Pet Peeves - Distracting Covers

They say the mark of a good comic is how invisible the results are.  What readers oftentimes don't notice is the hundreds of man-hours put into improving the craft so that all the effects - drawing, inking, sound effects, borders, paneling, character design, dialogue, fonts and dozens of factors that add up into a collaborative effort that brings everything together into a single product that flows and seams effortlessly.  But there's another inconspicious factor that affects me that not many others would otherwise notice.

Recently, I took out a children’s book titled White as Milk, Red as Blood, the Forgotten Fairy Tales of Franz Xaver von Schonwerth.  It was potentially interesting, but I had tremendous difficulty reading more than a few pages at a time.  It wasn’t because of the contents, or the typeset, but something else that intruded greatly on my concentration that most other people wouldn’t be bothered by:

The cover had noticeable ridges that I continuously felt while reading that kept me from enjoying the book.

This isn’t the only book that I’ve had trouble with.

Sarah Anderson is one of the most popular minimalist webcartoonists online, and has printed a bevy of books collecting some of her memeable stuff.  Yet I’ve never been able to read an official copy because her covers of her sweater are incredibly scratchy.  And the spaces between don't help matters much.  The only way I was able to read her stuff in dead tree form was because the library copy laminated the cover, making it more palatable to my liking.

Maus is one of my favorite comics, and one I consistently reread despite (or because) of the depressing subject material.  Mainly because it's such remarkable cartooning craft done right, and as this link points out, is done in such a way that the layout of the page puts all the elements together in a way that makes everything appear seamless.  (Even if some people think otherwise)  So when I saw a hardcover omnibus on sale, I didn't hesitate at the chance to pick it up.  I should've lingered a little longer, for if I had, I might've noticed that the spine was particularly scratchy, like carrying grainy cotton.


Recently, there were two other books I read that I had to brave overcoming my distaste for the feel of the cover so I could consume the contents.  The first one was Petrograd, a speculative history of the British Government's involvement in the assassination of Rasputin.  It was only the letterhead that felt rough, - the pictures on the opposite side were smooth - and suffered the same problems as the Maus cover, only larger.  Since it was a bulky tome, most of my concentration was focused on the spine.  Fortunately, it was a fairly quick read, so I didn’t have to suffer too much.

The other book was Brazen: Rebel Ladies who Rocked the World, and like the factoid comics in the vein of Paradox Press's Big Book series, is utterly fascinating.  It's also on similar ground of their unreleased Big Book of Wild Women, only drawn by a single artist, which allows for greater consistency.

Some preview samples which can be seen on The Lily, for as long as they’re available.

It’s not just covers that can be a major turn-off, but the pages as well.  I’m simply unable to read a novel if the edges of a paper book aren’t uniform.  There are some books where the edges are jagged to resemble the medieval theme of warped pages.  I’ve actually had to turn down several books that looked potentially promising because I couldn’t flip the pages properly.  I normally thumb my way by bending the book, and when the pages jut out, it feels extremely uncomfortable, and drastically slows down my reading time.

One novel cover that I found bothersome was The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime.  Rather ironic, since it dealt with an autistic protagonist with sensory issues.  At least in that case, I could remove the cover, since it bothered me so much, but I might not have that luxury with some other books.  And there were some library books that protected their books with plastic wrapping that overextended their dimensions and made it harder for me to feel comfortable holding it in my hands.

When the pages are uneven like that, it makes it incredibly easy to accidentally skip a page ahead, and mistakenly read further ahead than you meant to.

Another aspect of books that I find particularly cumbersome - cover flaps.  These are notoriously common in softcover BD volumes, and can make flipping through pages difficult due to their flimsy nature.  Unlike regular hardcovers, opening to the first page has them flying away in the breeze, flapping apart without a handlehold to control them.  And of course, hardcovers are more expensive.  They are particulary noticeable in the English versions of Dorohedoro and 20th Century Boys.

The 15th cover of Dorohedoro had the erroneous printing error of having a cut right on the edge of the cover flap, which was extremely noticeable when holding the pages open.  And it turned out that ALL copies were similarly affected.  The closest I got to a replacement was finding a bookstore that had one that was cut only halfway up, and making a trade there.

