The Day the Clown Sighed

Groucho Marx's observation that he wouldn't belong to any club that would have him as a member has slowly been robbed of its stinging subtext of Jewish self-loathing and has become cultural shorthand for more universal self-loathing. Jon's dilemma today probably has more resonance for the post-Baby Boomer generation, with our special blend of ironic/neurotic whine, but I suspect it's a fear that always lives in humanity and emerges most fiercely in those eras when we don't have better things to worry about. In short, it's nice when someone likes you, but only until you can't help but wonder if that means they're screwed up. Groucho's line has a lot to do with his comic persona as a letch, rascal and ne'er-do-well, the character reveling in the contradiction he has willfully caused. The Gen X neurosis is fueled by genuine self-esteem problems and existential confusion. This is why Kurt Cobain shot himself.

Jon Arbuckle does not hate himself, and is in a third, slightly different position: he has plenty of objective data that he doesn't have any friends, and the few creatures who sort-of like him certainly don't appreciate his sense of humor. The method by which the crestfallen Jon of panel 3 might be cheered-up is practical application of Liz's sense of humor. He doesn't suggest that Liz was faking her laughter, just that she was entertained by a man of his meager comedy skills (if it makes you snicker to think this is some kind of coded sex-talk, feel free). If you share the same lame sense of humor, does it matter if you know it's lame? A lot of good, normal couples are united by a mutual bad taste. That taste is frequently in each other. Jon's got nothing to worry about. I mean, except that he runs home and reports to his cat after every date.

The Jon-queror Worm

Jon consciously attempts to blind himself to any negative associations about time spent with Liz, only to crash back to reality. The intoxicating powers of romance can effect even those characters inhabiting a world as thick with ennui as Garfield, but the small happiness of time spent with a woman he likes is not enough for Jon. He has to build a scaffolding of self-delusion (look at that lost expression), and fight off even the tiniest unpleasantness. That the date activity was kind of poorly chosen is not a big deal, it's not a character flaw in Liz, and Jon's discomfort could've been avoided by better communication; part of this story is about a thin facade of perfection Jon puts up around Liz. Alternate reading: Jon's horror at the lecture was largely because being reminded of the vulnerability of household pets to tapeworms, i.e. the evening spent with Liz clarified the potential for repulsiveness deep inside his best friend.

The other part is about how Jon and Liz had a good time even though Jon was variously bored and disgusted during the medical lecture. Because while a lot of Garfield is about pointing out how empty and unhappy-making our culture is (Jon's 27 year string of failed dates, Garfield's TV-watching habits), a lot of it is about rooting out the small joys we root out of unexpected crevices. Maybe it's self-delusion in panels one and two... maybe Jon got a weird charge out of getting sick looking at pictures of gastrointestinal systems with his girlfriend. And if the Garfield audience laughed, then maybe we all did.

Q: What does Garfield's rejoinder mean? Is he sarcastically pointing out that since Jon is sick to his stomach he obviously wouldn't want to eat? Or is he implying Jon vomited, and may actually be hungry again? Why do I care about this tiny variable, when the overall meaning of the joke is the same?

Either way, it looks like Garfield is trying to sleep while Jon keeps him awake, babbling about his new girlfriend. The only part that catches his attention is about spaghetti. Who has their priorities in order?

Jonny Crack Corn

The dreamy look in Jon's eyes and general air of being out of it tells me Jon doesn't quite realize what he's saying. He thinks he's relishing the time spent alone with Liz, but his line of reasoning has nothing to do with the company at the movies. What Jon most enjoyed was time away from Garfield. It's actually fine, good and probably healthy, for Jon to realize this. It's a poor thing to subject Liz to, however, and the ideal result in a developing human being would be to make sure future dates are not just to get away from Garfield.

Part of how Garfield asserts his authority and deeply integrates himself into the Jon's life is to force the man to ingest parts of his body. The vagary of Garfield's angry retort is part of the joke. How can Garfield make good on such a threat? By either sabotaging Jon's dates so he has to stay home and eat the tainted house supply of popcorn, or by violating the entire concession stand at the theater. Perhaps the theater the reader frequents. The heart of a gross-out joke is to ask the audience to imagine themselves with a greasy, salty, crunchy mouthful of fluffy popcorn sprinkled with white flecks of cat dander, and matted with buttery hunks of golden orange fur which stick to their shiny lips and slick fingers.

Panel Three Art Examination: Perhaps it is Garfield's massive right forearm blocking the view, but it appears the limb has become disconnected from our hero's body.

KISS Asleep!

We rarely glimpse the nightly (?) ritual of Jon and Garfield saying goodnight to each other. No one says goodnight to Odie, and no one knows or cares where he sleeps. No one is concerned when he disappears for weeks at a time. Instead Jon funnels his energy into making sure Garfield witnesses every landmark moment of his life. Not only did Garfield see the kiss, but he was staring creepily at the young lovers. Not only did Garfield see the kiss, but he saw the entire date. He has borne silent witness to Jon's entire life. So in panel three, as Garfield tries to get momentary relief from being Jon's flesh-and-blood diary, we all feel the exhausted frustration: we paid strict attention all week, and yeah, yeah we saw the kiss.

Doc Wilson should've been less concerned with Garfield's French busboy outfit last week than his atrocious beanbag physique. Panel Two helps emphasize the horror, which is usually minimized by the visual counterpoint of his absurdly long legs. Vertical stripes make fat orange men look thinner after all.

