Talking Points

Five Carpenter Tools That Would Make Great Nicknames...
"Handsaw"
"Power Drill"
"Nail Gun"
"Bolt Cutter"
"Impact Driver"

...And Five That Would Not
"Ball-Peen Hammer"
"Socket Set"
"Cordless Vac"
"Assorted Tacks"
"Aluminum-Handled Snip"

Langhorne Slim TONIGHT at Tonic!

If you're drinking at work and you work anywhere in the vicinity of NYC, you have no reason to not trot on down to Tonic tonight for the Deli Magazine Third Issue Launch Party. Primarily because one of our most favorite musicians will be performing. Langhorne Slim will steal your heart and leave a big slice of cherry pie in it's place...which is really just as good. The party starts at 8:00 and there are several other acts on the bill. But here's the man we want you, yes YOU, to see:

Enjoy the following clip courtsey of Thomas Bartlett's
super-delicious Audiophile column at Salon:
In the Moonlight—Langhorne Slim

THE DELI'S 3RD ISSUE PARTY!
WHEN: Thursday, June 30th, 8:00pm
WHERE: TONIC
107 Norfolk Street, LES
HOW MUCH: $8
PERFORMING:
jaymay, Nicole Atkins, Langhorne Slim, Sylvie Lewis, Jealous Girlfriends

“Langhorne Slim’s live performance truly captures the essence of what an entertainment experience should be.” — Jason Trachtenburg

"I'm a fucking retarded English major"

Another review hot off the presses:

"But back to the point, Marciuliano's weblog is like the Zen of Art Buchwald, if such a thing can exist. This means jokes that aren't funny, observations that aren't clever, and views that aren't extraordinary. Keeping up any weblog of personal opinions is inherently presumptuous, but keeping up a weblog with what look like outtakes from an Elks club dinner speech goes well beyond presumption and suggests someone who drinks out of old motor oil cans.

"At first I thought Marciuliano must be part of the wheezy Buchwald generation, one of those queerly sexless boobs who think a long life filled with poor decisions and no important accomplishments demands respect. The retro stylings, retro humor, retro outlook--but Marciuliano appears to be in his thirties--another James Lileks, then. Slightly less annoying, slightly less talented. Chen actually warns his readers that Marciuliano has political views, but they are strictly of the "I'm a fucking retarded English major" variety and are unlikely to offend. It's not like he's going to outwit you or anything. As far as I can tell the only subject he shows signs of mastering is that of comics and cartoons. There's an entire generation like that.

"Marciuliano also writes his own unsyndicated, unread strip. It's terrible, even by newspaper strip standards."

Which brings us to our new slogan:

Drink at Work.com: Queerly Sexless Boobs Since 2003

Forgotten Slang of the 1920’s

"You’ve got moxie, kid. Unfortunately you’ve also got TB and polio, so beat it."

"Well, if that isn’t the cat’s pajamas! And look on the bathroom sink--the dog’s toothbrush!"

"That dame’s got gams all the way up to her eyeballs, which is disturbing for far more than just aesthetic reasons."

"You’re not just the bee’s knees, old boy. You’re the dung beetle’s thorax!"

"Spy the palooka egg in the breezer? That cake-eaters’s nothing but a rummy rube four-flusher lollygagger on a toot with a tight tomato smarty who…what the fuck am I talking about?!?"

The Maturity Quiz

JUST HOW OLD ARE YOU?
A Simple Quiz to Be Taken with Water

Are you gradually maturing into a competent yet still convivial adult or have you hiked up your madras pants past your nipples, begun to shun cool breezes/teenagers/social graces and started eating dinner approximately a half-hour after breakfast?

To find out simply answer the following questions, remembering that every "C" not only counts for one point but also brings you one step closer to a Craftmatic Adjustable Bed.

How do you usually end your day?
a. "With a fistful of teeth and a head full of memories."
b. "Having to untie myself from the bed because someone fell asleep again."
c. "Same way I began it--in a housecoat."

What scares you the most?
a. Terrorists
b. American hegemony
c. Accidentally ingesting cheese

It's thirty minutes before your big party. You are:
a. Considering purchasing Everclear and maybe some food.
b. Rearranging your CD collection so that your Ramones, Adolescents and Circle Jerks discs are now well behind your still-shrinkwrapped Coltraine, Coleman and "Bach: Goldberg Variations."
c. Already yawning.

If someone from the Gallup Poll were to inquire about your political affiliation, you would say:
a. "I'm a Democrat."
b. "I'm a Republican."
c. "I get this sharp, shooting pain up my back and neck every time I sneeze or it gets below 60 degrees."

Your idea of a "protest" is:
a. Staging a sit-in at a nuclear reactor/conservative think tank/food co-op that doesn't offer imitation soy crabmeat, singing along to "Rage Against the Machine" and getting high off of good vibes, bad pot and day-old hummus.
b. Refusing to buy bagels from the place down the block because the cashier was "snippy."
c. Yelling at the TV whenever the anchor mentions a tax hike.

