Confessional? Arena? Secrets? Lies?

"PostSecret is an ongoing community art project where people mail-in their secrets anonymously on one side of a homemade postcard."

But in the end what does it really tell us? Thoughts?

Oh Dear God, Please Don't Let It Be "Seasons in the Sun"

Comic strip from the great Toothpaste For Dinner.

From the good people over at rec.arts.comics.strips comes a site that lets you discover what the number one song was the day you were born. As for me...

DOB: August 7, 1967
US: Light My Fire—The Doors
UK: San Francisco (Be Sure to Wear Some Flowers in Your Hair)—Scott McKenzie

Such are the rewards for being born in the "Summer of Love." The site also encourages you to find out what your "Theme Song" is, otherwise known as the number one song on your 18th birthday...

18th Birthday: August 7, 1985
US: Shout—Tears for Fears
UK: Into the Groove—Madonna

So in other words, my theme is a club kid going through primal scream therapy. Terrific.

Speaking of music, for the first time in history a cell phone ring tone topped the British singles charts, outselling Coldplay's number-two single "Speed of Sound" by a margin of four to one.

And in honor of all the "Memorial Day Weekend Top 500 Songs of All Time" radio broadcasts, which ask listeners to tune in for 72 hours only so they can learn that once more the number-one song is either "Stairway to Heaven" or "Freebird"—just like on last year's "Labor Day Weekend Top 500 Songs of All Time" broadcast—we print the lyrics to the top-selling hit of Summer 1976, if only because some songs have to be read to be believed. Enjoy.

"Afternoon Delight"
The Starland Vocal Band

Gonna find my baby, gonna hold her tight
Gonna grab some afternoon delight
My motto's always been 'when it's right, it's right'
Why wait until the middle of a cold dark night?
When everything's a little clearer in the light of day
And we know the night is always gonna be there any way

Thinkin' of you's workin' up my appetite
Looking forward to a little afternoon delight
Rubbin' sticks and stones together makes the sparks ingite
And the thought of lovin' you is getting so exciting
Sky rockets in flight
Afternoon delight
Afternoon delight
Afternoon delight

Started out this morning feeling so polite
I always thought a fish could not be caught who wouldn't bite
But you've got some bait a waitin' and I think I might try nibbling
A little afternoon delight
Sky rockets in flight
Afternoon delight
Afternoon delight
Afternoon delight

Please be waiting for me, baby, when I come around
We could make a lot of lovin' 'for the sun goes down

Thinkin' of you's workin' up my appetite
Looking forward to a little afternoon delight
Rubbin' sticks and stones together makes the sparks ingite
And the thought of lovin' you is getting so exciting
Sky rockets in flight
Afternoon delight
Afternoon delight
Afternoon delight

Afternoon delight!

Concerns for Kitty, Questions for Me

Dear "Sally Forth" Readers:

Over the past week I have read/received/heard screaming from across interstates concerns with — or confusion about — the recent (and ongoing) "Missing Kitty" story. I would like to take this opportunity to address them.

How can you not miss your pet for six days. Do they not feed this cat?
Careful readers will notice that the cat was missing for two days, prompting a search that lasted five days.

As for whether or not anyone feeds the cat, let me just say three words: "Automatic cat feeder." I have used one for my cats Boris and Natasha for 12 years and they are both happy and healthy.

(Note: Variations on this comment have included the phrase "not noticed missing for five days" or "not noticed missing for seven days." In each case I believe it was an understandable confuson between how long the cat was missing and how long the owners searched for her.)

Was no one checking the litter box for several days?
Regular readers may remember a story line about six weeks back in which Sally is concerned that Hilary does not do enough around the house. Sally's solution? From then on Hilary would take care of the litter box. That is why on the very first panel in Monday's strip Sally is thanking Hilary for doing her assigned chore. Neither Sally nor Ted were monitoring the litter box because for the past six weeks Hilary had been on top of the task. But, like any 10-year-old, Hilary let it slide and so no one immediately noticed until two days later that in fact Kitty had not been using the box.

How could the Forths not notice that the cat had not eaten for several days?
This concern has also been phrased as "You'd think they would have noticed food piling up in her bowl." To which I can only respond, "Who said the cat had not eaten?" Such a remark was never made in the strip. When my cat Boris failed to go the litter box for a few days, he still continued to eat each and every day. It was not a dietary problem. It was a problem with his colon and inability to defecate. Luckily after surgery and numerous hospital visits, Boris eventually did defecate...and with a vengeance.

Ok, pop quiz everyone- What is your vet’s phone number? It concerns me enough that either Sally does, or has it on speed dial, that I’m crossing her off my list of pet sitters.
I know my vet's phone number by heart. But that's because my cats are very, very important to me and I make sure to be able to get them all the medical treatment they need on a moment's notice.

What? They’re such budget-minded cretins they don’t take poor Kitty into the vet unless it’s an emergency?
Who said that they have never taken Kitty to the vet? "Sally Forth" exists for 18 panels and a Sunday strip each week. Every action they take — including vet visits — cannot be shown in such a limited space. They don't eat every day in the strip. Does that mean they are routinely starving? When was the last time you saw of any the family members go to the bathroom? Is that something any of us really want to witness?

Just because your self-centered characters finally noticed it and are concerned is not a good model for responsible pet ownership.
I know this sounds cruel but honestly, whenever I see a posting that refers to the Forths as "self-centered" I can't help but conclude that's the writer's way of saying "Why haven't your characters talked about me or the exact way I live yet?"

From personal experience, I can say they are looking at a several hundred dollar vet bill. Of course, I took my beloved cat in after two days of her not eating. These self-absorbed twits let poor Kitty suffer alone for days.
"Several hundred dollars"?!? I don't know what cut-rate vet this person takes his/her pets to but I don't think I'll be asking them for a referral. Perhaps they mistakenly took their cat to Jiffy-Lube instead. The total bill for my "beloved cat" Boris came to $4900 (not including subsequent, weekly check-ups). My wife and I also took lessons to learn how to administer a feline enema twice a week for the rest of the cat's life. That's right, people. It's a a tube, KY and one displeased cat every Tuesday and Thursday.

