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.

Pogo Noir

As promised, here’s the second half of the Calvin influence. The previous example might’ve only been used for a few math strips, but this should leave no doubt of where Tracer Bullet originally came from.


































This becomes even more evident when faced with the use of shadows and the narrative wordplay on the first page. Bill Watterson once mentioned that he bought his father a Pogo book with the intention of giving it as a present to his father. Only, when he cracked it open to see the contents, he wound up keeping it, and his father never got the gift. That was probably Pogo's Peek-a-Book, since it has this, and the previous story. In fact, this comes right after Mother Goosery Rinds. Fantagraphics may have gotten the rights to reprinting the newspaper strips, but there’s nothing about Walt’s Kelly’s other stuff. It’s amazing he was able to pump out this extra stuff in addition to his dailies and Sundays.


































With the untimely arrival of a dame arriving through the door (as all noir pulp novels are won’t to do), we’re presented with one of the most rewarding scenes ever - totally black screens. This shortcut allows us to fill our imagination of what seductive form this vision of loveliness could possibly look like. Could it be Miz Mam'selle Hepzibah having suddenly lost her distinctive French accent? Could it be Miz Beaver in a scandalous low-cut outfit?


































No such luck. This is a children’s funny animal book, remember? Even though it has all the distinctive trappings of Noir fiction, Walt Kelly was too much of a prude to admire the female figure. In art sessions, he was known to hold his hat in front of him while sketching nudes.


































Even though the client has all the sex appeal of a jumping bean, our intrepid detective decides to have a little fun with her at his expense.


































Interestingly enough, even though he's named on the title page, he never right out declares his actual name in the comic itself. That's covering all the bases I guess.


































Blacksad this certainly ain’t.


































It’s at this point that the internal monologue goes completely off the rails and into Frank Millar territory. It’s not quite getting a kick out of violence, or the pushing the limits of a failing body, but more into the realm of a ranting hobo. You’re better off ignoring it completely, then going back and rereading it once you reach the end, since it’ll have more relevance then.


































One wonders what a long-term Tracer Bullet story would be like, if the private dick was totally oblivious to the surroundings while on the case.


































Amusingly enough, this isn’t the only private dick alligator around. Well, it might be, depending on how much you discriminate between alligators and crocodiles.

Stockpiled Ammo

One of the fondest surprises is finding comic treasures in unlikely places in your own abode. I found a stash of Alan Moore’s Violator comics that I always thought had been recycled since my Mom took them away from me because they were “too violent”. I found an old newspaper Sunday comic in one of the most common places for losing things - under the couch. It was slightly folded, but I still remembered the “noise” made from the comics, even though I hadn’t read them in years.

In this case, I was given the task of cleaning out my sister’s old filling cabinet full of her old art and school stuff that she didn’t want to bother looking at again. Some people are a little sensitive about revisiting their early material, since they’re understandably wary of wanting to view their work again after a long time. (In my case, I worry that I won’t be able to do justice to my early writing, and my best stuff’s behind me) Here, I found an AngloMan comic that I’d long since forgotten that was used for a Media project. In view of the anniversary of the Montreal Massacre (one day late) that led to a severe creation of gun laws, it seems like an appropriate contribution. It seems really normal nowadays, but there was extreme pressure at the time, and it almost didn’t get passed in the first place.



















With Stephen Harper being rather lenient with the long-gun registry and undoing years of gun control, this becomes even more relevant. (Oh, BTW, that link up there no longer works, but you can see said relevant eagle here)

I thought a Conservative majority would be good for two reasons. One - it would be a refreshing change of pace, and end years of uncertainty living in a minority government. And if things turned out to be not as welcoming as promised, it would spur the opposing parties (i.e. the Liberals) to step up their games after years of confidence running the country on autopilot.

Secondly, if the Conservatives turned out to be just as corrupt and controlling as their opponents, we would be able to take charge ourselves and demand better from our government. Brian Mulroney’s stint wound up crippling and dividing the then-Conservative party, leading to a Liberal surge for the next 15 years.

Indeed, after years of being warned that the Conservatives “had an agenda” with nothing to show for it, hairline fractures are finally starting to appear on the surface of the unblemished Conservative base. Criticisms that had been silenced when Harper was a minority are beginning to show themselves, and complaints are finally rising to the surface.

However, things are no longer looking as rosy as they once appeared. With the NDP in disarray without Jack Layton’s influence, and the Liberals being reduced to a skeleton crew, this projected outcome appears to be less and less likely. Without a strong alternative to the current ruling power, let alone a strong personality that can bring politicians together, we’re in for a long declining slog.

