassic Park," "Survivor" and "Gilligan's Island." Still, it's pretty to look at, it has some terrific actors (Dominic Monaghan from "Lord of the Rings" is also on board as a drug-addicted rock star), it's scary, it'll keep you guessing. If you're looking for something to unwind with at the end of the day, and you're sick of the umpteenth new "Law & Order" or "CSI" spin-off, give "Lost" a try. Just keep the kids away from the set.

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09.20.04 my week

During the past seven days, I have attended a City Arts & Lectures event, two plays, my book group, a literary salon with the talented and gracious Jacqueline Winspear, and a homeowners' association meeting. I've volunteered at my local library, put together an e-commerce-capable web site with more than 50 pages, updated sites for five other clients, walked my dog three times a day, and fulfilled numerous record company orders. I say this only to explain why I haven't been so assiduous lately about updating this site with actual interesting content.

I did find time to watch the first episode of the newest "Survivor," and am pleased to report that I was thoroughly bored. Perhaps "All-Stars" really did break the iron grip of my "Survivor" addiction.

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09.17.04 is that a trowel in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?

"Are You Sure?" has been downloaded 14 times this week, putting it at #28 on the Britpop chart. I know we can do better, people. But, thanks to those of you who have downloaded it -- I love each and every one of you. Air kiss!!

My readership numbers are way down; I guess my hectoring posts about Statuesque MP3s are turning off the vast North American blog-reading public. So today, I present something more salacious in an effort to "hook" readers, as well as get some of that all-important Google demographic.

The Toronto Film Festival. Sure, it's held in Canada, our polite neighbor to the north. But if you think that means it's all G-rated family fare, think again, eh? Toronto's Eye Weekly covered some of the extreme cinema shown at the fest, including young Swedish director Lukas Moodysson's fourth film, "A Hole in My Heart." Now, I absolutely loved Moodysson's first two films, "Show Me Love" and "Together," and decided that I would see all of his movies, come hell or high water -- a promise to myself that I may soon regret, since "A Hole in My Heart" has, amazingly enough, secured U.S. distribution. (His third feature, "Lilya 4-Ever," was so heart-wrenchingly difficult to watch that I never thought he'd be able to top it; I guess I was wrong.)

Word is that the film prompted numerous walk-outs in Toronto due to its graphic nature. It's about three people shooting an amateur porn movie in a dingy apartment, so there's nudity and sex, but apparently, that's only the beginning. "Vomit should be listed as a cast member," writes Eye's Jason Anderson, who adds that the film is "brave, vital and humane. You can take it." I'll try, Jason, but I can't guarantee that I won't cover my hands with my eyes. You know how sometimes reviews say that something is "not for the squeamish"? Well, "the squeamish" is me.

"Heart" may look like "The Princess Diaries" next to French director Catherine Breillat's "Anatomy of Hell," in which a suicidal woman and a gay stud "commit sexual acts that sometimes require the use of garden tools." There's more, much more, but you'll have to click on the link above to read it, 'cause I'm sure as heck not going to repeat it here.

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09.16.04 keep downloading

"Are You Sure?" is now up at #36 on Amazon.com's Britpop chart, so if you haven't downloaded it yet, please do so. And tell your friends. Can't we turn this into one of those viral marketing thingies the 'net is supposed to be so good for?

I'm terribly busy today, so you'll be spared my tales of last night's brushes with avant-garde theater and BART system failure.

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09.15.04 download this!

Hey kids, want to do me a favor? Sure you do! Just go to this page on Amazon.com and scroll down to "Free Downloads" (located right underneath the track listing). Then download a copy of the MP3, which is "Are You Sure?" by Statuesque. At this writing, it's #45 in the "Top Britpop" downloads. My goal is to push it up to the top ten. I suspect it won't take more than a dozen downloads to create some movement. Even if you already have the album, why not enjoy a lovely digital copy, too? You are excused if you are on a dial-up modem (Luddite!!), but everyone else, c'mon, lend me a hand here. I promise, it's a really good song.

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09.13.04 emergency

We were driving on Grand Ave. in Oakland. A man was riding a bike a few car lengths ahead of us. All of a sudden -- and this happened so fast, it was as though he'd been pedaling along one moment, lying sprawled on the ground the next -- a car door opened, the bicycle hit the door, the driver's side window shattered, and the cyclist lay unmoving on a carpet of smashed safety glass.

