Belatedly Obvious

Thinking just now, I realised something so obvious that I am stunned, literally stunned, at not having noticed it before. Behold my revelation:

Sarah Palin is the exact American equivalent of Pauline Hanson.

Think about it. Both were politically obscure, self-aggrandising women raised into sudden prominence at election-time. Both prided themselves on being average and down-to-Earth (read: redneck and bogan, respectively) and were, as a result of their awful catchphrases, cringeworthy interviews and general ignorance, lampooned with a public ferocity and vigour normally restricted to mob lynchings in revolutionary France. Compare the Pauline Pantsdown ‘I Don’t Like It’ song to Tina Fey’s Palin impersonations. Contrast Hanson’s infamous TV blunder, wherein she asked for an explanation of the word xenophobia despite her aggressive anti-immigration views, with Palin’s claim to have foriegn policy experience because Russia is visible from Alaska. Oh, and then there was Sarah’s little problem with a certain Alaskan trooper; although at least, unlike Pauline, she didn’t go to jail for embezzeling party funds. (Instead, she spent them at Neiman Marcus.)  It all adds up, and to such a frightening extent that it’s almost like one politician has been inhabiting two separate bodies. (Stephen King, eat your heart out.)

So, what’s next for Palin? A trip on Dancing with the Stars and a string of lacklustre interviews with New Idea until fading gently into obscurity?

God, I hope so.

Garfield Minus Garfield

I’m not quite sure what mindset leads an individual to digitally erase the protagonist from one of the world’s most renowned comic strips, but damned if I don’t want in.  

The resulting creation – Garfield Minus Garfield – is hilarious on several different levels: the absurdity of the idea, the knowledge of what (or who) is missing, and the fact that Jon Arbuckle is clearly weirder than a bucket of mixed frogs. It’s this last point which really startled me: the idea that, once you remove Garfield from the picture, Jon’s comedic value switches from clowning to pathos. Maybe the presence of a sentient, anthropomorphised cat distorts reality to the extent that Jon, by contrast, can only ever appear as a punchline – more akin to Odie than Garfield, who ends up the only ‘person’ we sympathise with.

But Jon hasn’t actually changed. Half the dialogue has been erased, but not half the conversation – because Garfield doesn’t talk. Instead, his internal commentary, often on Jon’s behaviour, has ceased to be the focal point of the strip, with the result that we now see Jon as he actually is: a bizarre, lonely man with a fetish for pairing socks. Which, in an odd way, should shame all those people – myself included – who laugh at normal Garfield strips. Jon Arbuckle clearly needs help, and what do we do? Mock him.

Thinking about it, there’s almost a Fight Club-esque relationship between Jon and Garfield. Like Tyler Durden, Garfield lives the life that Jon – our story’s Ed Norton – only dreams of. He sleeps in, finds contentment in simple pleasures, breaks the rules, has luck with the ladies, picks on Jon, gets along with the Arbuckle family, and generally has a good time. Sometimes, Garfield speaks for Jon. And, like Tyler Durden, when considered objectively, it seems more likely that Garfield doesn’t actually exist: that all we’ve been watching is the Jekyll/Hyde transformation of a deeply unhappy man. Liz the vet, Jon’s long-time almost-paramour, even looks like Helena Bonham-Carter.  

Of course, Jim Davis and Chuck Palahniuk might disagree. But who asked them?