A close representation of the rip, with a white line showing where the cutoff point was,
around the knee.

Unlike the other features of books mentioned here, I at least have some control over these.  I compensate by taping down these corners so they won’t fly off the handle as I start off or near the end.  It helps that there isn’t any additional art hidden underneath them, which makes taping the edges down easier.

I suppose that might be why people seem to be preferring the electronic version of literature, despite missing out on the tactile sensation of books.  They have some kind of control over their media, and can increase the text size, find key words by using search options, and instantly go to specific pages with a single click.  Still, I'll stick with what I'm used to.

Non to Nonnonba: Autobiographical Visual Metaphors

Recently, I read the pseudo-autobiography of Shigeru Mizuki, the residential founder of Yokai (Ghost stories) Manga.  While recent reviews of the book seem to garner mostly praise, my perception was more closer to the Comics Reporter's review, which found the book an outright bore, and had to struggle to even finish the damned thing.

While the majority of the narrative focuses on the lead protagonist, the true co-star clearly belongs to the grandmother, Nonnonba, who was a great influence on the young boy, telling ghost stories of folklore that were preserved for future generations.  While every country has their versions of imaginary monsters (even in Australia, which has enough real-life monsters of its own), Shigeru managed to retain the numerous ghost stories of his youth for posterity, which would account for his popularity.  Fairy Tales or urban legends (which are in a way, kind of adult Fairy Tales) are ways for people to make some kind of sense out of the world they're living in.  Here, Shigeru is haunted by Mr. Sticky (who looks like the mascot of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy), the ghost that follows the sound of your sandals.

Sadly, that reputation doesn't seem to apply very well when talking about his life. While Shigeru Mizuki was the founder of Yokai in Japanese Manga, his reputation for stylish storytelling for schlocky horror themes doesn't apply very well as an autobiography.

The bigger problem stems not just from the wandering narrative, which goes nowhere, but also from the over-reliance of stock poses, of characters constantly holding their hands in repetitive fashions.  (There are similar issues with videogame novels)  Here, haggling, delegating responsibility, lavishing praise, looking contemplative, offering helpful advice, recalling fond memories and basically being lost in thought are all drawn with the same stance.

I realize that Japanese society tends to repress outbursts of outlandish behavior (which is why I have issues with their live-action movies failing to convey emotions convincingly), but that same standard shouldn't have to apply in a particularly cartoony-looking Manga like this.  Constantly relying on old poses for everything is just lazy.  While the time period takes place in the 1920s when the latest Western technology and Japanese tradition were still clashing with each other, Shigeru's mother makes a point of referencing to her family history, using the same pose three times.  One could make bonus points for her not snorting out of her nose in the last panel alone, but that would be too generous.

Whether it's from holding their hands in front of them when they talk, rolling their eyes in thought, putting their arms behind their heads, or stroking their chins in contemplation, there's a lot of sameness to the quality of the drawings.  And the constant display of Shigeru's duck lips don't help either.

One suspects that if Shigeru's assistants didn't help work on the heavily detailed backgrounds, he wouldn't be as highly regarded today.

The bigger problem I have is that whenever a Yokai appears, there's no metaphorical meaning behind them.  No attempt is made to differentiate between whether a Yokai appearance is either happening in a child's imagination, a storytelling element or the result of someone's superstition.  (It's very unlikely they would've actually shown up, since only a select few people can verify for their presence, and that's mostly from a biased perspective)

An underused method is to use visual metaphors in autobiographies, as popularized in Maus, which plenty of people seem reluctant to emulate.  But that shouldn't be a deterrence for keeping others from trying.  For instance, Cancer Vixen, has dozens of visual metaphors to get the point across more succinctly than any passage of longwinded prose ever could.  (Yes, I'm aware that DAR made some similar metaphors for the strip below)

The real reason why Nonnonba seems so dissatisfying is that there are other autobiographies out there that have far more imaginative scope than what Shigeru manages here.  As far as visual grandiosity goes, few can manage to hold a candle up to Epileptic, David B.'s masterpiece about his handicapped brother, and the twisting narrative that led to futilely try to find a cure for his condition.  Like Shigeru, David B. is strongly influenced by his Grandparents, even in their absence, which is imagined in the form of bird-like humans.

