Ink Stud Fever

Rare, valuable confirmation of Jon's profession! and...
Meta-self-loathing!

Daniel Clowes once compared the compliment of being a generation's most famous underground cartoonist to being "the world's most famous badminton player." Jim Davis comes right out and depicts cartoonists as universally despised. The gag is no more explicit than "everyone hates cartoonists," so one can only speculate on the precise reasons for Liz's folks' panic. Given the personal problems plaguing a vast percentage of comics artists, perhaps those fears are not unfounded. Not without historical precedent are: O.C.D., chronic depression, impotence, sex mania, alcoholism, BDSM, agoraphobia, womanizing, domestic violence, megalomania, schizophrenia, L.S.D. damage, antisemitism, Libertarianism, Objectivism, perpetual misery, religious zealotry, intense assholism, insanity. More of these lives have ended in suicide, self-destruction, and sorrow than seems statistically reasonable.

The other roles in our world under harsh criticism today are children and parents, which constitutes the entire population. Liz's parents are unable/ unwilling to conceal their disappointment in their daughter's lifestyle choices. Liz, being a strong-willed professional woman of cool, detached demeanor, may or may not care that her parents have expectations of Liz that differ from her own. The Wilsons' disapproval takes the form of a (feigned?) threat to their physical health, forcing Liz to express concern even if she has seen past her boyfriend's social caste and her parents' prejudice.

The parent who expects more of their child than general good health, ability to function in adult society, and the pursuit of personal happiness is setting everyone up for a Catch-22 of doom. The inevitably imperfect offspring can never feel adequate and the tyrant parent will never be satisfied. This cycle begins at birth and does not end until the family tree is burnt to the ground.

One strategy for potential liberation from this loop is through acts of rebellion. Not without its own associated damages, this kind of resistance, conscious or unconscious, still binds one to the wheel: decades into adulthood you're still just acting out against your parents. The more they don't want you to date a cartoonist, the more you may feel compelled to date a cartoonist.

Compare and contrast to Liz's BF having this conversation with his mother. So long has Jon been, well, Jon, that the smallest measure of triumph in his life causes her mind to snap and body to shut down. Note the parallel, though: Jon and Liz's announcements both cause physical reactions and near-suffocation in their parents. Whether overjoyed or displeased, we'll be the death of them.

Also, hmm, Betty Wilson... Betty Wilson... ah, Betty Wilson.

They Shoot Garfields, Don't They?

Jon's father is such a dyed-in-the-wool hayseed that he can only think of women as breeding stock, and on top of that, absurdly evaluates them using livestock-judging criteria. That's solid enough, but elevating the primary gag is Jon's bored here-we-go-again response. In panel 2, he suddenly remembers his father is insane. His expression in the remaining panels is that of a man disappointed: with his father, and with himself, for thinking for those fleeting seconds that this conversation could be normal. He was calling his father for approval, because he has finally achieved modest success in a basic area of human life, and all he got was a white slavery joke.

Garfield, too, lets us know he understands the joke of the senior Arbuckle's questions. But since he has no vested interest in Jon's dad's reaction, Garfield instead responds to Jon's weary disgust. And it makes him happy. These things matter to cats.

Clothes Make the Arbuckle

Jon may not know what a dress code is (seriously?), but it probably won't matter, since he customarily wears a jacket and tie on dates anyway. There must be some note of social idiocy in Jon's voice that indicates to maitre d's that he is unfamiliar with basic rules of dining etiquette. Even better, it turns out to be true. Somewhere deep inside, I know this joke pushes Jon's social retardation a little too far: he not only doesn't know what a dress code is, but doesn't know what kind of clothes are for girls and which are for boys (seriously?).

Hey Garfield, so far as I can tell, Jon's had dates three nights in a row. And he may not know that ladies don't wear ties, but when was the last time you "got out"? And yes, Jon has a look of wonderment because a restaurant requires jackets, but still, good job sassing a guy who has a date by confirming that he needs a date. Witness the desperate lengths to which a lifelong curmudgeon must go when faced with a man making self-improvements.

