Fixing the Sound Barrier

It's been a harrowing three weeks for me.  For months, I'd been receiving warnings that my Vista computer - that I'd been using for years with minor problems (a broken fan, the occasional data dump crash, caught viruses), would no longer be getting any updates.  After weeks of a yellow warning, that day of no further updates finally came.  To prepare myself for the possible inevitability that I'd no longer be using ol' reliable, I'd been saving as much of my recent files as possible, including the stuff I'd burned on CD and DVD on another laptop computer.  Especially after finding out to my horror that the old stuff that was saved in my LAST computer crash and backed up via sixteen CDs (computers had less memory back then) was getting harder to read, and had suffered data rot.

Of the burned stuff, only one DVD wasn't readable, but it was only contained a single obscure Anime title, Azuka Will Help, which I have no memory of, so there's not much lost there.  And the single corrupted comic image I had was easily found.

I'd been dreading the prospect of using Windows 10, after being less than impressed with their presentation (along with everybody else) and not liking their inability to have multiple folders conform to the same file settings, an uncomfortable image viewer, and no classic mode.  Fortunately, there are programs out there that'll allow me to reuse the efficient older versions, so I have some semblance of optimism there.

But that's not the main electronic device that made me upset to my stomach.  My Right Hearing Aid - the one I mostly depend on, since it's my good hearing ear - went on the fritz. When I put it on, there was a persistent whistling that drove me nuts.  I went to get it fixed, which took several hours.  Getting to the place, then waiting for my turn, getting replacement tubes, and waiting some more while they fiddled around with the thing.

At first, I thought the problem was solved, until it was found out that the whistling was internal. Ironically enough, when it wasn't whistling inside, it was whistling outside, where everybody else could hear. And when it whistled inside, nobody else but me could hear it.  At the time, I thought the main problem was that I needed new hearing molds, made out of silicone, which I hadn't done in a long time either.  This wasn't fully figured out until I was already at home, long after closing time, and the repair shop was closed on the weekend.  Anyways, I needed a replacement hearing aid - FAST.

However, in order to do so, I needed a recent audiologist report, which I hadn't had in about several years, the new regulations preventing my annual checkups to become routine.  I needed to take a hearing test to prove that I haven't been faking my Deafness all my life.  Well, okay, the actual reason is that a form is required to show that I'm still active, and in need of aid, but I like my explanation better.

Somehow, a requested rush test was requested, which wouldn't become available until the tester was available too, which meant several weeks of delays. And in the meantime, I only had one working hearing aid on my left ear. The whole while, I was dreading my remaining hearing aid going on the fritz too, since it hadn't been upgraded in a long time either. If THAT one went too, I'd be in BIG TROUBLE.

So when the available appointment time came, I was notably upset, because it was raining that day, and had been raining all that week too. And I hate getting wet.  A consistent running joke around this time of year is that I preface the lousy weather by proclaiming, "At least it's not snowing so hard we can't make a fire".  Only people who didn't devotedly read a certain newspaper strip growing up understand the reference.  (i.e., my parents)

The only way for me to get there on time was to take a train that would have me be there an hour early, when I could've used that time for doing other stuff. So I went there, had a quick lunch from a nearby place that sells Amazing Pita Gyros. (I always request them to leave the sauce off, which I can't stand, and have had to check to make sure they followed my instructions, which they don't always do) As good as it was, it wasn't what I Really was in the mood for - General Tao Chicken, which was all the way on the opposite side of town, and would've been a time-wasting a delay that I couldn't afford the risk of.

So lunch rolled over, the secretary came, and figured that I'd be called upon anytime soon. I waited five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes. At the half-hour mark, I was getting nervous and irritated. I looked for the secretary, but she wasn't at her desk. When she showed up sometime later, I asked where the person doing my test was.

Turns out she forgot to tell my hearing tester that I was going to be seeing her THAT DAY.

After some pained internal screaming and wondering how she could've messed up something so laughably simple, was told that she would see me an hour from now. Which Really grated on my nerves - I could've picked up my General Tao order without any consequences. Now I had to wait another twenty minutes or so for my long-delayed appointment to come up.

