If the devil is in the details, then this strip offers up some pretty depressing details. Check out panel two, for example. Having rejected his television, our middle-aged protagonist shuffles off to his computer wearing a look of dread. “What has my life come to,” he asks himself, “that I’m actually contemplating going on the Internet?” And if that weren’t bad enough, panel three includes a telling bit of drool falling from this fellow’s lower lip. Has our hero discovered some (ahem) adult material on the World Wide Web? Is he so taken with this discovery that he’s planning to stare at the screen for days on end? Will he neglect to feed the dog that serves as his only reliable companion? Those all seem like distinct possibilities. Sobering stuff, indeed.
Archive for the ‘The Duplex’ Category
It’s only April (and the beginning of April, at that), but I’m starting to worry about the Chicago Cubs. The team started its season at home against the worst club in baseball, the Pittsburgh Pirates. How bad are the Pirates? The franchise hasn’t had a winning season since 1992, which is the longest such streak in professional sports history. The Pirates can’t beat anybody…except for the Cubs, of course…two out of three games…at Wrigley Field…to open the season. The Pirates also had a knack for beating the Cubs in 2010. I know we’re only three games into the season, but I’m already starting to lose faith in this year’s Cubs. Last week, I was hoping for a division title. Right now, I’d settle for a .500 season.
The trouble with beer is that it only stays good for so long. A month ago, I bought a case of Miller Lite, and yesterday I realized that I only had two months left before it would go bad. This is a watered-down macrobrew we’re talking about, so “going bad” is a relative term, but I still feel like I have to rush. After all, I’ve only had two bottles to date. Pair those with the two bottles that a friend of mine drank and the two bottles that someone downed at my birthday party, and it’s 6 down, 18 to go. This is why I shy away from large-scale beer runs. I’d rather run out of suds after buying a six-pack than pour a dozen unused bottles down the drain.
When I was a teenager, I entertained the notion of becoming a lawyer. I’m glad I didn’t go that route, because if I had I’d either be (a) attending school, (b) looking for a job, (c) struggling to pay my student loans while working as a clerk, or (d) combing through case law to prove something inane like whether or not Rahm Emanuel is a Chicago resident. Yesterday, an Illinois appellate court ruled that Emanuel was not eligible to run for mayor in February because he will not have resided in the city for one year prior to the election. This, despite the fact that the state election code clearly states an elector (i.e. a voter) cannot lose his residency if he leaves on “business of the United States.” (Emanuel left town to serve as Chief of Staff to President Obama). As far as I can tell, the court ruled that while Emanuel remained a resident for the purposes of voting, he didn’t meet the stricter requirement of having “resided in” Chicago for the purposes of running for office. A “resident” who does not “reside?” Really?
Some people worry about their Thanksgiving dinner being bland. This year, I worried about my Thanksgiving dinner making people sick. Why did I worry about this? Because last night, my wife and I couldn’t get the tiny metal drumstick clamp out of the turkey. We twisted and pried and cajoled, but we couldn’t do it. I even tried using a pair of wire cutters that had been sitting in the basement. I wiped them off before using them, but I still worried about drywall (or other) residue infecting the turkey. The wire cutters didn’t work, so I wiped off the clamp with a disinfectant wipe, wiped off the disinfectant wipe residue with a wet paper towel, and consoled myself with the fact that the bird would sit in a roaster for five hours.
My neighborhood is filled with dogs. Most of these mutts are small, including the one that just moved in next door. He’s a Yorkie, and a bit of a yapper, but that’s probably because he hasn’t gotten to know his neighbors yet. I’m tempted to feed him a doggie treat, but he’s so tiny that I’m afraid a standard-sized treat would cause serious digestive problems. There has to be some way to ingratiate myself to this puppy. Hmm. I am using the grill tonight. Maybe I’ll slip him a bit of barbecue chicken. Hopefully that will convince him to bark only at the mail carrier.
Salt, fat, and sugar. Once a person tastes those things, it’s almost impossible to steer them back toward vegetables. Let’s face it: fast food satisfies a craving and it’s convenient. Working two jobs? Grabbing a burger on the way home is a lot easier than chopping up produce at 1:00 in the morning. Working zero jobs? Eating off the dollar menu is a lot cheaper than making a meal from scratch. Given those temptations, maybe it’s too much to ask that we drop our bad eating habits all at once. Maybe a subtle transition would be easier. Instead of substituting fries for carrot sticks, we could substitute fries for homemade potato wedges. Brushed with olive oil. And sprinkled with kosher salt. Okay, now I’m getting hungry.