Abhimanyu Das, a veteran culture reporter from India and student in MIT's graduate Comparative Media Studies Program, wrote this semi-recent account of the work being done by the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund. (Link via Henry Jenkins.)
Jef Mallett does the comic strip Frazz on a daily basis. It is, in my opinion, one of the funnier strips on the comics' page today. But what has struck me about Mallett in particular is that he's often willing to play with the sequential art format within the confines of his strip. Here's today's example...
The balloon that is launched in "panel" 3 flies backwards through "panels" 1 and 2 before landing in "panel" 4. The flight path breaks the invisible boundaries we, the readers, have placed within the illustration. If we were to follow the artwork in a more literal/traditional sense, we would be forced to believe that either a) the balloon's path takes it back in time or b) there are in fact four identical sets of characters standing next to one another. Yet the "obvious" reading of this strip really suggests neither of those. We merely see the balloon take an extremely erratic flight after having been blown up and let go by a single character. It's a clever use of the space, and plays against the norms of the Sunday strips.
I've seen references, not made by the creators, that Frazz is an adult Calvin from Bill Watterson's Calvin and Hobbes. This was highlighted in a series of strips in which Frazz played a variation of the classic "Calvin-ball." But people often point to a similar illustration style in the characters. Whether and/or how much influence Watterson had on Mallett, I don't know, but I think what is the greater honor is that Mallett has tried to push the boundaries of comic strip storytelling in much the same way that Watterson did. (See The Calvin and Hobbes Tenth Anniversary Book for Watterson's account of how he tried to push the artistry in the funny pages.)
Good on you, Jef, for playing with comic strip format. Always a pleasure to see something besides the standard panel layouts!
The balloon that is launched in "panel" 3 flies backwards through "panels" 1 and 2 before landing in "panel" 4. The flight path breaks the invisible boundaries we, the readers, have placed within the illustration. If we were to follow the artwork in a more literal/traditional sense, we would be forced to believe that either a) the balloon's path takes it back in time or b) there are in fact four identical sets of characters standing next to one another. Yet the "obvious" reading of this strip really suggests neither of those. We merely see the balloon take an extremely erratic flight after having been blown up and let go by a single character. It's a clever use of the space, and plays against the norms of the Sunday strips.
I've seen references, not made by the creators, that Frazz is an adult Calvin from Bill Watterson's Calvin and Hobbes. This was highlighted in a series of strips in which Frazz played a variation of the classic "Calvin-ball." But people often point to a similar illustration style in the characters. Whether and/or how much influence Watterson had on Mallett, I don't know, but I think what is the greater honor is that Mallett has tried to push the boundaries of comic strip storytelling in much the same way that Watterson did. (See The Calvin and Hobbes Tenth Anniversary Book for Watterson's account of how he tried to push the artistry in the funny pages.)
Good on you, Jef, for playing with comic strip format. Always a pleasure to see something besides the standard panel layouts!
I've got something of an open-ended question today: is it possible/advisable to seek romance within the comic book community? Comics, as you've probably figured out, are a BIG part of my life. And, although my soon-to-be-ex-wife has denied that they had anything to do with her leaving, I can't help but figure that there was some negative impact on our relationship because of them. If nothing else, it was a big part of my life that she actively did not want to share. (To be fair, though, she made quite an effort. And even though she enjoyed some of what she read -- heck, I'm the guy who turned her on to Neil Gaiman in the first place -- she never really "got" the medium on the whole.) I think it stands to reason that, in any healthy relationship, the two people involved are not going to completely agree on everything. Take that as a given. But it makes sense that there ought to be some overlap, at least on the most significant aspects of your life. It's not infrequently cited that significant differences in religious beliefs often are the cause of marital problems -- in large part because those beliefs generally form the very core of a person's identity.
So for someone like myself, who really, really enjoys comic books, I have to wonder if my "soul-mate" can really only be someone who's relatively passionate about the medium as well. Or would it be sufficient to be with someone who at least appreciates what comics have to offer, and regularly read a handful of titles?
I'm aware of a handful of folks who met and/or fell in love through their comic book connections. Harvey Pekar met his wife Joyce while she was hunting down a copy of American Splendor #6. I believe Kurt Busiek and Roger Stern met their respective wives at comic book conventions. The owners of my LCS are a husband and wife team. And my buddy Dave is dating a woman he met at a convention -- I also happen to know their first date was at a showing of Ghost Rider.