Hey now, the cat only appears in one strip every two years on average; why shouldn't the adults be forgiven for overlooking it in the interim?
Okay, that one makes sense.

Truthfully, I really appreciate your interest in the strip. Anyone who takes the time out of their day to read what supposedly humorous thoughts I jot down is exceedingly kind and deserves my utter gratitude. I also know that half the fun of reading a comic strip is trying to second-guess the characters' motives or determine the plot's ending before it is ultimately revealed. I only ask that you let the storyline play out — and that you read it carefully and do not draw assumptions — before allowing yourself to become incensed by it (I'm not saying you won't be incensed by what I write. I'm just saying give it a little time to prove you wrong...or right).

Please note, I do not make a habit of over-explaining strips (to do such seems self-indulgent). I just wanted to address these issues because I would hate for anyone to think that I take the well-being of a family pet lightly.

"Sally Forth" is owned by King Features. It is drawn by Craig Macintosh. It is written by me. But once it hits print it is the property of all the readers who share in the experience each and every day. It is your strip and you have every right to say what you will about it. If you have questions, I 'll try my best to answer them. If you have concerns, I will certainly try to address them. If you hurl something at my head, well, I'll probably try to get behind Scott Stantis.

Thank you.
Ces

Conversations with Dad 5: The Visit

In honor of all those reuniting with their families this Memorial Day Weekend.

The following is a transcript of an actual conversation between my mother Isilda, G.I. Joe's first clothing designer and former dildo cozy knitter, and my father Frank Marciuliano, award-winning graphic designer, one-time pornography T-shirt illustrator and self-described Renaissance Man.

Ces and Carol at Marciuliano's front door. Ces rings doorbell. They hear parents responding from inside the house.

Dad: We don’t want any!

Mom: Who is it?

Dad: Coming!

Mom: Who is it?

Dad: What do you mean, "Who is it?" It’s probably the kids!

Mom: Coming!

Dad: We’re coming!

Mom: Hold on, we're coming!

Dad: Be right there!

Mom: Coming!

Dad: I said I was coming!

Mom: Be right there!

Dad: What does "I'm coming" mean to you, Isilda?!

Mom: Hold on!

Dad: I said I got it!

Mom: Just a sec!

A few minutes pass.

Dad: Did you get the door, Isilda?

Mom: What?!

Dad: I said, "Did you get the door, Isilda?!"

Mom: I thought you were getting the door!

Dad: How could I get the door?! I’m in the bedroom painting the chair!

Mom: Well, I’m in the kitchen making you your tea!

Dad: How complicated is tea-making that you can't get the door?!

Mom: But I thought you said you were getting it!

Dad:: Well, do you want the chair done today or not?!

Mom: Well, do you want your tea done today or what?!

Dad: Tea or chair, Isilda! Tea or chair!

Mom: Fine, I'll drink your tea!

Another minute passes.

Dad: What did you say?!

Mom: What?

Dad: What did you say about the tea?

Mom: I said I'll drink your tea!

Dad: Are you trying to be a wiseass?!

Mom: You don't want me to make you tea then I'll drink it!

Dad: When the hell am I supposed to finish the chair then, Isilda?! Huh?! When?!

Mom: Just forget it!

Another minute or so...

Dad: What did you say?!

Mom: What?!

Dad: What did you say?! Just before!

Mom: I said, "Just forget it!"

Dad: You know I don't forget stuff, Isilda!

Mom: You forgot to answer the door!

Dad: You still haven't let the kids in yet?!

Mom: I was making tea!

Dad: I was painting the chair!

Mom: Fine, I’ll get the door!

Dad: No, I’ll get it!

Mom: I’m getting it!

Dad: I said I’m getting it!

Mom: I’m almost there!

Dad: I said I'm getting it, Isilda!

Mom: I don't need you to get it!

Dad: Oh, I'm getting it!

Mom: Then open the door!

Dad: Fine! I guess I'll have to get it!

Hear footsteps approaching. Hear doorknob being jiggled. Pause.

Dad: Where did you put the keys, Isilda?!

Mom: What?!

Dad: WHERE DID YOU PUT THE KEYS, ISILDA?!

Mom: Tea's done!

Previously on "Conversations with Dad":
Payback: The Other Movie with the Exact Same Title
Death and Family in a New Jersey Diner
Pick-A-Dick
The Pizza Incident

Happy Holidays, Everyone! Let Summer Commence!

So Many Axes, Not Enough Necks

From The Southfarthing Soapbox:

Medium Large: A reasonably good web comic (warning - occasional profanity) drawn by a guy with a blinding hatred of conservatives. Seriously, seeing conservative views in other comics like BC throws him into such a rage that he simply must attack and delegitimize it, validly or no. Come on! This guy's point in MORE THAN ONE strip has been that its unrealistic to portay cavemen talking about Christianity ... in a comic strip. Talk about having an axe to grind. In the same week as one of his attack-BC strips, he's got a giant marshmellow impregnating a chicken, a rabbit in a vest and bowtie drinking liquor in a bar, the Easter Bunny advertising a Mazda sale, and third rabbit firing pistols and chewing a toothpick. But seriously, BC is to be scorned because of lack of realism.

"Marshmallow impregnating a chicken." That was a good one.

Next Week: A duck? With a press pass?! Come on!

Good Bo, Bad Bachus

Dear Alabama,

I love you. I didn't leave you because I hate you, I was just looking for something else. It wasn't you. It was me. We're still friends and we always will be. When you rejoice, I rejoice. And when you cry, I cry. Bo Bice was robbed. We all know it. But do you know why? I do.

Two words: Spencer Bachus.

You don't call for the censorship and dismissal of a cable television personality (i.e. someone that subscribers PAY to see) without suffering the consequences (or in this case, without causing your constituents to suffer the consequences).

Alabama had become America's sweetheart. We had Ruben. We had an impressive showing of THREE Survivor contestants. We had Bo. Sweet singin', rockin', hunka-burnin' bad-boy-made-good love Bo. He COULDN'T lose. Not to that twit with the ever-more-twisty hair and beedy eyes.

