The Eyes Have It. 01/26/24

As we get older, or at least as I get older, my mental perception of myself is slow to catch up with reality. Point in case: my wife and I moved into a new apartment building almost 10 years ago. Everyone in the building was new since it was just built. They had a welcoming party in the clubhouse. And when we walked in, we said to each other, “My God, everyone looks so old,” without considering what WE looked like to THEM. One of the first comics we ever ran featured a youthful Al in his 60’s retying his shoe laces on a park bench, so he could continue his jog. A 90 year old man sat on the bench and admonishes Al, “People our age shouldn't be running.” Our age? Truth is, I’m five years older than John. I’m 70 and he’s 65. When I say to him, “...people our age,” I’m flattering myself and perhaps annoying him. When he says to me, “…people our age,” I am flattered, although now that I’ve mentioned it in this blog, I’m reasonably sure he won’t ever say it again. Don’t get me wrong, there’s wonderful things about getting older, grandchildren, deepening relationships (I now notice that my closest friends and I frequently say “I love you” while saying goodbye) but there’s also, well, getting older. About a couple months ago I was entering a restaurant for lunch. In front of me was this older couple. The husband was helping his wife who was bent over her walker at a 90 degree angle much like the man in our comic. With every step she said, “Oww, oww, oww.” My first thought was: “If I ever get like that, please kill me.” But my next thought was, “Let me help.” So I trotted past them to hold the door open and then again to hold the inner door. This lies in sharp contrast with my doppelgänger, Larry David (people are always saying, “you know who you look like?”), was stuck behind a slow-moving man in a hospital and Larry wanted to go to the bathroom. Badly. So he scooted around the guy, got to the bathroom first and shut the door in the poor man’s face. But I digress. Again. The point is that I referenced my restaurant experience to John and he immediately saw the glass as half full. He said, “At least she probably finds a lot of loose change,” and bingo, a new comic was born.

Our other comic, which is accompanied by a video bonbon, was inspired by our expanding fan base. We’d like to give a shout out to our new business partner extraordinaire, Jesse Samberg, who, in his 36-year-old wisdom, figured out how to get more AlterCocker’s involved (for those of you not fluent in Yiddish, it loosely translates into “old fart”). In addition to some great fan mail (thank you kindly for that) we also got a couple critiques. They can be summarized by the following phrase: “The type is kinda small!” One suggestion is if you’re reading it on your phone, turn the phone sideways, then spread the individual frames wider with your fingers. Another option is to read the comics on your laptop or tablet. Or watch John’s video which we posted today on Facebook and hopefully on our website if I can figure out how to download (or is it upload?) the damn thing. John and I both love language so we tend to be a little wordier than a lot of other comic strips. We also love combining words into one frame so we can have a frame of blank stares, as if the characters are responding to one of their own, with a “What did you just say?” look. In comedy, it's called a "beat." It gives the characters in the comic (and the reader) a moment to react to whatever was just said. See that? You just learned some comedy terminology. Feel free to sprinkle "beat" into your daily conversation to impress your comedy-loving friends.

That said, have a terrific weekend, and if you still can’t read the type, take a beat (see what we did there?) and stop into our local CVS for a pair of reading glasses.

See you next week,

Andy and John.

This week's comics and other stuff 9/17/18

A lot of our ideas we make up from our own heads. A lot come from stuff that happens to us or our families. And a further source of ideas is having our friends engage and suggest new ones. Not all of them are good, but sometimes, something somebody (that’s three “some” words in a row, if you’re counting) says leads in another direction and then becomes a comic. Last week, a buddy of John’s responded to a comic we wrote about a 5-pound jug of paprika. He shared how he would always drink the extra large soda at movies, with predictable results. BAM! We had a comic figured out in the next 5 minutes. My step mother shared an idea about an older man who had a hot car. A young woman commented on IT, but not about him. Bingo, the next day we had our character Craig thinking a young woman was interested in him, when she was really interested in fixing him up with her mom.

About a year ago, a friend of a friend went into a restaurant to get a table from a hostess he thought he had charmed, until he read her (less than flattering) description of him. Now THAT, we thought, has to be a comic. A two-part comic no less.

A fantastic source of comedy is 60-something guys feeling, hey, we’ve still got it. Because in our heads, we still do. But then every once in a while, reality sinks in. Like last week, when I walked across a street with a don’t walk sign, a portly driver in a mini honked at me and shouted out, “Hey watch the light old man!” Being the mature older gentleman I am, I responded, “Eat another donut, fatso.” But the knife was in. Old man. Who was she talking about? Surely not me.

Which brings me to the NY Giants. They are the living, breathing proof that I’m not an old man. An old man wouldn’t care about a stupid football team so much, he’d consider spending a sunny day indoors, right Michael Grieco? An old guy would never even think about passing up a trip to South America because it was during the playoffs, would he? No. And if by chance I was describing myself, my utter immaturity would prove I’m not an old man, get it? Okay, it didn’t make that much sense to me either. I still go to the games and yell and scream as if I were much younger. And I still care wayyyy too much whether they win or lose. But even in the escapist world of sports, as the song goes, there’s always something there to remind you. Case in point: I grew up watching Archie Manning play for the New Orleans Saints. Years after his retirement, I watched his sons Peyton and Eli, play professional football, Eli with my beloved Giants. And now he’s getting old. The talk is about his retirement. Yikes.

At least we can always feel young in our hearts and heads, or as Bob Dylan sang, Forever Young. But man oh man, is HE getting old. Enough from me. I’m gonna work on turning back the clock.