I drew a comic strip for about 10 years. It’s a pretty exacting medium. Every line, every word, has to be exactly in the right place in order to convey the punchline. And it doesn’t take much to throw off the timing and ruin the gag. Plus, you have to be able to conceive a worthy punchline out of your head, out of thin air, in the first place. It requires an odd combination of skills that really can’t be taught. You can either do it or you can’t.
Drawing a comic strip is like doing sketch comedy. Only you do everything. You write it, you draw it, you create the characters, you act out all the characters, you design the set, you design the costumes. You’re actor, writer, director, set designer, everything. And you have to be skilled in all these things to pull it off.
One thing it really requires is the ability to be concise. You have to pack all of this information into 3 or 4 little panels. So you can’t waste a single word. Doing a comic strip taught me how to express myself directly and forcefully. It is an in-your-face medium. You are reaching out and grabbing the reader by the collar and demanding: LOOK AT ME!!
It also teaches you how to package your thoughts and present them to others in an easily-digestible format. It’s like being an advertising executive, except instead of selling a product you’re selling your ideas.
A cop was once detaining me and grilling me about a possible offense I might have committed. In the course of the conversation he asked me about my employment history. “I was a cartoonist for 10 years,” I said. “Why’d you quit?” said the cop. “I ran out of punchlines.” The cop laughed and let me go. . . I guess I still had one punchline left.
This guy’s back. I just passed him as he was walking down Durant. I don’t know if you remember him. The cops 5150-ed him a couple months ago when he was walking down Telegraph cutting himself with a knife as he walked. But he’s back out. I guess the shrinks have deemed him to no longer be “a threat to himself or to others” — as the saying goes. And I certainly hope so, for his sake. He seems to be on some kind of strange, masochistic spiritual trip.
This time he was barefoot, and walking noticeably slower than before — he used to really bound down the street at a brisk pace. And he wasn’t broadcasting the loud, New Age-y music that he used to play as he walked.
Masochism can be a strange thing. When I was younger I fell madly in love with this beautiful young woman, and I wanted to put her on a pedestal and exalt her. She told me: “I like to get tied up and beaten.” Go figure. My own wiring is a little screwy myself, so I tend to be sympathetic towards others’ quirks. https://acebackwords5.wordpress.com/2024/04/11/438/
This photo always cracks me up. It’s probably not funny to you. But it’s like an inside joke to me.
When I first set up my pop-up tent, Mini Scaredy — the feral cat — didn’t get the concept. She was used to sleeping on top of my blankets at this spot. So when she first saw my pop-up tent she was perplexed. She circled around the tent several times, meowing in confusion. I was trying to tell her to come inside the tent via the front door. But cats don’t understand English. Plus, the idea of going into an enclosed space was foreign to her. She’s a feral cat after all. And was used to sleeping outside under the stars
Finally, after much confusion, she decided to climb on TOP of the tent. I guess she just figured the tent was just an elongated version of my blankets — which she was well used to sleeping on top of.
The funny part was when she decided to jump off the top of the tent. The spring in the tent was like a coiled trampoline. And when she jumped off, the tent sprung up and sent her flying 10 feet into the air. And she ended up landing in the bushes off in the distance.
It’s not funny to you when I describe it But it was funny to me. Mini Scaredy being flung into the air.
Eventually, Mini Scaredy came back. Her tail between her legs.. Her ego bruised by the embarrassing mishap with the tent. But eventually she figured out how to enter into the tent from the open flap doorway up front. And she came to love that tent. Especially on those rainy nights when it was pouring rain. And it was warm and dry inside that tent. So the story has a happy ending
But it was still pretty funny. Mini Scaredy flying in the air and launched into the bushes.
Rent in the Bay Area is outrageous. You can rent out this one-bedroom apartment for $1,000 a month. It comes with one bed. And that’s about it. Centrally located on a sidewalk near you. No indoor plumbing. But a piss jar is optional. This dream home could be yours, with just first month, last month and a $2,000 deposit. Plus references.
Sometimes it seems like the whole world is going crazy. Nothing runs smoothly anymore. And simple transactions turn into bizarre rituals…. Case in point:
Once a week I like to go to Panda Express. Simply because it’s one of the few places on the Ave where you can get vegetables other than french fries. And I’m told from reliable sources that vegetables are allegedly good for you. So once a week I like to go to Panda Express and load up on broccoli and eggplant.
But for some reason I always have problems every time I try to order my lunch there. Usually there’s a long line — which always drives me nuts. And there’s invariably some kind of confusion with the servers (the last two times I was there they got my order all wrong). Part of the confusion is because I sense that English is the second or third language with most of the servers. On top of that, they all speak very softly, so it’s hard to hear them over the din of the crowd. And then they have this odd system — like an assembly line — where one person takes your order, and then she passes your plate to a second server who does part of your order, who passes it the a third server to complete your order, who passes it to the cashier to ring you up. So mixed signals and confusion can take place at any juncture of the transaction.
But today I figured I lucked out. There’s almost no line ahead of me, because it’s Summer Break and all the students are gone, so there’s only two people ahead of me on line. So I figure, this should go smoothly.
But NOOOOO!!! (as they say)
After I get my order filled I look up and realize that there’s nobody manning the cash register. Which, needless to say, is a crucial cog in the process. So I stand there for 10 minutes, wondering: “What the fuck??” Finally, the cashier shows up. But instead of ringing up the people on line in front of me, she starts ringing up these other people who are showing up. They show the cashier their cellphone and she goes off to retrieve their orders (apparently these are people who have “ordered on-line” — something I’ve never done myself.– but for some reason they get priority over the people waiting in line in person).