By "wild and crazy" you mean:
a. Engaging in a threesome while driving down Big Sur the wrong way on a foggy night shortly after you were administered eye drops.
b. Getting drunk on a weeknight, calling up old lovers over the phone and waking up the next morning with a nauseous feeling inside your stomach and your car inside your kitchen.
c. Illegally downloading Paul Anka's cover of "Wonderwall."

Who do you usually turn to for guidance?
a. Friends
b. Family
c. Lillian Vernon

When dining at an elegant restaurant, you like to impress your companion by:
a. Performing the "instant erection" gag with a napkin and concealed fork.
b. Correctly pronouncing "sommelier" on your fifth try.
c. Not revealing that everything on the menu now gives you gas.

Which do you take the most pride in?
a. Career advancement
b. Spiritual enlightenment
c. Coffee intake reduction

When was the last time you got high?
a. "Oh man, what was the question again?"
b. "Not sure but The Smiths were on the radio and I was on the roof."
c. "When the Vicks Vapor Rub interacted with the Icy Hot."

The most important televised event in the last 40 years was:
a. When the Brady Bunch met both Vincent Price and Don Ho in Hawaii.
b. When man walked on the moon.
c. When Judge Judy put that punk-ass teen in her place but good.

Who is your best friend?
a. "My old college roommate."
2. "My spouse."
3. "My carp."

When highly intoxicated, which role are you most likely to assume?
a. The Communicative Drunk: "WOOOOHOOOOHOOHAHAHA!"
b. The Social Drunk: "Who's up for nude foosball?!"
c. The Reflective Drunk: "Dear God, where did I go wrong?"

When visiting Barnes & Noble, you spend the most time in:
a. The humor section
b. The current fiction section
c. The restroom

Your last sexual encounter...
a. Was so good you named it.
b. Caused your body to lapse into Tex Avery-like convulsions as flares shot from your ears, waving American flags, whirling pinwheels and trumpets burst from your head and your eyes rolled back repeatedly until your pupils turned into cherries and quarters poured out of your mouth.
c. Occurred at a speed only observed in quantum physics.

We'll have the results of your test in a couple of days.

Scrushy Not Guilty

Our insider at the court house in Alabama is reporting that Richard M. Scrushy, former CEO of HealthSouth, has been found NOT GUILTY on ALL counts.






Update: Apparently, the scene at the courthouse looks something like this:



Update: The legitimate press has it now (though you saw it here first!):

From the NYTimes: "Jurors acquitted HealthSouth Corp. founder and fired Chief Executive Richard Scrushy on Tuesday of all charges related to a $2.7 billion earnings overstatement at the rehabilitation and medical services chain.

"Scrushy had been charged with fraud, false corporate reporting and making false statements to regulators. He was the first CEO charged under the Sarbanes-Oxley corporate reporting law.

"Scrushy blamed the massive accounting scheme on subordinates including all five finance chiefs who served under him at HealthSouth.

"In all, 15 former HealthSouth executives have pleaded guilty since 2003, when the scandal erupted publicly and drove the company to the brink of bankruptcy."

Update: Our source on the scene says that upon leaving the courthouse everyone is going to get a drink at Lou's Pub.

Update: Woo, infographic from CNN:

Serial Killer in Hundred Acre Woods?

First Paul Winchell, the voice of Tigger, passes away on June 24. Now John Fiedler, the voice of Piglet, has died.

Watch your back, Roo.

This Week's Eye Opener

Remarks That Turn Any First Date into a Last Encounter
Francesco Marciuliano

“Oh, meet my cats! Peter, Paul, John, Matthew, Bartholomew…”

“I’m really into ‘anger painting’ now. This one I titled ‘Mother.’”

“I dropped out of school when they switched ‘People’s Court’ to a noon timeslot.”

Full Article

Caption Contest #1

Sample: "Jeez, who would throw out such great porn?"

Now it's your turn.

Saturday Night, Saturday Night

Lolita Bras
Live at Trash Bar
256 Grand St. between Driggs and Roebling
Saturday June 25, 8pm sharp!!!
Open Bar from 9-10pm w/ $10 admission

Directions:
By train: Take the L train to the Bedford stop. (the first stop in Brooklyn coming from Manhattan) Walk south (street numbers will get lower) on Bedford Ave. 10 short blocks to Grand St. Take a left at Grand St. and walk a block and a half. The Trash Bar will be on your right side just before hitting Roebling. Look for the large black awning.

Listen to the new Lolita Bras EP at My Space.
Additional artist information available here.

Ten Little-Known Facts about Karl Rove

Hatred of gay community stems from long-ago unanswered "mash note" to Tab Hunter.

Wanted rock group "Foreigner" deported, 70's soft-rock combo "America" given full security access.

So remarkably racist he refers to chocolate-vanilla swirl ice cream as "miscegenation."

Wants to replace evolution teaching with creationism, literature courses with bible studies and gym with labor camps.

Hopes to enhance Republican Party tactics with drive-by shootings.

Nipples get hard whenever a book is burned.

Secretly wants Bush to call him "Sideous."

Old supposed Boy Scout uniform actually sports words "German Workers Party" on patch.

Often can't remember if we're fighting Oceania or Eurasia.

If last petal falls off rose he will be doomed to remain a beast forever.