Something happened, and it wasn't that pot story. America loves pot. It also loves it's pithy, satirical comedians. If you attack them, America starts to ask questions. Who are you? Where did you come from? Well, who voted for you? Oh REALLY?! Well, we'll show them. We can vote, too!

Bo gave us the beat, boys. And then Bachus gave us the finger. It's guilt by association is all. But if Alabama wants another reality television hero, it might do well to mind who it sends out to represent them in the real reality bizarro world.

Yours in specious reasoning,
Carol

"Ooo, Him Card Read Good"

The following is a reader email regarding yesterday's "Sally Forth":

Really sorry to see the recent red-neck, boneheaded phrase "stepped a foot" in Sally Forth. Nobody STEPS a foot. The phrase is SET a foot. "Step foot" is simply another in a lamentable progression of stupidities that are debasing the language, and I hope you will avoid using it in the future unless you want to indicate that the speaker is a moron, which Jimbo has shown precious little sign of being...until today.

To which I can only respond, "Who the fuck is 'Jimbo'?"

I would also like to point out to this, ahem, careful reader that in today's strip I split the infinitive.

"What Have I Done?!? WHAT HAVE I DONE?!?"

Courtesy of an anonymous blog poster.

Now That's Just Freakin' Adorable

Click on photo for trailer to "March of the Penguins," a soon-to-be released documentary that shows once and for all just how hard that poor bastard Chilly Willy had it.

A Very Brief Review of "Revenge of the Sith" (And Then Not Another Word on the Subject)

Films worst seen have I.

Truthfully, as long as none of the characters save Yoda or Palpatine were speaking ("From my perspective, it is the Jedis who are evil." "Hold me like you did that night in the garden on Naboo." "Ha ha, I cackled fiendishly."), I found I could actually enjoy the film. Of course, said enjoyment was almost certainly the result of any goodwill remaining from the initial trilogy (well, maybe not "Return of the Jedi"). In fact, it soon became apparent there was a direct correlation between how much I liked "Sith" and how much "Sith" recalled my childhood love of "Star Wars" and "Empire":

"Hey, that's the rebel crusier from 'A New Hope'! I love 'A New Hope'! Yay, rebel cruiser!"

"Hey, I recognize that leitmotif from 'Empire Strikes Back'! I love 'Empire Strikes Back'! Yay, leitmotif!"

"Hey, I don't remember a General Grievous. I care not for new characters. Boo, new character not basking in the warm glow of nostalgia! Boo, I say!"

And so on...

Everybody Vs. Everybody Else

As many a dedicated comic strip reader no doubt knows by now, Get Fuzzy cartoonist Darby Conley, his syndicate United Features and The New Bedford Standard-Times are all being sued by Boston CBS Channel 4 sports anchor Bob Lobel over a a strip that implies Mr. Lobel may be inebriated during his newscasts. (For more on the story, go here. Or, in the name of flagrant self-promotion, click on this Gawker article that inexplicably provides a link back to this very blog.)

Now, I never watched enough episodes of The Paper Chase to offer the definitive disquisition on the fine line between satire and libel. Nor can I confidently state whether the accuser is justly protecting his professional standing and character or simply overreacting and attracting undue media attention on a joke that otherwise would have faded quickly from memory.

What I can do is momentarily disregard the humor truism that specifics always work better than generalities (don't say "snack" when you can say "Twinkie") and ask, "Would this joke still have worked if the cartoonist had not mentioned a particular sports anchor?" (An anchor with what I presume is regional, not national, name recognition.) And if that is indeed the case, then what was the cartoonist's intention in singling out that individual?

Of course, this entire incident does bring to light the issue of free speech, which in an increasingly reactionary culture is quickly being redefined as "a gift best left unopened." And certainly one cannot help but admire a cartoonist whose last name is not "Trudeau" or "McGruder" but is nonetheless still willing to go to humor's edge and pirouette, especially at a time when most comic strip punchlines are focused on in-laws, the mysteries of call-waiting or any other subject matter that would have given Mamie Eisenhower a hearty chuckle.

And last but certainly not least, one can almost immediately draw a conclusion about the personality of the sports anchor in question, but it's probably best that I do not entertain such thoughts in print. After all, first the litigious will sue the comic strips. Then they'll sue the blogs. Then they'll attack us in our dreams.

In the end, what I can say is that this legal imbroglio has almost certainly dissuaded me from writing that week-long story arc in which I subtly indicate that Ann Coulter is the leading cause of crib death.

Addendum #1: Cartoonist Mitch Clem (along with Zach Miller, writer of the Berkeley Breathed-approved strip Joe and Monkey) kindly asked me to be today's guest artist on his great comic of all things punk, Nothing Nice to Say. Next time I'll remember to actually employ Mitch's characters in the strip, as was the very intention of the guest stint in the first place.

Addendum #2: For all those who secretly have longed for a "Sally Forth"/"Full Metal Jacket" crossover (and who among us hasn't?), then check out this hilarious exchange. Thank you, Nidrian!

Addendum #3: Thurl Ravenscroft (now THAT'S a name), the voice of countless characters including Tony the Tiger--not to mention the singer in the beloved "How the Grinch Stole Christmas"--has passed away at the age of 91. In his honor we provide this link to a 1960's television commercial for "Sugar Frosted Flakes" (note which word was later dropped in more health-conscious times).

"I Wonder if My Blog Will Print This..."

Over the course of my professional life I've done far more than fail in the realm of comic strip submissions. I've also felt the hot poker of rejection courtesy of my various prose submissions. Such is the breadth and depth of my talents.

Case in point, the following three "fake news" blurbs, sent two years ago as part of a writing package to "The Onion" during the brief time I had an "in" on the editorial staff...an "in," coincidentally, that quit his job the very day I mailed my package. Needless to say, I never heard word one from "The Onion," due in large part to the fact that the website wisely does not accept blind submissions (no doubt in order to avoid accusations of plagiarism). Alas, with nowhere else to go, these blurbs now appear in a blog, the very last refuge of the unpublished author. Enjoy.