I passed the time fuming, pacing the hallways, unwilling to allow myself the luxury of sitting still, filled with pent-up energy with no outlet to release them. After going up and down the stairs several times, my tester finally came. I was able to pass off my irritation through good humour, and got into the minuscule sounding booth where I finally took my test with bulky headphones over my glasses, and clicked the buzzer whenever I heard any sounds I figured didn't come from the ringing in my ears.

It took about maybe 15-20 minutes.

After that, it was just a matter of sending the report over to my Hearing Aid center, and I'd get my new hearing aid.  But before that, I went to get my long-neglected order of General Tao Chicken.  The place I go to puts something resembling pure MSG in their sauce, and I go into withdrawal symptoms if I don't eat it on a regular basis.  The downside to this was that eating two takeouts on the same day was extremely heavy on my stomach, and I didn't sleep well that night.

When the report was finally available at the Hearing Aid center, I eagerly went for my latest appointment, looking forward to getting my regular hearing back.  After being handicapped at half strength for so long, they helped me out by giving me a minor hearing test on my right ear to reassure my fear that I wouldn't hear anything out of there ever again.  However, the business had long since switched owners since I was a baby, and the new people in charge weren't as familiar with me as the old ones were, who I'd maintained a sort of familiarity with.  The procedure consisted of taking my hearing aids off, inserting some kind of hearing wire inside my ear (after checking inside my ears using a light - I never know what they're looking for inside there), and then pushing my hearing aid inside.

The procedure took multiple tries, and my frustration wasn't alleviated any by the handler who simply didn't have any idea of the proper way to squeeze in a hearing aid mold, obviously never having worn one himself.  I told him that the trick was to turn it, like an oddly-shaped key, not wedge it in, like an unusual square block in a round hole.  But he didn't take my words to heart, no matter how many times I told him.  That, and for someone supposedly used to talking to hard-of-hearing people, I had a tremendously difficult time understanding him.  (He hardly moved his mouth or gestured while he talked)

If it weren't for the presence of another co-worker who was familiar with me, who faced me, and clearly explained the process to me, I'd be much more frustrated than usual.  She said the wires was supposed to help gauge my hearing range, and vaseline would be applied over my new molds to make them easier to slide in and out.  After that, it was a simple matter of hearing the familiar testing beeping sounds increasing in pitch and frequency along the likes of "Do doo doo Doo DOo DOO TOO TOo Too To to."  (It loses a lot in the retelling)

Once the range of my hearing was programmed into my replacement hearing aid (which would've cost me upwards of $400 without proof) I was able to feel a contented breath of relief.  Even if my new hearing aid has a new on switch I'm not accustomed to, and the battery placement is still perplexingly enough, opens right on top of the ear mold, making exchanging expired batteries more difficult than they should be.

Long story short - I've got a new hearing aid now, and don't have to worry that I'm getting any deafer in one ear, and my remaining hearing aid could potentially self-destruct any moment now.

Holiday Hostage

Generally, I don't enjoy going to parties.  The preparation of food and clean-up (before and after) tends to stress me out to no end.  If I am ever invited to a ritual where my presence is required or mandatory, I take great pains to mentally prepare myself for the upcoming ordeal.  If at all possible, I check to make sure that I'm able to get away under my own power.  Preferably via bike or public transportation.  This gets trickier when bad weather gets involved, since it greatly interferes with my options.  "Always have an Escape Route handy" is my motto in these situations.

The exception is when doing small-scale celebrations within my family.  The pressure isn't as intense to impress everybody using fancy silverware that's used in occasions like these to show how smart and sophisticated we all are, as opposed to the rest of the year.  this includes Hannukah and Passover... and that's pretty much it.

One aspect about celebrating holidays that aren't part of the public conscious is that there are certain aspects of traditional traditions that can sound utterly perplexing when heard for the first time.  In Passover, one of these is the haggling over the Afikoman, a sort of dry After-Dinner Mint made of unleavened bread.  This is generally left to the eldest child, and is really their first foray into bargaining over a deal.