That being said, though, I'm obviously only aware of a small portion of those relationships. I'm certain that my own marriage looked perfectly happy to any outsiders before she left. But it seems that comic books can at least provide something of an anchor for those couples to help prevent them from drifting apart. So maybe part of what I need to do is simply keep a more attuned eye out on the convention circuit. Someone attending a comic book convention is likely to have more than a passing interest in comics, right?
The downside, of course, is that comic book conventions aren't exactly prime hangouts for the fairer sex. The industry on the whole tends to cater to a Y-chromosome crowd, which makes for a significant initial gender disparity. Then, of course, you've got to figure there's a percentage of women who are unavailable -- either because they're in an existing relationship and/or they simply aren't interested in pursuing one with a man. And that doesn't even begin to speak to other issues of compatibility!
The next hurdle, it seems to me, is the nature of conventions themselves. What percentage of people at any given convention do you suppose are going to take time away from the convention-ing to do something else? For the women who dress themselves up in skimpy Wonder Woman or slave Leia costumes, they're going to be in a state of perpetual defense to ward off the inevitable gawking fanboys. Then most of the rest of them are going to focus their attentions on the back issue bins or the creator signings or the industry panels or whatever it is that interests them. The convention, by its nature, has a finite time limit and forces people to budget their time.
The next problem I'm sure is not unique to me, but it's not one that necessarily is universal: striking up a conversation. Me? I'm absolutely abysmal at starting conversations out of the blue. Or, for that matter, engaging in an existing conversation with more than one or two people. I'm not even talking about chat-up lines here. ("I've got a Giant-Size Man-Thing in my pocket...") Anything beyond "Hi" and I'm pretty much at a loss. I suppose I could carry on a conversation in a more informational sense ("Do you know where the Warren Ellis panel is?") but unless I was the one answering questions, it'd sound forced. Because I'd already know the answer to any question like that.
That all being said, I'm not discounting all hope! Stranger things have happened. (Hell, I got married in the first place, and I was sure that was never going to happen!) But the reason I'm bringing all this up, mainly, is to solicit stories from you folks. If you and your significant other met somehow through comics, how did that come about? Are comic books necessarily a part of your continuing relationship? Am I just way over-thinking this whole subject?
Thoughts, stories and anecdotes would be appreciated.
Quick note via TwoMorrows: they're running a 50% off sale on all of their back issue magazines throughout the whole month of November. All of their titles are excellent, to be sure, but I might particularly suggest picking up (if you don't have them already) the last four years' worth of Jack Kirby Collector as those issues happen to feature the work of a writer/researcher of extraordinary talent. Namely, yours truly.
In all seriousness, the TwoMorrows crew has put together some absolutely incredible books across the board. I highly recommend any and all of their titles.
In all seriousness, the TwoMorrows crew has put together some absolutely incredible books across the board. I highly recommend any and all of their titles.
Ah, the first day of November! You know what that means, don't you?
Me neither.
November is mostly just a post-Halloween/pre-Christmas* time period. You've given out a bunch of comics to the young'uns in costumes and now you need to load up on all the cool comics-are-a-legitimate-art-form comics to give out for Christmas.
What? You mean you don't give out comics as presents? What the heck kind of comic book fan are you? There are hundreds of comic-related gift ideas for everybody, regardless of whether or not the recipient is a regular comic reader. Granted, some of the better ideas might take a little time to track down, but that's why you start looking in November instead of waiting until December 20.
Setting aside just really well-done graphic novels, there's tons of books out there related to almost any interest. For the kid who loves dinosaurs and archeology, how about Jim Ottaviani's Bone Sharps, Cowboys, and Thunder Lizards? For your resident rock-n-roller, how about several issues of Rock 'N' Roll Comics from the late 1980s/early 1990s? Lost Girls for the family porn-addict (and I'm not really joking with that suggestion). Some of the collected Sin City books for those who really liked the movie. There's PLENTY of adaptations of prose classics, from the recent Treasure Island from marvel and Alice in Wonderland from Zenescope to the older Treasure Island from Classics Illustrated and Alice in Wonderland from Gold Key. You don't have to wait for IDW to start reprinting the old Dr. Who stories; those're collected in various volumes already (although many only in Great Britain, so order early). There's Kingdom Hearts and Pirates of the Caribbean and Star Trek and Labyrinth manga.
