Auchtoon!

Originally published in the Grand Rapids Press, January 22, 2011

Hey, if you guys need some fun reading material to help pick you up and get you through the winter blues season, may I suggest a book by Louis Sachar? Sachar is a brilliant author who is probably most famous for the book, “Holes.” What an awesome book — a tapestry of interweaving stories. Completely original. Sachar has also written a series of books called “Sideways Stories from Wayside School.” These are just plain fun and tap into your inner 8 year-old and the memory of just how ludicrous elementary school could be.
 
I was thinking about Sachar because of an interview I had once read with him. He spends an hour or two every day as “writing time.” During writing time, there are no interruptions. No phones, no emails, no texts, no visits, no nothin’. He sits in his office and is completely secluded. He writes. Or just thinks about writing. But nothing else. Otherwise, he’s an affable, approachable, communicative guy. But writing time is writing time.

I really like that notion and was thinking about it when I was trying to come up with this week’s comic (in between emails and phone calls and my own errant thoughts). We’re all so easily distracted (myself certainly included) that it seems counterproductive to allow ourselves to be so readily interrupted. And I think, at least for me, the consequence is that it’s the shinier distractions that grab my attention and my thought processes become much shallower. So it’s easier to be caught by the story of somebody abusing the welfare system and stay at the surface instead of going deeper to understand the context for why it happened.
 
We could all use some writing time….

Originally published in the Grand Rapids Press, January 15, 2011

Originally published in the Grand Rapids Press, January 8, 2011

Even though I drew this cartoon last week Wednesday and it was published before the story of the Arizona tragedy broke over the weekend, I still got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Had I stepped over a line? The comedy comes from two partisans losing control in a highly exaggerated way. (Our new governor in Michigan, Rick Snyder, has gone to great lengths to emphasize the need for all Michiganders to work through our political differences.) I agree with Snyder and am optimistic, but I also have some doubts. This cartoon, I hope, is a fairly honest expression of that. Thank goodness I didn’t decide to have the man and women draw guns in panel three.
 
But I’m pretty sure why I would never do that, and the reason is sort of sad. Two cartoon characters drawing guns on each other just isn’t enough of an exaggeration. Which is to say, it’s much too believable for it to happen in the United States. Nothing funny down that road.

Related to this, there was a lot of discussion among editorial cartoonists this week about the quality and appropriateness of the cartoons drawn about the Arizona incident. Unique to editorial cartoonists, the first thing was to take to task those who draw the “weeping Statue of Liberty” type of cartoon. (It’s a hack move.) But then like any other online discussion, it quickly devolved into “sides” accusing “sides” of taking “sides.” (To be fair to cartoonists, it’s generally the non-cartoonists who take the discussion there.) This was my reaction and quite possibly, my manifesto:

I don’t know about you, but I get really tired of people trying to pull me into the infernal “sides” sinkhole. I mean, Palin used gun sites on a map for targeted congressional districts. There is no right or left to that — it was willfully reckless and can be addressed on that alone. There is no other “side” you are supporting by editorializing that Palin needs to act more responsibly. And it’s becoming fairly clear that the central issue with Loughner was the ineffective treatment of his mental health issues — drawing about that shouldn’t require a supposed conservative or liberal spin. Cartoons created solely to allow your grouchy friend with the cable news addiction to identify your “side” start to make a weeping Statue of Liberty look not so bad.

By the way, if you want to see what I think is the best editorial cartoon that came out of all this, check out Nick Anderson at the Houston Chronicle.

Originally published in the Grand Rapids Press, January 1, 2011

The SciFi Network (yeah, I’m a little chagrinned that I know this channel exists and a bit more that I know where to find it) was running a Twilight Zone marathon New Year’s Day. The family watched a few. Some were scary. Some were pretty campy. But on the whole, they were much less scary and sickening than watching Michigan/Michigan State football.
 
One of my favorite Twilight Zones is called “The Man in the Bottle.” It’s the one where a poor guy finds a bottle with a genie and is granted several wishes — each with unanticipated consequences. Pretty standard stuff, but the one that always gets me is when he wishes to be leader of a great nation with no chance of being voted out of office. Poof! He turns into Hitler in his Berlin bunker in the closing days of World War II. Can you imagine anything worse? Well, having to be Jennifer Granholm as Michigan governor these past eight years would be a close second….

And as long as we’re confessing, I’d like you all to know that I watched most of “Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm” on Christmas Day. Shirley Temple, Randolph Scott. I enjoyed it, thank you very much. Don’t judge me.

Originally published in the Grand Rapids Press, December 25, 2010

Originally published in the Grand Rapids Press, December 18, 2010

The Press ran a series of stories last week on handguns and how lost or stolen handguns have been used in several local violent crimes. It really was extraordinary journalism because the articles didn’t take sides — there was no “let’s hear from pro-gun and anti-gun lobbyist positions.” The articles simply illustrated the sometimes overlooked consequences of legally owned guns and left it to the readers to draw their own conclusions. I tried to do the same.

Originally published in the Grand Rapids Press, December 11, 2010

Carl Levin, our senior senator from Michigan, is a widely respected man of integrity. You can certainly debate his political leanings and perhaps quibble with his with voting record, but you cannot deny his devotion and professionalism. He’s a Washington insider who retains a remarkable sense of trustworthiness.

In other words, Levin is what John McCain used to be.

