What is Truth? Paper or Plastic?

Panel 1: What is Jon doing?

Jon is dressed up in a typically pattern-blind checkered suit and polka dot bow-tie combo, and standing around by his table, staring off into space.

Panel 2: What is Garfield doing?

Garfield has inverted a paper bag over his head as a sort of improvised mask. Two tiny holes have been cut in the bag to facilitate Garfield's vision. These holes are not nearly large enough to accommodate the Garfield's bulbous eyes, currently estimated at four to six inches in height.

Panel 3: Mysteries of meaning.

An ensemble like this usually signals that Jon is going on a date, and thus leaving the house. Garfield may be implying that Jon's attire will cause pointing and stares when the man eventually goes out, but at present they are just standing around at the table where there is no one to see either one of them. Jon takes Garfield's meaning well enough, but refuses to listen, despite decades of criticism of similar outfits and from sources independent of Garfield's skewed opinions.

Garfield makes the complicated assertion that "the bag doesn't lie." In one possible sense, this means that as one creature on this planet is disguising his identity lest he suffer humiliation due to association with Jon's clothing, then Jon is, indeed, embarrassing to be seen with. The very presence of Garfield's point of view negates Jon's emphatic statement of self-worth.

The stranger innuendo is that the bag speaks The Truth, chooses its wearer because it must be worn. Between the warring forces of Jon's clashing fabrics and The Bag, Garfield is powerless. His paw is forced, and he is crowned with The Bag through necessity, not to editorialize. Thus Garfield insinuates that his personal taste is equivalent to an objective fact.

Which is more embarrassing, a badly dressed man or a cat walking around with a bag on its head? Which is more endearing?

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.

Throwing In The Bowel

Jon, Panel One: Childlike, questioning, possibly concerned about strange but certainly innocuous practices he does not understand, like "slide projection".

Liz, Panel One: Sweet, amused, slightly condescending in that approving way that only your mother or girlfriend is allowed to speak to you.

Jon, Panel Two: Though already excited for the lecture to begin, the promise of such minor embellishments as pictorial slides pushes the deal into entertainment territory for Jon. What sort of avant garde "shows" Jon is used to attending, I cannot say, though I do know he is easily shocked by exotic sights in motion pictures.

Liz, Panel Two: Knowing silence, as with all silences in Garfield, gives us special windows into characters. Anticipating the disaster of the next panel, and possibly just the refreshing company of a man thrilled by the prospect of slides.

Jon, Panel Three: Garfield Storytelling 101: Audience reaction is a funnier reveal than seeing a picture of a diseased intestine.

Liz, Panel Three: The moments when we can stomach repulsive sights our friends cannot is a small joy not documented often enough. Savor them. They bring us closer together, even when those moments include a woman's high tolerance for photos of rotten colons.

Recurring Gag: Jon has an unfortunate tendency to demonstrate willingness to participate in Liz's life by faking fascination with animals' excretory systems.

The Concession Stand: Complete and Unbuttered

In a room where even the vets in attendance look unhappy, and professional decorum is stifling any pre-lecture chat, Jon manages to amuse himself and his date. Jon's baseless enthusiasm and silly optimism (squelched easily enough though it may be; confidence is still not Jon's strong suite) are the same low-key, uncelebrated traits that get any of us through the day. In Jon they're a little heightened, and while not a man of burning Wuthering Heights passion, this is a good demonstration of Jon's appeal. Boyish enthusiasm, ability to make fun for oneself, and curiosity about new experiences, however minor are all are among the qualities in this man of little personality which I suspect Liz sees in him. Doubters would do well to ask themselves if they are fun-loving enough to bring their own big bag of theater popcorn to a medical lecture.

Veterinary Fashion Beat: In for Fall '06: extra-wide ties and neck scarves.

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.

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.

Laugh It Up, Fuzzball

Since the Ugly Date Outfit is a regular staple of the strip, we may assume Garfield is not laughing at Jon's clothes.

Garfield is laughing because of the serenity on Jon's face as he sits at the table contemplating whatever doomed social outing has spurred him to dress up; Garfield knows nothing about the situation save that if Jon is going out, this Saturday night will end badly. He is, in a way, preempting the punchline of the date-gone-awry strip. Why bother telling the joke, anymore?, asks today's strip: just show Jon ready for a date, and have Garfield laugh at him.

Or maybe Garfield is laughing because if he opens his mouth wide enough while standing on the table, he looks an inch taller than Jon.

And maybe Jon looks shocked in panel two because of how small Garfield's torso has been drawn.

Odor-able Kitty

Anyone who doesn't know the first two panels are awkwardly framed to make sure we can't see the table deserves to be surprised by the dead fern reveal. The rest of us deserve to laugh anyway: no other strip is laid out so monotonously that a few millimeters tilted up from the normal angle is thoroughly disorienting.

The only way for Jon to have this information about a his date's odor preferences are for her to have shared it with him before their first date. This can only mean Jon's date is a total weirdo, and if she's a lady who uses "I like my men to smell masculine" as small talk, well, she deserves what she gets.

P1: Motion lines: really necessary?

P2: Jon's pose indicates: he is telling his cat a secret.

P3: Jon also hasn't changed his clothes for at least two days.

Green Coat, Orange Cat/ I Don't Worry 'Cause My Garfield's Fat

Ugly Date Outfit back in force. I guess the mammoth novelty bow tie didn't work out.

Yes!: I like a man bragging to his cat that he has a date! And looking triumphant about it about it, as if to imply "... and you don't." I do not, however, "know" what Jon "means." Don't be so coy, Jon, because if this is implying something either pro or con about your lady's classiness, it's too vague.

The cartoonists in the audience will surely appreciate the cloth-wrinkling work done on Jon's shirtfront as he bends to talk to Garfield in panel two. Looks like somebody's been studying their Burne Hogarth.

All humans, though, will appreciate how plump old Garfy looks this evening. His belly and chest blur into one pendulous wad of doughy cat-mass, plopped on the table, ready to criticize others... including a man who does, after all, have a date tonight.

Mr. Orangewell

Ugly Date Outfit is back in force! Never you mind that Garfield's sass would work better if Jon were just wearing a normal-sized bowtie. Things to like:

-Jon's wide-eyed expression in Panel 1 as he tentatively asks for Garfield's approval, knowing full well that it is rarely and grudgingly given.

-Garfield's strange, indulgent-motherly attitude.

-Jon's eager delight when given the slightest acceptance.

-Jon bought a giant bowtie that looks just like his regular tie. Lack of fashion sense or no, he must know the new tie is novelty-oversized, as he owns at least one standard-issue tie for comparison.

-Cats: hind legs = very, very long.

Things To Do On Friday When You're Arbuckle

Ah Garfield, a joke in every panel. 1) Crazy bow-tie, 2) the Awkward Pause Take, 3) a man with his head on the table, weeping!

Garfield's last quip confuses the issue in this otherwise stellar strip. Garfield would've believed Jon had a regular not-"big" date? Or does Jon have a date? I thought the joke was that Jon is prepared and excited for something that's not going to happen.

Anyway... this clinches it: Jon officially has a designated, iconic Ugly Outfit for Dates. It will have to be in the Index when Fantagraphics publishes The Complete Garfield.

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.