You have to assume that these little competitions never really come out in Hubris’ favor.
One wonders what he’s up to.
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2378 comics.
If you grew up reading MAD magazine, you have a sense of Nick Meglin, who edited MAD for a long time.
He died a couple of days ago, a week after I saw him last. He wasn’t the kind of guy who would graciously accept glowing words of praise. He was clever and sarcastic and sharp, and I’m dearly, deeply, genuinely grateful to have known him for the last twelve or so years, though I can’t imagine saying that to his face or what his hilarious, dismissive reply would have been.
The best way I’ve thought to express it is that, in the moments when we had his attention, he made us each feel we were kings, that we had such a fine court jester to mock us so perfectly.
And the world is diminished without him.
The tricky thing about alcohol- and I’m not the first to say this by any stretch of the imagination- is that it takes away your ability to make considered decisions about time.
I think it was Dennis Miller in one of his Rants books who described having another drink and another, all the while whittling away the hours you intend to sleep before you go to work the next morning. Something along the lines of “Well, I meant to go home an hour ago and get some sleep, and if I leave now, then I could still get five hours before I have to get up… but if I stay another two hours, and skip my shower… Bartender, another round!”
Knowing you have a day and a half to mop up your daily life before a large and time-consuming job, what would YOU do?
Age-ism. (I don’t know if that’s the proper spelling. It’s the only one I tried that didn’t look dead wrong)
It’s a problem.
Of course, another problem is that grown men walk around these days, not just eschewing hats, ties and waistcoats, but wearing little sports ensembles with shorts and matching sleeveless shirts in eye-bending color combinations meant to mimic sports teams. Such a thing would only be allowed of children not too long ago, and an adult wearing them would be taken away for a rest cure.
That’s probably reverse age-ism, by some standards. I can’t keep up any more. And I shouldn’t have to keep up with that kinda thing. I’m crazy childish my-ownself, and there’s no fixing it any more.
At least I hope not. That sounds like some pretty bad trauma.
Pardon me, I’m going to go change into my Mighty Ducks jersey with matching hat and tie. And underpants.
Finally got back to the job today! Here’s your cartoon.
Yeah, I’m exhausted, and I didn’t plan ahead well enough that you get a cartoon today.
Here’s what you DO get-
• Larry, Moe, and Curly tryin’ to put up the NCS banner. (Dave Blazek, Rick Stromoski, and Tom Stiglich, unless I’m really bad at remembering the backs of heads.)
• My wife, Me, and a very famous cartoonist that you should recognize by now.
• Some toys that I managed to cadge for a buddy of mine who collects the livin’ heck out of Batman stuff.
• Mark Parisi, who was in da house, and won his Division award!
• Me and Dave Reddick, whom I respect muchly, and you can tell I’m telling the camera to respect him, too.
• Arnie Roth and some guy who wishes he were Arnie Roth. If you don’t know, look him up. AWESOME.
• Tom, Ray, and Ellen. Stiglich, Alma, and Lustig- if you need the details. I count myself lucky to get to hang out in children’s hospitals and yankee cities with these wonderful people.
You’d probably like to know why there’s no new Hubris cartoon today.
It’s because I’m in Philly and drawing for families at the library in conjunction with the National Cartoonists Society.
Any of you cartoonists who wanna join the NCS, you gotta email me about that.
Here’s me being all goofy ’cause I was nominated for a Division Award.
And here’s what happens when you interrupt Sergio Aragones’ breakfast for an autograph. He gives you an autograph.
Everyone cross your fingers for me.
I know I haven’t been updating Patreon enough(and a couple of you guys are waiting on your patron packs) so it’s rude to ask for lucky mojo from you, too…
But the fact is that I’m anxiously awaiting Saturday night to discover if I’ve won a coveted Silver Reuben in the newspaper illustration division. (It’s coveted by me. I assume others -such as the other two nominees- covet it also)
So, any wicked dance at a crossroads or breath upon a lucky paw of an unlucky rabbit that you’re willing to expend… I’d appreciate it.
I like drawing woods. I’ve said that before, haven’t I?
Not that I want to draw them and color them over and over again, like four times or anything… but now and again is fine. Yay for computers on evenings when you’re exhausted.
I have a brother-in-law who’s a pilot. He says that American lady who just married the British guy didn’t go after him ’cause he’s famous and noble and all, but because he is a pilot.
I believe that some distinction was made over what kind of pilot he is, too.
Airplane pilots don’t necessarily class themselves with helicopter pilots. It’s plain bigotry, I suppose. I mean, can’t we all just fly along? Airplane pilots, helicopter pilots, hot air balloonists. We’re all just the same inside.
Except Gingers. Now, that’s just icky.