The Orange Violin

Clarifications for the Curious:
-We may assume Jon is not still making his Chuck E. Cheese requests from yesterday, but making reservations at another restaurant for another date. The immediacy of placing the two strips next to each other might seem confusing, but Garfield tends to group running gags as close together as possible. This is not a technique utilized by many other strips, because it tends to draw attention to the format, and may indicate to the audience that the writer is idea-starved. Garfield, on the other hand, takes care to highlight its stock situations, which goes hand-in-hand with the strip's ongoing mission to provide variants on a narrow range of interests. This trait that does not go unappreciated by fans, as indicated by the nearly illiterate Wikipedia article (ugh) which attempts and fails to catalog these situations. The good news is that Jon is organizing another date, which means Liz wasn't put off by the robot mouse. Take that, Garfield!

-The "juice harp" Jon speaks of is chicken-speak neologism for Jew's harp. Jew's harp is not an antisemetic term, as far as etymologists know, though all the dictionaries I consulted (and followed by the presumed experts at the Jew's Harp Guild website) are unsure about the derivation. I can't fault Garfield for the editor-pleasing, nonconfrontational choice, but the uncommon terminology does confuse the gag a little. Why not just say "jaw harp", which is equally wrong, but more recognizable?

In any case, forget the poor romantic substitution of a Jew's harp for a violin, and Jon's dismay at how weird the world is: the real joke is that Jon turns to his cat to help him decide if he should accept the proposal. Garfield, either hoping to sabotage the date, or figuring it's going to be an evening of idiocy anyway, silently nudges Jon toward disaster. Leave it to Garfield to find a way to turn affirmation into a way of being negative.

Rock-afire Pizza Cats

There exists the level on which this joke is simply that Jon plans to take Liz to Chuck E. Cheese, and naturally a woman of Liz's refinement will not appreciate the child-oriented restaurant. The scenario may or may not be true, but it's why Garfield is sarcastically comparing Jon's date to A Night to Remember, the ironically-titled movie about the Titanic disaster. I've pointed out before that the kind of innocence and enthusiasm Jon displays in panel 3 is probably the reason Liz likes him. It is, naturally, the same quality Garfield frequently attacks in Jon, because he does not possess it himself.

It's dorky to take a grown woman to a kid's arcade/pizza joint (unless it's some puzzling form of slumming?), but Jon keeps doing things like this, and Liz keeps dating him. The long-term reader realizes Garfield is essentially sniping about nothing, and projecting his feelings onto Liz. One of those feelings is insecurity. Whatever, Garfield, like you don't like pizza!

Further Reading!:
In a weird reality-twisting moment, I wonder if Garfield is acknowledging a historical close-call: in the early '80s during a period when the merged (Chuck E. Cheese's) Pizza Time Theater and ShowBiz Pizza Place were struggling to unify their identity, and unable to sustain exclusive contracts with their animatronic developers, Creative Engineering, the company looked for ways to phase out the ShowBiz house robot-band, The Rock-afire Explosion. The plan was to introduce animatronic licensed characters from other media. Spider-Man was considered (?). Superman was a contender. And Garfield was in the running. Yogi Bear won. The plan failed. The Rock-afire Explosion was abandoned, the Yogis dismantled, the ShowBizzes re-converted into Chuck E. Cheese's. We missed our chance for a giant animatronic Garfield to sing doo wop while we ate crappy pizza.

Special thanks to the ShowBiz Pizza.Com archive for absolutely all the above information.

