The post-modern Everyman

See it here.

The composition and content of today's panel is extremely interesting. Most interesting is that the central figure is not our protagonists, Joy and Burl, but instead is the ticket window patron, who is devoid of facial features, a clearly deliberate quotation of Magritte's The Son of Man, symbol of the lonely anonymity which occurs because humans refuse connection with one another, preferring to be solitary, even when in plain sight: "Everything we see hides another thing, we always want to see what is hidden by what we see, but it is impossible. Humans hide their secrets too well." In a panel with significant baby imagery, this man must symbolize the Son of all Mankind, in essence the post-modern Everyman.

The rest of the figures in the panel are only important insofar as we can learn from their interaction with the post-modern Everyman.

Burl and Joy, in virtual unison of gaze and posture, glare in consternation at this enigmatic symbol. Their mode of interaction with the world involves constant hostility and an assumption that every inconvenience is a deliberate and personal affront. In a world lacking meaningful social interaction, they have gone to a strangely opposite extreme and assigned every shred of interaction a narcissistically excessive amount of meaning. Burl, the infant-in-adult's-clothing, is the mouthpiece for this world view, lacking the impulse control necessary to keep his thoughts to himself.

The mother of the baby and presumed wife of the post-modern Everyman has jerked her head a clear 180 degrees in anger at Burl's comment. This head-swiveling ability, which appears to be common in The Dinette Set's universe, is an animalistically maternal response to a perceived threat to her infant, though ultimately impotent. More importantly, however, she is taking this action in favor of responding to the very real cries of her infant, whose desperate needs go unfulfilled while its parents attempt to sedate themselves with the latest entertainment offering from the mass media.

In the background we have a solitary figure standing out against the other shadowy background figures. He is slyly and voyeuristically enjoying the conflict, but refusing to be drawn into it.

When everything is placed together, this panel clearly bespeaks the profound and growing dehumanization of the post-modern existence.

Hidden behind the four walls of our houses and fenced off from our neighbors, our lives are devoid of contact with the community of Man. We've traded non-interactive entertainment, such as movies and television, for direct human contact. What contact the post-modern Everyman does engage in is done anonymously, voyeuristically, and within a space with dubious impulse-control rules, such as the Internet.

The end result, the panel surmises, is a rending of the social fabric which will eventually become so acute that, among other things, human parents will lack the necessary instinct to even care for their young.

Surrealist marginalia:

• If you look closely, I believe the infant in line is actually the infant star of Look Who's Talking Again, despite the fact that the artist has cleverly tried to mask the difference with a hilarious false moustache.
• Sam's Club has a family crest?
  

Death ride

See it here.

The Dinette Set, as is its wont, takes the road less traveled, eschewing banal conventionality, like humor, in favor of exploring the deeper and more poignant mysteries of the human soul.

Ostensibly a panel about Timmy's new bike and the disastrous consequences which accrue when Dale attempts to take it for a spin, what we actually have is a parable about accepting age with dignity. Dale commits the elemental mistake of attempting to relive his youth by taking the first turn on Timmy's bike and finds himself hurtling towards a strangely empty white space in the panel.

Towards the void, if you will.

The bike at once becomes a figurative and literal death ride, hurtling out of Dale's control towards his own death. In the most optimistic scenario, the panel is entirely metaphoric and speaks to the need to accept the slow descent towards death, rather than hastening one's demise through age-inappropriate thrill-seeking behavior. More disturbingly, the reader must face the possibility the panel is not a metaphor and we are witnessing the moment just before Dale's horrific and fatal bike accident scars Timmy for life.

Whatever the actual answer, a part of me believes this panel is The Dinette Set's homage to Mary Worth's recently departed and irreplaceable stalker-in-Captain-Kangaroo's-clothing, Aldo Kelrast.

The long goodbye

See it here.

Ma Penny has long been The Dinette Set's most tragic character, hounded as she is by the specters of death and dementia. And today's panel examines what it is like to live in Ma's world.

Her home, which I believe we are visiting today though that is pure speculation, is a clear metaphor for a failing mind. She cannot remember her own daughter's phone number, yet takes the time to commemorate that fact in writing on the wall. She has lost her car keys. And she has forgotten to fill in her own mnemonic device, despite its massive size and prominent placement.

Narratively, Ma mistakes the salad spinner for a serving dish, or possibly an implement intended to distribute salad dressing, clearly a sign that she is in need of assisted living.

