not falling down

It really was pretty disorienting last year, having the television tell me that the thing I wanted from politics was actually happening. I didn’t know how to handle it. The guiding keel of my cynicism ran up short on a beach of unexpected joy.

It wasn’t really a beach, of course: it was a sandbar. Now, as we watch the you-know-what bill being painstakingly converted from a mild rebuke for the insurance industry into a roaring engine of fellatio, it’s almost soothing. Yes, yes. This is what it’s supposed to be like.

I’ve just gone through my archives and realized that all the times I’ve plugged Bobwhite have been strips wherein Cleo is humiliated. I think there is some identification going on. Cleo provides an outlet for derision aimed at College Brendan that, perhaps more healthily, does not involve fantasized face-punches.

High-text, low-art comics like Narbonic and xkcd are fine for what they are, but the four panels of today’s Bobwhite are all anyone should need to understand exactly what a skillful artist can do with fifteen words, some posture and a few carefully rendered facial expressions. The second panel alone! Man!

Holly and I were discussing the inevitable self-recrimination that comes of owning a computer with anything one has ever written on it.