Quija Board Keeps Spelling Out "Fart"
MONTEVALLO, AL—For the twelfth time in as many attempts, a local Quija board has contacted the spiritual world only to spell out the word "fart." "It’s the oddest thing," says Sarah Gussman, 13, who along with her brother Billy, 5, continues to receive the juvenile responses from beyond the grave. "Every time the pointer starts moving it violently changes direction and heads for the letter ‘F’. Even when I ask the spirits a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question they answer ‘fart.’ I’m beginning to think it’s the only word they know how to spell." Ms. Gussman also said Billy’s constant giggling and sudden arm movements while holding the pointer may speak to a possible spectral possession.


Grandpa Does Flawless Impersonations of Celebrities No One Remembers
ROCKVILLE, MD--Yet another family dinner grew silent as Clarence Taylor, 83, tried to wow his audience with faultless impersonations of celebrities either long dead or relegated to cultural footnotes. "I’m sure his impersonations are without equal but damn if any of us know who he’s doing," said grandson Andrew, 16. "But he just keeps saying ‘Guess who? Guess who?’ And when no one does he suddenly turns real nasty and starts yelling at us about how anything old is either dismissed or banished to the kids' table on Thanksgiving. I mean, I feel bad for the guy but not enough to find out who the hell Wendell Wilke was." Family members are hoping to rectify the situation by encouraging Mr. Taylor to watch "Entertainment Tonight" and serving him dinner in his room.


Portugal's Saber-Rattling Amusing All
NEW YORK, NY—The United Nations is reportedly quite amused as the leaders of Portugal continue their saber-rattling for a third straight week. "Have you ever seen anything so precious?" asked U.S. delegate Michael Southwick. "We all thought by now they would have long tuckered themselves out but those feisty people just keep on going, shaking their little fists and babbling in whatever language they babble in. It’s actually quite heartening in its own odd way. Of course, if this goes on much longer we’ll have to issue an official ‘time out.’" Mr. Southwick added that the U.N. hasn’t been this amused since the adorable Laplanders insisted they were in fact not an imaginary people.

A Few Announcements

1.Thanks to forces either cosmic or heedless my play, "This Isn't Working," was recently accepted into The 2005 New York International Fringe Festival. So, should you happen to be in New York City in the latter half of August and everything is sold out--including Time Square's own Singing Naked Cowboy--why not see the show? (Performance dates to be announced.)

2.To anyone who wondered why I recently posted a correction to a "Sally Forth" strip that needed no such revision, please note the syndicate corrected Hilary's dialogue after I had received my early press run but before the strip appeared in print. Such things occur from time to time. A panel in a previous Wednesday strip mistakenly contained 15 obscenities before being correctly revised as "Morning, Alice."

3.To all those who remarked that the official name of "Euro Disneyland" is, in fact, "Disneyland Paris," all I can say is that any slight against the Disney company--even a completely inadvertent one--is a-ok in my book.

4.We are in the initial phases of preparing to syndicate "Medium Large" to campus and mainstream newspapers later this year. If you are an editor interested in discussing the possibilty of running "Medium Large" in your paper, please contact us at: ces@drinkatwork.com

5.This is the most godawful thing you will see all week--barring any last-minute surprises from Johnny Hart.

Upcoming Plans and Ultimate Results for Summer 2005

Francesco Marciuliano

• Read a book a week. Complete 11 “Tintin Adventures” and one “Scrooge McDuck” collection.


• Open self to new experiences. Close season with great distrust of alligators, unlicensed physicians and ball gags.


• Keep diary to record every thought. Learn upon review that you suffer from multiple personalities, each with their own credit card debt.


• Take brisk constitutionals after dinner. End first walk 85 miles later by calling home to say you never really ever wanted to raise a family in the first place.


• Promise self to drink less alcohol this summer. Then promise self to at least make less alcohol this summer. Eventually promise self to simply end each night either at home or in a nearby park.


• Take vow of celibacy to avoid unhealthy relationships. Rescind vow after violating second pet cat.


• Teach self a foreign language, initially a recognized tongue but inevitably something you like to call “Monkeyish.”


• Commence diet consisting entirely of fruits and vegetables. Grow to hate green, red, yellow and every other color save “flank steak.”


• Work on abs. Then on delts. Then on glutes. Then solely on wang.


• Join team league. Discover one championship season later how much family was embarrassed by your absolute commitment to “Competitive Red Light Green Light.”


• Get in touch with spiritual side. Experience flashback to when you and Father Hanahan played “Strip Candyland.”


• Enroll in adult education class to meet single women. Realize what a sausagefest “Introduction to Sylvia Plath” truly is.


• Direct passion and energy to worthy cause. Over three months come to redefine “worthy cause” as “anything that can be accomplished with spare change or leftover Chinese food.”


• Swear to no longer waste precious moments on baseless fears or ill-defined concerns. Notice first few gray hairs. Blow 12 weeks wondering where all the time has gone.


• Pledge to always be there for your children this summer as a parent, a role model and a friend, no matter what the demands of work or life. Wind up giving each kid 20 bucks a week and a simple set of life instructions, like “Go north.”


• Tell self in August that this fall you’re really going to get things done. Curse own name come December.

Regrets the Error

In tomorrow's "Sally Forth," Hilary's line "Here's a Euro Disneyland?!" should instead read as follows:

"There's a Euro Disneyland?!?"

You may now double over in anticipated laughter.

George Lucas: Dialogue Maestro

"As you know, Padme, I am your husband."

"If the Dark Side wins then it shall succeed!"

"I am concerned that my worries are making me anxious."

"Yes, I shall adopt Leia, for that will make me a parent."

"Ah, everything is going according to plan. See, in the first step I convinced the Republic to..."

"Red and yellow make orange."

"I am turning my back on both the Jedi council and you, Obi-Wan. Right abooooooooooout...now!

"If the prophecies are true then we might end up in an all-out star wars."

"Soon day will turn to night, and then it will be harder to see."