And as the Reverend Billy Graham's prepares for what might be his last, ahem, "crusade" here in New York City, we offer you:

Sure Signs Your Family Worships the Wrong God

Finally!

Just wanted to let all "Medium Large" donators know that your illustrations are in the mail and should be arriving shortly (perhaps a few days more for our Canadian friends). Thank you very much for your generosity as well as your patience. Both are truly appreciated.

If you would like to receive your own custom-made Medium Large comic (oh, how quickly a sincere expression of gratitude transforms into a sleazy sales pitch), then please see how to Save Medium Large (announcement located on right column of page) and get an original, one-of-a-kind strip made to your exact specifications and suitable for--as Mad Magazine would say--"framing or for wrapping fish."

Once again, a very big thank you to all those who kindly contributed!

UPDATE: Thanks to a heads-up from Fuzzy, we have corrected the problem with the "Donation Ad" on the Medium Large Blog. You may all now click away!

I Never Sound Dumber Than When I Speak

A few years ago a college student interviewed me for a project that I can only imagine was titled "Trudeau Wouldn't Return My Calls So I Had to Settle For This No-Name Cartoonist Instead. Please Forgive Me." Shortly after the interview the student sent me a transcript of our conversation for corrections or—bless their soul—complete rewrites and to say that I was shocked by what I read is an understatement.

Now, I am rather shy and have always been a lot more forthcoming in print than in person, but until I read the transcript I at least had the impression that I spoke in a manner that did not recall Jodie Foster in the first act of "Nell." How very, very wrong I was. According to the "raw feed" I not only have a tendency to switch subjects in mid-sentence but also in mid-syllable. I mumble more than Marlon Brando as Kurtz. I say the exact same thing three different ways, each more incoherent than the last. And for someone reticent to open his mouth in public, I apparently think an interview is the perfect venue to joke about cross-dressing.

The following are a few excerpts from that transcript because, God knows, you would not want to read the whole thing. They have not been edited in any way. Once again, allow me to stress that this was a recorded interview, not an email exchange (thus allowing me to maintain some small sense of false dignity). And although this may go without saying, please note that the opinions stated in the interview are mine and mine alone and do not represent those of my employer.

Q: Tell me a little about the comic strip.
FM: Uh, I’d rather not, under these circumstances…okay, Sally Forth is syndicated by King Features. It’s been running since approximately 1980. The subject matter is a working wife and mom, so the comic strip covers both her experiences in the office and at home. It currently runs in about 750 newspapers, as far as Iceland, actually, where it seems to enjoy some popularity to a degree that I can’t understand––but then again they like Bjork. But then again so do I. And Sigur Ros. I really should visit Iceland sometime.

Q. What’s it like to be writing from a woman’s perspective?
FM: Well, I’ve been doing the whole woman’s perspective since I was four, with the dress and … it was a little daunting at first until I realized that I couldn’t do the comic strip from a woman’s perspective, because that would ring false. I’m never going to be able to write a strip from the woman’s perspective. It just can’t happen. And, I thought if I tried writing the strip from a woman’s perspective that would more-or-less just flatten out the character. She would be the voice for all working women. And quite frankly that would be, excuse the term, bullshit. She can’t be the voice of an entire generation; she can’t be the voice of entire group of people, because she would end-up becoming a stereotype. So I think I managed to avoid that difficulty by writing it from this particular character’s perspective--from Sally Forth’s experiences rather than from ALL working woman’s experiences. It’s kind of an out for me, but I think it also helps the character. I think. Jesus, I hope so.

Q. Is there any one particular complaint that you keep hearing from readers of the strip?
FM: Well, "not funny" is perhaps the greatest complaint. It depends. A lot of people take comic strips rather personally. Unfortunately, the email one usually receives is negative. At least that’s the theory I’m gonna cling to, because I would hate to think other people are getting happy email and I’m getting death threats. There’s a certain group of people that want to identify with the character in some way and wish the character would mirror their own life more. Apparently, I guess when they yell at the character on the printed page, and the character doesn’t flinch or yell back, they take the next logical step and they write to me. And I think they go "Well I don’t agree with this because this isn’t the experience I had with my boss." An email I got was: "I don’t understand why Sally Forth is working in an office when, like me…" and this is an actual quote "… me, I went back to school. Why isn’t Sally Forth going back to school?" Well, this is a comic strip about a working mom and wife, and that doesn’t exactly work if she’s learning about 18th century agrarian politics in college and getting a graduate degree. I’m assuming she would get a more practical degree, but that’s the sort of thing I’d do if I went for a graduate degree, unfortunately.

Q. Are there things the fans really like about the strip?
FM: I do get positive email, often, again, when it mirrors their own experiences. Like: " I like the way Sally handles her boss, and so and so. I like the way Sally deals with finances; I like the way Ted cowers." You know, just various things that they like. Overall, I think they like the fact that there’s a comic strip from a particular woman’s perspective, oddly enough written by a man. But at least it’s a strip about a strong personality, who is female, who can handle things both at home, and at the office, which of course, 99 percent of all working women can do that. But unfortunately in the comic strips you never see that. You see women who apparently…well…you see Cathy, and Cathy, I think, is a poor representation for woman to deal with in the comic strips: a whiney person who is worried about her weight and worried about landing a man. Sally Forth is someone who, for lack of a better term, has gotten her shit together. She’s a career woman. She’s an equal partner in a relationship. She’s an equal partner in her office, and she’s a strong character that people can identify with, and I get a lot of email to that regard. My mom writes a lot.