Mother: Hmmmm.... we seem to be missing the essential Afikoman, which we need to complete the meal.
Could you give it back?
Child: What's something like this worth to you?
Mother: It's VERY important.  Without it, we can't finish our desert.  We'll just be eating until we're stuffed.
Child: Doesn't sound that bad to me.
Mother: Without it, we would have to keep up reciting prayers up until 3:00 AM.  You really want to continue the service until that late?
Child: Well, I wouldn't mind trading it for the latest gaming system.
Mother: Too expensive.
Child: Uh - wha?  But I thought -
Mother: Try asking for something more reasonable.
Child: Well - how about this new hot game?
Mother: Is it over $50?
Child: A little but -
Mother: Then choose something under that range.
Child: WAIT!  How about I pay for half, and you pony up the rest?
Mother: How will you pay for it?
Child: I've got gift certificates.  I've got monies from other relatives I haven't spent yet.  I'll do odd jobs to make up the rest.
Mother: How's this - I'll pay for the game in whole if you'll clean my sink, weed the garden and walk the dog for a year.
Child: Make it six months and you've got a deal.
Nine months.
Child: Eight.  I wanna play that game sometime.
Mother: You've got it.  Now, hand it over.
Child: Here you go.
(Inwardly from both sides)  Sucker.

Seeing as this was potentially the last time I'd ever get the chance at hiding the Afikoman ever again, since my Sister's Baby would now be hogging the spotlight for this ritual, I figured I might as well go the full hog in one last blast of spontaneous creativity.  Much like the tail end of video games on a console (Startropics 2, Legend of Zelda Oracle of Seasons, Oracle of Ages, Shantae)

Of course, this was no easy task, since from where I was sitting, my corner of the table meant having to brush past at least two people who'd have to get up from their seats to make room for me.
My attempts at subterfuge was constantly thwarted, since it was noticed that I was getting up from the table more often than usual.

I hastily wrote down a ransom note on several pieces of scrap paper to put them in place of the Afikoman's easily exploitable hiding place.  I had to use several, since I made the mistake of writing too large.  But otherwise, my illegible writing wouldn't have been readable.

I was inspired by my Dad recording the baby eating the new foodstuff and having watched several Police Procedural TV shows.  At the moment of discovery of the Afikoman's absence, I'd suggest "reviewing the tapes" to see if there was any forensic evidence.  This was further bolstered by the presence of a friend of mine who was studying to become a policeman.  This last line wouldn't have been too much of a deterrence, since technically, he wasn't a cop yet.

My plan was to ham up the presentation as much as possible, denying all allegations of guilt, even though I "might" be close to sources who knew somebody who knew something.  Ask my rent-a-cop buddy if he could gleam any clues from the notes, down to a handwriting analysis and fingerprints.  If mine were found, I'd claim that I handled the paper, same as anybody else.  Maybe you should be looking into THEM instead!

Sadly, as with my lofty plans, this was stymied by the simple fact that said cop-in-training had to leave early.
"No problem", I figured.  At least my sister would be able to enjoy my harmless prank.
Fat chance.  Turns out she had to leave before her baby started getting cranky(ier).

I was barely able to rush out of the bathroom before they left without further knowledge of my intentions, and showed them the ransom note and all the implications I intended.  My family had a good laugh at my expense, which was the most I could hope for.

I'd Murder for a Burger, Wouldn't You?

Before Adam@Home settled into it's regular grove of a stay-at-home dad, it was simply known as the singular name, Adam.  And like other comics just finding their groove, Adam entered an instance of Early Installment Weirdness.  What's particularly unusual about this is that it happened during its second year.

This was back before the birth of Baby Nick, which wouldn't have been possible with someone being further tethered to the house, though one later weekly story had the titular character seeking out wild times and validating his manliness through bungee-jumping.  This is NOT an exaggeration.

For it's mundane surroundings, there were some surprisingly long story arcs lasting months, including the numerous Dumpty Derby Weight-loss contests.  I plan to post these sometime later in the future once I've accumulated the many missing strips, all of them pre mid-1995, before the GoComics online archives.

In this long-forgotten arc, Adam is just sitting silently, not even bothering to do any household chores when opportunity knocks, or rather, strikes through a threatening violent advertisement.  Somehow, this spurs him on to seek employment at this Gangster-like Fast Food Franchise.  Don't question it - just go along with it.

Considering how cutthroat the Fast Food business is with any perceived competition, this representation may or may not be totally representative of the modus operandi behind the scenes.

Some of the thematic elements designed to accurately represent the historic renditions of the times seem to delve into literal overkill.