And, hey, that doesn't even begin to get into the relatively recent hardbound and/or slipcased collections of The Far Side, Peanuts, Calvin and Hobbes and the works of Don Martin!
Let me tell you, there is CRUDLOADS of material out there for anyone, whether or not they're an active comic fan. Honestly, I don't think it even takes that much thought. If you can't think of something appropriate off the top of your head, do a couple of quick searches on Comics.org or ComicBookDB.com and I'm sure you'll turn up more than a few items of interest.
* Christmas, as it is generally celebrated, is a secular holiday so don't give me any grief about not mentioning Kwanza or Chanukah or whatever. That whole Santa/fir tree/Frosty schtick has about bupkis to do with the birth of Jesus, as was ultimately decided legally by the U.S. Supreme Court. I'm not knocking folks who do use Christmas to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ, but 96% of Americans celebrate Christmas while over 20% of Americans consider themselves decidedly non-Christians (i.e. Jewish, Muslim, Atheist).
Me neither.
November is mostly just a post-Halloween/pre-Christmas* time period. You've given out a bunch of comics to the young'uns in costumes and now you need to load up on all the cool comics-are-a-legitimate-art-form comics to give out for Christmas.
What? You mean you don't give out comics as presents? What the heck kind of comic book fan are you? There are hundreds of comic-related gift ideas for everybody, regardless of whether or not the recipient is a regular comic reader. Granted, some of the better ideas might take a little time to track down, but that's why you start looking in November instead of waiting until December 20.
Setting aside just really well-done graphic novels, there's tons of books out there related to almost any interest. For the kid who loves dinosaurs and archeology, how about Jim Ottaviani's Bone Sharps, Cowboys, and Thunder Lizards? For your resident rock-n-roller, how about several issues of Rock 'N' Roll Comics from the late 1980s/early 1990s? Lost Girls for the family porn-addict (and I'm not really joking with that suggestion). Some of the collected Sin City books for those who really liked the movie. There's PLENTY of adaptations of prose classics, from the recent Treasure Island from marvel and Alice in Wonderland from Zenescope to the older Treasure Island from Classics Illustrated and Alice in Wonderland from Gold Key. You don't have to wait for IDW to start reprinting the old Dr. Who stories; those're collected in various volumes already (although many only in Great Britain, so order early). There's Kingdom Hearts and Pirates of the Caribbean and Star Trek and Labyrinth manga.
And, hey, that doesn't even begin to get into the relatively recent hardbound and/or slipcased collections of The Far Side, Peanuts, Calvin and Hobbes and the works of Don Martin!
Let me tell you, there is CRUDLOADS of material out there for anyone, whether or not they're an active comic fan. Honestly, I don't think it even takes that much thought. If you can't think of something appropriate off the top of your head, do a couple of quick searches on Comics.org or ComicBookDB.com and I'm sure you'll turn up more than a few items of interest.
* Christmas, as it is generally celebrated, is a secular holiday so don't give me any grief about not mentioning Kwanza or Chanukah or whatever. That whole Santa/fir tree/Frosty schtick has about bupkis to do with the birth of Jesus, as was ultimately decided legally by the U.S. Supreme Court. I'm not knocking folks who do use Christmas to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ, but 96% of Americans celebrate Christmas while over 20% of Americans consider themselves decidedly non-Christians (i.e. Jewish, Muslim, Atheist).
Well, I'm sure some of you have had a chance by now to swing by Zuda Comics and check out some of the new material they've got. I made a point of reading through all of them to see what's working and what isn't, and generally see the execution of the various ideas noted in the original solicitations.
As of this writing, there appear to have been a little over 3,000 people who've stopped by to actually read the comics. The most widely viewed so far has been Alpha Monkey and the least viewed is Leprenomicon, which has less than half of AM's viewership thus far. I think this is reflective of the basic concepts presented, as it seems to follow what people were saying excited them thematically before the actual launch.
More interesting -- and more relevant to the contest aspect of the experiment -- are the votes cast thus far. Not everyone who's viewed the comics have voted (it appears that only about 2% of viewers have actually voted so far) but there are certainly some titles that seem to be pulling out to an early lead. Most notable is High Moon with the most votes, followed by Dead in the Now and Battlefield Babysitter. Also worth noting is that High Moon has the largest percentage of votes per views, suggesting that it's not only the best of these comics (in the eyes of viewers, at any rate) but also the most satisfying in terms of delivering on the promise of the original solicitation.
