This is my January cartoon, published in the Pet Gazette. Best to you and yours in 2011. May it be your best year yet, and may you follow me on Twitter.
It has not escaped me that I have a somewhat profuse forehead. Or rather, a fivehead. The “high forehead” was thought to be much attractive in the 15th through 16th centuries, when wealthy gentleladies plucked their way to highbrowed beauty. Admirers took note of the greater brainpan and refined intelligence. (“My, my. Look at thee fo’ead on that one. Hubba hubba.”) Alas, today we no longer live in the Middle Ages, those pox-filled days of easy beauty. Those of us left behind, showing proof of high intelligence as we do, need to make do. So.... One day, a dame with a dome has a bright idea: Advertising Revenue. Then an even better, more refined idea: But a genius idea needs geniuses to buy into it. That’s where you come in. For example, say you’re an overpaid advertising executive. You’re gearing up to promote a dentist, electronics giant, and/or hemorrhoid creme. Or household goods and Sea-Monkeys. I don’t need to explain to you the...
Love the online version of The New York Times . Love, love, love it. However—and this has a big capital H, followed by a long pause wherein I don’t type—however, a recent mailing they sent caused me to heartedly question our future together. First off let me share with you that I am grateful every time I peruse their online edition, and have been for more than five years. There is no paper to unfold and fold, no ink smearing my fingertips, no yellowing newsprint stored in my recycle bin, and no trudging said paper off to the Duxbury town dump. (I don’t abide calling it a “transfer station.” “Dump” gets us where we need to go 75% quicker.) Most enjoyable, though, is not having to pick through murders and robberies and other garbage to find my science and health news. Unlike the printed paper, online I see only headlines and snippets until I click a specific article that I choose to read. This makes for less junk going to my subconscious. I keep a clean mind, see. So, I’m reading th...
My pedometer rarely sees an opportunity to count past 5,000 steps these days. Shameful. So today I drove an hour to spend the gray misty day walking in an art museum. There's lots of irony in warming up and cooling down from a walk by planting one's keister in a car. Still, spending a cold-to-the-bone day at a nifty art museum, getting cultured up, and walking for hours and hours and hours isn't a bad way to spend the day. That makes the Peabody Essex Museum ( website ) in Salem, Massachusetts a $13 walking track. Except that a bunch of art gets in the way of a truly aerobically stimulating workout. After three hours I walk six rooms total, because some guy named Joseph Cornell ( about ) left boxes everywhere. Boxes, magazines, parrots, and some hot girl balloon ( see photo ). And it's all firmly glued down. Even the boxes from way back in 1935. But with what? How could glue that old still hold? How could I increase my pedometer's step count in the midst of a Glue...
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