To put the two in context, in Nonnonba, a Yokai appears during a robbery, but its presence could either mean that the hostage is fainting from the severeness of the situation, or is overwhelmed by the robber's menacing aura.

Where this falls apart is when the hostage wanders off in a bright area, chasing off the shadow Yokai, at which point, he starts feeling better.  The shadow then leeches onto the robber, and only Shigeru and the Grandma can see it, and warn the robber to change his ways.  What exactly we're supposed to get out of this is hardly relevant or clear.

In comparison, in Epileptic, the disease makes itself represented as an armed snake-creature that ensnares around its victim.  In the early French books, the covers are sparingly drawn with several spare monsters
upon a yellow background, until the sixth book when the numerous creatures have crowded out everything else, leaving only the snake-creature visible on the back cover.

Shigeru has numerous conversations with one particular Yokai, the bean-tossing Azuki-Hakari whose wide-smiled wild-haired appearance always appears head on, never in profile.

This isn't too far removed from having literary character avatars as a form of talking to oneself.  And somehow, borrowing elements from The Last Canterbury Tales seems more sophisticated.

Ironically enough, even though  David B. is capable of drawing tense scenes of horrific imagery, when he tries to emulate the feelings that his epileptic brother conveys in him, he finds it an uphill struggle to do so.

Compared to naval-gazing Indy biographies with Woody Allen self-loathing, Manga biographies are largely tame, considering their source material.  Even Junji Ito's Cat Diary, while filled with grotesquely warped faces, is surprisingly charming and adorable, instead of disturbingly scary.  By all rights, autobiographical Manga should be filled with grandiose visual spectacles conveying the emotional turmoil they're going through.  The closest a Manga biography actually manages to convey the artist's vision in a warped mirror of their life is Hideshi Hino's Panorama of Hell.  But the symbolic imagery that's so prevalent in commercial Manga is strangely absent in these self-contained stories.  Furthermore, when groundbreaking authors spill the beans on their deepest darkest secrets, the results are largely toothless.  Even the master of the short story Gekiga format, Yoshihiro Tatsumi's A Drifting Life had the man going through events at the founding of the Manga industry with nary a drama in place.  While this is more true to life in that "living in interesting times" doesn't mean that there's action on every page, the outright sensibility and lack of visual imagery can make reading these works somewhat of a chore.

Especially annoying are Manga biographies of famous people.  When the historic character spouts rousing emotional platitudes that seems meaningful, upon closer observation, they don't really contain much content.  Furthermore, there's no real sense of "getting in their heads", since all analysis of these historic figures are from second-hand observers and admirers.  It's as if they're so scared of offending any sensitivities, that they don't even bother to tread over some of the more interesting or outrageous parts of that person's history. In fact, its those detractions that make the person truly stand out and become alive.

To use another fitting example of expressing unspeakable, indescribable and unnameable horrors, let's use Lovecraft based on the screenplay by Hans Rodionoff, adapted by Keith Giffen, and drawn by Enrique Breccia.  It was originally intended to be made as a movie, but works just as well as a comic.  But first, a minor digression: early on, it's briefly mentioned that he dressed up as a girl in his youth.

While this could be considered gender confusion nowadays, this kind of practice was actually quite common in its day, and brought up well-adjusted boys like the 32nd President of the United States.  With that incongruous explanation out of the way, let's take a look at an unusual bedtime story, a ritual strangely compelled to associate reading books with drowsiness.  (Which despite evidence to the contrary, is not a cause of drops in literacy)

In case you're not familiar with that particular passage, that's because these titles are no longer in print. (Probably for a good reason)  Despite getting night terrors from these stories, Howard is still drawn to an obscure tome called the Necronomicon, despite all attempts from his mother to forbid him from reading the material.  Censorship - a wonderful way to increase readership.