Feignable Lecture

Jon begins his discovery of how being in a relationship can make one as profoundly unhappy as not having a girlfriend. Today (and potentially this story arc) is about the increasing phenomenon of being forced into things you don't want to do to spend time with someone you like. This factors into all intimate human relationships, but perhaps it is one of the primary differences between a girlfriend and a platonic friend: they expect more attention and indulgence. Not that Liz makes particular demands of Jon, and seems to be simply inviting him to the lecture if he feels like going; the telling moment is Jon's eagerness regarding all things Liz Wilson. He's beginning to lose both a sense of self and in the process of overdosing on Liz, risking the mystique of a new relationship by spending an increasing amount of time in activities that bore him. At some point the average person would begin associating the activity partner with the experience of boredom and disinterest, but luckily for Jon, his own hobbies lean toward the dull and/or nonexistent.

Garfield, it is good to know, is such a studied liar and so accustomed to zoning out while dullards babble at him, that he immediately knows how to handle the situation, and advises Jon thus. Garfield has also been so long and so deeply mired in boredom that he believes sincerity itself can be faked. One may wonder when Garfield, who tends to wear his heart on his sleeve and speak bluntly, would have cause to present a facade of interest; the answer is: every day that he bothers to get out of bed and face the world.

L'Ârge d'order of Pizza

Garfield's "NO FEAR!" cheer, a proclamation of true grit normally applied to sporting contests and dangerous living, is incongruously applied to two guys who are going to eat as much gross pizza as possible. In the joke-logic world, the pizza toppings are so disgusting, or will render Garfield and Jon so smelly, that they actually will be a danger, and arguably gorging yourself on melted cheese is not the safest of dietary choices. This isn't actually far removed from normal Guy Behavior, where eating and drinking contests, and feats of consumption fuel good times and liver problems alike, all the time.

The slight difference is that Jon and Garfield, for no reason besides sheer contrarian mischief, decide to go for broke with their antisocial behavior. What else is there to do when your personal habits and desires — be it nasty pizza toppings, bad music, cigarettes, weird haircut — are being attacked? Even if social standards require only the smallest of personal compromise? Even if the reasons to cooperate are for entirely logical, understandable reasons? Garfield advises not only to let one's freak flag fly, but to crank up Here Comes Garfield and blow smoke in the face of oppression. Of course, this only applies when personal appetite is at stake. This is less War on Freedom than "Don't Crowd Me".

Show me the ultimate end-product of American individualism, and I'll show you a cat with garlic breath.

Mother, Jugs and Spuds

Jon's mother, while oblivious or obstinate on most topics, responds with such exaggeration to news of Jon's steady dating that the reader is nudged to remember exactly how monumental a development it is. By keeping Mom off-stage, we're allowed to read the entire spectrum of possible responses, from "I am happy; finally my son will begin a family" to "the bottom has dropped out of my reality". Because all that we know of Mrs. Arbuckle's reaction is that her circuit breakers have been tripped - she could be shocked, delighted, etc. - perhaps the reactions we personally migrate towards can tell us something about our own responses to Jon, or even about our relationships with our own parents and how we feel they view us.

Another dimension to Jon's mother's surprise is underlined by the secondary joke that the Arbuckle family is so cornpone that there is always a big helping of mashed potatoes in the immediate vicinity. The generational and cultural gap between Jon and his family likely means Jon's prolonged bachelorhood has seemed even more extreme to his rural parents.

Garfield of course has zero interest in either Jon's love life, or Arbuckle family business, and latches onto one tangential idea for his own personal punchline, "I've had dreams like that." It's a double-barrel joke, telling us A) that the Arbuckles are so boring/ Garfield so self-absorbed that he's not even paying attention, B) Garfield's gluttony extends into a deeply confused place in his subconscious. It's one thing to have a wish-fulfillment dream about diving into a swimming pool of mashed potatoes, or eating your way out of a cave made of mashed potatoes... but fainting unconscious into food means that in the dream you're not even eating, but being covered, smothered, consumed. This wiggles past defiant indulgence, or even food addiction and into fetishism that will take expert psychologists with more serious training than I to untangle.

Optional Reader Activity Worksheet: Call your mother and inform her that Jon Arbuckle has a girlfriend. What is her response? Into what food does she pass out? Will real cats even eat potatoes?

So This is What Makes Life Feline...