Joe stopped the car. We were just a few yards away from the scene. The driver started getting out of her car. I grabbed my cell phone, which was attached to my belt. My cell phone is unfashionably large -- it can't take photos or play downloadable ring tones or any of that other high-tech stuff; the statement it makes is, I got this phone for free years ago when I signed up for service, and I've been too cheap to replace it, since it still works. For the first time in my life, I was the first person to arrive at the scene of an accident. I knew what I had to do, what had been drilled into my head for decades: call 911.

I dial. Busy signal. What the heck? Shouldn't I at least be put into a queue or something? Your call is very important to us. All of our 911 operators are assisting other callers. Please wait for the next available operator. Try not to bleed to death in the meantime. Once again, I punch in nine-one-one. Busy. Again -- busy. Five times total -- busy.

Around my third try, Joe jumps out of the car and runs into a nearby shop to ask the clerk to dial 911. She successfully completes the call and comes out to report that an ambulance is on its way. By this time, a crowd of people has gathered around the groggy cyclist, who has managed to stand up. I'm pretty sure he was wearing a helmet, thank goodness.

Apparently, this is not unusual; Consumer Reports states that many cell phone customers have reported difficulties dialing 911, and quotes an expert: "A lot of consumers assume that a 911 call from a cell phone is just as accurate as from a landline phone. It comes as a surprise to them that it is not." I always figured I could count on my cell phone in case of an emergency, and it's a little frightening to learn that it may not be of any help after all.

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09.09.04 denial ain't just a river in egypt

Add one more political doc to the list below: "Bush's Brain," which opens in theaters here on Sept. 17. It's about Karl Rove, "the Svengali-esque, ruthless, remorseless, cold-blooded but brilliant political puppet master whom many credit with masterminding not only George W.'s improbable ascent to the governorship -- and, even more improbably, to the presidency -- but also with the end of bipartisan government itself" (Austin Chronicle). Sounds fun.

I just found out that the husband of one of my oldest friends is due to be deployed to Kuwait next year (he's a member of the Navy Reserves). He's a psychiatrist, so perhaps he'll be helping people deal with the stress of war. Needless to say, my friend is terrified -- "I just am in denial" right now, she wrote to me. She's convinced that the draft will be reinstated if Bush wins (OK, Jeff, I will no longer say "reelected").

Aren't we all in denial, in a way? We try not to think too hard about the 1,000+ war dead from this country... and the many thousands of family members and friends who mourn their loss, and will do so every day for the rest of their lives. And we definitely don't want to think about the Iraqi victims, undoubtedly much greater in number. Eventually, though, as my friend's example shows, this war will touch us all personally, one way or another.

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09.07.04 an open letter to michael moore

Dear Mike,

I hope you don't mind me writing to you. I have been on your mailing list for a few years now, and you like to communicate via open letters, to people like George W. Bush, former President Clinton, even Elian Gonzalez. So I figured it would be OK.

Mike, I think you're a brilliant filmmaker. I saw "Roger and Me" on its opening weekend, and I've been a huge fan ever since. So naturally, I ran right out to see "Fahrenheit 9/11." I thought it was an extremely powerful piece of work. However, back in June, I had no idea that your film would prove to be the harbinger of the hottest cinematic trend of the summer -- G.O.P.-bashing documentaries. That's right, Mike. In a season when we're supposed to be enjoying light entertainment, the movie theaters here in the Bay Area started serving up a steady diet of such fare as "Uncovered: The War on Iraq," "Outfoxed," "The Corporation," "Orwell Rolls In His Grave," "Brothers in Arms," "Hijacking Catastrophe: 9/11, Fear & the Selling of American Empire," "The Hunting of the President" and "WMD: Weapons of Mass Deception."

Now, I realize that blaming you for this is the equivalent of blaming Nirvana for all of the lousy bands like Candlebox and Nickelback that followed in their wake. But the fact is that I don't want to see movies about politics; in fact, as a topic, politics is right down there with cannibalism, the Ebola virus and Paris Hilton on the list of things I don't care to see documented on film. Yeah, I'll admit that I haven't actually seen the movies I'm complaining about, and I don't want to (LA Weekly described "Uncovered" as a "hastily slapped-together festival of talking heads" -- pass the popcorn!). Maybe I'm just at tiny bit bitter about what I consider the lameness of the '04 summer movie season.

You were probably too busy promoting your movie and doing things like covering the Republican convention for USA Today to catch many of this summer's flicks, so I'll summarize. I endured laugh-free "comedies" like "Anchorman" and "Dodgeball"; overrated indie fare such as "Garden State," which should have been rated NC-30 (no one over 30 will be admitted, lest they fall into a stupor caused by an acute overdose of twentysomething angst); and misbegotten sequels and remakes like "The Manchurian Candidate" and "The Bourne Supremacy." There were exactly three films I liked this summer: yours, of course; "Spider-Man 2," the thinking person's comic-book movie; and the sublime Chinese historical epic "Hero."