Of course, such a disturbance to the status quo can't possibly last forever, and Adam is quickly outed from his part-time job when he runs into the one person he most wanted to keep his secret vocation from, lest their relationship devolve into distrust as a result of keeping secrets from each other.

Once the couple get home, Laura gets into her grievances covering ground that wouldn't be considered a major issue for Tony Soprano:

And then - and THEN! - Adam engages into an amazing Mansplaining rant that HAS to be read to be believed.

After that height of absurdity, the denouement strips resolving the status quo are relatively tame in comparison.

When you're Hungry, and there's nothing to eat, What do you do?Just pout, sit around and stew?Go to the bar and have a few?Have a 'bout with a Kangaroo?I'd Murder for a Burger, Wouldn't You?

Fools Suffer Gladly

There was a time when April Fools was cause to spout plausibly ridiculous news that would cause worldwide confusion and panic to the enjoyment of others.  Nowadays, things have succumbed to a degree of ridiculousness and absurdity that telling what's real and what's not has become an exercise in frustration.  Facts that sound like they belong on the National Enquirer are being bandied about like dandelion seeds, spreading their pollen feed everywhere.  News that were once satirical on The Onion now seem prophetic, and banally gripping.  As a result, Every Day feels like April Fools Day.

The whole point of playing fun at someone else's expense is more than making fun of their self-esteem.  The act of playing the fool is to poke holes of logic in otherwise sensible foibles.  The Jester is supposed to hold up a warped mirror back at society, not be the one in charge running things.  When you've got a Funhouse Mirror pressed up against a Funhouse Mirror, the result is a psychedelic mess that bears little to no resemblance of what it's supposed to portray.

The Fool might interject, cast suggestions to re-evaluate seemingly solid plans, all done in an amusing manner.  In terms of influence, he's the strongest and weakest player in the Kingdom.  He can say whatever he likes without fear of reprisal or impunity.  But sometimes situations can become so bizarre that a tone of seriousness is required in dire times.

Well, no, that's a lie.  Apart from North Korea and Totalarian Dicatorships run by wacko Tyrants, we've always been a world apart from such dystopias.  And there's now a hilariously incompetent one right on our front steps.  This is the first time we've had a potential threat so perilously close to home, and the prospects of comedy, while bountiful (with new memes popping up every day) the collective memory of remembering any scandals that've taken place runs the risk of being wiped out via overburdened information.

The trick is to make your point succinct without sounding overall preachy.

A Handshaking Primer

There was much preamble made about Donald's infantile power grab to assert dominance by yanking the shakee's arm in his general direction, and holding their sweaty palms an uncomfortably longer time than usual.  That strategy completely fell apart in the presence of Justin Trudeau.  (A well-described Epic Standoff summarized here) If there's one thing Canadians can't be faulted on, it's not knowing Americans better than they know themselves.

And then there was his outright refusal to shake the hand of Angela Merkel, the German Chancellor.  There was speculation that he didn't want to touch a woman who wasn't a perfect 10, or helping him down stairs.  But it's also possible he was shaken after Trudeau beat Trump's handshaking strategy by his own hands.  After being humiliated like that, why risk making yourself look foolish again?

Of course, all this boils down to a simple case of handshaking ignorance, since there's no course on the proper way to shake someone.  I haven't had much experience in this, but the few instances I've had suggests that there's a large void of information on what should be a very basic act.

First off, most people tend to just limply offer their hands in a floppy manner, letting it languish in the shaker's grip.  This is wrong.  You're not supposed to merely shake from the wrist alone.

A good proper shake should originate from the shoulder, energetically pumping at the elbow like you're drawing water from an old pump.  The recommended length of time is three to six shakes, releasing after a scant five seconds after the activity's over.  Pleasantries can be exchanged during this action; and lingering longer with someone who's not your secret lover should be avoided.  It also shouldn't be considered a power move to intimidate, crushing the shakee's hand.  Unless both parties are of considerable or equal strength.

Furthermore, the palms of the hands should be firmly placed between the hollow of the other's palm.  Using the same hand (Left hand & left hand, Right hand and right hand) is preferred, but not the mirrored image. Otherwise, unfortunate implications and injuries might occur.  Unless you're heavily engaged in elaborate welcoming / farewell reception rituals, involving high slaps and synchronized gestures that only members "in the know" would recognize, the general reception should be to keep it basic.