Usually Davis writes Jon's "dialog" in a way that works as one-sided conversation. It's great that Jon is not only asking this question over and over because he can't get his mind off the kiss, but because in his frenzy he half-expects an answer, and can't understand why Garfield doesn't answer. It's a fine critique of anyone babbling about their love lives to our friends: they may start out indulgently half-listening in the first panel, but by the end, you're a dope pestering a speechless animal trapped in a box, pinned under a blanket.

Keep on Truckin'

Q: Is the appositive in the sentence "A blind date, at the monster truck rally, what was I thinking?" the best way to phrase this?

Q: Is Jon's pre-grooming morning appearance just to enhance the second-level of the joke about Garfield being put off his feed?

Q: Why did Jon see his date's bare back?

Q: What does the monster truck rally really have to do with this? I guess it's suggesting the woman is trashy as all monster truck fans are, but is female baldness a white trash stereotype?

Q: Is Jon's cup melting in panel three?

Q: Garfield, though possessing opposable thumbs, usually walking on two legs, drinking from coffee mugs, and comprehending English, still eats out of a pet bowl... with his hands. Does he resent this, or is it a personal choice?

Q: Why does PAWS, Inc. not sell cat dishes that say "GARFIELD"?

Q: Two strips about trucks this week?

MaxiJon Overdrive

A woman tried to murder Jon. I don't think there's many other strips besides your weirdo alternative web comics that hinge gags on the attempted homicide of the main character. Then again, I don't read Marmaduke every day, so I could be wrong.

In this case, though we don't witness the scene, the situation probably wouldn't even be funny if we did. It would just be horrifying. Instead we are treated to this funny retelling, in which Jon looks depressed because his quest for love has failed, but also exhausted from running away from someone trying to run him down in a truck.

Garfield: not concerned for his owner's life, the cat just sees an opportunity to make fun of Jon's romantic track record.

How Can Jon Hang ANYTHING Off His Tiny Nose?

Jon Arbuckle: painfully self-aware of his own problems, totally oblivious to his goony behavior and its impact on others.

Garfield: not at all an expert on how to get along with people, and demonstrating no interest in the opposite sex whatsoever, but still willing to mock others for their social failures.

Why, it's a friendship dynamic made for the comics page!

Jon tells us about the wacky, gross shit he pulled at the restaurant, but we aren't privy to witnessing the scene. Lately Garfield has tended to go for the verbal description of a crazy sight-gag, whereas in the '80s Davis would more frequently show us Garfield with a banana in his mouth, tomatoes in his eyes and two celery stalks poking out his ears, pretending to be a Martian. I chalk this evolution to the gradual winnowing of Garfield to its elemental core: a guy and a cat at a table.

NYPD Orange

A. If I were Jon's date, I would have him arrested for lapels that stick up over his shoulders.

B. Garfield, I guess, is making fun of Jon for knowing he's dull. But really, it's Jon's self-awareness that makes his plight that much more horrible... and funny.

C. Once again, though Jon's date is trying to indicate something is wrong with his personality, all she ends up doing is demonstrating her possible insanity. You're not supposed to think about it, to make the joke work, but in the reality of the strip, the woman actually did call the police and tell them her date was boring. That means she is a crazy person.

Radio Filled the Arbuckle Star

Lest you saucier Garfield readers think for a moment that Jon is being euphemistic in panel two, there is no double-entendre listing under "bug zapper" in any slang dictionary.

Thankfully, though Jon made it far enough into a date that he could attempt a kiss, there is no ultimate change in the romantic status quo. Jon's situation is so familiar that at this point, we not only need no jokes about his plaid jacket and polka dot tie, but no character need even acknowledge the outfit.

Dental Hijinks: The urban legend of dental equipment picking up radio waves is a little hackneyed even for Garfield: kid's book author Daniel Manus Pinkwater used it in Fat Men from Space, and Lucille Ball used to claim that signals on her fillings helped apprehend Japanese spies in California. It is cool how the radio fillings are just the middle link in an increasingly absurd plot... though as in the best Garfield, the on-page action is a man talking to his cat at the table.

Hawai'iana: In slight cultural faux pas, Jon has mistaken a dance for a type of music. The musical song and chant of the hula is a mele. Garfield, meanwhile, upon hearing that his owner is endowed with this strange power, is inspired to eat. The slight zoom-in for panel 3 is most certainly just to fit longer word balloons into the panel, but is jarring and forces us to consider Garfield's gross overreaction, and his logic which goes: music from teeth -> late night feast.

At Play in the Garfields of the Lord

Jon went on a date and we didn't get to see it. Too bad. Jon's dates going wrong are always good strips, because we get to see that in the Garfield world, everyone is nuts. It's easy to forget when we don't see another human for months at a time.

I'm sure Garfield's remark is supposed to be sarcastic and/or rude, but it's also kind of equivocal; at least this Karen person was courteous. Jon looks angry or disappointed that he will not be seeing more of this woman (his expression changes are subtle but register a progression), but she sounds potentially codependent, so it's probably for the best.

The New Century cat design is getting more grotesque. Those massive clodhoppers are fucking insane, yes, but when did Garfield's arms (why bother calling them "front legs"?) become one inch long?!

In other curious news, I am concerned about Jon's lumpy back-fat. It's getting out of hand.