As a Movie Guy, I admit I don't think there's anything inherently wrong with any genre, even the "chick flick". The genre formerly known as "women's pictures", with a long and illustrious history from Now Voyager to Love, Actually, may not be Jon's ideal Friday night entertainment, Davis hasn't gone out of his way to identify a specific torturous film. Jon is indeed the target audience, a young man on a date, and even if he doesn't find something to enjoy in the movie, he may make good by Liz and the genre is pretty inoffensive anyhow. We've seen Jon mention a love for children's films, and settle in for an evening with Brigette Bardot movies; while there's plenty to sustain male interest in a Bardot picture, most of them aren't Dude Movies par excellence. Choosing a date movie is tricky business anyhow, and most would agree a healthy ability to suck it up and let your date indulge their interests is a good thing. I spend this time to illustrate that it's not Jon's behavior at the heart of the joke.

Garfield witnesses one of the small compromises that happens in all relationships, and gives it a thumbs-down. Granted it is not just Jon's willingness to spend Friday night at a movie he doesn't want to see in exchange for time spent with someone he cares about that Garfield views as emasculating, but Jon's blissed-out zombie state confession that small nuisances don't bother him right now. Garfield's stubborn self-centeredness causes him to draw a hard line in all things: the cat will never do anything he does not want to do, and when his back is against the wall he will sabotage the situation (e.g.- constantly abusing Odie) or complain about it (e.g.- everything Jon does every day). Garfield cops a song title from Cinderella for his sarcastic refrain. It is a song which celebrates approximately the state in which Jon finds himself. Days like this both the guys might be right, but the thing about cynics is they think they're realists.

The Naked Kitty

A fine result of Jon and Liz's recent dating developments is it allows jokes on the topic of Old Friend Hates Buddy's Changes in Behavior Over Significant Other. This plays beautifully in Garfield because the characters and relationships are already set up for it. Jon's desperate and eager attempts to please a woman at all cost to personal dignity and comfort flow naturally into a man totally pussy whipped, even by a woman making few if any demands. Today all Liz has to do is call him, and Jon bends over backwards to be attentive, even as he brazenly violates his friend's comfort zone and lies to Liz. It's also a sweet observation about how exciting new relationships are, but in Garfield it's always tinged with the ominous undertone: Jon overcompensates because he's love-starved.

Garfield is just as naked as Jon, of course, but chalk it up to joke logic. Besides, it's funny that Garfield would complain about having to look at Jon's scrawny, soapy body, finding it more disgusting than his own robust physique, that he holds Jon to certain human standards of decency while he allows himself to pick an choose. Even better it tells us something about mutual understandings in Jon and Garfield's domestic situation. Maybe not much, but at least that Garfield has divested himself of at least one more normal cat behavior, that mysterious love of staring solemnly at their naked owners.

Also Garfield's phrasing "could you do nothing with a towel on?" holds the awareness that it may be a given that Garfield is a chronicle of inactivity, but at least it's not usually waving its crotch in your face.

The Theater That Only Shows A Tale of Two Kitties

Even as he's in the middle of a transaction with the ticket booth attendant, Jon and Liz, can do nothing but talk about Garfield. Liz must know she's going to be entering weird psychological territory in the Arbuckle house, because neither her question nor Jon's answer are the way one would speak about a normal cat/master relationship. This feeling must be gleaned not from Jon's behavior in the office, where he is all-eyes-on-Liz, but Garfield's tendency to show up in disguise or as a third wheel on their previous dates. One can't help but wish we'd witnessed the missing scene of a crying Garfield begging Jon not to leave. If you know someone's got such a codependent relationship in their life already, why go out with them? Press one for pepperoni, folks.

While I appreciate Garfield misbehavior in Jon's absence, and Jon's clueless belief that Garfield cannot function without him, I'm not sure the cat's behavior is wild enough to justify the punchline. After all, isn't letting Garfield eat pizza something Jon does on a daily basis anyway?