After his grandfather dies from mysterious circumstances, Howard takes his inspiration for storytelling from his grandfather's old stories.  In fact, most of Lovecraft's weird stories are obscure literary references to ancient passages.  He goes on a personal one-man crusade to prevent these unspeakable horrors from ever entering our world by writing about the very creatures that plague his every waking moment.

In Nonnonba, Chigusa, a young girl with an unnamed sickness is reassured by the numerous stories Shigeru makes up.  Same goes for Miwa, another doomed girl who's eventually sold off.  Shigeru creates numerous fantasy worlds in an attempt to cope with their sudden dying and departure at a young age.  Because of his grandma's influence to show the power of stories (such as dressing up as an ogre to chase bullies away), he was able to

In Lovecraft, the protagonist and his wife make a similar (less magical) journey into the realms of Arkham, where all his stories were said to originate from.  This is the pivotal moment of the biography, so spoilers are abound.  Feel free to skip if you have a queasy stomach for gruesomeness and premature revelations.

After a series of chase scenes and mishaps from typically Lovecraftian creatures, losing his wife along the way, Lovecraft (named Carter here) comes upon the abode of the cruel creature ruling over the realm of this mad and twisted world:

Then Lovecraft's rational twin makes the novice mistake of saying that "we should find and destroy that book", leaving Lovecraft to wonder that if the man opposite him was him, he would already know where the Necronomicon was.  In the end, he stabs the calm man, who devolves into a reoccurring creature that'd been chasing him all his life.  This can be read as a metaphor where both the fantasy and the reality can exist simultaneously.  Whichever one you decide to believe in is entirely up to the reader.  I know that most would prefer to imagine the more interesting story.

When comparing the movie Life of Pi to the book, I was asked which one I preferred better.  The answer I gave was, "The one with the tiger."

Manga Movie Techniques

When Japan was regaining their foothold after WWII, they started looking to entertainment as a means of escapism. For the most part, that realm of cheap entertainment turned out to be comics, which led to the Manga explosion we all now know and love. Unlike America, getting a television was considered a luxury, and other than comics, their most common outlet was the movie theater. In A Drifting Life, Yoshihiro Tatsumi attempted to imitate these techniques himself. Some of them were failed experiments, such as spending too much time on one scene, while others such as panning couldn't be replicated properly without losing something in the transition. But there were more successes than failures, and many of the old-school cinematic techniques from back then are still used to this day.

One of the most popularly used ones is where a face is superimposed against the background. This can be either used to show what the protagnist is seeing, or a dramatic closeup of a certain individual who'll be important later. In the former, it's an effective way of simultaneously showing both the background and the character's reaction to what they're seeing. Usually in American comics, we would be subject to the event as shown from the backside of the character's profile, or given two different panels of the same situation. Here, the two have been meshed together into one indivisible entity.


































A very common use of the typical Shojo Manga page is collages of emotional dissonance across the page. If they're reflecting someone's inner turmoil, they can show what they're thinking with the help of flashbacks to previous events, or emotional conflict. Alternately, they can show multiple events happening across an unspecified amount of time.


































The closest American equivalent would be those montage scenes of crime happening simultaneously. Given the American comic's upbringing originating from an extension of Pulp magazines, (as evidenced in Gerald Jones' Men of Tomorrow) this kind of occurrence was very common.










































People may complain about comics being influenced by outside media, but it's been that way for ages. Superman didn't start being vulnerable to Kryptonite until the radio show. By the same token, Mangas were influenced by movies, and in turn, movies influence Manga. The first Naruto Vs. Sasuke fight was reminiscent of Neo versus 100 Agent Smiths, and a clownfish was visible in a fishtank around the time Finding Nemo was released.

If you've ever wondered why movies have failed to do proper Manga adaptions, part of it stems from being unable to understand the source material. A bigger element is the lack of understanding the underlying origins of a popular medium. Movies were originally extensions of theaterical plays (hence the name Movie Theater), with slightly different camera angles, which is why so many black-and-white classics and sitcoms have such limited sets. They're the result of a fixed camera (the audience) being shown at a consistent angle for subsequentive takes for the duration of the film. Using actual scenery would cost money, and risk bringing the studio heads' attention on an element that would be cost-prohibitive. Until somebody got the idea that the camera could be moved around and sets didn't have to be so restrictive, movies became more flexible and experimentative.