This appears, on the surface, to be an incredibly simple joke. And yet, paradoxically it doesn't work, which is the author's clear intent. The key is the deliberate and conspicuously imprecise use of the word "tossed." On one hand it is brilliant because of its pun-like quality and could add to the joke. But on the other hand it causes the reader to wonder if, perhaps, the panel's meaning runs much deeper than is evident on the surface. Should we be looking for puns or double-entendre visually as well as verbally? Is the meaning actually something beyond what we are seeing on the surface?

Once the reader starts down this path, we are given a chance to experience what it is like to be Ma, trapped inside a failing mind which cannot make sense out of even the simplest things.

I can't remember where I left the marginalia:

• Looks like Ma broke out the fancy, and I mean fancy in a jewel-encrusted way, goblets for Joy and Burl.
• A good rule of thumb would be: if you can't draw salad on Burl's fork that is distinguishable from a mass of squiggles or a pair of busted eyeglasses, then you'd be better off not drawing them at all.
  

Be right back

A second post today because commenter treedweller requested that I take a peek at this panel from 23 September, 2006.

I admit that this panel does pose significant interpretive issues. For starters, it brazenly defies conventional wisdom which says that comics should have an identifiable narrative or joke, and preferably both.

At base, we have a man using a laptop computer, and Burl is reading off his screen the chat shorthand "B-R-B" and asking what it means. The natural assumption is that Burl is being rude in reading the man's screen (reinforced by the sly smiley face on his T-shirt). The man, therefore has suspended his activity and told the person on the other end of the conversation that they will "be right back" in order to deal with Burl.

Of course, that reading suffers from several problems, the central being that it is not funny in any way generally understood by homo sapiens. Beyond that, typing "brb" assumes a two-way instant communication connection, which would require an internet connection, which may be available in train stations but not (so far as I know) on trains themselves.

And so, having determined what the panel is not (funny or narratively sound), we can actually pierce the fog and determine what it is, which actually turns out to be very simple.

The single most prominent detail is the word "Dell" which is conspicuously framed inside a white expanse which is purportedly the laptop's cover. Also conspicuously, no attempt is made to mock the laptop's brand, such as terming it "Dull".

And so, we are left with only one reasonable explanation. Dell Computers, for reasons passing understanding, paid an enormous amount of cash for product placement within The Dinette Set and this is what they got.

Visit the marginalia's Facebook page:

• American Tourister also seems to have paid for placement, though obviously not as much as Dell.
  
• Is it just me or does the "car may be disengaged" warning read like a tasteless Amtrak derailment joke?

Bewildering freedom of choice

See it here.

After spending almost two months contemplating how best to address the subject, The Dinette Set finally gets around to using the primary defeat of Joe Lieberman as a springboard for a sweeping lament about the state of US politics.

Political campaigns are no longer discussed in terms of issues, the panel clearly suggests. Instead, the entire focus is on the who's-up-who's-down of the horse race. Polling used to be a reactive glimpse at the voter's state of mind regarding the virtue of a candidate's positions relative to his opposition. Now polling has assumed a leading role in defining the actual value of a candidate. So much so that polling data can actually depress voter turnout and decide elections.

Furthermore, personal connection with candidates has been eliminated in the post-television era of large media conglomerates. Everything which is known about any given candidate comes from those 3-second sound bites which are deemed entertaining enough to take time away from reportage on American Idol. And, just as the TV Guide can be trusted to define the hot shows (saving us the trouble of deciding for ourselves), those sound bites which make the cut must pass through the filter of a talking head who will save the populace the trouble of distilling information for itself.

Once the panel is closely examined, the reader cannot help joining with Joy's shirt in the belief that the entire exercise is a bunco swindle in which we, the people, are persuaded to buy worthless candidates who are, ultimately, Kinko's copies of one another.

You can fool some of the marginalia some of the time:

• I'm struggling to identify the significance of Marlene's bathing wear.
• I'm also struggling to read the bottom lines on Jerry's shirt and Burl's cup.
  

A private matter

See it here.

I'm back from vacation, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. And to greet me, The Dinette Set examines our sense of personal security and privacy.

Joy stands, as naked as anyone could possibly tolerate, in front of a window which affords a view out onto the world but also allows the world to peer into her house. While she looks through the blinds, the neighborhood has a clear view of her bare midriff sandwiched between a sturdy brassier and a comfortable pair of underwear. And, in a delicious meta-theatrical irony, the reader has a perfect voyeuristic vantage point from within her own house, unimpeded by even a small amount of Venetian blind.