FINALLY, the cashier gets around to ringing up the guy in front of me. But wouldn’t you just KNOW it?? At THAT point, the guy starts fumbling around in his pockets looking for his money to pay his bill. He’s been standing there for 20 minutes with his head up his ass doing nothing. But only at this late date does he decide that it would be a swell idea to start looking for his money. He pulls out a couple of bills from one pocket. Pulls out a couple more bills from another pocket. Takes out his wallet to see what’s in there. Opens his backpack to retrieve some more money from in there. Lays out all of his bills and change on the counter. And starts counting it up. . . At this point I want to KILL this guy (and no jury in America would convict me).
Finally, after several lifetimes, the cashier rings up my order. I hand her a 20 dollar bill. And she says: “Sorry, I can’t give you any change.”
“WHAT???!!!” I said (that was my exact words: WHAT???!!!)
She repeats: “I’m sorry we can’t give you any cash change.”
At this point I’m at the end of my rope (I got my own mental problems aside from dealing with this stuff). I turn and start storming towards the exit. The cashier calls out to me. Points at my to-go plate of food. I head back to the register. Evidently she’s had a change of heart. I hand her the 20 and she has just enough cash in the register to give me back my change.
But the story at least has a happy ending. I’m now sitting here eating my goddamn broccoli and eggplant. One more triumph of the human spirit.
I probably loved Moo Cat the most of all my cats. 15 years old. 2008-2024. RIP. The first kitten born at my campsite. And the oldest of all my cats…. Moo Cat was kind of crazy. You can see it in her eyes. But so sweet and loveable, too. A wild child. I was honored to share some of my time on planet earth with the great Moo Cat.
Hate Man heckling Rev. Chuck on the Berkeley campus around 1993, surrounded by a big crowd of onlookers, as usual. Hate Man used to mimic Rev. Chuck. If Chuck stood on a chair, Hate Man stood on a crate. If Chuck sat down, Hate Man sat down. If Chuck paced back and form, Hate Man paced back and forth.
One of the odd things about Rev. Chuck was his obsession with sodomy. Virtually every one of his sermons featured a long harangue on the mortal sin of sodomy, often going into graphic detail. According to the theology of Rev. Chuck, the sin of sodomy was a sure-fire way to earn eternal damnation in the fires of Hell.
The odd thing was, I don’t ever remember Jesus even mentioning sodomy in the Bible. And to my knowledge He never once expounded on the Gospel According to Anal Sex. But one thing was for sure. Rev. Chuck had spent a LOT of time thinking long and hard about the subject of sodomy. And there was probably a reason for that.
Witnessed an odd scene yesterday. . . Walking down Durant Avenue I passed this young woman who was wearing this VERY short, pink skirt. It was so short, it barely covered her bottom. Out of curiosity — and because I’m a dull, brute human male who’s ruled by his baser instincts and emotions — I turned and watched her as she walked up the street. In fact, her skirt was so short, it didn’t even cover the bottom part of her bottom. And you could clearly see that she wasn’t wearing any underwear. Well sir, THAT got my attention!
Then she stopped in front of this apartment building and stood there for a couple of minutes, apparently calling someone on her cell phone (that’s her on the left hand side of the photo). After a short while, somebody came out of the front door of the building. And she rushed up the front steps and disappeared into the building with the person
That’s odd?? I thought. And I spent a little time trying to figure out what that scenario was all about. . . At first I thought, maybe she’s a prostitute. And the person in the apartment building had hired her for a tryst. . . But that didn’t make sense. Somebody engaging in illegal activities in the middle of a quiet residential area, would be much more discreet, and, wouldn’t go around calling attention to themselves in that manner. So the whole thing was puzzling.
But that’s often what it’s like living on the streets, spending a lot of time living in public among your fellow human beings. You witness many odd scenes like this. It’s like you’re constantly walking into the middle of other people’s movies. And you often see the second act of these dramas. But you don’t see the first act, or the third act. So you often feel like a detective searching for clues, trying to figure out what the hell is going on as best you can. But mostly you’re just guessing. . .
Anyways, later that night I’m hanging out late at night at this outdoor patio on the campus charging my cellphone. When I hear some kind of loud commotion going on off in the distance. People yelling and shouting and carrying on. And whatever is going on, it’s moving towards my direction. So I’m bracing myself for any possible trouble. It turned out — to my surprise — it’s about 50 scantily clad young women. Many of them wearing skimpy halter tops, or just brassieres. And they’re all laughing and shouting and having a good old time. And as they all marched past me, I noticed about 10 of the women had boxes over their heads and they couldn’t see where they were going. So the other women, this mob of women, were sort of leading them along, like captured slaves or something. And they all marched past me and disappeared off into the distance.
And again I thought: That’s odd. . . Until it occurred to me: It’s probably some kind of sorority initiation thing, where they’re hazing the new recruits. . . And maybe that’s what the deal was with the woman with the short skirt and her ass hanging out, earlier in the day. So it all sort of all made sense now.
Meanwhile, I couldn’t help thinking: These college kids nowadays with their campus hijinks. Back when I was a kid we jammed ourselves into phone booths and ate live goldfish for kicks! Damn straight!!
Ace Backwords 