I didn’t mean to be so depressing, since humour is more my kind of thing, but given the current state of affairs, I don’t know how long I can afford to stay silent. To make matters worse, I know that something is wrong, but I have no idea how to go about solving it. This isn’t like one of those heroic quests where you’ve got a clear-cut bad guy to go after, and have various weapons to pick up along the way. Here, there’s no guidebook, let alone a helpful roadmap to show you which path to take. It’s all open-ended, and it’s up to you to figure out how to solve things in the face of overwhelming opposition and convincing arguments that can be brought down by reasonable logic.

One of the best self-defenses the Government has is an unapproachable element that makes approaching said laws and regulations such a bureaucratic wall of red tape that it’s almost impossible to understand the underlying mechanisms without help.

All that's necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.- somebody, maybe Edmund Burke?

Pogo Math

Back at the beginning of this year, (where does the time go?) I approached the announcement of the release of Fantagraphic’s Pogo collection with great reluctance. I was extremely dubious of them ever releasing Walt Kelly’s work, given how often they’d been pushing back their release date. At the time, I vowed that if they actually followed through on their promise, I would show two Pogo comic shorts that were an obvious influence on Calvin & Hobbes.


































When the launch date came and went, I was mystified when I heard accounts of people being in awe with the impressive package, even though I hadn’t seen the actual product in question. It hadn’t been preordered at my comic shop, so I had no clue whether it’d been delayed through that particular outlet. I didn’t want to post the pages until I saw the book in person.


































It took going to several bookstores until I found it buried somewhere in the humour section of a large bookstore. It was extremely tricky finding it, because the comic selections were all over the map. There was one corner that sold Manga, several shelves further away selling Graphic novels, children’s Manga on the other side of the store, and French BDs smack dab in the middle. The humour section was on another floor, sandwiched between Entertainment and Poetry. If you’re trying to sell a new comic, it’s a better idea to have similar products together in one location, don’t you think?


































Considering the amount of dialogue and detail a typical strip contained, Pogo must’ve been the closest thing to overstimulation a child in the 50s could receive. Pogo is so chock-full of multiple characters and bizarre speech patterns that it’d take a lifetime to sort it all out. And that’s before the political caricatures entered the picture. Of course, it wasn’t without its little problems - all of the animals of Okefenokee swamp are extremely gullible and easy to fool - even the villains. There was a similar plot of Pogo being kidnapped and held hostage by two predators, and somehow bluffing his way out of their clutches - within the time span of months.


































It’s probably easier to appreciate the intricate details of Pogo once you understand the basics. Pogo Possum is the vanilla main character and straight-man. Albert Alligator is the well-meaning oafish blowhard who’s always snacking on Pogo’s wares. When you’ve got the kind of rapport the two have between them, you can better understand their relationship, even if you’re annoyed at how often Albert keeps mooching off Pogo’s groceries. How does the possum get a chance to eat when everybody’s taking his food away? (I’ve just realized that this is another Calvin influence, when Hobbes declared double rations to award the mutiny)


































These are the kind of violent lyrics that tended to be used all the time before Nursery Rhymes and Fairy Tales were watered down in order to appeal more to children and gory-sensitive adults. A study found that some rhymes were more violent than TV shows. What child wouldn’t want to hear about the old lady in a shoe beating her kids, or babies falling from treetops?

The history behind some classic rhymes can be rather disturbing. Some other obscure examples can be found here.

Naturally, Pogo objects to this kind of thing, so he offers some alternatives. This saccharine nonsense is the kind of thing that gives children’s entertainment such a lousy reputation. They sound cute, and that’s all they’ve got going for them.


































This sounds like a variation of those Meow Mix commercials. It'd probably be a big hit with cat enthusiasts. (Albert's probably accidentally swallowed one at some point)


































Patience. We’ll get to the Calvin & Hobbes influence soon enough. For now, enjoy these mangled poems.


































Not much to say about this one here.


































We now get to the the meat of the comic, and why people have fond memories of Pogo in the first place. For all the bumbling around with funny animals and wandering plots, it's the Funetik Aksent that most readers remember. Some still fondly recall the nonsensical lyrics to the Christmas carol, Deck us all with Boston Charlie.


































To everyone who worries about dropped potential plot points, no need to worry about the third wish here - Pogo never bothers getting a chance to make use of its uselessness.


































I like how the question of Bigamy doesn’t even enter the picture. These other reasons are certainly more imaginative. This is also the sort of maddening trick question that shows up all the time in Professor Layton games.


































