Mallard Fillmore making waves in the Globe

The bastion of right-wing comic mediocrity, Mallard Fillmore, is finally taking heat from readers of the Globe who expect comic strips to be actually, well… funny.
The controversy started on Monday with conjecture from the Globe
ombudsman, Christine Chinlund, that Mallard may soon be replaced by Prickly City, a “conservative” strip with a fresher and funnier perspective than the duck. Chinlund quotes two readers in her piece:

But some say the The Duck has a more fatal flaw: “It’s just not
funny,” said reader Michael LaVigne. “He can have his opinion, fine,
but it needs to be funny, too.”

Reader Kathy Tappan asks why the Globe wastes precious space on a strip
that is “usually hateful, nasty, ill-informed, or mean-spirited…”
If the strip was also funny, she said, “you might have an excellent comic on your hands.” But, she said, it’s not.

Exactly.

The letters on the editorial pages, pro, con, or flip-flop (plus this letter
from just before the brouhaha), generally seem to miss the point:
Mallard Fillmore lays eggs as a comic artist. Let’s review some recent examples of what passes for
humor in Bruce Tinsley’s hackneyed world:

Not that Mallard is alone on this score. One Mallard preservationist went after a similarly humor-challanged strip:

Why not drop “Doonesbury”?

Some would argue “Doonesbury” has certainly lost its relevance.

Amen,
brother. (I remember attracting some dirty looks for criticizing Gary
Trudeau at Brown’s 2004 Commencement, where he was receiving an honarary degree. Lighten up, liberals!) Jonathan Franzen summarized the problem with Doonesbury in a sentence:

Garry Trudeau is essentially a social novelist, his topical satire and
intricate family dynamics and elaborate camera angles all serving to
divert attention from the monotony of his comic expression.

Sack ‘em both, I say! And take the cat with you!

Weekend snowshoe hike

Last
weekend we took a short trip to New Hampshire with Rachel’s church
group for some snowshoing (me) and cross-country skiing (Rachel).
Showshoing is a lot like hiking, only noisier (the snow was very
crunchy that weekend). We also fit in a little boardgaming.

Flagrant Fragrance

Since
this weekend our living room developed an incredibly strong floral
scent that defied explanation. We searched for anything that could be a
culprit — there are quite a lot of houseplants in the front window,
and for a while we theorized that the smell might be from something
dead or rotting. It was very pungent, enough to make me asthmatic and Rachel nauseous.

In my hunt for the source I completely overlooked our innocuous
“corn plant” — you know, the ubiquitous long-stalked leafery found in a home
or office near you. As it turns out, this plant, which I have owned for over 8
years, had suddenly shot out a very exuberent flower stalk that was
throwing pollen and dripping nectar everywhere. Here’s a closeup
of the flowers after I chopped them off. Later on I threw them into the
snowy backyard — somewhat regretfully, since if they had flowered in
the summer I would have been happy for their fragrance in a room with
open windows. But in the dead of winter with the windows shut tight, it was us or them.

Some quick internet research this morning turned up the scientific name of these plants: Dracaena Fragrans. “Fragrans” indeed!

Defending the Constitution, yadda yadda yadda

On Thursday I finally got around to getting sworn in to the Bar of
Massachusetts. For this I trekked up to the SJC’s new digs at the John
Adams Courthouse, definitely an improvement over their temporary
quarters at 1 Beacon.

I have no particular plans to practice, but I figured I may as well get sworn in before my Bar Exam results expire.

Edit: I neglected to add, as I had on the Carpundit
blog on entry on the new courthouse, that when I went to get sworn in
there was no one at the security check. I waltzed very slowly through
the metal detectors to create an extra-long buzz, but… still no
security guards. So I triapsed around the courthouse unimpeded. So much
for heightened security in the age of terror. As if the SJC has nothing to worry about.