Extra tip - wiping down the other person's sweat in open view is also considered bad manners, though I've never seen anybody openly do that.

Incidentally, I had a panel I intended to use, from Archie's Dennis the Menace ripoff, Pipsqueak Visits the Farm, but was unable to find it, on account of having given the digest said comic was in away, confident I wouldn't need it again.  (Hindsight is always 20/20)  Ironically, for a lackluster comic, it contained an extremely rare instance of a mutual handshake done properly without any comedic elements added to it.  Anybody who has a physical copy on their shelves will know what I'm talking about.

No One Likes Gaston

While I'm generally known for my Garfield Mash-ups, I've also made a few significant contributions to the other Mezzacotta comic site, Itoons, which focuses on other comics not related to Garfield.
Most of the available comics are minor edits to various online Newspaper comics and various webcomics.  But I can never do anything easy, constantly wanting to strain the limits of my imagination and a desire to stretch my creative muscles.

In addition to wanting to share my love and knowledge of certain comics, I also wanted to spread wider recognition of one of the more popular BD franchises out there.  But undertaking an endearing project is essentially taking an endurance test, especially for a labour-intensive project that's essentially a gag-a-day (or gag-a-week format if you want to be specific) comic that's still fully understandable without any translation notes handy.  Since the strips are fairly episodic - no long-lasting recuperations or ongoing story (save for a few running comic themes and occasional two-pagers) there's not much need or desire to know what happens next.

Apart from the occasional online scanlation, knowledge of this cult figure is surprisingly elusive.  Originally, I wanted to show it on my blog, but didn't want to risk any image shrinkage.  The comic in question is available now, but it's undergone the same limitations I was worried about in the first place. (I had a similar complaint when I submitted another Garfield comic that was ruined, because I decided to get fancy with the background)  So, as means of compromise, I've chopped up my submission in smaller doses for easier reading.  (It looks better at a larger size)

Translation for the parking comic partially helped out here.  For this particular verse, I originally wanted to use "Plays the Harp", as a way of introducing his musically destructive Gaffophone, but Harp doesn't really rhyme with Ark.


Here, I took some creative liberty with wordplay, combining noise pollution and night pollution into one nonsensical descriptive word that didn't exist until now.  (Then again, I coined the phrase Kvetchion too)

And yet, it looks like the cult favorite, Gaston Lagaffe may be getting an official English translation after all.  However, they're renaming the titular character as Gomer Goof, instead of his regular name to more closely appeal to Western tastes, I guess, and pay tribute to when Fantagraphics first tried their hand at translating the character.  Despite being associated with Goofy the dog, Gaston isn't exactly dim-witted.  He's just exceptionally lazy, extremely accident prone, fooling around at the office, creates loads of inventions that inevitably backfire, and is constantly getting in trouble over things that are second-hand consequencically, his fault.  In essence, like the unashamed ripoff, The Teenage Son, he's the worst traits of Archie and Jughead combined.

I suppose the name change is because of the unfortunate implications of being associated with another certain  Gaston "gentleman" who's better known for his hunting prowess and misogynist antagonistic views.  But similar names shouldn't be considered a handicap.  Nobody mistakes Sylvester the Cat and the actor of Rocky to be the same person.

Believe it or not, this is actually a conservative elaborate disguise, compared to Gaston's later dress-ups.


Another instance where I borrowed somebody else's translation, and used their editing skills, particularly Gaston's screaming "NO!", and removing the excessive 'N' at the end.

As is typical, when I send in an entry I've spent a particularly long time on, I instantly think of a new addition that could potentially be included.  Here's the bonus stanza that was excluded out of convenience, because I was having trouble thinking of a proper rhyme to go with "ell".  It's harder than you'd think!  The closest I came to a suitable one was "Rings Bells", but surprisingly enough, there weren't any Gaston comics with that particular image.  Likewise, I can't take any credit for the translation of the last panel here:

One of the self-imposed limits for submitting to Itoons is that there shouldn't be any connection to a typical Garfield comic.  In this case, I made an exception, implementing a subtle change alluding to a Sunday Garfield comic, but other than that, the rest is close to the original meaning and pure improvisation.

Super Pogo!