I like to think there's an extraordinarily long pause between the first and second panels here.


































I told you we’d get to the influence sooner or later. We can clearly see where Hobbes’ mathematical ability comes from.


































Here, we also see how Calvin's Dad invents new rationale to explain his outlandish stories. Or maybe that's an inherent trait of everybody who likes manipulating young developing minds.


































As with all things Pogo, the subject invariably veers away from the original topic, and has to be mentally wrenched back onto track.


































The mathematical answer to the man + 40 wives x 40 cats x 40 kits question, if you didn't know it already, or bothered to look it up, cheater.


































I’m not going to help you with this last one. You can easily work it out yourselves, though that’s a lot of cats there.


































Bonus question - if it takes a mouse to feed a kitten, and two mice to feed a cat, how many mice will it take before the women start screaming their heads off?

AngloMoon

With the recent sales success of the second volume of Sailor Moon back on the shelves, it seems that any fears that the 20-year old property might be unsuited for a resurrection were unfounded. Turns out that there's still a strong potential female market in an overwhelmingly male dominated territority. Strong sales of the first volume of Osamu Tezuka's Princess Knight also showed the same, despite the Manga company cutdown last year.

While growing up, I used to be on the lookout for any acknowledgement of mainstream entertainment slowly acknowledging Anime's influence. Star Trek used to be more subtle in their Easter-egg knowledge, but it wasn't until the mid-90s that it became more blatant. Tuvok's finger mediation ritual in a Voyager episode blatantly ripped off Rei's signature "Fire Soul" move. Deep Space Nine had one-eye headsets similar to the Saiyanjins. Now, I can see Ghost in the Shell allusions and Oh my Goddess! drawings in Flashpoint, and I don't get as much of a thrill as I once did, but the impetus is still there.









Sailor Moon had a larger fanbase in Canada, since it showed at more respectable airtimes on YTV at 12:00 and 3:30 respectively. While the material tended to be childish, it was still enduringly appealing. The fact that they were long-legged wide-eyed babes in short skirts didn't hurt either. There was even a brief Air Farce skit that had two Navy men bending over the side of the boat to see something in the water, revealing their buttcracks. When they bent over for the third time, the title logo for the Anime popped up.

When the announcement for licensing Sailor Moon was first made, I thought that I would refresh some people's memories of a webcomic's forgotten side project where Sailor Moon & her friends held up a bank. At the time, the artist said it was an attempt to write a 4-page project for his school club. The old filler comic had the basic plot of "a villain and their henchmen rob a bank, a hero crashes through a skylight, then a huge Mech suddenly appears". The artist put it up, then said it would be deleted forever. However, it must've made quite an impression, since it's still available for online viewing, so that left showing that one out.

Instead, I thought that I might as well show a little-known (let alone seen) tribute from the pages of Angloman. Or more specifically, the second book. The actual setup isn't that important, since it involves West Island Lad taking some time off by going to the mall, and seeing an attractive girl arguing with her boyfriend. Of course, things never stay quiet for long, and the tedium is interrupted when a giant robot bursts onto the scene.


































There was a brief cameo of Matzoh Girl, (briefly mentioned in a post of Jewish Women in Comix), who had a transformation and powers very similar to the Sailor Senshi.  Unlike America, Sailor Moon was extremely popular among Canadians when it first aired, and had better televisable hours.  For the three of you who understand the references, and the large majority who are largely clueless over Matzoh Girl's theme, it's because there was some controversy over selling Jewish foodstuff on Passover.



































At the time, there was a big kerfluffle over Matzoh being sold in Montreal. Why? Because they were imported from America. This wasn't out of some displaced brand loyalty over the pride of their domestic market being overtaken by outside forces. Nor was it from some infested bugs or virus travelling via these boxes. No, what they objected to was that these Jewish products were being sold only in ENGLISH.


































To go into the bureaucratic nightmare that involves Bill 101 and the Francophone fear that they're being repressed by the English language would take up more time and space than I'm willing to devote my time to, and detract attention from enjoying the comic. Besides, I'm saving that for when Papercutz releases their version of "Smurf of One and Half a Smurf of the Other".


































For the unaware, Eaton is a Canadian department store. For the unilingual, Eat is "Manger", and On is "Sur".


































For the confused, West Island Lad spraypainted a flower in the upper row there. If you've ever tried to throw a rose, and was surprised when it limply fell three feet ahead of you, this is a pretty rational explanation. Also, there's a blink-and-you'll-miss moment in the 7th panel where the Gap gets renamed.


