There are, it seems to me, some very clear and obvious factors working in High Moon's favor. First and foremost, readers are dropped right into the story. Some of the comics, such as Raining Cats and Dogs, have started off slowly by only giving readers some expository background. That's a difficult road to take in the short form of webcomics, and I think the patience required for such a story will prevent it from being successful in this decidedly finite contest set-up.
Another factor working in High Moon's favor is that we're given several characters (and indeed, they are already characters, not just bodies with names attached to them) to work with up-front, without over-burdening us with an excessively large cast. The Dead Seas and The Enders only give readers two characters each, and there's not much in the way of characterization so far -- plenty of action, but not a whole lot to identify with. Granted, there's not boatloads of characterization in High Moon yet either (we're only eight pages in to any of these stories, after all) but the actions and dialogue speaks to who we're dealing with right away.
On a more technical note, it strikes me that the most successful of these comics so far with regards to storytelling and narrative are the ones who have the writer and artist as separate entities. I personally find this curious in that I'm usually drawn towards works with fewer creators. I tend to prefer the singularity of vision that comes with doing the whole thing oneself, and I find myself here seeing that the writer/artist combo does not seem as effective here -- either because the artist's scripting is stilted or the writer's graphic storytelling is clumsy.
I think the delivery system is worth remarking on as well. The comics are presented within a Flash player created (presumably) especially for Zuda. Launching any given comic will give the user a new page with the first image of the story on it, and a small toolbar allowing the user to zoom in or out, page through on a screen-to-screen basis, or jump directly to any individual page. The user also has the option of blowing up the image to take up the entire screen -- and this is, in fact, necessary to read some of the smaller text in some comics. Interestingly, there are notes early on that reference keyboard commands for the menu options, but I could not get them to work on Firefox for Windows.
The full-screen format obviously allows readers to see more detail in the comics, and can provide for a fuller appreciation of the artwork going into it. I'm not sure how many people are opting for the full-screen over the partial screen, but I know I only opened it up to full-screen when it was impossible to read the text at the smaller side -- as was the case with High Moon. I'm left to wonder, then, whether that works in favor of a given comic or not. Those comics who used larger fonts, making it easier to read when at the smaller size may have contributed to my not liking those stories as much simply because I wasn't looking that closely at the artwork.
I have my personal favorites on Zuda so far, but I'll continue to read all of the stories for the time being, at least to see how the various creators work on the project over the longer term. Obviously, doing eight pages is considerably different than an extended series of pages over the course of a whole month. We'll see how things go, and I'll probably report at least once or twice more as the contest progresses.
As of this writing, there appear to have been a little over 3,000 people who've stopped by to actually read the comics. The most widely viewed so far has been Alpha Monkey and the least viewed is Leprenomicon, which has less than half of AM's viewership thus far. I think this is reflective of the basic concepts presented, as it seems to follow what people were saying excited them thematically before the actual launch.
More interesting -- and more relevant to the contest aspect of the experiment -- are the votes cast thus far. Not everyone who's viewed the comics have voted (it appears that only about 2% of viewers have actually voted so far) but there are certainly some titles that seem to be pulling out to an early lead. Most notable is High Moon with the most votes, followed by Dead in the Now and Battlefield Babysitter. Also worth noting is that High Moon has the largest percentage of votes per views, suggesting that it's not only the best of these comics (in the eyes of viewers, at any rate) but also the most satisfying in terms of delivering on the promise of the original solicitation.
There are, it seems to me, some very clear and obvious factors working in High Moon's favor. First and foremost, readers are dropped right into the story. Some of the comics, such as Raining Cats and Dogs, have started off slowly by only giving readers some expository background. That's a difficult road to take in the short form of webcomics, and I think the patience required for such a story will prevent it from being successful in this decidedly finite contest set-up.
Another factor working in High Moon's favor is that we're given several characters (and indeed, they are already characters, not just bodies with names attached to them) to work with up-front, without over-burdening us with an excessively large cast. The Dead Seas and The Enders only give readers two characters each, and there's not much in the way of characterization so far -- plenty of action, but not a whole lot to identify with. Granted, there's not boatloads of characterization in High Moon yet either (we're only eight pages in to any of these stories, after all) but the actions and dialogue speaks to who we're dealing with right away.
