Auchtoon!

There is a classic skit from the 1960s by the comedy team of Peter Cook and Dudley Moore in which a reporter (Moore) interviews an eccentric gentleman (Cook) who owns a restaurant. I’m going to write out a bit of transcript here, but to truly understand the humor (and their impeccable timing), I encourage you to listen for yourself.

So after introductions and a bit of banter, the reporter asks the restaurant owner when he started his restaurant:

Restaurant Owner: I believe it was shortly after World War II. You remember that, World War II?

Reporter: Well, certainly, yes.

Restaurant Owner: Absolutely ghastly business.

Reporter: Oh, yes.

Restaurant Owner: Absolutely ghastly business.

Reporter: Yes, indeed.

Restaurant Owner: I was completely against it.

Reporter (slight pause as the audience catches on to the absurd obviousness of what was just said): Well, I think, I think we all were.

Restaurant Owner (indigently): Well I wrote a letter!

I share this with you for a couple of reasons. One, as we close in on a year of the pandemic and enter the depths of a Michigan February, my mind naturally turns to escapism, and this sketch always makes me laugh. By the way, the title is, “The Frog and Peach,” which is the name (and menu) of the restaurant. It’s rare these days to find anything that can top the ridiculousness of real life.

The second (and more the inspiration of the cartoon) is that our one very thin slice of common ground may be that we are all against the virus itself. Given the opportunity this time last year, we all would have said, “COVID-19 virus? No thank you. Let’s not do that.” Just as we would decline a world war. But for that commonality to be true, we need to believe others (even those we don’t like) would make the same choice. And that’s the hard part.

For 27 years, you could reliably find me every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 6:00AM playing pickup basketball at my local middle school gym. In fact, for the past 15 I’ve been the one in charge. Well, “in charge” makes it sound more impressive than it really is. Mostly I just bring basketballs, open the doors, and have a general awareness of where the defibrillator is.

Of course there has been no morning basketball since March 11 of last year. And I’ve missed it. Really, really missed it. I love playing basketball. I’ve made a lot of friends, and it has always made me feel part of my community. I even miss the ritual of getting out of bed at o-dark-thirty and lacing up the smelly ankle braces.

It’s been physically tough on me not being able to play. (Just can’t burn the same amount of calories on a stationary bike.) And it has been tough mentally. I’m of a certain age where I wonder if I can (or even should) rev up the ol’ joints and hamstrings when we’re allowed to play again. Have I missed out on my last year of semi-competitive basketball?

So I don’t think I’m talking out of turn when I say that I can relate to those high school athletes, coaches, and parents who are upset about having to delay the start of their games and competitions again. I’ve read and heard many of their efforts to convince Governor Whitmer and health officials to change their minds. They make some great points. Some are slightly over the line of civil discourse, but I get it — this is having a huge impact on their lives.

But for the rest of us, I think the challenge is to avoid blowing right past that line and personalizing this. If you don’t like Governor Whitmer, then go ahead and don’t like her. But she isn’t singling you out in the hopes of ruining your life. She just isn’t. Don’t let yourself fall into that hate trap. Let’s see if we can learn at least one lesson from the debacle of January 6th.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go down in my basement and work off some of this angst on my boring stationary bike.

I realize that a lot of readers may be confused and not recognize much about a cartoon about the merger between Fiat Chrysler Automobiles (FCA) and the PSA Group that finalized this week. But that’s kinda the point. I just thought it was remarkable that such a big, big story in the automotive world would seem to have so little resonance with Michiganders. Certainly wasn’t the case when Chrysler acquired American Motors, or when Daimler-Benz merged with Chrysler, or when they divorced later. Those were top headlines. Especially in Michigan.

Of course it’s understandable — turns out going from insurrection to impeachment to inauguration sucks all the oxygen out of the news cycles. Plus, it’s difficult to get your head around a French company merging with an Italian company dominated by American nameplates and becoming a Dutch company with a name (Stellantis) that sounds like a prescription drug for an obscure skin condition.

Still, I do think congratulations are in order. For decades, our leaders have decried our state’s dependencies on the automotive industry and the need to diversify. Is it not a sign of progress that one of the fabled Big Three experiences such a dramatic change, and we cannot be bothered because we have bigger fish to fry? We’ve grown! We’ll always miss all those stable, high-paying jobs, but we’ve grown.

One of the great things about being Catholic is that you can do whatever you want to do, go to confession, say a few Our Fathers and Hail Marys, and all is forgiven — you are healed and free to start over! Except…that’s not really how it works. At least, not the way it’s supposed to work.

Despite the trope of confession being something of a “get out of hell free card,” it’s not really intended to be a transaction — it’s more about providing an opportunity to reflect and truly consider your actions and behaviors. It’s an act of contrition. To get to the point of forgiveness, you need to figure out what you did so you can reconcile with it and commit to being a better person.

I don’t believe it’s an exaggeration to say that Donald Trump has never been contrite. And of all the issues I have with him (and there are plenty), this may be the most foundational. His complete unwillingness (perhaps inability) to apologize for anything precludes healing. Further, he actively salts the earth by doubling-down and selling that behavior as a virtue.