A Sailor Mercury moment here. As much as I liked these references, I was also embarrassed and disgusted by how out of sync the proportions were compared to the traditional Anime models. This kind of influence has gotten better with the latest generation having grown up with actual Manga, and not shoddy knock-offs, but this kind of thing still bugs me.


































For all their efforts, they're rewarded by a bureaucratic lawyer who denies any involvement, and asks for compensation regarding a clerical error. He also showed up in the first Angloman book when the titular heroes defended a crumbling Olympic Stadium that suffered significant damage while trying to save it from a disgruntled fan riding a Mecha (yes, another robot) that looked like Bonhomme de Carnivale. Despite the premise of using iconic Canadian icons, this somehow manages to wind up less awesome than it sounds. Canadians are kinda weird that we have several iconic landscapes / mascots, but we don't really advertise the heck out of them like other countries we could name. (OK, the United States) We define ourselves as Canadians as "not being like Americans", which is strange considering how similar our culture / entertainment is.

Fill in the Blanks

There was a recent Adrian Tomine interview where the cartoonist mentioned abandoning several of his comic projects because he was more concerned with real-life issues. Daily interruptions can sometimes be a major influence on someone’s work, but too many of them can be very offputting and reduce their drive to continue going down a certain storytelling path, especially if the road in that direction puts up more barriers than they knock down. In the end, we have to ask ourselves whether the story we’re writing is really worth telling.

However, we shouldn’t be too overly concerned over Adrian’s dumping several potential series. I’ve found that I’ve preferred some of his earlier stuff when he wasn’t trying too hard. One such example was a silent two-page comic telling an obvious story. By just looking at the pages, it’s clear what’s happening within the span of the panels.

Usually, I have a horrible time thinking up one-liner punchlines to single-panel comics. There's either too little or too much variety that I can think of, and I usually wind up being too literal. I'm always amazed at the number of people who're able to give multiple contributions, when I can't even think up one. I'm better able to give a revised script if there's more than one panel, since I can give the semblance of a story happening within the confines of the pages. The more panels there are, the more I can fill in the blanks and flesh out the elements throughout.

As a result, I wound up writing two different versions of the same script - one that would accurately describe the action on the screen, and another that would be a satirized take, similar to MAD’s Murder the Husband / Story drawn by Jack Davis. Other readers are welcome to do their own take on the comic, but it'd better not be too close to mine.

Page OneTitle: Advertising Gimmick


































Panel 1
Sorry to bring you in like this, Ma’am.
If you could just go over what happened one more time.

Panel 2
Well, there’s not much to tell. I last saw my partner a few months ago.

Panel 3
We were working on an icon that would best represent our company.
How about a penguin with an anchor?
Maybe something less challenging.

Panel 4
We traveled everywhere, looking for inspiration in the unlikeliest places.
A giraffe with a ladder?
Needs work.

Panel 5
Until one day...
Waitaminute - that’s it! A dog holding the product on his nose!

Panel 6
He hit upon the perfect combination that could possibly work.
I bet we’d make a killing with this, what’d you think?

Panel 7
I stayed over at his place, ironing out the bugs in our project.
That idea’s mine, bastard!
Urgl...

Panel 8
I left at night, leaving him sleeping comfortably on the table.

Page Two


































Panel 1
The next morning...

Panel 2
Hah! It's pointless! They’ll never find the body. Never!

Panel 3
When he didn’t show up to work for the meeting, it fell to me to continue my half of the presentation.
...therefore, this should capture our audience’s attention. Agreed?
Agreed.

Panel 4
Within days, our product became the hottest selling stuff being sold around the world. You could hardly pass a street without seeing it being advertised somewhere.

Panel 5
I only wish that he was still be around to appreciate how his efforts had borne fruit.

Panel 6
That’s the last I ever heard of him. What more can I possibly say?

Panel 7
She’s not falling for it.
You can come in now!

Panel 8
How could you say all that with a straight face?! I knew you were ambitious, but I never thought you’d go that far!

Panel 9
No, it can’t be you... you’re dead!

Now, here’s the alternate version!

Page OneTitle: Lovebird Confessional

































Panel 1
Okay lady, calm down. You’re safe now.
Now, why don’t you tell us what’s bugging you?

Panel 2
It’s like I’ve been saying. I want to admit to committing a murder.

Panel 3
For years, I’d been trying to have sex with the cute nerdy guy at work.
Want to make out on my desk?
Later, I’m thinking.

Panel 4
I lured him to several suggestive places to subtly hint my forward advances.
Why did you want to have lunch here?
Oh, no reason.

