CSotD: I’ll bet Dorothy Parker was funnier at a distance
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(EDITOR'S NOTE: The editorial-cartooning wing of comics is temporarily out of service due to half of the commentary being 9/11 Hallmark cards and the other half evenly divided between those that are woefully outdated and irrelevant due to the Russian proposal and those consisting of laments, partisan gainsaying and outright tantrums from cartoonists pissed that warfare and death may possibly have been averted. Meanwhile, here are some amusing drawings from elsewhere in the comics universe.)
I actually avoided dentists for nearly a decade in my 20s, not because I was young and fit and thought I couldn't get cavities but because my early teen years had included weekly trips to get my braces tightened, which hurt less than the accompanying Tommy Tooth lectures.
Nothing against dispensing information about the importance of a conscientiously applied program of oral hygiene and regular professional care, mind you, but there's a substantial difference between hearing it twice a year and being badgered with it once a week.
Apparently, "What do you think of this weather?" and "How 'bout those Mets?" is not taught in dental school.
Bless dear Agnes for an approach I never thought to employ. How I love that child.
Although, in the real world:
Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal strikes home with a chilling reminder of how I learned the necessity of installing a filter on a sharp tongue.
Most of the bon mots attributed to Churchill and/or Shaw, mind you, were either never uttered by them or never uttered at all.
Ralph Keyes, in the Quote Verifier notes that Churchill's family doubted this one, since "Sir Winston held his liquor well and was gallant to women," but that a bodyguard claimed he said it in 1948, in an exchange with Labor MP Bessie Braddock (well done, SMBC!).
However, Keyes continues, if he did say it, he apparently stole it from the 1934 W.C. Fields film, "It's a Gift."
Whatever the provenance of that particular wisecrack, I learned in my college years that wit delivered in person more or less runs along the lines of today's SMBC and, had the response been a well-earned slap in the face, I might repeat the example that taught me, because it was very, very clever.
But when the response is devastation, there isn't much pride to be had in repeating what caused it, and it hardly matters. The lesson learned is that anyone with the presence of mind to coin such a quick and smart remark ought to be quick and smart enough to recognize how inappropriate it would be to unleash it.
In fact, if you'll pardon the language, I'd say that pretty much defines the line between being a wit and being an asshole.
To put it another way, the true master of martial arts never gets in fights.
Oh, and, by the way, you really shouldn't bother lecturing your kids about bullying if you're going to then let them watch "American Idol."
Which is my way of saying I don't really view Simon Cowell as a true master of martial arts. Or a wit. Which, y'know, only leaves one more.
On the other hand …
In the Bleachers points out something I hadn't noticed. Whatever happened to "Hi, Mom"?
My theory is that what happened is that all the players for whom sideline close-ups were a novelty got old and retired and were replaced by a generation of athletes who grew up seeing those shots and consider them just a part of the wallpaper, a filler shot used when nothing visually interesting is going on.
I realized the other day that I really couldn't joke that Vikings running back Adrian Peterson was my son because, in fact, he's too young.
He's midway in age between my youngest son and my oldest granddaughter, and for someone in that age bracket, it's a given that the camera only focuses on you for one of two reasons: Either (as in his case) you are a superstar, in which case you should be used to it, or else you just created some monumental disaster for your team, in which case you're probably hoping that good old Mom isn't watching. (She is, but if you dare to make a "Hi, Mom," joke now, she and coach will both whip your ass for it.)
On the other hand — returning to the ever-fascinating topic of my incredible wit — I used to photobomb the local TV news guys when they would take those "reporters listening to the talking head" filler shots during news conferences by writing "Hi, Mom" on my notepad and worse.
Harassing the competition comes under the category of good, clean fun, and, if they really wanted to stop me from doing it, they could have simply used the shot of "reporters listening to the talking head except for the one who is doing an imitation of Basil Fawlty."
There wasn't much real chance of my pranks in that arena actually hurting anyone's feelings, though it did get back to me once that their anchor was pissed at being referred to as "Sweet Polly" in a column.
Which I wouldn't have known if one of their reporters hadn't told me about it.
While giggling.
Which is probably a clue as to why it had made her so angry.
Like I say, it was all good, clean fun.
Though I'm not sure that same reporter ever forgave me for dragging Geraldine Ferraro into one of my cunning plans.
MORAL: There's no need to give up being a wiseass. You just need to learn to pick your shots.
Mike Peterson has posted his "Comic Strip of the Day" column every day since 2010. His opinions are his own, but we welcome comments either agreeing or in opposition.
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