CSotD: Ladies’ Day
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This juxtaposition amused me before I'd come up with a theme for the day, but it starts us off well.
In both cases, the wife is mocked for a fascination the husband can't grasp, and both are affectionate rather than hostile.
The first, by Terri Libenson, works on a self-deprecating "Yeah, I know, but humor me," level, while the second, by Dave Kellett, is more of an "I love you, but I don't get it" gag.
But, as I was reading Pajama Diaries, I was thinking, "Yes, Rob, it's ridiculous except that you'll notice the difference tonight and, if you don't, that's on you."
That's different than "Sheldon," which suggests that Kellett's wife is piling up so many pillows that some have to be put on chairs before anyone can get in bed, either because there are just too many of them or because some are decorative pillows rather than bed pillows.
That opens up the question of whether you are decorating a house for yourself or choosing a decor for your family and is a topic unto itself.
When seven-eighths of the house looks like Laura Ashley designed a dreamhouse for Barbie, but one room in the basement looks like a 12-year-old's favorite Budweiser commercial, that's a couple who is simply sharing rent.
But people do have systems and part of the back-and-forth between husband and wife is respect for systems and a respect for rejecting systems.
Jill's system sounds — even to her — slightly ridiculous, but she has reasons for it and, if Rob wants to listen, he'd appreciate them, even if he doesn't think it's worth the fuss. Moreover, the exchange in that final panel is not an argument but simply her suspecting maybe she's a little over the top with it and his "thank you for noticing."
And if he has a pegboard in the basement with his open-ended wrenches hung in size-order, he has a right to want anyone who uses a wrench to hang it back up, but if they borrow two wrenches and don't return them to the right pegs, he should only sigh and fix it, not blow a fuse.
Because systems are okay, but being a hostile, obsessive jackass — or jenny — is not.
This is the type of relationship that leads to man caves and frou-frou.
It's also a movie that I had a girlfriend walk out on. I said, "But that's how it was. It's a movie about relationships in that era," to which she responded, "But why would I want to watch it?"
Helluva good question. Ruined one of my favorite movies.
I've been thinking about women and comics, in part because of the #METOO movement but for other reasons as well, and, on his blog, Tom Falco notes the Smithsonian's LoC's exhibit, "Drawn to Purpose: American Women Illustrators and Cartoonists," (Correction — it's at the Library of Congress, but much information is in Smithsonian Magazine) which has opened in Washington and will be around until October.
And here's what I've been mulling over, which is still unsettled in my mind:
In the business world, one of the early keys to promotion for women was to act like men, perhaps best symbolized by the blue suits and string ties of the 1980s and 90s. It was a much harder transition to the top for women who didn't happen to be a little brusque and sharp-elbowed.
So how did — does — that play out on the funny pages?
Dale Messick and "Brenda Starr" are prominent in this discussion, and Falco notes that Messick changed from "Dahlia" to "Dale" to get her work even looked at, which raises the question in my mind of "Was she published because she cartooned like a man?"
It's not that Brenda Starr didn't feel like a "woman's strip" — it always did to me — but there was a similar feel for the male-written "The Heart of Juliet Jones," a strip about a smart, tough woman who spends a lot of time in and out of romance.
I'm not suggesting that Messick consciously "sold out" but rather that she happened to be in tune with the prevailing culture.
A more stark example:
One exhibit at the Smithsonian LoC is this 1943 New Yorker cartoon by Helen Hokinson, for which the caption reads, "Remember that shy Alice (illegible last name) who never had a date? I hear she's on her third husband."
Granted, there were plenty of colleges then where women pursued MRS degrees, but if this weren't signed by a woman, there wouldn't be much of a clue that it was drawn by one.
Googling images for her work, it seems her characters were universally silly, spoiled, upper-middleclass women, though I came across this reference to one of the Seven Sisters.
Still, the focus remains on the intentionally ditzy, wealthy mother, rather than on the intelligent, plain, flat-chested daughter.
The exhibit moves forward to Lynn Johnston, however, who paved the way for humorous but respectful takes on daily life from a woman's perspective.
Her work, and the works she inspired, are not a matter of pursuing an overt feminist agenda so much as being a feminist in the core sense.
And, from my male perspective, I like Jill's struggle to convince Rob that there are systems which make the bed more comfortable, because I'm sure it's a subtle difference but that she's right.
But here's my question:
If jokes about wives who wreck cars and can't balance checkbooks are sexist drivel, what about cartoons about women, by women, in which the punchline is an obsession with shoes and chocolate?
Lame, yes. But condescending sexism, or just the female equivalent of men's jokes about golf?
I'm asking. I don't know.
Maybe I should go to Washington and look into it.
Meanwhile:
Ann Telnaes — who is featured in the exhibit — has a sharp, funny little book about Dear Leader just hitting the shelves.
Bado has a preview and, while Amazon is only offering a paperback edition, you'll get a hardcover copy for the same price if you go to Fantagraphics.
Amazon offers Kindle, but friends don't let friends read comics on the phone.
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