When I was young, I wasn’t great at taking notes. I don’t mean writing down stuff my teachers said (though I wasn’t good at that either). I mean receiving critical feedback on my work.
When someone would try to give me advice for how to do something better my natural reaction was first to ask who they thought they were. Then I’d ask if they even bothered to look at my work before they expressed their ill-thought-out, nonsensical opinion. After that, I’d tell them that if they thought they could do better I’d like to see them try. When the conversation was over I’d go off, sulk, think about what they said, and usually conclude that they had a valid point.
I’m much better at taking notes now. My process is mostly the same, except I’ve learned to speed through the steps as quickly as possible and not to say anything until I reach the “they had a point” phase.
The name Knifeketeer is, of course, a play on the term Musketeer, which was a person who fought his enemy with muskets.
There were also Grenadiers, who fought their enemies with grenades.
I could have named him the Knifier, but to me that seems similar to a sommelier, a person who, rather than fighting his or her enemies with wine, simply knows everything about wine and shares that knowledge with anyone within earshot.
Actually, The Knifier would make a good enemy for the Knifeketeer. The Knifeketeer would attack the Knifier with a knife, and the Knifier would criticize his blade choice.
“A bowie knife? In September? Don’t you think an imported Japanese tanto would be more appropriate?”
The Knifeketeer would HATE that.
I tried to read the Tibetan Book of the Dead once, a long time ago. I couldn’t get into it. In a sense, I started putting it down the instant I picked it up.
I remember being disappointed that it didn’t seem anything like the Necronomicon Ex-Mortis from the Evil Dead movies.
I don’t buy into the idea that special effects were better before computers. I will say this: special effects were more interesting before computers. It used to be that a documentary about how they did the effects for a movie would involve cool models, explosions, and robotic monsters. These days it’s mostly people sitting at computers looking at wireframes and actors wearing unitards studded with ping pong balls.
There are certain products that tell the whole story on their own. If you’re buying wart removal gel, feminine hygiene products, or Preparation H, nobody has to ask why.
One time I went over to Ric’s house. He had two dogs at the time. I entered the living room and saw a wee wee pad taped to the wall, like a foot up from the floor.
I asked, “Why is there a wee wee pad taped to the wall?”
Ric asked me, “Why do you think?”
I am always instantly suspicious of people who seem overly worried about “rats” and “snitches.” I find that I’m usually not notified when I make the transition from being the person they’re worried will “rat them out,” to becoming the person they’re worried someone will “rat on them” to.
If I’d had unlimited funds when I was fourteen, I would have totally doused myself in Drakkar Noir. I also would have worn a Members Only jacket, gradient tinted aviators, fingerless gloves, and had Falco blasting from the headrest speakers of my Pontiac Fiero.
In a word, I would have looked “rad.”
In retrospect, girls still would have found me as repellent as they already did at that age, but for different reasons.
In my whole comedy career, only twice did I get “the hook.” I was disappointed that in both cases it wasn’t an actual hook, just the person paying me walking up on stage, putting their hand over the microphone, and telling me the show was ending early because it wasn’t going well.
Just to be clear, in one case they scheduled the show during an important Seattle Mariners game, then had me perform on stage next to a TV showing the game. In the other they advertised “comedy at 9PM, dancing starts at 10PM,” then delayed the show so I started my act at 10:30, to a room full of people who deliberately arrived late to skip the comedy.
After treating my performance with such disrespect, the least either of them could have done was grant me the dignity of a nice, professional hook.
I’ve only ever eaten at the Rainforest Café once. I can imagine that in a suburban mall a restaurant themed to feel like a tropical jungle full of exotic animals would be a novelty. I ate at the one located in Walt Disney’s Animal Kingdom Park, where it felt redundant. I was eating a club sandwich in a simulation of the exact environment I’d come in there to get a break from.