"Soooo...plans for the weekend?"

"I'm worried about you, Anakin. So is Mace. And Yoda. And Organa..."

"You know what I don't get? Mail. And I write to like everybody!"

"Entered the third act we have."

Conversations with Dad 4: The Pizza Incident

Wherein during a visit to the apartment of Carol and Ces the Marciuliano parents cannot decide on what to eat for dinner.

The following is a transcript of an actual conversation I had with both my mother Isilda, G.I. Joe's first clothing designer and former dildo cozy knitter, and my father Frank Marciuliano, award-winning graphic designer, one-time pornography T-shirt illustrator and self-described Renaissance Man.

Ces: Okay, what would you guys like to order for dinner? We can get Mexican...

Mom: Oh, no, no, Ces. I don't like Mexican...

Dad: Yeah, let's get Mexican.

Ces: Okay, there's Indian...

Mom: No, no, we can't do that. I can't stand Indian food.

Dad: Let's order Indian!

Ces: We...wait. You don't like Indian food either, Dad.

Dad: Well why should your mother get to choose what we eat?

Mom: Fine, order Indian food. But I won't eat it.

Ces: But neither will he.

Dad (Into personal voice recorder): Nobody likes Indian food.

Pause.

Ces: What...what is that, Dad?

Dad: My personal voice recorder! I always take it with me now so I don't forget.

Ces: Forget what?

Dad: I don't know. The batteries aren't working. Which I don't understand because I just put them in.

Pause.

Ces: How about pasta?

Dad: Oh, Ces, I forgot. There was something important I wanted to ask you...

Ces: Well, let's just get this sorted out first and then...

Dad: What did I want to ask you again...

Ces: We'll do that after we...

Dad: Wait, help me remember...

Ces: Is it on your recorder?

Dad: I think so but the batteries aren't working, which doesn't make any sense because I just put them in...Oh, yeah. Now I remember. Why would Carol want to donate her cut hair to make wigs for chemo patients? It's not like they're going to pay her.

Pause.

Ces: Is...is that honestly what you wanted to ask me?

Dad: Actually, what I really wanted to ask you is now that Carol has a different hair color does it feel like you're screwing another woman?

Ces: WHAT?!?

Mom: Frank! How could you say such a thing?!?

Dad: What did I say that was so wrong? (Into recorder) Everyone is against me.

Mom: Isn't it bad enough our other son says he can't stand to be around us? Now you have to scare this one, too? (To Ces) I'm sorry, Ces, but it's been a really stressful time with your brother and all. So you're just going to have to love us twice as much to make up for him right now.

Awkward, awkward pause.

Ces: Okay...how about we get pizza?

Mom: I like pizza.

Dad: I don't.

Ces: Yes. Yes you do, Dad.

Dad (Into recorder): Isilda gets her pizza.

Ces: So what toppings would you like?

Dad: How much does it cost?

Ces: Carol and I are paying.

Dad: We can get two large with sausage! I like sausage!

Ces: Well...Carol is a vegetarian, Dad, so how about we...

Dad: You haven't become a vegetarian, too, have you, Ces?

Ces: Uh, no...but that...

Dad: Remember, Ces--"Marciulianos like our sausage."

Ces: Dear God...What an embarrassing motto to have under one's family crest.

Mom: Let's just get plain pizza. Toppings are too expensive for them.

Ces: We're ordering pizza, Mom. Not a Hummer.

Mom: I just want you to know I'm looking out for you.

Ces: Soooooo...We can get half sausage, half plain on one pizza. Then the other half with olives for Carol...

Mom: Oh no! I can't have olives on the pizza!

Ces: Just on one half, for Carol.

Mom: No, no, Ces! I can't have olives on my pizza!

Ces: They're not for you, Mom. They're on one half...for Carol.

Mom: But I can't have olives on the pizza! They make me sick!

Dad (Into recorder): They make her sick.

Ces: Then don't eat the half with the olives.

Mom: I'll vomit just looking at them!

Dad (Into recorder): She'll vomit just looking at them.

Ces: But what about Carol?

Mom: I'll literally throw up if I see olives!

Dad (Into recorder): She'll literally throw up.

Ces: What the fu...what on earth are you doing, Dad?

Dad: I'm recording messages on my voice recorder. I also use it to help me reemember lyrics for my rap songs.

Ces: You're...you're a rap singer now?

Dad: I even have a stage name! "F.O.G."--"Fat Old Guinea"!

Ces: Please tell me you haven't shared that title with anyone.

Dad: Well, not until I write enough lyrics to make an album. Which reminds me...(Into recorder) Motherfucker! Motherfucker!

Pause.

Ces: That's your lyric? "Motherfucker"?

Dad: That's just one line. I also recorded some lines about my getting back at some bastard with a knife.

Ces: Then what? You transcribe the lyrics later?

Dad: I would if these fuckin' batteries would work. (Into recorder) The batteries don't work.

Ces: Umm, so about the pizza...Mom, how about you try not to look at the olives?

Mom: How can I not look at them if they're here? I can't have olives in my house!

Ces: Your house?

Dad: You see how I'm always denied? She never lets me have olives, Ces. Never! (Into recorder) Frank can't have his olives.

Ces: You wanted sausage, Dad. Carol wanted olives.

Pause.

Dad: Your mother also won't let me have sweets.

Mom: That's because you're diabetic, Frank!

Dad: But you get to have dessert, Isilda!

Ces: I...I...listen...I'm just saying Carol likes olives on her...

Mom: No, no, no, no, Ces! We can't have olives! I won't be able to eat! I'll throw up on your nice carpet!

Dad (Into voice recorder): Ces has vomit on his carpet.

Ces: Dad!

Dad (Into voice recorder): Ces yells at his father.

Ces: DAD!!!

Dad: What?

Ces: Why...how...if...if you want to record the conversation, why not just leave the device on instead of repeating each sentence?

Dad: Because I have a beautiful voice. Listen!

Dad presses play button. Nothing is heard.

Ces: Batteries?

Dad: What the fuck is wrong with them?!? I just put them in!

