Sometimes, in the middle of a hockey game, I like to do Pilates.
(This one originally appeared in January 8, 1999.)
This top one was slated to appear, but newspaper editors were allowed to substitute this older one if they didn’t want to expose their readers to the word “crap.” Turns out the word is verboten on the comics page in any usage.
When I talked about the strip with Brendan, my boy wonder editor, he suggested we offer an alternative and let newspaper editors make the call for their readers, as they know them best. I was fine with that. (Besides, someone recently told me they liked this shopping cart strip from way back, and I am not allowed rerun past strips unless there is an occasion like this.)
The comics page in a newspaper has a 1950s veneer to it, where certain words aren’t allowed. (Dork, suck, and the above c-word, which in my book has at least two c-words in front of it on the bad c-word podium.)
When will comics page language catch up with common vernacular? Probably not until Little Jeffy in The Family Circus can say the third-tier-c-word without fear of being cancelled by papers. Until then, the rest of us are S.O.L.
I was in my first pair of pajama pants this morning talking to my friend on the phone when she said something funny and I started to choke on a piece of ham in the split pea and ham soup I’d made in my Crockpot from 1972.
So I grabbed the closest glass of water. The cat’s. Some went down my throat, the rest went into my lap.
I changed pajama pants.
Later I was talking on the phone with my girlfriend Kristin and telling her about the ham-choking-catwater debacle when I heard noises in the basement and my cat Tom shot down the stairs. My dog Rocky started to follow him, but he is not allowed to do stairs because he’s injured. So as I was grabbing my 86 pound dog, a woodpecker flew past my head and went straight for the picture window.
Kristin heard the ruckus and said, “Should I call you back?”
I say, “No, no. It’s a woodpecker. Let me grab a dishtowel.”
There are chairs all over my sofas (see previous blog post) so Rocky was unable to hurl himself at the woodpecker, giving me time to cover the bird and open the french doors.
Kristin: “Are you sure we shouldn’t get off the phone?”
Me: “I got it.”
I had the bird in one hand and the phone in the other and walked along the icy deck. Then I was butt-first in the snow. (Note: Crocs are not good winter shoes. Not just for the holes in them, but for the pancake smooth tread on the bottom.)
Kristin:”Are you there? Did the woodpecker fly away?”
I checked the dishtowel. Empty.
I am writing this post in pajama pants #3.