Q. What do you see as the future of comic strips?
FM: Holograms. Actually, often, you look at it and you think there is no future to comic strips. They’re shrunk down. They run alongside a tire ad, which is three times the size. There are strips running that maybe should have been taken away a long time ago, the Apartment 3-Gs and such. You have some that say "later that same day" and it’s fifty years later, so apparently some strips need time to develop. The greatest obstacle to the future of comic strips is blandness. But I think that’s the case in most mediums. That said, I’m not gonna maintain that Sally Forth is the arbiter of all that is edgy and all that is cultural and all that is enlightened…Jesus, what the fuck have I done to that poor strip?

Q. What are the chances that Sally Forth will "jump the shark"?
FM: Actually, oddly enough, there is going to be a plot in about two weeks where Sally Forth does jump a shark. It will be very much like Fonzie's jump, except in a Ford.

Q. If heaven exists, what do you hope God says when you arrive?
FM: "Here are the keys. Beer's in the fridge."

Here They Come to Save the Day...

In honor of the recent Batman Begins film, the upcoming Fantastic Four movie and the eventual Iron Man: Not the Song flick, we present the following "Superhero Six-Pack":

Diary of a Superhero

Live from Metropolis: An Uncensored Oral History of the Justice League

Triumphs and Tribulations of a Victorian-Era Superhero

Failed Superhero Catchphrases

How Would Superman's Job Differ Had He Been Raised in Marseilles?

Do You Have What It Takes to Be a Supervillain?

And should summer franchise movies not be your thing, we give you:

How to Tell if You Just Blew Good Money to See a Bad Independent Film

Conversations with Dad 7: The Belated Father's Day Post

It seems that every day—with increased frequency—we are inundated with people speaking for people in an unofficial capacity, exclaiming what is wrong with society and what needs to be fixed at home. They single-handedly select who are fit parents. They determine the very genders those parents must be. And they proclaim the moral fiber necessary to be a proper parent, all the while wearing theirs in a rather loose weave.

I don't know about other people's parents (well, in some cases I know far too much, but this is not the venue to discuss such matters). I only know my own, my dad in particular. And I know that on more than one occasion, the man came though with flying colors for his two sons. This is one such example...

Starting from the late 1950's to the present day, my father—Frank Marciuliano—has been a commercial graphic designer of great standing. With a ledger of clients that has included Pepsi, Coca-Cola, Proctor & Gamble, Yves Saint Laurent, Newsweek, The New York Times, The World's Fair and Lloyd Bridges to name a few, he has never been without a means to ply his craft. But somehow, despite both the media attention and industry accolades, he found he was still longing to do something grand, something unique, something that would say to all the word, "Here is a man of unequaled vision."

And so it was in the early 1970's that my dad began to design a series of what can best be described as softcore pornographic T-shirts, sold through The Pleasure Chest. A rather famous "adult entertainment" store located in New York's Lower East Side, The Pleasure Chest was often a stopping point for my dad and me as he would drop off his wares on the way to his office, simply because when it came to either leaving your child unattended in a car in Manhattan circa 1974 or bringing him into an establishment that prominently featured zipper masks and ball gags, the latter was by far the wiser choice.

Within a few months one of his designs—The Original Orgy Shirt—became a fashion sensation. When it wasn't being lifted without permission by unscrupulous, untalented manufacturers (a famous illegal copy once featured the illustration along with the tagline "It's Better in the Bahamas"), the shirt won several New York and international commercial graphic design awards, was chosen as a "Must Have" by New York Magazine and was written up in countless publications (Please note: Mailing address—and T-shirt price—are no longer applicable):



Soon my dad was receiving hundreds of orders for The Original Orgy Shirt from a vast and varied clientele that included movie stars, newspaper editors-in-chief, U.S. Ambassadors, CEOs, bank presidents and celebrated publishing tycoons:



It was during such a deluge of orders featuring immediately recognizable signatures that my father got a letter that to this very day he views as the equivalent of an errant knight receiving the Holy Grail by way of parcel post. A letter that in his eyes would be like opening the Ark of the Covenant and having your facial features remain intact. A letter that in a few short sentences immediately validated months of constant illustrating and relentless fantasizing. A letter that read in whole:


(Please note: Return address on upper righthand corner of letter and end of correspondence have been digitally removed.)

Now to say that my father is "a fan" of Warner Brothers cartoons in general—and Mel Blanc in particular—would be a criminal understatement. Not only was it my father's love of animation and comic art that inspired me to both pursue and ultimately achieve my present career, but he has always said that some of the most cherished moments in his life were sitting with his sons on the living room couch or at the kitchen table breakfast, watching an endless stream of Saturday morning cartoons, from the senseless ("The Amazing Chan Clan") to the sublime ("The Bugs Bunny-Roadrunner Show").