Since comics operate on a different level of storytelling from movies (though there are similarities, such as storyboards), and because Manga was so completely different from what everybody else was used to, there was a cultural divide with people thinking they'd perfectly understood one element, when they'd only seen a piece of the whole. In their attempt to capitalize on Manga's success, Hollywood has overlooked the humane factor, which was available when Manga was being shaped around movies being produced around that time. That narrative factor is something that's been lost in the wake of overreliance on special effects.

Or maybe they're too lazy to do an actual script that'll appeal to both the fans and new viewers. Outside of the original artists/writers being able to condense the entirety of their 8,000 page comic into a neat 98 minutes and credits, you'd be hard pressed to find screenwriters who'd bother to pump out a half-decent script that wouldn't sound hackened and not rely on pop culture references that won't sound dated three years from now. (Which is also why movies of popular Shonen Mangas such as DragonBall / Naruto / Bleach / One Piece have very little tie-in to the main story and are only tangentially related to the overall plot, but that's an argument for another topic) As a result, most live-action movie adaptions tend to fall on their face when trying to attempt copying something outside their field of experience. And that's perfectly fine with fans who're content to let Manga be done properly in their home country. (Though that's also an oversimplification - fans also get equally upset in finding Anime overtones in movies that only pay lip service to their influences)

However, even Manga isn't free from its own faults, since due to the nature of supply and demand, comics are ubiquitous as a languagein Japan that isn't present anywhere else. Comics are used to explain EVERYTHING, from instruction manuals, to mechanics, to calculus tutorials to how to read the dang things. As a result, the need for handy-dandy narrative comics being available in a hurry means that the artists will have to take some shortcuts in an attempt to keep up and pump out as much material as possible. To act any other way in a cutthroat business would be suicide. (Not Karoshi - that's just overworking) In many cases, they'll often resort to using visual shortcuts which only becomes obvious once you take some time to reflect.













Way way way way WAY back when I was still starting up this blog, I casually made the subject heading of a common theme in movies and TV shows, where a character will throw something to another person, and they'll catch it. It can range from anything from advertising soda pops or car keys. Basically, anything that can be thrown over a distance across the room.















However, when I started doing some research on whether this particular trope was common in Manga, since they're particularly adept at conveying action directly lifted and influenced by Movies / TV shows, I had trouble finding many instances. I thought for sure that there was something like this that happened in Hikaru no Go, but couldn't find it. (I might've been thinking of the author's notes on doing promotional advertising for a water bottle that Waya was picking up)

















Jiro Taniguchi is a well-known and respected Manga artist, even though some people feel that his realistic depictions of everyday life is somewhat stiff. Summit of the Gods is a Manga about man's need to climb insurmountable mountains, the need to express himself through such arduous tasks, and early on, a climber helps his partner out by throwing a pickaxe at his face.



















If his partner hadn't caught it, he could've been the victim of a very unfortunate accident. (Or the perpetrator of a perfect murder in the vast wilderness) In another similar event, there's a pivotal scene in Banana Fish where Cain throws an uzi several floors up, and Ash manages to catch it single handily.














Jerry Seinfeld could hardly manage to throw a package of rye bread up a window, and George could only manage with the help of a fishing rod. For a semi-realistic Manga about mind-control drugs and gang warfare, this particular scene stood out for me. Now, since these are fairly young protagonists and have had more experience at this sort of thing, maybe they're more used to this kind of thing than middle-age Yuppies, but I'm willing to guess that even trained guerrillas would be hard-pressed to recreate such an impossible task even with years of training.

Another pastime event that everybody in Japan seems to enjoy is lying down on riverbanks.




















































However, even this idyllic scenario can be hilariously overused. In this page from Psychic Academy, everybody's squatting on the floor of the apartment building roof, but because of the perspective, it looks like they're sitting at an incline.


































If we rotated the camera angle to a lower position (as evidenced by this handy-dandy MS paint picture), we'd see that they're actually sitting flat across on bare concrete. You'd think chairs would be more comfortable.