Thank goodness for the innovations in interactive push-button pizza-phone technology or Garfield would be stuck in a situation like this:

Boy would he feel dumb!
Also: Either Garfield's gotten a lot bigger, or telephones have gotten a lot smaller since 1980.

yes I said yes I will Yes.

Jon: is either using comic strip generic language or plans to make out with Liz. Because when I ask someone to go to a movie, it's a specific movie, and I tell them the title. If I just say "the movies", it means I do not and you should not care what the movie is, because the theater is just a place to make out. Panel one, Jon puts on his half-lidded, smirking ladies' man face, a picture of confidence. Panel two reveals Jon has long-forgotten the signified emotion that's supposed to be behind a confident expression. Panel three shows Jon's self-destruct reflex trying to kick in and put his life back into the miserable rut that deep down, we consider our natural state.

Liz: is probably impressed Jon was able to restrain himself from calling her for 12 days, even as she counted each one and knitted her brow, looking at the X's on the calendar. I know I am.

Garfield: is not really happy for Jon, as evidenced in panel two. He is finally amused by a man's confusion and probably terror, and relishes the possibility that Jon's anxiety may continue for some time.

Again: Does Jon move the phone to the table for these calls, or is it a different table, or is it a different part of a very long table?

Forget-Meow-Not

I know it's serving a necessary expository function, but it's funny that Jon feels comfortable bringing up Ellen's amnesia every third sentence. Especially when coupled with his icky half-lidded sneering "smooth-talker" face, it's classic Arbuckle: he not only lacks the social graces, but violates them as flirtation. Jon's blindness to appropriate behavior is an inspirational message to us all.

From these symptoms it sounds like Ellen's not only suffering amnesia but full-blown and frightening aphasia. The uneasiness today is underlined by a slow camera pullback as the severity of the situation becomes clear. Given that Jon is still keeping Garfield abreast of every piece of new information and knows he should cover the mouthpiece when talking to his cat, I'm not sure who's mental illness is more serious.

Jon had a date at least as recently as June 10, so I don't know what Garfield's being so snide about... Oh, wait, that's his only mode of expression.

Jon's Horoscope: Day Two

Your power to bore the world is diminishing. Someday, Dear Leo, you'll be noticed. Be sure you're wearing pants. Today's lucky number: 542

The bulk of the horoscope seems to confirm the obvious guess that Ellen's going to show some romantic interest in Jon. I doubt very much that Jon's minor, temporary success with Ellen will make him interesting to the entire planet. Yes, instead of scouring the horoscopes for clues, I am second-guessing them. The horoscope is prudish enough to think a great date requires you to keep your trousers on. That, or Davis is implying something unsavory about Jon's junk.

More interesting to me is that the horoscope includes a listing of "Famous Leos", among them Jim Davis. This leads us to believe that Jon shares a July 28 birthday with our favorite asthmatic cartoonist.

Still no idea about the lucky numbers. Wikipedia tells us that a plague responsible for killing millions broke out in Constantinople in the year 542, but I doubt the story is headed in that direction.

Frankly, it doesn't seem like the story is headed in any direction. Normally I relish the glacial pacing, but we're on a ten-day schedule, people. This leaves only eight strips for Garfield's world to be shattered.

Splut Goes the Weasel

That's what you get for giving up on Ellen, Jon. Thank God he's not giving up on that automatic-wrinkling shirt, which is very funny comics shorthand.

Yes Garfield, Wendy is "clever." Her wordplay turnabout on old Jonny, however, required a convoluted setup in which Jon more or less handed Wendy the punchline on a platter. Because really, who besides Jon would compare his adorability to a non-specific animal, but get specific enough to say "small woodland creature"? When the comeback requires such an unnatural come-on, your wit is less Mad Magazine's "Snappy Answers to Stupid Questions" and more Cracked Magazine "Shut-Ups."

As Jon Lay Dying

Progressively wrinklier shirt: it adds visual stimulation, and enhances the sickening pathos of this gag about a man feigning terminal illness in failed exchange for affection! It's days like today that should be archived to remind the world that Garfield is the blackest thing on the American comics page. Take that, Boondocks!