When my father opened the letter from Mel Blanc he quickly knew it was more than a simple T-shirt order. It was a chance to provide his kids with a keepsake he knew would mean all the world to them. Thus, he immediately mailed two T-shirts, politely asking that in return perhaps the man who gave so much joy to his sons could give them something else as well. Less than three months later he received the following response:



Along with a framed picture that still ranks as our own framed Picasso:



And so it was that a father bored with graphic design began to illustrate naked people for money and ultimately gave his kids one of the greatest gifts they could ever hope to get. If I ever have kids hopefully I can do the same for them —but perhaps by way of a nice comic strip panel instead of a 96-person bare-ass pile-up. Just perhaps.

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
The Visit
The Clock

Hide Your Shame with Drink at Work.com Apparel!

Introducing the brand new line of Drink at Work.com T-shirts ideal for the beach, the pool, the barbecue, the big game, the big date, Big Lots, the track, your parole hearing, exceedingly "Casual Fridays," art gallery shows, monster truck rallies, high society, personal low points and everywhere service or simple decorum dictate clothing.







Look for more stylish torso coverage at The Official Drink at Work.com Store.

This Week's Eye Opener

Memoir of an Umbrella Holder to the Stars
Francesco Marciuliano

Open, close. Open, close. Nine hours of such instruction. Guess an English degree really is for shit.

Tried to talk about book “Guns, Germs and Steel” with client. Wound up discussing “Brangelica” photo spread in latest issue of “W.”

Accidentally looked at P. Diddy while shading him. Bad time to learn I don’t get dental.

Full Article

The Reviews Are In!

The first is from the fine blog Scraps, penned by a nice individual who I wish the very best on their bass lessons:

It concerns me the I like "Drink at Work" so much. It didn't concern me when I first found the site. It was clever and it seemed to make a lot of fun of Sally Forth, a comic I've never liked. Then I discover it is by the writer of Sally Forth. Talk about cognitive dissonance! It's not that I feel dirty or anything, just sort of uncool...

And so with that we introduce our new tagline:

Drink at Work.com—Bringing Shame Upon Its Readers Since 2003

The second is from Emdashes, an exceptionally well-written site based in good ol' Brooklyn that calls attention to what's "between the lines, covers, and issues of The New Yorker" as well as other notable publications:

Leaving aside for a moment the possibility that "jumping the shark" may have finally jumped the shark, how about "Sally Forth"? Don't those characters age?...In any case, who knew the guy who writes "SF" had a witty, nicely designed blog? Well, he (Francesco Marciuliano) does, and it's called Drink at Work. Carol Hartsell contributes good stuff as well...Read some letters by Sally-haters, and either chortle or weep, depending. And call me ill-travelled, but the site has one of the coolest link-arranging concepts I've ever seen.

And so with that we introduce our even newer tagline:

Drink at Work.com—Trying to Make Amends for Past Crimes

Quiz Time

The following is a "Sally Forth" email I recently received regarding this week's story. While reading it, try to determine the exact phrase that betrays a wholly deplorable--if not borderline repugnant--perspective on the part of the email's writer. It's not that subtle once your eyes lock in on it:

I know it's only a comic strip, Mr. Marciuliano; but it is beyond belief that two upper-middle class white people would have such an inane and irresponsible conversation about allowing a ten year old girl child to spend three summer months home alone.

Hint: It has nothing to do with Hilary's welfare (by the way, Hil goes to a neighbor's house when her parents are at work).

"Making Fun of These Reporters Is like Booing at the Special Olympics"

Yes, the trial is over.
Yes, this video is not new.
Yes, it's still funny.
Triumph outside the Michael Jackson Trial.
Link courtesy of GorillaMask.

So Now I'm Cured

While waiting for the street light to change on the corner of Park Avenue and 53rd, I suddenly felt a hand rest on my shoulder and a commanding yet remarkably genial voice state, "Excuse me, son, but can you tell me what time it is?"

At first I had no idea who was speaking, mostly because I tend to walk with a downward gaze (not simply because I'm a New Yorker but because by nature I'm shy). While I was at first surprised to hear someone refer to a 37-year-old man as "son," my immediate response was to dig out my cell phone. Then I heard the same strong yet sonorous voice say, "Oh, son, there's no need to go to any trouble." But I quickly took out my phone, flipped it open, looked up to show the gentleman the time...

And found myself gazing straight up at the face of Morgan Freeman.

Now, I have had my run-ins with "celebrities." I almost stepped on Joan Rivers' dog outside of Barney's. I stepped on Ed Koch's foot in a movie theater. I walked right smack into Paul Schaeffer on Madison Avenue. Sigourney Weaver once asked Carol, my brother-in-law Chuck and me for the time in Central Park (Note to celebrity-watchers: Always have a timepiece handy). I've even spoken to several well-known stand-up comics in bars, once they realize Carol is not single and I'm introduced.