Ces: Listen...Mom, what if we keep the olive half in the kitchen?

Mom: You can't make poor Carol eat in the kitchen, Ces. Come on now. Think.

Ces (Slowly): She's...she's not going to eat in the kitchen, Mom. We'll keep the pizza in there and she can take out a slice at a time...

Mom: But then I can see the olives! I don't want to ruin your nice carpet!

Ces: Just one slice!

Mom: That's all it will take!!! What about your nice carpet?!?

Ces: Okay...okay...okay...just...just tell me...simply...why you are so morally and physically opposed to olives. Just a simple explanation. That's all. Why are you so against olives? Huh? Why? Why can't my wife have her olives? Why?!?

Mom ponders for a minute.

Mom: Well...it's...it's sort of like that old saying...

Ces: What old saying?

Mom: You know the one...how does it go?...Uh...Oh, yeah. "It's like sucking a monkey's ass."

Pause.

Dad (Into recorder): Like sucking a monkey's ass.

Previously on "Conversations with Dad":
Payback: The Other Movie with the Exact Same Title
Death and Family in a New Jersey Diner
Pick-A-Dick

Comic Strip Writing 101: When Two Sides Go to War

Before we begin, I'd like to give a very belated "thank you" to Digital Strips" for both their very kind podcast review of Medium Large and for proving just how many ways there are to pronounce my surname.

I also want to encourage you to check out Wondermark, a gloriously demented webcomic that finally puts to rest the age-old question, "What if the illustrations from a Victorian-Era Sears & Roebuck catalogue starred in a Sid and Marty Kroft Saturday morning television series?"

And now, on with the "lesson"...

Lesson Ten: Having It Both Ways

Like any person who has a little free time and a lot of insecurity issues, I have been known to Google my name every 15 minutes or so, all in the hope that I may one day finally comes across the words "Francesco Marciuliano" without having them be followed quickly by the words "can blow me." And it was during one such search--but only after I took the "Which Peanuts Character Are You Quiz" and thankfully discovered I was a "Schroeder" and not the "Charlie Brown" I always feared myself to be--that I came across the following sentiment, echoed more than once on the Web:

"How can the guy who writes 'Sally Forth' also write 'Medium Large'"?

Or, to be more precise:

"How can the jackass who writes that working mom thing string two monosyllabic words together, much less have the necessary synapses to write a second comic strip?"

Now to be quite honest I would like nothing more than to respond to those who posed the latter question in a clear, concise, concilliatory manner that still allows me to liberally refer to such interested parties as "cocksuckers." But I can't. One, that would be rather puerile. Two, that would only protract the debate, not resolve it. And three, libel is such a cruel, costly thing.

But back to the issue at hand. Admittedly, "Sally Forth" and "Medium Large" are two very different strips. Perhaps the difference illustrates the gap between the necessary demands of the professional arena and the freedom of a personal pursuit. Perhaps the difference is the result of my following the lead in one strip and my getting completely, hopelessly lost in the other. Or perhaps I've simply suffered some sort of severe mental schism that cannot be treated adequately with Robitussin.

But perhaps the most effective way I can describe it is by citing the accomplishments of another, far more successful artist who also has to balance two conflicting creative impulses. An artist who is able to write prose that in one case edifies and in the other purely entertains. An artist who is a veritable walking Janus mask.

An artist named Lionel Richie.

Lionel Richie Creative Impulse #1: Philosopher

Yes, innumerable renditions by a seemingly inexhaustible supply of wedding bands have made listening to the already excessively treacly "Endless Love" not unlike shoving a thorn bush through one’s ear canal. And yes, "Easy (Like Sunday Morning)" is second only to Norah Jones’s "Don’t Know Why" in causing automotive fatalities, inflicting almost instant narcolepsy upon the hapless driver who comes across the song on their car radio. (People, people, how many times must we tell you? Clear Channel kills.) But that in no way should diminish the astounding grasp Mr. Richie has had on the nation's zeitgeist from decade to decade.

Take the year 1983. US Forces had just invaded Grenada. That "sonofabitch" Reagan had initiated the Strategic Defense Initiative. And "Karma Chameleon" was the number one song in the land. Clearly we were a nation on the brink of utter self-destruction. We needed answers. We required hope. And then, in the middle of one of our darkest hours, one individual had the courage, the conviction and, yes, the chutzpah, to utter the following startling words to a nation hungry for bold new ideas and a brave new direction:

I had a dream, I had an awesome dream
People in the park playing games in the dark
And what they played was a masquerade
From behind the walls of doubt
A voice was crying out!

Strong words. Strong, bewildering words from the poet laureate of pop himself, Mr. Lionel Richie. The very same man who had the stamina to party "all night long," the temerity to "dance on the ceiling" and, in that one earnest, emotional video, the willingness to say "hello" to a blind art student. A blind art student who responded in turn by presenting Mr. Richie with a clay bust in his likeness--a bust that, quite frankly, could only have been sculpted by a person completely devoid of sight.

Now, to be perfectly honest, Mr. Richie's "Say You, Say Me" is not without its faults. The song seemingly introduces an all-together different tune smack dab in the middle where one would normally expect to encounter a musical bridge or, at the very least, the same song. And for years pundits have argued over the precise meaning behind such cryptic turns of phrase as "Say you, say me/Say it together naturally" only to conclude that sometimes expressing a lucid thought comes second to simply finding the necessary number of syllables to utter during a tune.

But that's neither here nor there. The important thing is that Mr. Richie--philosopher--was willing to share his dream with the public. He saw a problem in our society--a problem apparently having to do with either lax curfews or an impromptu costume party--and sought to address it the best way he knew how...during the closing credits sequence for the movie "White Nights."

