CSotD: Strategy Tomorrow, Joy Today

Peter Steiner makes fun of grumpy wet-blanket killjoys.

The New York Times, by contrast, names them Deputy Editor of its Opinion section and turns them loose on a joyful world, hoping to quash the moment and make us all become very, very serious about very, very serious things.

After writing this, he went down to the beach to kick in a few sandcastles. Extra points where the kids were still working on them.

You want grumpy? I’ll show you grumpy.

First of all, cheesy insults are not intelligent political commentary, Michael Ramirez (Creators).

Second, lyrics are supposed to scan so you can sing them. If you’d said “Kamala” instead of “Harris,” those lines would have scanned. There’s no helping the rest of this dog’s breakfast.

Third, you don’t have to apologize to Herman’s Hermits. It’s an old vaudeville song that was written in 1910, more than half a century before they recorded their version. I’m not revealing a secret.

Enough grumpitude. Let’s have some laffs.

Nothing could cheer you up more than the coming of spring, though you have to be in the Southern Hemisphere at the moment for that.

Fortunately, First Dog on the Moon is our reporter on the scene and has lovely things to say about the coming of spring even though climate change means there wasn’t a whole lot of winter. This makes for comfortable weather but certainly isn’t good for the Earth.

Also he names a lot of birds I don’t recognize, but my son recently adopted a dog he named Maple which more than makes up for it. I join in his joy, and his dogs’ joy as well.

Up in this hemisphere, Wallace the Brave (AMS) isn’t the only one enjoying monarch butterfly season. My landlords have planted milkweed all down the driveway to encourage black-and-orange fairy folk, and I’ve started to see them around the park as well.

And if Wallace and I don’t see enough here in New England, my stepdaughter has a tree at the other end of the country in San Diego where they hang out in abundance. It’s a national movement!

Juxtaposition of Canine Joy

The Other Coast — Creators

Speed Bump — Creators

There is some sort of arms race in the dog toy business, with companies attempting to come up with stuffed toys that dogs cannot disembowel, and dogs working frantically to find and destroy the squeakers embedded in those toys as quickly as possible.

My sweet little girl only weighs 20 pounds but her breed was originally bred as ratters and her powerful jaws can skin and split a tennis ball in half the time it takes to get it away from her. Stuffed toys don’t have a prayer.

As for rolling in things, our rule is that if I can’t smell it, it’s okay by me, but, if she finds something truly fabulous, that’s why I keep a small vial of Dr. Bronner’s in my glove compartment, since it won’t pollute the river and she isn’t getting back in the car until we’ve visited the boat launch.

The Other Coast (Creators) doesn’t only celebrate canine joy, and today’s both sparked a thought and a memory. The thought is that I haven’t really seen many mosquitos this summer, though I have apparently been hanging out in the right places, since others have complained.

The memory is that when we’d go out bullheading at night, in addition to bringing bait and a lantern, we’d grab a pack of cheap cigars to keep the ‘skeeters away. Specifically, Rum Crooks, which this guy even names as something you’d take on a fishing trip.

We also used Woodsman’s Fly Dope, which worked on insects but also on just about everything. Once in a while, some fisherman or hunter would stop off at the bar on the way home and nobody had to be told he’d walked in.

If you think cigars make you stink, try that stuff. A little dab’ll do ya.

Different memory from this F Minus (AMS). During my short but fascinating career selling the Kirby Classic, one of the techniques was to demonstrate the shampooer that came with it.

I never did that, because it was a pain to set up, and, if they didn’t buy it, it was an even bigger pain to repack the whole unit with a wet shampooer.

But the reason to make the effort was that if you shampooed a four-foot clean streak down the middle of their carpet, it was an incentive for them to buy the damn thing and finish the job.

There were guys who would get a foot in the door by offering a free carpet cleaning, but I didn’t even want to shampoo my own carpets. I’d just give them a set of cheap steak knives and let my natural wit and savoir faire make the sale.

Not a good job, but certainly an educational one.

There’s a laugh in this strip, but, as is often the case with Alex, there’s a lot of wisdom in there as well.

A publisher at one paper wanted me to fire reporters who weren’t up to snuff, but it made more sense to me to train people who might stick around rather than to hire a succession of plug-and-play, pre-qualified wunderkinden who were only there for a cup of coffee and to add a line to their resume.

Best reporter I ever had had barely finished high school, but she could tell a story and she wanted the job. Pretty good combination, and the community adored her.

Constant Readers won’t be shocked that I picked out this Duplex (AMS). As I’ve written before, the more they gather, the harder it is to sort.

And who cares? I might have a file, but, if so, it’s a one-page list of more interesting people I’ve known.

I’m not the needle in the haystack; I’m just another straw.

This Argyle Sweater (AMS) would be funnier if it weren’t based on a real event.

Could be worse. At least noone died, and it didn’t spark a major wildfire.

It’s still TMI. And if you’re that obsessed over gender, you and your kid are already headed for trouble.

Back TF off and let her, or him, be who they are.

(Yeah, I’m always grumpy.)