See You in The Funny Papers

Do the few newspapers that still do print editions even have comics pages anymore? For many years, that was the only part of the newspaper I would read. I’d page through the rest of the paper and read things that were interesting, but I stopped taking a physical newspaper back when the Times-Picayune ceased publishing daily, and only had an on-line subscription, which I cancelled when they published an article by editorial staff that was vile, disgusting, unAmerican, and nothing I could support anymore. I cancelled the New York Times because of their Trump coverage and the legion of crimes they’ve committed against the queer community for decades. The Washington Post also was cancelled because of bad reportage on queer issues (there’s nothing like having your life “both-sidesed”; because yes, the homophobic trash who think I shouldn’t exist have a right to be heard). I would never go anywhere near the Wall Street Journal or Forbes; actually, the best reporting in the country on politics and queer life comes from Rolling Stone and Vanity Fair, of all places.

Go figure.

Obviously, the last place I ever expected to run into queer representation on the comics page (Doonesbury added a gay character in the 1970s, and addressed AIDS with his death in the 1980ssssssss) was in a family comic strip.

On March 26, 1993, Lynn Johnston’s For Better or Worse began a short running story (I think it ran for two weeks; I could be wrong) in which oldest son Mike’s best friend Lawrence comes out to him, which starts a bit of an upheaval in both families, and spread out over several days in the paper.

Johnson wrote about Lawrence’s story here.

Whenever someone talks about how representation matters, I think about two things: this comic strip, and Ryan Phillippe playing gay teen Billy Douglas on One Life to Live around this same time.

I had seen queer representation before, of course; Billy Crystal as Jody on Soap, the eternally confused Steven Carrington on Dynasty, a show where no one even considered the possibility of bisexuality (which could have been an even more compelling story), and films like Longtime Companion and La Cage aux Folles and Victor/Victoria. But unlike those previous characters, most of whom were already adults. Billy on One Life to Live and Lawrence on For Better or Worse were teenagers–which definitely awakened ire in the homophobes and christians. Some papers refused to run this strip, which was incredibly moving and touching, as Lawrence and Mike come to terms with their friendship (nothing changed between them, just as Joey and Billy on OLTL remained friends), but he also had to deal with his parents’ reaction, the reaction of Mike’s family, and so forth. It all eventually worked out for the best–also like OLTL–and as I tore open the paper every day for those days this story ran to see what happened next.

I also kept thinking how much of a difference this would have made in my life when I was a teenager–both the show and the comic strip–which is why these kinds of things are important. No one on the homophobic “side” ever thinks about what it feels like to be a queer kid, constantly getting told (bombarded, really) that they aren’t normal, they are different, and therefore suspect. That’s why queer kids commit suicide at higher rates than their straight counterparts.

I can only imagine how much hate–and how many death threats–Johnston got for writing this series of strips. I always liked the comic–I also liked that the characters aged, grew, and changed–and someday I’d love to sit down with a collection of the entire strip, to catch up with the characters and see how they are doing now.

I also don’t think this comic strip gets enough credit for doing this, either.

Okie from Muskogee

Thursday morning, and I am working from home today; or taking a mental health day–I’m not sure which it will be as of yet. This week has been fraught, to say the least, and by the time I got home yesterday I was exhausted and literally just collapsed into my easy chair for cat cuddles and mindless Youtube viewing. I don’t precisely remember what led me down that particular rabbit hole, but I at one point found myself listening/watching music videos of the Archies, Josie and the Pussycats, the Monkees, and the Partridge Family. (Hanna-Barbara animation, by the way, wasn’t very good–and the voices! My God, the speaking voices of the characters was like fingernails on a blackboard.) We also continue to watch The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, and seriously–if you’re home, have Netflix, and are looking for something really fun to binge, you can’t go wrong with Sabrina.

I think what is making this week particularly hard is knowing that this weekend was when the Tennessee Williams Literary Festival/Saints & Sinners was supposed to be taking place; I was looking forward to seeing friends and making new ones, hanging out in the Quarter, staying in our posh suite at the Monteleone while coming home from time to time to keep Scooter company, and then launching into the next week energized and ready to get back to writing. Instead, I am physically and emotionally drained; the weather is spectacular (although I would imagine those from up north would consider this too hot–it is much warmer than it usually is in late March), and who knows what fresh hell tomorrow will bring? This morning I woke up at seven, but stayed in bed almost another two hours simply because I didn’t want to face my emails or whatever the new reality for today was going to be. But I can’t, in fact, stay in bed all day–no matter how much I want to–so I finally rolled out of bed and am now on my first cup of coffee and thinking already about how best to make use of the day.