Originally published in the Grand Rapids Press, December 4, 2010

What’s your favorite version of Charles Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol”? A bit of a trick question because for me reading the original story in Dickens’ own words is the very best. I reread it when I got the basic idea for this week’s comic. I knew exactly what I wanted and where it was, but it is such a delight to read this book. It’s amazing, really, when you consider how well it is known and clichéd in some respects it has become. (And as an editorial cartoonist I say “thank God!” because there are so few literary references these days that are universally recognized.) But every time I read it, the story just jumps — funny, compelling, and extraordinary.

And I think you have to read the whole story to truly feel the intensity of Scrooge’s graveside transformation when he says, “…I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.” Because it’s one thing to say those words, and it’s quite another to intend to follow through. In Grand Rapids we are blessed with people who seemed to have, in fact, followed through. Next month the new Helen DeVos Children’s Hospital will open (there were tours last week). Something like this doesn’t happen without the spirit of Christmas in somebody’s heart.

But to answer the original question, the best adaptation of A Christmas Carol for me is the one from 1984 with George C Scott. It’s authentic, magical, and Scott is diabolically mean and joyously reformed. I also like Scrooged from 1988. The casting is inspired, particularly Carol Kane as the Ghost of Christmas present and Mary Lou Retton as Tiny Tim. The worst (again, for me) is a 1970 “animated” version I remember seeing as a kid. It’s the straightforward story set in Victorian times, but will lousy limited animation and no soul. A classic example of  the “it’s a cartoon, the kids will like it” mentality that inevitably produces a turd. And along those lines, I’ve never seen Mister Magoo’s Christmas Carol, but I’ve heard a song(!) from it, which was painful. How about you?

Originally published in the Grand Rapids Press, November 27, 2010

Often when I’m trying to come up with an idea for a cartoon, I will read online articles on topics I think I might have an opinion about. It’s a good way to become more informed, perhaps add a little insight, and verify I’m on the right track. What I don’t do is scroll to the bottom and read the comments section. Why? Well, it is typically the express lane to Crazytown, and I get enough junk email every day extolling the virtues of, say, financial windfall from dead Nigerian royalty or breast augmentation (or both) to be reminded of Crazytown’s existence.
 
But, um, yeah, sometimes I do look. I’m not sure if it was boredom or morbid curiosity, but this week when I was researching the “Detroit and Flint Dangerous Cities” topic on MLive.com, I did scroll down to see just how bad it could be. Yep, pretty bad. Or at least bad enough that it became the topic I wanted to draw about. The conflict I had, though, was I had already drawn on subject of comment boards about a year and a half ago. (Click here.) I only get one editorial cartoon a week, so I hate to rehash things I’ve already done. But I was pleased to see that comic I had drawn before was, well, not particularly good. In fact, it was more than a bit ham-fisted. So that gave me clearance to try for improvement. And so to make this a proper comment board I want half of you to tell me the comic sucks, and the other half to tell them they suck. Oh… and the third comment, whatever it is, has to include the word “Nazi.”

First of all, her name could be a bit confusing to those outside the family. Her name was officially Cassaundra Jane (with the “u” in purposely included to ensure it was pronounced “kah-sawn-drah” and not “kah-san-drah”). More typically it was Cassie, but more commonly it was Poo! (with the exclamation point purposely included because it seemed to fit). There were of course many related variations — Poo!Cassie, Poo!Dalolly, DaPoo! — and unrelated: When Atticus was little, he called her “Shnocky-head.” Nobody has any idea where that comes from or what it means, but it too worked. (I contend that her birth name was Stooart Loouise Pooskawitz, a Peruvian/Siamese Jew by way of Saskatoon, Saskatchewan born to a ne’er-do-well cad and a stinky lady of ill-repute on the mean streets of Flint, Michigan. The story I hope someday to turn into a questionable children’s book.)

Whatever you called her, my Cassie was a cat’s cat — smart, sneaky, strong preferences, particular, clean, elegant, opinionated, sweet, and kind of a butthole. It was okay that I called her a butthole when she acted like a butthole — she called me names much worse — but she didn’t especially care for the “butthole” song I would sing to her, although it is certainly a jaunty tune. For 20 plus years, Cassie was my workmate — I would work, she would sleep. To be fair, she did do some other things. She would also bathe loudly and go sit on my keyboard to demand my attention. In our old house, where my office in the basement with her, um, facilities, she would take a dump, which was always a good reminder for me to go stretch my legs while the room aired out. Over the years, whenever I came back to my office (whatever the reason), Cassie had this innate sense of knowing where I needed to be next. If I needed to draw, she would be curled up on my drawing chair. If I needed to be working on my computer, she would be curled up on my desk chair. Uncanny! Then I would feel absolutely horrible having to move her, which of course delighted her to no end. See? Kind of a butthole.

July 1990 my sister-in-law Ann and my mother-in-law brought Cassie to us. Jane and I had been in our first house all of two weeks and were not really looking to add anybody soon, but there she was. I fell in love. The first night we had Cassie, we put her in a room downstairs for the night. We thought she was too small to make it up and down the steps. The moment we closed the door, she started to cry and it broke my heart. So I slept on the floor with her that night. (Next night and most thereafter she was in bed with me and Jane.) Last Saturday, Cassie was failing. Jane had already spent the night with her Friday, so I slept in another room on the floor with Cassie. The beginning met the end. Sunday morning she was gone.