But Morgan Freeman is not another "celebrity." Morgan Freeman is not just another "star." Having Morgan Freeman ask you for the time is like being in Ancient Greece and having Zeus ask you to pass the grappa. Morgan Freeman is not suppose to walk among us. Morgan Freeman is not suppose to have a need for the mortal concept of "time." And yet there he was on a street corner in Manhattan, in T-shirt and baseball cap, proving distinguished yet down to earth, baronial yet affable, imposing yet, well, really, really nice.

Plus, he touched me on the shoulder, which more or less means I've been cured of all present and future ailments. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a pricey health plan to cancel.

Christian Finnegan is Hot!

Well, we all are. But Christian especially. The following excerpt is from his "Tower of Hubris" blog:

"Did you ever notice how short the interval is between 'Boy, I can't wait for Summer!' and 'Fuck THIS shit.'? In New York, I think that 'Hooray for warm weather' period lasted about five days this year. Now it's all just a sweaty malaise. I don't know what the weather has been like where YOU live, but here in New York City, it's been like a marathon runner's nutsack for at least two weeks. The heat makes me loathe every thing and every one. And yet I'm too exhausted to actually do or say anything about it. So I just sit around all day in a near-vegetative state, occasionally showing my faint disgust for people, places and things by rolling my eyes—like Terri Schiavo with a bad attitude."

Full Article

Questions. Lord, We Get Questions.

Thanks to both a surfeit of work-related story arcs in Sally Forth--not to mention the very name of this web site--I am often inundated with questions about careers and office life. Questions that I am in no way qualified to properly address. Questions crying out for professional guidance. Questions that I will respond to from time to time on this blog.

Q. After a drunken night out with coworkers I woke up naked in the bed of my office crush. What is the proper etiquette when you only have 30 minutes to get to the office and the only clothes you have are the ones you wore the previous day?

Ahhh, I remember the first time I slept with a coworker. It was 1990 and I had started my first real job a mere 14 months after graduating college (during which I time I feverishly worked on a comic strip proposal that was ultimately rejected by every single syndicate on the grounds that it was "Clearly Xeroxed Fred Bassett strips with hastily scrawled obscenities"). My boss at the time just had promoted me to Head Popcorn Butterer and Nacho Cheeser at the Commack Multiplex. While handing me the keys to the curiously locked pumps he let it be known that I was the first 23-year-old to ever hold the title at the theater, an achievement I took with great pride until I later realized the average age of your Head Butterer/Cheeser was 16. But that didn’t bother me (having just the month before lost a part-time job to a small wedge of wood when my then-manager realized it didn’t pay to have a grown man constantly hold open the door at a "Checks Cashed" store). What actually irked me was the fact that I didn’t know if my boss had given me the job because he thought I had potential and reasonable aim or because he was a jerk who just wanted to increase my already immense workload. (On top of butter and cheese application I also had to continue to clean the ketchup and mustard squirt containers. Such are the employment opportunities one finds when one lists as their career objective "Spouts.")

Quickly surmising it’s always better to assume the worst if only because less effort is involved and a greater acceptance with one’s supposed limitations is achieved—not to mention the tremendous comfort one finds in believing their ultimate fate lies in the hands of forces entirely outside of themselves, thus negating all personal responsibility—I opted to dump the hot cheese vat on top of the loose Gummi bears section and the first six rows of seats in Theater 3. And just like I predicted, that asshole fired me on the spot without even a simple heads-up or six-month evaluation. Now I’m kind of glad I had been stealing movie prints from the projector and am currently selling the sliced frames on eBay.

But I digress. Eventually I struck up a flirtatious relationship with a coworker I prayed was older than 18 but who turned out to be 32 and on a work-release program from the Suffolk County prison system (while she never went into detail about the nature of her crime, a tattoo artist had thankfully storyboarded the whole grisly affair on her back). And while I did indeed have reservations about spending my evenings with an ex-con, quite honestly I also didn't have many options, given that at the time I was too poor to wash both whites and color laundry much less purchase enough liquor or cough syrup to convince some fine woman to stumble up the six flight of stairs to my apartment. There was also the issue of my roommates--especially the three in my room--not to mention that none of us could ever find the key to the floor’s only bathroom, which meant I had to spend the next morning either looking around for Wet-Naps or convincing my special lady friend that plenty of people like to freshen up at the Texaco station on the ground floor (not necessarily celebrities, true, but real salt of the earth people).

Then, like everyone else in this situation, there was the awkwardness of eating breakfast together the following day--a situation made all the more discomforting by the fact that unless one of us had remembered to empty the contents of the movie theater's candy selection into our pockets the night before then food usually consisted of two duck sauce packets and a can that was either diet soda or peaches in syrup (the C-Town down the block offered discounts on packages missing labels, which is why I was never completely certain if my kitchen cabinet consisted of several single-serving boxes of Raisin Bran or 20 hard packs of Vantage cigarettes). Eventually came the goodbye kiss, the promise to not tell anyone at work what had happened or else I would experience the same fate as panel six on her back and the hard-earned knowledge that entering the real world with an English degree--even one from Duke--was like storming a battlefield with only a pot on your head and a rolled-up newspaper in your hand.

So to answer your question, stop off at a Gap on the way to work and quickly purchase some new duds.

The Great Debates

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Take your positions. Make your arguments.

Note: Click on images for additional information.