I once read a Yaoi (maybe Shonen-Ai) Manga about Angels floating in the air lying on cloudbanks, and they were acting like they were on a riverbank. There are probably other instances of such visual mix-ups, but I haven't found them yet. Stock poses are a common staple, since they're easy to use, and implement in any given scenario, though it cuts down on the usage of original body language. How many instances are there of somebody landing with one foot to the rear, and one hand in the front? Or making a speech by spreading their arms? Count them all up, and you'll become intoxicated in a drinking game.

Too Cheap for my Skates

Recently, I found out that I had an overdue DVD that I'd forgotten to return to the library. The mistake was something that could've been easily overlooked. I took out the fourth Monk DVD, because the version that I owned was a Chinese bootleg version, and thus, didn't have the special features that I wanted to use to field test an interpreter in her final stages of her crash course. Naturally, because I always kept a Monk DVD lying near the TV, I didn't think much of the extra disc lying around. In hindsight, this was a mistake.

Once I found out that I had to pay $4 for the fine, (a dollar for each day) I started going into panic mode. While most people would find these rates reasonable compared to having a membership at a video store (no weekly membership, no paying for your rentals, and no deductables. Well, unless you don't count your taxes, since they're invisible funds) I still felt slighted by the mistake. I felt that this whole mess could've been avoided if I'd gone to the trouble of looking and thinking harder. I have a tendency to go on autopilot too often, and not considering the wider implications of my actions, or inactions. As I often like to say, I don't think - I spontanously respond.

So I went back home, found the missing DVD, and also picked up a package of ramen noodles (four for a buck!) that I thought would lessen the financial crunch. One of the nicer loopholes around this time of year is that the library sets up a charity fund drive so that people who're late with their returns can contribute a can of non-perishible food in a grocery cart for the poor. I rationalized that this was a good deal that could work in both ways. The single ramen package could easily double as a small spaghetti meal if the noodles were soaked long enough, and put into another plate, while the remaining water would serve for the soup stock. It was an easy recipe that I often used to maximize my resources. In return, I wouldn't have to pay too much for taking out a video I'd already had a copy of. It was win-win!

However, once I got back to the library and waited in line again, I took another look at the small print of the food drive. It was for books and magazines only, not for videos and DVDs. Upon reading this little piece of information, I started clutching my stomach which felt queasy all of a sudden. I was willing myself to bring up the courage to face the inevietable - paying the actual money for the fine. I'd brought along a fiver just in case the librarian wouldn't accept my generous offer, but it still felt like a low blow. The librarians noticed my discomfort and asked if I needed to sit down because my expression looked so uncomfortable. I politely declined their offer, knowing that I'd have to complete the task sooner or later. (I couldn't risk the fine increasing on a daily basis) The librarian behind the counter was somebody different from the one who notified me of my overdue video, so she had no idea why I looked in danger of passing out.

















I regretfully handed over the overdue DVD, then wrenchfully pulled out a $5 bill out of my pocket. For one brief moment, I thought about bargaining with the librarian if handing over the ramen noodles might reduce the fine a little. But I knew this was nothing more than a false hope. Besides, I was too uncomfortable to argue. Then, just to sink the final insult in my already fragile armour, instead of the typical dollar in change that I was expecting, I got four quarters instead. This might not seem like much of a difference, but I like to have a certain amount of currency handy on my person. The only bills I had on me when I got word of the fines were $20 bills, and that seemed too large to pay for such a miniscule fine.

If I'd handed over the $20, I wouldn't think that I had a tenner and change. I would think that I was out $20, and I paid an obscene amount for a small sum. Therefore, I'd have to work even harder to make up for the money I lost. Wherever I go, I try to make sure that I have the right kind of bills for the kind of stuff I buy. It's a psychological thing. No matter how much money I have in the bank, I always act like I'm on the verge of bankruptcy. If a certain food item I enjoy has a sudden increase in price, I'll either wait for months until it's on special, or purchase it once I feel I've earned enough to justify indulging myself a little. I simply can't enjoy certain items knowing how much they set me back. I'm not one of those people who believes that the quality of food is indicative to the abhorrent price of the meal. I'll gladly pay for knock-off merchandise, even if they taste awful, at least I saved myself some money. Since they're lousy, that means they have a longer shelf life. I'd rather be rich and miserable than poor and miserable.