Now compare that to last summer, which was chock-full of excellence: "Spellbound," "Camp," "Whale Rider," "Swimming Pool," "American Splendor," etc. Dare I wonder what the local art houses would have been playing if they hadn't been clogged with left-wing documentaries? Maybe nothing very special, but all the same, it's something I've pondered lately.

I'm sure this is a peculiarly Berkeley/San Francisco situation. I seriously doubt my home town of Grand Rapids, Mich., will be featuring any screenings of "Uncovered" any time soon. That's another problem I have -- these flicks are preaching to the converted. Your movie generated so much publicity that it probably drew in a few nonbelievers, but who is going to shell out eight bucks to see "Outfoxed" in a theater if they're not already a certified Bush-hater?

I'm hoping this is an election-year phenomenon, though I'm not sure what'll happen once Bush gets reelected in November (I know you think I'm wrong about this, Mike, but I'd be willing to bet a pizza that your ol' buddy W will prevail in the end). Maybe left-leaning documentarians will start pumping out more anti-Bush movies (hey, there's always impeachment!); perhaps they'll turn their digital video cameras on something non-political. All I can say is that if the summer of '05 brings more of the same, well, thank goodness for my library card.

Your pal,
--Sue

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09.06.04 with friends like these...

Ann Patchett's Truth and Beauty tells the story of the novelist's longstanding friendship with the poet Lucy Grealy, best known for her Autobiography of a Face. During a childhood bout with cancer, a part of Grealy's jaw had to be removed; throughout the remainder of her life, she had to undergo dozens of surgeries in an effort to restore her jawline. At her side throughout these ordeals were her dozens of close friends, including Patchett.

This is a fascinating book, because as with a marriage, no one on the "outside" can ever really know the whole truth about the inner workings of a friendship. Instead of choosing to canonize her late friend, Patchett writes honestly and openly about Lucy's enthusiasm, talent and loyalty, as well as her petty jealousy, impetuousness and endless need for reassurance -- as well as the heroin addiction that almost tore the friendship apart before Lucy's death (which was ultimately ruled an accidental overdose).

Grealy wasn't the type of pal you could have lunch with every couple weeks, maybe exchanging the occasional e-mail in between. No, she was a demanding friend who required a lot of emotional, and at times physical, energy. Patchett was by her side after operations, cleaning her vomit and emptying bedpans; she listened willingly when Lucy would call her late at night, sobbing, to complain of her great loneliness (no matter how many friends or sexual liaisons she had, she craved genuine, romantic love); she occasionally paid her bills; she took her into her Nashville home when Lucy was at her worst, inviting her to stay forever, wanting to do all she personally could to keep Lucy from drugs. But it couldn't be done -- Grealy was drawn back to New York, to the dangerous life that ultimately proved her undoing.

While I was reading Truth and Beauty, I was continually amazed at how Patchett put up with Lucy for so long. Sure, we are told about her magnetic personality, her charm and wit, the zest for life perhaps only possessed by one who has come close to death. But how many of us would have Patchett's endless reservoirs of patience? Could we do all that she did, not for a spouse, a parent or a sibling -- but for a friend?

It took 20 years for Patchett to finally reach the end of her rope with Grealy. After the success of her novel Bel Canto, Patchett was invited to a holiday party at the New York Times. She flew up from Tennessee and attended the party, never even notifying her friend -- by then seriously hooked on heroin -- that she was in town. A few days later, Lucy was dead, leading to the inevitable Could I have saved her? despite the fact that she'd been trying to do just that for years and years.

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09.04.04 subliminable

Quick quiz to find out if you & I have similar senses of humor. I saw this and I laughed out loud for at least five minutes.

Adrants: Real Estate Firm Uses Subliminal Dogvertising

(I understand this has been floating around the 'net for about a week, but I just saw it, so as usual, I'm hopelessly out of touch. By the way, the Danville, CA house in question, about 30 miles from my home, is listed at $1,150,000. No word on whether or not that includes the dogs.)

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09.03.04 gee, your cd smells terrific

Sure, spam is annoying, but occasionally I actually sign up for e-mail from certain companies -- all going to a disposable Yahoo! account in case my address falls into the wrong hands -- based on "my marketing preferences." Because if they're my preferences, the mail should be of interest to me, right?