On a more technical note, it strikes me that the most successful of these comics so far with regards to storytelling and narrative are the ones who have the writer and artist as separate entities. I personally find this curious in that I'm usually drawn towards works with fewer creators. I tend to prefer the singularity of vision that comes with doing the whole thing oneself, and I find myself here seeing that the writer/artist combo does not seem as effective here -- either because the artist's scripting is stilted or the writer's graphic storytelling is clumsy.
I think the delivery system is worth remarking on as well. The comics are presented within a Flash player created (presumably) especially for Zuda. Launching any given comic will give the user a new page with the first image of the story on it, and a small toolbar allowing the user to zoom in or out, page through on a screen-to-screen basis, or jump directly to any individual page. The user also has the option of blowing up the image to take up the entire screen -- and this is, in fact, necessary to read some of the smaller text in some comics. Interestingly, there are notes early on that reference keyboard commands for the menu options, but I could not get them to work on Firefox for Windows.
The full-screen format obviously allows readers to see more detail in the comics, and can provide for a fuller appreciation of the artwork going into it. I'm not sure how many people are opting for the full-screen over the partial screen, but I know I only opened it up to full-screen when it was impossible to read the text at the smaller side -- as was the case with High Moon. I'm left to wonder, then, whether that works in favor of a given comic or not. Those comics who used larger fonts, making it easier to read when at the smaller size may have contributed to my not liking those stories as much simply because I wasn't looking that closely at the artwork.
I have my personal favorites on Zuda so far, but I'll continue to read all of the stories for the time being, at least to see how the various creators work on the project over the longer term. Obviously, doing eight pages is considerably different than an extended series of pages over the course of a whole month. We'll see how things go, and I'll probably report at least once or twice more as the contest progresses.
No, I'm not trying to puree my comics, I'm talking about everyone's favorite loser, Charlie Brown.
Obviously, Chuck's been receiving a bit of attention lately with the recent Charles Schulz biography, the un-related PBS documentary, and the associated outrage (probably a tad too strong a term, but I'm at a loss for a better one at the moment) from the family. Consequently, the topic of Schulz's life and his most famous creations are a bit tread-worn at this point, but I'm going to talk about them anyway.
Peanuts was established as a staple of the comics long before I was born. Indeed, the Christmas and Halloween specials were already expected viewing on their respective holidays by that point as well. Snoopy, for me, has always been in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. The comic, for me and my generation, was not the revelation in comics that it was when it came out. Nor was it unique any longer. Ziggy bore many physical characteristics to Chuck, The Born Loser seemed to run into adult versions of the same problems that the Peanuts gang did, and Johnny Hart's various strips bore many of the (then) quasi-religious overtones shared by Schulz's work.
That said, though, Charlie Brown still stood out. He was the perpetual outcast that I could readily and regularly identify with. My Halloween costumes sucked. I never got Valentines. I was laughed out of the auditorium for not fitting in. I never had the courage to ask out the pretty redhead. I just could not seem to win. Ever.
Naturally, it was that sense of alienation that all children feel that Schulz was able to tap into. I'm more than certain I wasn't alone in my thinking. (I actually had a conversation several years ago with one of the most popular girls in my grade/high school. She was pretty, athletic, smart, talented, friendly... everyone liked her. But it turns out that despite being popular, she too felt estranged from her classmates!) What Schulz mastered was allowing us to see the pain of isolation and rejection, filtered through the printed page to make it more humorous. (Tragedy + time = comedy.) His drawing style was so simple that it was incredibly easy for readers to project themselves into the characters. What is Charlie Brown, after all, but a smiley face with a nose and ears?
But you've read/seen those types of comments in numerous places by now. The recent publicity/interest in Schulz has drawn out some of the artwork capitalizing on his work. I'm sure you've seen drawings of various superheroes drawn in Schulz's style. Or Michael Paulus' skeletal studies of Charlie, Linus, Pigpen, Patty and Lucy. Or the Peanuts crew drawn as manga characters. I recently bought/read Jason Yungbluth's Weapon Brown, which recasts Chuck as a post-apocalyptic mutant cyborg. (Good stuff!) Not mention the endless Photoshop riffs that give the old strips new (and often off-color) dialogue.
But, you know what I find particularly striking in reviewing all this material? That I still absolutely connect with the originals. I mentioned recently that I was taping up comic strips in my cubicle at work? Several of them feature Charlie Brown not being particularly funny, but making pointed statements about who we are, how we think, and how we react to the crap Life throws at us. And I'll be damned if that doesn't get to me.
