And The Winner Is...

Sleep

The Academy Awards are going on as I type and it baffles me. It feels like it’s been going on since my last birthday, which was another event that I didn’t want to see. I’m not a huge fan of award shows. I get why some people are. There are a ton of celebrities there. It’s a sort of variety show. There will be songs and funny skits. Dresses will be worn or not worn. What’s not to love?

It made sense when I was a kid. The Oscars were a big deal. Celebrities weren’t seen outside of movies or whatever talk show they were on to promote a movie. Seeing them supposedly being themselves was an event in and of itself. Why, they might even use their acceptance speech as an opportunity to speak out about a political issue of great importance. How shocking.

That was then. Now they’re in our face every day telling us what to eat and who to vote for, and we, as informationally overfed receptors of their product, are very thankful that YouTube exists so we can simply speed through a highlight real. We might watch that tomorrow. Or five years from tomorrow when we’re feeling nostalgic.

Yes, cartoonists get awards, and yes, it’s wonderful to be recognized by your peers, but they don’t televise the occasion. You know who should? Scientists. Scientists are always having to be peer reviewed anyway, why not cast a ballot at the same time? “And the award for discovering DNA goes to….James Watson and Francis Crick!” There wouldn’t be much suspense on who the winners are, but I think it’d play big on PBS.

Vickie is not wrong, here. When confronted with a crowd of people, try breaking them up into individuals so that you will like them. The best way to do this is to stand behind a service counter.

We all know there are no stupid questions. In theory. In practice we know that there are indeed stupid questions.

I’m always fascinated by customers who give detailed instructions on how to improve the store to a cashier. Unless the cashier is the owner or the owner’s daughter, it’s really not going very far. In fact, even if the cashier is the owner’s daughter it may not go very far. One reader commented that the usual expectation is that the cashier will tell her manager, who will tell her manager, until, I can only assume, the feedback is presented with helpful charts and graphs to a board of directors.

In reality, the cashier tells her manager who responds back to the cashier that she just needs to tell the customer thank you and move on. It’s not a game of advancing helpful information, it’s a game of ping-pong.

I’ve known managers who like to pretend that they are customers. I think their secret, lifelong ambition is to be a spy and this is as close as they’ll get.

The signs upset a few people with emotional support animals. They were told by Walmart that they cannot place their dog in the cart, which is interesting because this was one of the few signs that was actually inspired by a real sign. In Walmart, of all places. Go figure.

Another person talked about a Yorkie who licked the hand of its owner when her blood sugar level was low. I was interested in this because one of the real life inspirations for Tabby is a Type 1 diabetic who has a little monitor somewhere on her person. So I asked her about it. Her response, not verbatim, was that the dog is a real thing but it doesn’t need to be in the cart.

I love dogs, I just don’t want their butt where I set my bananas. My question was what do these people do when they’re not in a store with a handy cart? Do they have a little doggie carrier or something? Love finds a way, right? There were no immediate answers from the complainers.

My little signs don’t usually inspire a wider discussion of what constitutes a service animals, health code laws, and potential roundworm contamination, but that’s the power of the comic strip.

My friend Jim pointed out that Star Trek had no new shows in production and thought Tabby must be devastated. I raced to address that.

The best five year present I saw was a wood-burning pen. The guy who got it could have started decorating the walls, but he was more professional than that.

There was a real life counterpart to this. We really couldn’t place which jerk she was. It was a jerk-heavy time period. All was forgiven until the anticipated next incident.

This is why I haven’t been sleeping well, even when I’m allowed.

Always the best gift.

I conclude with the Academy. It looks like the Best Picture is one I actually saw in the theater. That never happens. I should get an award for that.