This Week's Eye Opener

How to Make the Best Impression Possible on Everyone from the CEO to the Coffee Cart Guy—A Guide to Business Etiquette

Never convene a department meeting by saying, “Where my bitches at?”

Remember that in business there is no such thing as “a friendly pat on the head.”

Develop a comfortable handshake and keep it consistent. At no point take the opportunity to gently tickle the other person's palm.

Full Article

Comic Strip Writing 101: Make a Good First Impression on Someone for God's Sake

Many people long for a career in syndicated cartooning believing it will be their ticket out of the hell that is corporate culture. Sadly, such could not be further from the truth. First, many cartoonists like yours truly find it necessary to maintain their current job along with their comic strip responsibilities for fiscal reasons, given that one can only eat so much canned meat. Second, syndicated cartooning is first and foremost a business, and thus is not without its own list of company mandates.

Now true, unless you have a rather disturbing predilection for penning ethnic slurs or simply can't stop drawing frontal nudity in a kiddy strip ("We just don't think Dondi would keep exposing himself to Connie like that"), as a cartoonist you won't have to attend daily meetings with your superiors. But you will have to prove your strip a viable product to maintain your syndication deal. You will have to alter said product in response to your syndicate's wishes. And you will have to maintain a polished, presentable, professional demeanor from the very moment you ink your syndication deal, for fear of alientaing those who have the final say on your career's ultimate destination.

Having worked long and hard in Corporate America, I happen to be in a position to offer a few pointers on putting your best foot forward when first entering a syndicate's offices. But why listen to a simple man opine on business comportment when you can hear what the Almighty Lord has to say on the subject? Or, to be more precise, the Lord as interpreted by the Christian Stewardship Ministries, an organization dedicated to utilizing the Bible to teach career management. Think of it as your MBA by way of the G-O-D. Or perhaps as the business bestseller "Who Moved My Cheese?" with the subtitle "God Did, and He Won't Give It Back until You Stop Touching Yourself." Or maybe the "Left Behind" book series as written by Dale Carnegie. Or as Tony Robbins with the gift of transubstantiation.

The following are just a few of the highly instructive examples from Christian Stewardship Ministries' purportedly helpful manual, "How to Make a Good First Impression." As you read each quote remember to keep asking yourself, "Do I feel bad enough about who I am?" According to the CSM, your answer should be a healthy and hearty "Oh man, not even close."

1. Posture and Carriage
"While posture and carriage may not seem very spiritual, they are definitely a critical part of a first impression. Work on one area at a time. For example, maybe you need to deal with excess weight. If so, you need to know how to do it. If you know God wants you to lose weight, then recognize your failure to take charge of this problem as disobedience. Confess it as sin and ask God to help you change your behavior."

So you know those ten extra pounds that you've been carrying around? The ten pounds you needlessly knock yourself about again and again only to make something completely inconsequential now seem utterly insurmountable? Well, apparently they're an affront to God. Yes, according to the wise folks of CSM, God wakes up in his--oh, let's say duplex since he'd probably enjoy the light from the 14' tall windows--and gazes down upon your form only to shake his head in disgust and perhaps mutter something along the lines of "Ewwwww."

In other words, it's religion as it was always was meant to be--in the guise of a jackass junior high gym teacher calling for "one more lap from the fatties."

2. Keep Grooming and Clothes Appropriate
"A somewhat controversial grooming example is length of hair. Some feel that the Bible disapproves of long hair on men. Others feel no such constraints. The critical question is: What does God want you to do? If you run the risk of causing others to stumble, the question may become not what your rights are, but what your responsibilities are. You may have the right to have long hair and still find that God wants you to surrender that right. And certainly, if you are trying to make a good first impression on someone for God's sake, and they would not be favorably impressed, you might want to rethink your position."

Upon first reading, one cannot help but wonder how late in the editing game was the word "hippie" removed from the first half of the paragraph. Upon a second reading, one cannot help but notice that the focus is solely on men. Apparently the CSM believes good Christian women should spend their time not in an office but rather at Wal-Mart or, if they are not so blessed, McRae's. And upon a third reading, one cannot help but ask just how long can one man's hair be to "run the risk of causing others to stumble"?! Has the Crystal Gale look suddenly become the must-have 'do for today's fast-rising male executive? Is the CSM given to hyperbole? Is it just being snarky? Or do they honestly feel that long hair on men is not only a threat against decent society but also one step closer to people engaging in sexual congress with machinery?

3. Converse with Genuine Interest
"Our conversation includes not only what we say, and, equally important, what we do not say, but how we say what we do say."

To which one can only say, "What did you say?" But the advice continues unabated and unprovoked:

"To the extent you can identify and share common interests with the other person, you will likely leave a good first impression. And to the extent that you can comfortably identify your relationship with the Lord in your conversation, you are likely to solidify a good impression. Even an unbeliever will be left with a good first impression if he senses that you are comfortable in being casually open about your relationship with the Lord."

For who among us has not quickly warmed to a new acquaintance who felt comfortable enough to say aloud, "If we're all going in on a pizza I'd like ham because God put us in charge of all the animals in His dominion, especially the tasty ones." Perhaps the only thing that could provide greater comfort would be if a stranger were to walk up to you with his pants around his ankles, holding a funnel and a ferret, and said, "Little help?"