It is not possible to forgive, it is not possible to “get over it,” it is not possible “bring us all together” until Trump and his enablers come to terms with their sedition and reconcile with it. Obviously that won’t happen on its own. So that’s why we must follow the rules set in the constitution and prosecute.

Then the healing can begin.

Wednesday morning I had sketched out kind of a light-hearted, “I know, right?” sort of cartoon to ease us all into the new year. Nothing too edgy. Of course that idea went out the window (along with a great deal of our nation’s pride and dignity) with the insurrection later that afternoon. My Thursday deadline loomed.

I knew by the time you would be reading this that much would already have been said about the attempted coup. So I needed to find a unique angle (preferably a Michigan one) if I had any hope of providing perspective.

For me, that angle is the obvious parallels between the mob that marched into the state capital in Lansing last year and the one that attacked our nation’s capital this week — both whipped to a frenzy by the callous lies and endless tantrums of the President of the United States. In April, it was ugly but also a warning: It could get worse. And yet Republicans who could have checked the President either stayed quiet or encouraged him all the more. They were the cowards, but we all now have suffered the consequences.

I apologize for not actually drawing anything, but so many of these images are now seared into our collective memory that I felt them best used directly. Plus, I couldn’t have made them any more gobsmackingly ridiculous than they already are.

Best wishes to you, dear reader, in this holiday season. May you enjoy the gifts you give and the gifts you receive today and throughout the new year (even the socks & underwear). Have a Merry Christmas!

You know what I was talking about, right? Don’t make me say it. Please. I don’t want to have to say it!

Okay, fine. The Electoral College results are in. The presidential election is over. It’s final. It’s final, final.

Okay, fine. It’s not final, final, final. There could be a coup. There could be an alien invasion. There could be a majority of lawmakers breaking all norms and sworn promises to uphold the Constitution and hijacking the process before Biden and Harris are sworn in.

There. I acknowledged the rationally impossible. Happy? Can we please stop doing this now? Also, can we please stop paying attention to the deluded sycophants who insist on continuing to play this game? I mean, law enforcement should definitely keep their eyes on the ones threatening violence and insurrection. But everybody else? No more attention oxygen for you. Let’s move on.

Hey, how about them Lions, huh? Making another go at getting better! Rebuilding, as it were. This time by hiring some former players (Chris Spielman, Barry Sanders) from back when they were kinda good. Might work, who knows? If you’re hellbent on wishing for the highly improbable, consider giving this a try.

This week’s cartoon presented a bit of a challenge. I intended to present two people having a conversation, but I wanted to model good behavior. The conversation itself suggests that the two people haven’t seen each other for a while, which implies they aren’t “bubbled.”

But I couldn’t put them indoors and mask them because I wanted to show their smiles fading with each panel. So I put them outside and at a reasonable distance, but still probably too close because I didn’t want to draw them any smaller and lose their expressions. 

I do not claim any of that to be a hardship, especially compared to the real hardships brought on by this raging pandemic. But I think it speaks to just how worn down we all are by the grind — the extra weight that has been added to everything we do and think this godforsaken year.

And as a result, ridiculously idiotic diversions like the Giuliani show — normally something best processed with mockery — is hardly worth acknowledging. At best, it’s a waste of time. At worst, it’s a catalyst for even more stupidity. And it just isn’t funny anymore.

I drew a variation of this cartoon four years ago. The first panel acknowledged why Christians celebrate Christmas — the birth of Jesus Christ. The second panel reminded readers that the birth was, of course, just the beginning — he eventually grew up and had a few things to say how to treat the poor, the sick, the disenfranchised, and so on. So being Christian is much more than just saying “Merry Christmas.” (I know, not much of punchline.)

This cartoon is much more to the point. With so many examples lately of the disconnect between identifying as a Christian and actually being a disciple of Christ, I figured I could do it much simpler with no need for dialogue, labels, or multiple panels. 

Case in point: The story of a Christian school in West Michigan and their refusal to comply with mask mandates to slow the spread of COVID-19. Yes, they may not like the feeling of being told what to do. And they might not believe that masks help them. But still, making a small sacrifice for the welfare of others would seem to be the Christ-like thing to do, right? 

Twenty-one years ago, my wife, my two daughters, and I went on a trip to England during Thanksgiving. My brother was living in London at the time and had invited us to stay with him. It was magical. We toured all around. We rode the Underground, we took a motorboat up the Thames, we went to see The Lion King on stage. It couldn’t have been more perfect.

Prior to the trip, I had only two misgivings. The first was leaving our son at home, who was just too young to travel. (He had a pretty sweet week, though, basking in the full attention of Nana and Poppie.) The second was missing our traditional Thanksgiving. The families, the food, the fun — everything. I am very much wired to choose what I do know I like over all other options every time. It seems silly to think that I might have opted out of a trip to London just to spend Thanksgiving at home, but I remember it being a consideration.

All that to say, Thanksgiving this year has no doubt been different. And probably not in a good “trip to London” sort of way. (Literally. You couldn’t go even if you wanted.) But still, I hope you have been able to find some joy in the different experience. Or at least it occurred to you that it was Thanksgiving and that you can think of something to be thankful for.