While all this might sound unusual, this isn't that far from most people's experiences while shopping. A study found that penny-pinchers are reluctant to spend money since they felt lousy while doing so. In fact, tightwads experienced actual physical pain while paying for money, while shopaholics experienced pleasure while paying. In several cases, "the evidence suggests that frugality is driven by the pleasure of saving, as compared with tightwaddism, which is driven by a pain of paying."

















It's why I admired Vladek Spiegelman, Scrooge McDuck and Groucho Marx for their rentless hoarding of funds long after the Depression period ended, since they resisted any cheap attempts to fritter their valuable money away. After all, you never know when you might need it for something important later.

However, all this pales in comparision to the ultimate cheapskate, which was the topic of a Financial Post article by David Menzies. Here, Chris (all names have been changed to protect the guilty) is somebody who sounds too wonderfully weird to be true. Special attention should be paid to the Halloween section where Chris seemed inspired by a Donald Duck cartoon. If any of these kids had a pair of scissors or equally sharp tools on hand, they could've made out with an extra 25 cents and a suddenly very irate man.

Portrait of a Cheakskate

I had never seen my pal Chris move with such lightning-fast speed, nor with such uncanny agility. Yet, his explosive display of athletic prowess had nothing to do with a sporting pursuit and everything to do with saving money. A fraction of a penny, as it turns out.

Chris had invited me over to his abode so we could watch some TV. As I strolled into his darkened living room, I flicked the light switch to the upright position and plopped into the couch. In that precise nanosecond, Chris flew out of his seat and leapt over the coffee table like some jungle cat. I thought he was going to clock me. The focus of this Olympian-quality hop, skip and jump was the light switch. Chris whacked it back down into the OFF position with such speed and force it was reminiscent of a Michael Jordan slam-dunk.

So, there I sat in the semi-darkness, somewhat stunned, the only illumination being the eerie blue light emanating from Chris’s 14-inch TV screen. But I didn’t bother asking Chris why he turned off the light. I already knew. Chris is the ultimate cheapskate. He tosses nickels around as if they were manhole covers. And wow, can he scrimp.

I would never make light of folks who must embrace thrift in order to make ends meet. Be it those on social assistance, students, the working poor, starving writers… Living beyond one’s means is a prelude to financial disaster. But Chris isn’t hurting for cash. He earns a six-figure salary. He comes from a wealthy family. And he lives mortgage-free thanks to a tenant who illegally rents part of his house.









Being financially secure, you would think that Chris and his wife, Jan, would live it up from time to time — like shopping at Wal-Mart and Sears. Chris and Jan prefer the pre-owned stuff at Goodwill. As F. Scott Fitzgerald once penned: The rich are “different from you and me.” Cheapskates are not like you and me, either.

And oh, the behavior exhibited by the cheapskate. For example, it must be pitch black before Chris turns on his aged car’s headlights — twilight, fog, and snow do not rate. When making a turn, he will only signal at the very last second. After all, a replacement headlight bulb sells for $8: signal light bulbs sell for $3/pair. The family can easily fit into their economy car because they are so skinny (due to miniscule portions of watered-down food.) They all sport odd-looking hairstyles, too. Why go to a barber when you can cut around a bowl? Hair by Tupperware; diet by C.A.R.E. But wait, there’s more: videos are obtained from the public library (free). Straws and tea bags are reused at least three times. Used plastic milk bags are recycled as sandwich wrappers.

Whenever Chris’s daughters have a birthday party, it is actually a “non-party.” The venue is the playroom at his house as opposed to some kiddy party palace. The showstopper comes with the delivery of a single-topping pizza (no tip for the driver). As is standard practice, the pizza parlor pre-carves the pie into slices. But a knife-wielding Chris likes to further subdivide the pie, transforming a 10-slice pizza into a 30-slice one. The only downside is that guests go home hungry.