In conclusion, should you truly wish to succeed in the comic strip industry, apparently you would do well to let God be your mentor...or wing-man or whatnot. Or, to put it in the words of the CSM:

"You cannot just decide to have God shine through you to another person. You have to concentrate on being who He wants you to be, so that He can make Himself visible through you."

Oh, and make sure to write in your strip how men are from Mars and women are from Venus. People eat that shit up.

Today's "Tootise Roll" Medium Large Explained

For those readers too young to remember the television commercial upon which today's Medium Large comic strip is based--or were not living in America during the early 70's--we present the storyboard to said ad, complete with jingle lyrics. Of course, should anyone be able to provide us with a link to a Quicktime video of the full commercial, we will post that in a heartbeat (same goes for Tootsie Pop's beloved "How many licks?" commercial).


The world looks mighty good to me/ 'cause Tootsie Rolls are all I see


Whatever it is I think I see/ becomes a Tootsie Roll to me


Tootsie Roll how I love your chocolatey chew/ Tootsie Roll I think I'm in love with you


Whatever it is I think I see/ becomes a Tootise roll to me!

*Please note the commercial's tagline, "Umm...It's from Tootise Roll," a phrasing that either betrays hesitancy on the part of the marketer or is simply missing the word "Jackass" at its end to effectively convey how the viewer must be a total idiot to not know who manufactures this product.

UPDATE: The Tootsie Roll and Tootsie Pop commercials, courtesy of Jodiferous.

The History of the Development of Punk on The Lower East Side

Brilliant singer/songwriter Jeffrey Lewis and his nine-minute live acoustic review of the complete history of the development of punk in New York's Lower East Side from 1950 to 1975, starting with Harry Smith and ending with England stealing all the credit.

Music link coutesy of WFMU.

Conversations with Dad 6: The Clock

The following is a transcript of an actual conversation with 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.

Carol and Ces enter Marciulianos' house. Greetings ensue.

Mom: Sorry I didn’t make dinner yet. I didn’t know when you two were finally going to show up.

Ces: But we're early.

Dad: For once.

Mom: Plus, now Marcello’s not coming tonight.

Ces: Marcello’s not here?

Dad: Oh, you won’t believe what that worthless bastard of a brother of yours did.

Carol: What happened?

Mom: I don’t want to talk about it.

Dad: Then let me tell them.

Mom: He called five minutes ago to say he's coming tomorrow instead.

Dad: He called five minutes ago to say he's coming tomorrow instead.

Mom: I don’t want to talk about it.

Dad: Then why didn't you let me tell them?

Mom: What's there to say?

Dad: Apparently nothing now!

Suddenly a loud chirp comes from the kitchen.

Ces: What...what the hell was that?!

Carol: Did you guys get a pet bird?

Mom: Oh no. Not after we lost our poor canary Winter.

Dad: Stuck its own fingernail right through its eye. Died like that.

Mom: So sad.

Dad: It's own eye!

Mom: I don't want to talk about it.

Dad: Well, you're not the one who had to bury him.

Pause.

Ces: Sooo...the chirping?

Dad: What? Oh, that's our new clock!

Carol: Clock?

Mom: Doesn’t it sound beautiful?

Dad: It has a different bird call for each hour.

Mom: Finch.

Dad: Blue Jay.

Mom: Cardinal.

Dad: Sparrow.

Mom: Robin.

Dad: Oriole...Hey, Ces! Remember when I coached your Little League team The Orioles. What year was that again?

Carol: Wait, the clock chirps every hour?

Dad: Every hour! You should hear it!

Carol: Even in the middle of the night?

Mom: All night! That last one was a mourning dove.

Dad: I love mourning doves.

Ces: You said every hour. But it's 7:10.

Mom: Well, the clock hasn't been working properly.

Dad: And whose fault is that?

Mom: The clock’s?

Dad: And who dropped the clock?

Mom: You did.

Dad: I mean the second time, the time it probably broke.

Mom: You dropped it three times, Frank.

Dad: Wait, when did you touch it again?

Carol: Is there anyway to shut it off at night?

Dad: Might have been. But then Isilda dropped it.

Mom: I never touched it!

Dad: Well, you dropped something!

Mom: I dropped the coffee machine.

Dad: Oh...Well, I hope you weren't expecting any coffee, kids, because thanks to your mother here you're not getting any.

Carol: Can't you just unplug the clock at night?

Mom: I think it runs on batteries, dear.

Ces: How often do you guys drop things?

Dad: Well, you kids are never around to help us lift stuff.

Ces: How heavy was that coffee pot?!

Carol: Can't we just take the batteries out?

Mom: But then we won't be able to hear the lovely clock.

Another loud chirp comes from the kitchen.

Carol: Wait, it's only 7:15.

Dad: Hasn't been working right since one of us dropped it.

Ces: It chirps every five minutes?!

Dad: I love to hear birds chirp.

Mom: That one was the robin! Didn't it sound gorgeous?


UPDATE! The wall of clocks in question.


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