Lionel Richie Creative Impulse #2: Voluptuary

And then there's the man who brought us "Brick House." If "Say You, Say Me" was Mr. Richie's "Ulysses," "Brick House" was his, uh..."Fear of Flying"? Instead of the penetrating--if somewhat perplexing--social disquisition of the former song, "Brick House" laid bare the carnal impulses that truly make us human in a succinct dictum that defied criticism. After all, who in their right mind can cast aspersions against The Commodores’ hard-drivin’, rump-shakin’ machine of flat-out funk? Ronald LaPread’s rubbery bass groove. Clyde Orane’s tasty horn arrangements. Walter Orange’s come-hither vocals. Lionel Richie’s slithery stanzas. All these factors helped not only serve up a massive slice of 70’s soul but gave the world perhaps one of the best verses to ever worm its way into the collective unconscious. A verse that captures the conversational rhythms of William Carlos Williams, the atypical syntax of e.e. cummings and the immediate, lyrical intimacy of Rita Dove. A verse that reads in full:

She knows she got everything
A woman needs to get a man, yeah.
How can she lose with what she use
36-24-36, what a winning hand!

So there you have it, people. Mr. Lionel Richie. Bertrand Russell by day. Russell Simmons by night. How he keeps these two worlds from colliding we may never know. But if he can do it, then why can't I? Why can't we all?

I say good day.

What's Your World View?

Take the quiz, link courtesy of A Bird's Nest.

As for me, I was deemed a "Cultural Creative," which the site defines as follows:

Cultural Creatives are probably the newest group to enter this realm. You are a modern thinker who tends to shy away from organized religion but still feels as if there is something greater than ourselves. You are very spiritual, even if you are not religious. Life has a meaning outside of the rational.

"A modern thinker." That's by far preferable to my previous personality classification, "An infantine cretin who lucked into a Duke degree."

Other philosophical categories include Postmodernist, Idealist, Existentialist, Materialist, Modernist, Romanticist and, oy, Fundamentalist.

Effects of Florida’s New NRA-Supported “Stand Your Ground” Law

Francesco Marciuliano

In which a person under attack “has no duty to retreat and has the right to stand his or her ground and meet force with force, including deadly force.”

• Citizens can recreate fun of “Deadwood” minus intelligent dialogue.


• Children can realize the great feeling of self-reliance that can only come from being made an orphan.


• Increased gunplay provides opportunity to turn nation’s crippling economy into an economy of cripples.


• Devil Rays feel more pressure to actually win a game.


• Tourists can experience the visceral thrill that is “Grand Theft Auto: Boca Retirement Community.”


• Chances of seeing Mickey, Goofy and Donald in a Mexican standoff greatly increased.


• Lets us show world that no one kills Americans faster and better than other Americans.


• Contentious dads can now “take it to the next level” at children’s sporting events.


• A sudden increase in “sole heirs” from once large, wealthy families.


• “Wrong place, wrong time” overtakes cancer and obesity as the leading cause of death in the U.S.


• Can now legally kill in defense of property, whether because an intruder entered your home or your next-door neighbor mis-planted their juniper bush.


• By allowing everyone to shoot anywhere, Governor Jeb Bush proves that when he says he “values life,” he only means that of the unborn or clearly brain dead.


• Only a matter of months before Florida legalizes lynching.


• People less likely to break into your home, mug you on the street, engage you in conversation, make your acquaintance, give you CPR or apologize for plugging your kid when they exclaimed “Trick or treat!”


• Finally Mississippi will have a state it can mock.

Conversations with Dad 3

Wherein My Dad Threatens to Revolutionize Home Entertainment

The following is a transcript of an actual telephone conversation I had awhile back with my father, Frank Marciuliano, award-winning graphic designer, one-time pornography T-shirt illustrator and self-described Renaissance Man. The transcript is part of a series of such dialogues documented in the hope that it will help the two of us both highlight and ultimately address the ideological differences that remain between us. Needless to say, the series continues to this day.

We begin shortly after my Mom has handed the phone over to my Dad, who wishes to ask me something.

Dad: Boy, your Mom sure can talk, huh?

Ces: She was telling me her doctor thinks she might have mono.

Dad: Mono? What's that?

Ces: It's...wait, didn't you drive her to the doctor's office today?

Dad: You wouldn't believe the traffic on the L.I.E., Ces.

Ces: No, I mean wouldn't you know Mom has mono?

Dad: I was in the waiting room, Ces. The doctor's not gonna have both of us come in and hop up on the table.

Ces: But didn't you ask what...

Dad: Jesus, Ces, you should have seen the people I had to deal with in there. This old fuck kept sneezing on me. It made me sick. I mean, what the fuck was he doing outside anyway if he's sneezing like that?

Ces: Going to the doctor's office?

Dad: What? Right, so we had to go to the doctor's office. Ces, you should have seen the traffic on the expressway. All old people driving...

Ces: Uh, Dad?

Dad: Yeah?

Ces: Mom said you wanted to ask me something?

Dad: Ask you what?

Pause.

Dad: Oh, yeah. I found this great game I created a few years ago when I was looking through the basement. By the way, we still have a lot of your junk in there and the house is crowded enough. Maybe you can keep all the stuff at your apartment?

Ces: I'm sure Carol would love that.

Dad: Well, you don't have to keep any at her place.

Ces: Uh, Dad?

Dad: Hmm? Oh, right. Y'know, I keep forgetting you got married. That still working out for you?

Ces: So what kind of junk is it?

Dad: Your old tests. Some notebooks from elementary school. Your diorama of the Shays Rebellion. What should I do with all this stuff?

Ces: Uh, toss it?

Dad: You don't want any of it?

Ces: I don't need any of it.

Dad: But what about me? You know how much I like to keep all your things!

Ces: Just at our apartment.

Dad: Could you?

Ces: No.

Dad: Okay, but don't be upset if your mother throws it all out.

Ces: But that's what I...um, so you said you found a game?

Dad: One I created a few years ago. It would be huge now.

Ces: What kind of game is it?

Dad: I think it would be perfect for orgies.

Pause.

Ces: I'm sorry. What?

Dad: Y'know, orgies. Sex parties. Like that T-shirt design I did back in...

Ces: I know what an orgy is, Dad!

Dad: Do you know how many times some thieving bastard stole that T-shirt idea? You know how rich I could be right now?

Ces: Dad?

Dad: Sometimes I just want to punch someone right in the fucking...

Ces: Dad? The game?