Nothing brings out the true colors of a cheapskate more so than Halloween. For shelling-out last year, Chris was elated after obtaining a bag of 150 lollipops for $1.48 — less than 1 cent per treat. And since he did not have 150 trick-or-treaters drop by, Chris needn’t stock up this year. Chris’s solution to UNICEF boxes? He drilled a hole in a quarter and affixed some fishing line to the coin. This allows Chris to plop the quarter into a UNICEF box and then yank it out again.

My family can’t bear to go on outings with Chris’s clan anymore because such events are seldom enjoyable: Chris and Jan’s daughters constantly pester us for a meal or a toy. Chris and Jan, meanwhile, conveniently feign deafness whenever their daughters go into beg-mode.

Still, last April, Chris did something completely out of character. He gave my son a small Easter egg. Given this chocolate probably retails for 59 cents, I was shocked. In fact, Chris had a box brimming with about 100 Easter eggs. "What's wrong with this picture?" I pondered. Later, I learned the awful truth. It turns out there was a community-run Easter egg hunt, specifically for young children. Chris and Jan entered themselves in the hunt, beating out toddlers for almost every hidden egg. Other parents looked on in stunned silence.

To this day, Chris has not disposed of the Christmas tree he purchased four years ago (on Christmas Eve when prices were slashed). The remaining needles are now reddish-brown, so every December, Chris simply spray-paints his tree green again.

When Chris and Jan go to a movie, it is always on a Tuesday when tickets are discounted. Nothing beats the value of a double feature for just $7. (It’s not an official double feature — Chris and Jan tend to sneak into an additional film at the multiplex.)

When it comes to sneaking, a hardcore cheapskate embodies the stealth skills of a covert CIA agent. Every Canada Day, a nearby town puts on a huge fireworks demonstration, but the $2 admission fee is $2 too much for Chris. One year he sneaked his family into the grounds by physically removing a barrier. This year, when security was beefed up, he parked his car several kilometres away from the park; Chris, Jan and the kids observed the pyrotechnics taking turns looking through a pair of binoculars.

His social calendar, meanwhile, is pre-arranged on one basis only: free admission. Skating at a nearby rink is during the last half-hour on Sunday; a trip to the museum takes place on a Friday night.

When an ice cream truck tours his neighborhood and kids joyfully converge for a cone, Chris and Jan run into their house. Not to get money, but to supply their daughters with a spoonful of No Frills vanilla ice cream served in old plastic containers that previously contained No Frills pudding.

It gets worse. We once went to a delightful petting zoo (free admission). It is expected that attendees will at least buy some feed for the critters. A vending machine dispenses a handful of feed pellets for a quarter. That’s too rich for Chris. The solution? Chris dropped to his hands and knees and actually crawled around, catching pellets falling from the mouths of goats and geese, redistributing the feed into the hands of his kids.

Food was my motivation for penning this story. Recently, I was working late. Most of the restaurants were closed. I happened to see Chris and Jan, on their way home from shopping. They displayed a pair of scrumptious-looking sausages they had obtained from a butcher shop. I was practically salivating. “Oh, I’m so hungry,” I moaned. Nothing. “I could really go for those sausages,” I hinted. (As an aside, we have entertained Chris and Jan on several occasions — unreciprocated, of course.) “Those sausages smell sooo good and I’m sooo hungry, I’d even buy one off you.” Ka-ching!

“Two-fifty”, responded Jan. Chris quickly interjected, speaking in their native tongue. At first, I thought Chris was rebuking Jan for having the temerity of charging a friend for food. I was beginning to rethink my opinion of Chris. “Two-fifty — each”, emphasized Jan. I later visited the butcher shop, I discovered that Chris had inflated the price of each sausage by 21 cents.

The ultimate act of cheapness came recently when I convinced Chris he should obtain a pair of ice skates so he could actually skate with his daughters. Chris spent weeks going to secondhand shops. Eventually, he obtained a pair of used skates for $3. Sure, there’s a downside – namely, the skates don’t fit properly. But talk about perverse irony: The country’s number one cheapskate has indeed lived up to his moniker by purchasing cheap skates.

And no, I am not worried about making new enemies with this piece given that Chris and Jan will never see it. Actually pay for a newspaper? Don’t be ridiculous.

- David Menzies.