It is very sweet that Garfield wants to tell Jon he sympathizes. It is typical Garfield that he just sprawls on the table like an undemonstrative orange blob, even while knowing Jon cannot hear the cat say he sympathizes. Thanks Garfield, because you know, this situation wasn't bleak enough.

Beyond the Pooky Principle

Jon's progress: mild anger -> rougishness -> tired. So tired. It is, however, awesome that Jon is admitting to himself (and his cat) that he is trying to trick a woman into going out with him.

Points to Paw-nder:

-This is the first time we've "heard" Ellen's voice through the reciever. I hope you are as excited as I am.

-Jon's shirt has that new automatic-rumpling feature to make you look extra-pathetic at a moment's notice.

-I hope Garfield's last thought is in an Austrian accent.

-Three people are talking in the third panel, making it as visually crowded as any Garfield panel in years.

An Arbuckle's Chance in Hell

This is going to go on for months, isn't it? Behold the only strip in the world that dares show us a man talking on the phone, next to his drowsing cat, for weeks on end.

I like when Garfield shifts the focus to Jon, but for the sake of a dozen blackout gags with the same punchline? Yes!

Panel 1: Jon's way of expressing slyness is to curl the corners of his mouth up between his eye and ear. Even pulling with my fingers, I can only get the corner of my mouth just up under my nose. It doesn't look like Jon's expression at all.

Panel 2: So has Ellen run out of her house without even taking time to hang up the phone? Or have Jon's "chances," as Garfield will explain, become anthropomorphized flesh, and evacuated? One is comedy, the other is Neil Gaimanesque fantasy-horror.

Panel 3: The slight pan right is to accommodate Garfield's thought bubble, but looks like it's a reveal of his butt, which is arguably a funnier joke.

For Lasagna or Money

Come again?

I think I "don't get this."

Does Garfield mean "If 'money can't buy happiness,' then do you, Jon, rent happiness? Because you are clearly a happy man." Or does Garfield mean "If money can't buy happiness, then do humans in general rent happiness, because I see an obvious link between money and happiness."

Either way, I am not sure why Garfield is acting like he's never heard this platitude before, and even less sure if the panic in his eyes is the proper reaction.

I like to think Jon gave Ellen this speech with no prompting but his own insecurity. This strip also raises questions about Jon's income level and professional success as a cartoonist which are better left un-pondered. Believe me. I've pondered them.

V.C. Arbuckle's Flowers in the Cattic

Wooooah! Check out that zoom between panels 1 and 2! Who directed this, Mario Bava?

I like how this joke is not a simple reveal, but a puzzle we must figure out, including understanding where the characters are in figuring out the situation. Even if you have figured out that Ellen is allergic to the flowers (funny), you still have to figure out that Jon doesn't understand this, even though his own "bless you"s are our only clues (funnier), and that Garfield has pieced this together and is smarter than Jon (funniest).

Oh, and by the by, I guess Ellen is going to be like Mrs. Columbo, or Diane on Twin Peaks. The Ellen mystique will be that we don't get to meet her. She's a interesting character anyway, since she likes Jon enough to speak on the phone every day for weeks, but not enough to go out with him.

These Friends of... I mean "Ellen"

Sorrow! Rage! Jon looks like he wants to punch that bitch... for not loving him! I'd really like to see Jon and Ellen go to the next level, too, because as far as I can tell, they've only spoken on the phone, and I can't wait to see her. She must like him though, because he's called every day this week... Hmm... Actually, maybe they are at the "next level," if not the final level to which all romances must aspire: it always ends with Ellen in silence, and Jon in despair or anger.

And God, it's great that Garfield chooses to insult Jon not for the topic of today's joke - which is Jon's failure at romance - but because in addition to being lonely, Jon looks like an idiot. Bonus cruelty at no extra cost. That's the Garfield promise.