I did read “The Masque of the Red Death” again finally last evening; I found a pdf on-line free for download (thank you, public domain!) so I downloaded and printed it out and read it while a cat purred in my lap. As I was reading it–it’s really more of a fable or fairy tale than an actual story; there’s no real characters, and the only one who has a name–Prince Prospero–is never developed into anything remotely human or three dimensional; as I said, it’s more of a fable illustrating the futility of trying to escape from death than an actual short story. And yet–yet it still resonated with me more than “Death in Venice”, which, though, I am still thinking about a few days later, which means it affected me probably more than I originally thought.

Either that, or all these stories–linked by plagues and Venice, in some ways; it was easy to imagine Prospero’s palace being on the Grand Canal–are linking and fusing together in my mind somehow; so perhaps the essay I am thinking about isn’t so far-fetched and out of touch with reality as perhaps I may have originally thought. I am going to spend some time today reading du Maurier’s “Death in Venice” pastiche, “Ganymede”, and I will let you know how that goes. I still don’t seem to be able to commit to a full-length novel, but I also do remember that I did read an awful lot in the aftermath of Katrina–in fact, I remember rereading All the President’s Men as well as a book about the criminal conduct of Nixon’s vice president, Spiro Agnew–and so am thinking I might be best off turning to my non-fiction reading. I am still reading Jason Berry’s City of a Million Dreams, and I am thinking about getting down my copy of Barbara Tuchman’s A Distant Mirror and rereading her chapters about the bubonic plague’s first, and most deadly, visits to Europe.

I made a post on Facebook yesterday, a little annoyed, about how the condos being built on my street two lots over is continuing despite the shelter-in-place order, essentially saying so glad the condo construction going on two lots over from my house is considered essential. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad the guys are working and getting paid; these are scary times, particularly for those living paycheck to paycheck, and I certainly don’t begrudge anyone getting paid-, but I can’t help but think about their safety, and I also can’t help but wonder who in the hell is going to buy a condo in this economic climate? As of yesterday Louisiana had 1,795 confirmed cases and 65 deaths, most of them in Orleans Parish, but it’s spreading gradually to the outer parishes, who are even less equipped to deal with a pandemic than Orleans. Anyway, this led to an idea for a noir short story called “Condos For Sale or Rent”, and I actually scribbled down the opening to the story last night…and it also kind of made me think about, as is my wont, quarantine/pandemic fiction. I wonder what post-flood New Orleans fiction would be like; now I wonder about how this whole pandemic/quarantine event will impact not just crime fiction, but fiction in general.

And here I am, already thinking about a pandemic short story, and even last night, before switching on Sabrina (that’s how the Youtube wormhole started; I was thinking about Sabrina, and how she was originally a character on Archie–so I looked for the old show on Youtube, found the video for “Sugar Sugar”, which featured Sabrina working a kissing booth, and then I got sucked in), I was thinking about a Scotty book during the pandemic/quarantine. Obviously such a book cannot be written now–without knowing what’s going to happen with COVID-19, you cannot tell the entire story–but it’s not a bad idea to take notes and come up with thoughts about it.

I also just remembered Katherine Anne Porter’s Pale Horse Pale Rider is set during the Spanish flu pandemic of 1918; perhaps I should read it again. Not a huge fan of Porter, either, to be honest; I read The Collected Stories of Katherine Anne Porter (I was looking for “Miss Brill,” not realizing at the time that was written by Katherine Mansfield rather than Porter) and was underwhelmed by them. Maybe I should give it another whirl? Maybe my tastes have matured and deepened enough by now for me to develop an appreciation for Porter. I should probably take another run at Hemingway–I only read The Old Man and the Sea and A Farewell to Arms, both of which were required for a lit class in high school and I hated them both–although Hemingway is precisely the kind of writer I’d hate if I knew in real life.

And on that note I am heading back into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and do whatever you need to in order to keep yourself safe and uninfected.

Chris-Mears