While looking for certain archived comic images, there are some things that pop up that are so unusual that you feel compelled to share them with the world and remind them that such things existed back when nobody was paying that much attention.

Superheroes have made a strong comeback in theaters after languishing on the funny pages for ages, but that's only after they distilled away the most essential elements, and removed all the overwrought narratives, the multi-story arcs that demanded intense attention and knowledge of what was going on in other books in the company line, and artwork that was wonky and incomprehensible at best.  (Nowadays, movies have the same creative problems that plagued comics, but that's a lecture for another time, preferably not by me)

The Superhero resurgence may have started with Blade, but the jumpstarter was Tim Burton's Batman, which radically changed the usual audience perception of the cheesy Adam West version, which was still fresh in the majority's mind, years after Frank Miller's Dark Knight take on the character.  That may have been in mind when the briefly revived Pogo strip by Doyle and Sternecky diverged in a brief parody that's just as overwrought with creative narrative bombast as the double-entendre laden monologue that influenced Tracer Bullet.  The first part (in colour) can be seen here:


After this, things get a little trickier to figure out.  Sadly, the text is so faded away in parts that it's practically illegible.  Fortunately, I took a closer look and deducted most of what was written:

Panel 4: Bright Knight Picks a Fight: A fortunate sudden downpour saves our hero from a flaming end, but now he must lock jaws with the big ultimate foe himself!
Panel 5: Caption: Mudgeopolous at Dinnertime
Bright Knight: Alright, at the count of five.  1, 2...
Boy Pogo: Halfa sammich Goofus?
Goofus: Thanks Boy Pogo.  Us Arch Enemies allus travels on our stomachs.
Panel 7: 1989 OGPI! Distributed by the L.A. Times Syndicate!  (Until I found a clearer copy above, I thought the text at the bottom panel read: Must Obey! Receiver by The L.A. Times Syndicate!)

And that's where our adventures end.  If anybody wants to see the rest of the story for themselves, they're free to buy a physical copy of the six issues that supposedly make up this run.

Then, at the other end of the spectrum, we have some promotional material that are quite frankly, some of the most amateurish childish drawings ever done.  And the blotted black and white images of the quality coloured pictures don't help.

You'd think a franchise as large as Little Caesars would've been able to splurge for higher quality.  The left hand side is also take up not just by the title, but also an accompanying stand-alone panel that's just as amateurish as the rest of the comic.

And like the Pogo comic earlier, it ends on a cliffhanger.  Good luck trying to find the conclusion to this thrilling epic, assuming anybody bothered to save a copy for themselves, and weren't embarrassed to keep one for themselves.  (If artist Calvin Crosby is reading this, I apologize for my unflinching criticism)  I'm not even gonna bother transcribing the inane script here, save for the last panel:

Panel 7: This is (sp)Sobt.  She is Caesar Man's Girlfriend.  She hears his request.  BUT WILL SHE SAVE THE DAY?

The Superhero genre has permeated everything from Archie to Garfield (who's more suited as the Caped Avenger than the Liefeldian Pet Force), but not everything deserves to be shoehorned into a specific formula, no matter how much diehard fans insist on saying so.  Further proving that not everything can be improved by simply slapping a spandex outfit over a persona in the vain hopes of attracting a wider audience, is the long-forgotten instance of Cheerios branching out its brand into the unusual field of two Laurel & Hardy types with the tagline of "It's Applelicious!  And Cinnamoncredible!" which never quite caught on, for some reason.


Most of their time is spent bickering over which part of the cereal sprinkles these bad guys are more interested in, the apple or the cinnamon, but it never lasts for long before they decide to whup some baddie's behind.  With minimal effort, mind you - it's not like they have to actually WORK for it.

Despite their potentially limited appeal, the height of their relevance ultimately culminated in a minute-long advertisement staring a very familiar-looking 'gator Kart-Racing Villain.

Save for those annoying sponsors on Sesame Street, today's kids don't even know what Commercials ARE.
Whether this should be lamented or celebrated depends on your fondness for unskippable jingles that   Media Watchdogs have been complaining about merchandise being solely targeted at children for ages.  But at this current rate, TV shows and movies that are naked merchandising adverts for comics, toys & cards are the only likely places for advertised commercial franchises to be seen in the first place.