I was lucky enough to get to make some joke-a-day calendars of my comic a few years back. The company that gave me a shot was Gladstone Media, and I will always be grateful to them, and to Leonard Phillips, the specific person who took a chance on me. Seeing my calendars on sale in Barnes and Noble was a real boost to my confidence. Would have been even more so if they had sold better.
Here’s an Amazon search that will give you a nice overview of Gladstone’s more popular calendars. I leave it to you to decide how well Meow-serschmitts would have fit into their lineup.
(Also, here’s a link to their website.)
It could be argued that the “double fishhook” at the end of this comic is a sort of a callback to the two kids stretching each other’s mouths, about whom I’d written a comic a week or two before. Clearly, they made an impression.
Really, if two kids stretching out each other’s mouths hadn’t gotten my attention I’d have to wonder just how numb to the world I’d become.
I used to work the front desk at a hotel in Florida. As you may suspect, it got hot. There were a few small fans supplied for all of us at the front desk to use, which helped a bit. It would have helped more, but two of the most senior front desk employees claimed two of the fans as their personal equipment, would set the fans up so that only they benefited from the breeze the fans generated, and eventually went so far as to hide the fans when they left for the day so that nobody would “steal” their fans to use in their absence.
The rest of us complained to management, who agreed that it was asinine, but did nothing.
This might seem like a case of evil (or at least stubbornness) triumphing over good but think about this: while those two knuckleheads didn’t get fired, they also damn well never got promoted. Knowing how that place works, most of the rest of the staff has probably turned over four or five times by now, but those two are still there, behind that same oven of a desk, feeling like they won because they’ve got those same two fans pointed at their faces. And, because management didn’t deal with the problem decisively at first, they’re still putting up with it to this day.
As I write this, I just finished watching a documentary about the first ten years of David Bowie’s career. It focused on the long string of failed bands, low-selling albums, and unsuccessful singles he had to persevere through before he finally got some real traction with Ziggy Stardust. It’s tempting to think of him as this towering pop-culture colossus, but he was just as fallible as the rest of us. The documentary really did a great job of humanizing him.
“Good enough is good enough” would be a great first needlepoint or cross-stitch project, because any imperfections in the workmanship would support the idea being expressed.
Note from Missy: is it weird that this is giving me the urge to try out needlepoint?
All true. I witnessed two young boys engaged in the described epic-mouth-stretching-duel at the entrance of a Disney resort where I was working at the time. Their mother saw me watching them and apologized for their behavior. I told her it was one of the best things I’d ever seen.
She looked at me like I was insane.
Who’s she to judge? She’s the mother of two mouth stretchers!
We like to pretend that the cats have some idea what we’re saying, but if we’re being honest, at most, they recognize their names. Like most cat owners, we get around this by calling the cats by a rotating selection of cutsey nicknames, ensuring that they will understand no part of anything we say.
When I was a kid, my brothers and I would make spaceships out of LEGO and then have pretend battles. I was always coming up with new, powerful weapons, like a laser that used only visible wavelengths so it could go through any forcefield people could see through, or a souped-up Starfleet transporter that just transported parts of the other ship’s engine or hull away, causing massive damage. It was great. I could give my spaceship any weapon just by imagining it and saying that I had used it.
Sadly, I learned that my brothers could neutralize any weapon I imagined, simply by saying, “It didn’t work!”
So, you know how sometimes you have a situation where you have to remember something and there’s only two choices, like whether you turn left or right, or a switch needs to be either up or down for something to work, and you will remember with 100% certainty that one of the two choices is correct, and then later you find out you were wrong?
I knew the difference between the male and female symbols. I had used them before in the comic when I made the logo on the Moon-Minion’s uniform. Yet somehow, when I made Man-Crush’s logo, the first version used the female symbol instead of male. The only way I can explain it is that my brain was sabotaging me.
In my brain’s defense, the version with the female symbol was a better logo.
Note from Missy: For some reason, “Girl-illa” is just slaying me right now.