For that matter, Schulz himself got to me. I was watching that documentary on PBS last night, and found myself wiping tears off my cheeks towards the end. Not because it was a particularly sad story in and of itself -- although Schultz's death was indeed quite sad -- but because I could see far too much of myself in Peanuts all of a sudden. I could almost see that iconic zig-zag strip running across my shirt: the tread tracks from Life effortlessly running me over. I saw myself paying a nickel for psychiatric advice from the closest thing I have to a female friend. I saw myself running towards that metaphoric football and landing smack on my back, causing little physical pain but more than enough mental anguish to prevent me from even bothering to get up.
Tonight, I'm going to go home, eat dinner, and read comics for a bit. Probably play with the dog. Much like Chuck would. And then I'll sit down for the ritualistic viewing of It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown and probably shed a few tears every time I hear, "I got a rock."
At least, though, I'm not the only one.
Obviously, Chuck's been receiving a bit of attention lately with the recent Charles Schulz biography, the un-related PBS documentary, and the associated outrage (probably a tad too strong a term, but I'm at a loss for a better one at the moment) from the family. Consequently, the topic of Schulz's life and his most famous creations are a bit tread-worn at this point, but I'm going to talk about them anyway.
Peanuts was established as a staple of the comics long before I was born. Indeed, the Christmas and Halloween specials were already expected viewing on their respective holidays by that point as well. Snoopy, for me, has always been in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. The comic, for me and my generation, was not the revelation in comics that it was when it came out. Nor was it unique any longer. Ziggy bore many physical characteristics to Chuck, The Born Loser seemed to run into adult versions of the same problems that the Peanuts gang did, and Johnny Hart's various strips bore many of the (then) quasi-religious overtones shared by Schulz's work.
That said, though, Charlie Brown still stood out. He was the perpetual outcast that I could readily and regularly identify with. My Halloween costumes sucked. I never got Valentines. I was laughed out of the auditorium for not fitting in. I never had the courage to ask out the pretty redhead. I just could not seem to win. Ever.
Naturally, it was that sense of alienation that all children feel that Schulz was able to tap into. I'm more than certain I wasn't alone in my thinking. (I actually had a conversation several years ago with one of the most popular girls in my grade/high school. She was pretty, athletic, smart, talented, friendly... everyone liked her. But it turns out that despite being popular, she too felt estranged from her classmates!) What Schulz mastered was allowing us to see the pain of isolation and rejection, filtered through the printed page to make it more humorous. (Tragedy + time = comedy.) His drawing style was so simple that it was incredibly easy for readers to project themselves into the characters. What is Charlie Brown, after all, but a smiley face with a nose and ears?
But you've read/seen those types of comments in numerous places by now. The recent publicity/interest in Schulz has drawn out some of the artwork capitalizing on his work. I'm sure you've seen drawings of various superheroes drawn in Schulz's style. Or Michael Paulus' skeletal studies of Charlie, Linus, Pigpen, Patty and Lucy. Or the Peanuts crew drawn as manga characters. I recently bought/read Jason Yungbluth's Weapon Brown, which recasts Chuck as a post-apocalyptic mutant cyborg. (Good stuff!) Not mention the endless Photoshop riffs that give the old strips new (and often off-color) dialogue.
But, you know what I find particularly striking in reviewing all this material? That I still absolutely connect with the originals. I mentioned recently that I was taping up comic strips in my cubicle at work? Several of them feature Charlie Brown not being particularly funny, but making pointed statements about who we are, how we think, and how we react to the crap Life throws at us. And I'll be damned if that doesn't get to me.
For that matter, Schulz himself got to me. I was watching that documentary on PBS last night, and found myself wiping tears off my cheeks towards the end. Not because it was a particularly sad story in and of itself -- although Schultz's death was indeed quite sad -- but because I could see far too much of myself in Peanuts all of a sudden. I could almost see that iconic zig-zag strip running across my shirt: the tread tracks from Life effortlessly running me over. I saw myself paying a nickel for psychiatric advice from the closest thing I have to a female friend. I saw myself running towards that metaphoric football and landing smack on my back, causing little physical pain but more than enough mental anguish to prevent me from even bothering to get up.
Tonight, I'm going to go home, eat dinner, and read comics for a bit. Probably play with the dog. Much like Chuck would. And then I'll sit down for the ritualistic viewing of It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown and probably shed a few tears every time I hear, "I got a rock."
At least, though, I'm not the only one.