Today I received an e-mail about this totally bizarre new product. I'm not making this up -- it's a CD player that plays smells instead of songs. The scents include the nebulously-titled "Exploring the Mountains," "Sailing in the Bay," and "Dew Drops on Petals," as well as the more evocative "Tranquil Vanilla" and "Strolling By Lilacs." The spokescelebrity for Scentstories is Shania Twain -- the web site claims, "The specially designed disc player and any of the scent-themed discs let you enjoy a new scent experience in any room as easily as you'd play your favorite Shania CD." (Insert your own joke here if you must, but I honestly don't think her music is that bad, OK?!) Each disc contains five scents; the player, which retails for $34.99, rotates through them, causing a new smell to waft through the air every half hour.

Personally, I'm waiting for the day when other companies will be able to create their own Scentstories CDs. I'm sure 125 Records would be up to the task. I'm already envisioning "A Day in San Francisco," which would start out pleasantly with "Morning at Peet's" (the smell of fresh-roasted coffee), cycling through "Mission Taqueria" (grease plus sizzling carnitas), "A Romp Through Fort Funston" (dog poo), "Haight St. Head Shop" (incense), "Tenderloin SRO Hotel" (disinfectant plus the indelible scent of a urine-stained mattress), and winding down with "Transbay Terminal at Rush Hour" (bus exhaust fumes). I'll bet John Waters could do a lot with this technology.

This particularly fascinating e-mail also hipped me to Pringles Prints, potato "crisps" emblazoned with trivia questions in blue Comic Sans ("What force holds things to Earth? Gravity," reads a sample). Pringles wants consumers to help them "brainstorm new topics." OK, here's my idea: "Fun With Nutrition!" How about these:

• Pringles contain MSG!
• Pringles contain trans fats!
• One ounce of Pizzalicious Pringles contains 11 grams of fat!
• Aren't you embarrassed buying a product named "Ranch-Rageous Pringles"?
• Pringles with Olestra cause abdominal cramping!
• Pringles are made by pressing a dough made from ground potatoes into the shape of a chip, then frying!
• A 175-pound man would have to walk 3,000 steps to burn off the calories in only 14 chips!

I think we'd all learn a lot.

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09.02.04 not funny

Returning to my hit parade of topics, one of my favorite blogs, joshreads.blogspot.com, featured an entry about Barney Google & Snuffy Smith a couple days ago. Now, you could have knocked me over with a feather -- this hillbilly horror is still around?! I have come to the conclusion that no comic strip ever goes away, and that if you go deep enough into rural America, you'll probably discover a paper running The Katzenjammer Kids, Red-Eye, The Yellow Kid, Dondi and Gasoline Alley.

Josh tends to pay an inordinate amount of attention to the "serial strips," like Mary Worth and Rex Morgan, M.D., all of which have gotten the heave-ho here in the Bay Area due to their low standing in reader-favorite polls. The last one standing was Mary Worth, which was yanked from the Contra Costa Times a few years back. They obviously have their adherents somewhere, although I suspect they're mostly read by a handful of young smart-asses like Josh (I mean that as a compliment, by the way) and people who still have firsthand memories of the Hoover administration.

Just imagine if TV was run the same way the funny pages are. We'd still be chuckling along with "Father Knows Best" and "Leave It to Beaver" -- the casts and writers would change, of course, but the characters would stay the same, forever trapped in a white-bread suburbia of the past. Oh, maybe June Cleaver would get a job as a caterer, like Blondie did a few years ago, in a desperate effort to keep the show "with-it," but the main thing to remember is that people don't like change! Garfield must forever kill spiders and eat lasagna and hate Mondays; Beetle Bailey will never go to Iraq or Afghanistan; Hagar the Horrible will always loot, pillage and be henpecked; Charlie Brown, years after his creator's death, still loses his kites to the kite-eating tree. The news on the front page is ever-changing, but back in the funny pages, with rare exceptions, it's still 1954.

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09.01.04 the year in blog

After eight months, I think it's time to take a look back at where we've been -- and where we're going. Judging from the response I've gotten from my readership, which now hovers, miraculously, around the 30-person mark, here is what you like to read about:

1. Cocktails
2. Encounters with celebrities (note to self: meet more celebrities)
3. Comic strips
4. Movies

And now, the topics which inspire negativity or indifference:

1. Reality TV
2. The Giants
3. Theater

Of course, I still plan to write about whatever the heck I want, but it's an interesting data point. In any case, I appreciate your reading my humble jottings.

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All content © 2004 by Sue Trowbridge