Panel 5
Then all of a sudden...
Hey, I just thought up an amusing VTM recorder joke to send to The New Yorker!

Panel 6
I got a devilish thought in my mind to seduce him at his place later.
I better write it down before I forget!

Panel 7
But my anticipation quickly turned to disappointment.
Five seconds??? That’s it???
I’m sorry!

Panel 8
I then buried his entire apartment in his backyard so no one would notice!

Page Two
































Panel 1
The next day...

Panel 2
You’ve got to be kidding me! Who puts pictures of adults on the back of milk cartons nowadays?

Panel 3
With no one else present to give his presentation, it fell upon me to take over his lousy job.
And now, for my next slide, a doggie with a square on his nose!
Oooh!

Panel 4
As an attractive saleswoman, I managed to pass all his side projects that’d been toiling under obscurity. Despite being rejected submissions of New Yorker cartoons, they were a smash hit in the advertising world.

Panel 5
Even as I accepted awards from stealing his ideas, the guilt kept gnawing at my core.

Panel 6
And that’s exactly what happened. Really. Why would I lie?

Panel 7
She’s starting to crack.
Bring in the surprise witness!

Panel 8
What’s the big idea telling everybody you killed me? We only went out once, and you broke off our date halfway through!

Panel 9
No... get away... your face, it’s hideous!

Telling Right from Left

Yesterday, I helped give some feedback to a new interpreter who'd been assign to replace another High School interpreter who'd suddenly quit. We started out with relatively easy stuff, such as fairy tales, whose stories I already knew. But since this was a crash course, we had to quickly introduce her to harder and faster stuff to bring her "up to speed." One of the hardest tricks is not to repeat everything verbatim, but to stay a little behind what's being said so there'll be some leeway time to think about how to best present the message. If a sentence is spoken more than once, summarize it up by only saying it once. If a sentence is hard to lipread or understand, reword it so it'll be more comprehensive. It also helps if both parties view a video beforehand, so they're not caught off guard when it's shown during class. Equally important is some context given over what the topic material is going to be about. A student expecting History, and getting Math instead may be confused why all these numbers are being bandied around without any dates given.

One early piece of advice I gave was when the interpreter was doing a video dialogue between two people on opposite sides of the screen. In addition to using relative terms (saying 'she says', instead of 'I said') another mistake made was that the interpreter didn't bother to look behind her to see which side was talking. Normally, when you're switching from one dialogue to another, you move your head and hand movements to one side, then switch to the other. The only problem was, when the person on the right talked, the interpreter pointed to the left, and vice-versa. As a result, I was constantly having to remind myself which side was which, and not paying attention to the content of the message.


































This also reminded me of another internal problem I have - I have great difficulty in telling the difference between left and right. (It's good to know I'm not alone in this)

One of my earliest instincts that I didn't think the same way as everybody else was when I was 'mirroring' the instructor in gym class, and wound up copying her exact body movements as if she were doing them from her POV, and not like a mirror. Somehow, I managed not to bump into my classmates.

Even though I use the right side of my body more than my left, whenever I'm told to look to my right, I usually have to hold up my hands, figure out which is my left, and then make my move. When that happens, I feel like Papa Bear in the last stage of The Bike Lesson.


































Well, I know my sides small bear.
My right is here, my left is there.
Or is that right? How can that be?
Left side, right side, let me see...
Left hand on the left hand side...
Right hand on the right hand side...

It's far easier for me to follow directional arrows than waste time trying to figure out where I should turn. A lot of people claim that it's no different from telling the difference between up and down. However, that only works if you're on a flat plane, and not in space. Up and down remain constant when you're bound by gravity. But left and right get switched around all the time depending on which direction you're facing. To make matters more confusing, "your left" and "my right" are the same thing.


































That also prevents me from going the route from Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close where a man losing his power of speech tattooed responses all over his body. Putting reminders on my body a la Memento would only work from my side, and not from whoever's watching me.

At least it's not as bad as in The Boy who Reversed Himself by William Sleator. In that book, the directions are Ana and Kata, which lie somewhere between above and below our space, and can allow you to pass behind locked objects. To further confuse things, prolonged exposure to the forth dimension makes the explorer experience a state where left and right become indistinguishable from each other. The actual mechanics of fourth-dimensional hopping is never quite specified or explained, but the basic gist is fairly straightforward. Imagine a stick figure on a piece of paper. If you turn that paper over, that stick figure will be reversed. Now, take that concept to a human being, and you can understand how a forth-dimensional being can have complete control over lower dimensions. No wonder Mr. Mxyzptlk likes teasing Superman so much.