Dad: Oh, you'll love it! Right now the working title is "Pick a Dick."

Ces: Oh, Dad...

Dad: You see, each player gets one big tile card shaped like an erect dick...

Ces: Jesus, Dad...

Dad: And each turn they get to pick a connecting piece from the pile. Big cards that you attach to the dick like a jigsaw puzzle...

Ces: Jigsaw puzzle. Right.

Dad: Some of the connecting pieces show an ass. Others show a mouth. There's a whole bunch of different cards. And whatever card you attach to your "dick" the person has to do.

Ces: Let me get...never mind. So it's a game for two players?

Dad: No, it's for an orgy party. I'm thinking between six to eight people.

Ces: Wait, so the women even get, uh, "dick cards"?

Dad: Why would a woman have a dick? Just the guys. Six to eight guys. Maybe ten. Depends on whether or not I get around to making more cards.

Ces: Oh, so the game is targeted to the gay market?

Dad: Gay?! What on earth made you say that?!

Ces: It's just that you said only guys get to play.

Dad: No, there would be a woman with them.

Long pause.

Ces: Oh for Christsakes, Dad!

Dad: Now you get it? Whatever pieces the guy puts together, the woman...

Ces: No, Dad. Don't...just...just don't...

Dad: What? I thought it would be great for the "tweener" market.

Ces: WHAT?!

Dad: Y'know, people in their twenties.

Ces: That's the twentysomething market.

Dad: Wait, how old are tweeners?

Ces: Ten to twelve.

Dad: No, no...that wouldn't be right.

Ces: Listen, Dad, it's just that...where do I begin? Well, when did you come up with this game?

Dad: A little while ago.

Ces: How long ago? Were Marcello and I still kids?

Dad: You were...younger...

Ces: Okay, who was president at the time?

Dad: I know this...it was...hmm...Nixon!

Ces: Nixon.

Dad: Y'know, Ces, he hated Italians.

Ces: Maybe...maybe the game is more a product of its time then for today, Dad.

Dad: He constantly insulted the Italians on the tapes.

Ces: He pretty much insulted every ethnic and racial group on the tapes.

Dad: Not as much as the Italians.

Ces: I don't think when he mentioned Jews he said, "Great sense of humor. Love their commitment to tradition."

Dad: Why can't you ever be on my side?

Ces: Anyway, I'm just not sure that, uh, "Pick a Dick" would work anymore...if ever...

Dad: Of course it would! People still have sex. I even showed it to Cello and his girlfriend when they were over last week.

Ces: You showed your cardboard erect penises to Brittany?!

Dad: I think she's shy. She spent most of the weekend hanging out with your Mom.

Ces: Speaking of which, what does Mom think of all this?

Dad: I don't know. She hasn't even looked at it. She salways looks tired. Do you think she could be sick?

Previously:
Conversations with Dad 1
Conversations with Dad 2

The Drink at Work.com Summer Reading Guide

The Drink at Work.com Summer Movie Preview.

How to Celebrate the Summer Indoors, in Your Cubicle, in Complete Denial.

How to Ask Your Boss for Vacation Time This Summer.

Ah, Summer

Fading fast are the indecisive temperatures of spring, causing people to wear both Daisy Dukes and North Face parkas while getting tans and wind burn. Soon we will be greeted with bright, summer morns, languid afternoons and evenings kicking ourselves and others for having paid to see the film version of "Bewitched."

But to find out what we can really expect from Summer 2005, we at Drink at Work.com consulted that perennial guide to all matters meteorological, "The Old Farmer's Almanac." Since 1792, the almanac has made long-range weather forecasts using a time-tested approach and meticulous formula that have remained virtually unchanged for more than 200 hundred years. According to such age-old methodology, the almanac is predicting that come May through August, we can expect the following:

"The air shall be thick with witches. And grave portents. And manure. By the time of the great box social many of ye townsfolk shall be stricken with ill spirits, a result of either lack of piety or uncooked quail. Grandparents and other 35-year-olds will be the first to suffer. Then come July, the preserves will be blighted by demons, the milk will be curdled by Catholics and a low-pressure system will bring some much needed rain into the valley and adjacent regions. Bedlam will ensue in the mills, the smithies and the mead houses as the children of the artisans and field hands will speak in tongues not of their own! We beg of thee, look to the livestock and insects for guidance!"

Well, there you have it. For all our readers who have long feared a dramatic spike in sorcery, possession and pestilence, your concerns will finally be justified this summer. Enjoy!

And We're Back...

...from our trip to California, that is. Starting today the blog posts will once again be daily and Medium Large strips and archives will once again be updated on time. Starting tomorrow we will be back with weekly Drink at Work.com articles. And starting Monday your Weekly Drink at Work.com Newsletter will return to its normal schedule.

But for now please enjoy the following picture, taken as we made our way to Santa Monica last Monday:


Needless to say, we're all set for holiday cards for the next year.

Just a reminder...

If you happen to be in the NYC area today at 3:30 and are looking for a fun, independent film, make sure to head on over to The Arlene's Grocery Picture Show for the Manhattan premiere of the southern-fried zombie comedy Hide and Creep.

Arlene's Grocery is located at 95 Stanton Street. Admission is free but the memories will be priceless.

Curious? Then check out trailers for Hide and Creep here.


Have a great time!

Excuses, Excuses, Excuses

Well, we made it up California Highway 1 and are now happily ensconced in the San Fran Bay area for the remainder of our trip. Thank you to all who gave us great travel suggestions and apologies to all for the infrequent blog updates. Both time and wireless opportunities have been minimal at best.

Eventually we'll bore you with the details of said trip (including our friend Geoff ultimately paying for a stay in a cheap Santa Monica hotel with a rash from his perhaps feculent bedsheets). But that is for next week when the head is clearer and my daily schedule returns to such typical work demands as "Eat cracker. Slowly." For now here's a short list written for the sake of not leaving the blog unattended for a full seven days (we'll return with regular updates starting Tuesday).

Things Priests Shouldn't Say

"Ah, nothing like a lazy Sunday