It's not clear what, precisely, this metaphor speaks to. Certainly it could be a general comment about the Internet, which enables unprecedented access to information but also imposes serious risks to one's personal security if not careful (or if AOL publicly publishes your search history). Possibly it expresses a more topical concern regarding the trade-offs of the NSA wiretapping program which violates civil rights while purporting to provide additional security against external threats. It could be a more general commentary and not related to anything specific.

What is perfectly clear, however, is how Joy chooses to deal with the insecurity of living in the modern world: she ignores it completely pretending instead that she is perfectly safe. She hides her head behind the Venetian blinds of life, preferring to believe herself and her privacy secure against all evidence to the contrary, such as the all-too-evident open window just inches below her eyeline.

Pay no attention to the marginalia recording your conversation:

• Burl's reaction to all of this is strangely paradoxical. On the one hand his posture indicates an airy lack of concern. And yet, if my eyes do not deceive me, he has concern lines radiating from his forehead. Either that or his Spidey-sense is tingling.
• Please, God, tell me that dark patch on Joy's underpants is not an Xtreme skid mark.

Super-size us

See it here.

I am in a rush today (still on vacation), and so all I have time for (without incurring the wrath of loved ones) is this:

Appalled as I am at the fact that poor Timmy has been left in Burl's care, I am at least grateful that Burl and Joy removed the S&M spikes from their kitchen chairs to protect the child from injury during his indentured servitude.

This small act indicates some capacity for personal growth on the part of Burl and Joy, a capacity which is mirrored by their capacity for weight gain as a result of over-indulging in french fries.

Unrequited...uh...something

See it here.

On the surface we have a fat joke, to wit: Joy's neck is too fat for the necklace to reach around. But bubbling below the surface, we have a panoply of symbols reflecting the state of Burl and Joy's relationship.

Burl, for example, has long since ceased to see their relationship as anything beyond a convenience borne of dependencies. His shirt could obviously be a reference to his belief that he had a hand in Patty's upbringing, a claim which is probably dubious. More likely, however, it is a reference to his having long since retired any feelings of care towards Joy.

More poignant is Joy's not-so-secret wish for Burl to view her as an object of desire, as expressed by her shirt's brazen declaration that her breasts can be "bought" (and rather cheaply at that). Long gone are the days (if, indeed, they ever existed) when Burl might give Joy a present in the hopes of attaining physical requitement from her. Why exactly Burl has given Joy a present is not the subject of the panel, though it is safe to assume that the reason is entirely perfunctory. No matter how much Joy wishes it, the gift from Burl comes with no strings attached.

And, in the final analysis, the fact that they openly shop in a faux jewelry store for gifts is a clear indication that neither of them attaches any value to their relationship beyond the surface appearance they project to those around them. It does not matter if their private lives are a living hell of emotionless co-habitation and unrequited love, so long as, to Dale and Marlene's eyes, everything appears normal.

Fact-free zone

See it here.

Today's Dinette Set is all about the fading importance of fact in modern discourse, especially in the midst of a bitterly-contested election where truth is the first casualty.

No one in the audience can possibly have any idea what the actual number of steps for a day should be, and the author must know this. So we have to conclude that the panel is designed to ask the reader to derive enjoyment without benefit of knowing the facts.

As such, and much like modern discourse, the reader is apt to accept as fact whichever figure best fits their own preconceptions, or in this case makes the joke more personally entertaining.

The invisible hand

See it here.

Picking up one of the panels I missed while away, The Dinette Set takes a hard look at TV, advertising, and the modern condition.

By the 21st century, TV advertising has virtually perfected itself. Assisted by the fact that the length of the average commercial is within the attention span of the average channel-surfing viewer (unlike the programming), pop-culture knowledge of commercials is as much coin of the realm as knowledge of the programming which interrupts the steady stream.

Madison Avenue Moguls rub their hands in glee knowing that water cooler conversation and You Tube links are as likely to feature the latest commercials as actual programming. And Marketing Directors at major corporations cackle knowing people will TiVo the Super Bowl so they can watch the newest commercials.

Of course, Burl's tastes in commercials is a bit more pedestrian than most, but we should probably forgive him his desire for hair. After all, commercials will tell you that to be attractive, you need it.

That said, the real metaphysical question posed by this panel is: There's an identifiable "best" of Full House?