If you have a sharp eye, you may already have noticed the link in the sidebar pointing to the Cartoon Lounge, the cartoonist’s blog on The New Yorker’s website. If not, surprise!
This is a cartoon I sent in for the “Worst things about summer” post, which is in excellent company with fellow cartoonist’s illustrations of the worst of summer. I was really glad to send it in, because only the day before found me riding the subway with a friend when a fellow commuter rose to debark, and I felt impelled by some premonition of discovery to look down at his seat to the left of me, whereupon I noticed he had left behind the surprisingly well-defined outline, in microscopic moisture droplets clinging to the orange plastic seat, of his buttocks.
“Look! Butt-condensation!” I said to my friend. Who ignored me. “Look!”, I repeated, generously forgiving him for ignoring me, “Butt condensation!” My friend barely turned halfway around to me and said, “Only you would notice that.” Oh yeah? Well, now maybe a few other people will notice it too, and have a name for it! I can’t wait till I hear someone else pronounce the glorious words, “butt condensation.” It’ll make me so proud.
I sympathize with Evan Forsch, whose main complaint about summer is that he can’t wear his home-made goose down vest, but I beg to disagree: he could wear it. It would just be unbearably hot. Me, I have the opposite problem (see photo to the left): I have to wear parkas all summer (for my day job), and it’s no fun but it pays well. For desperate moments I have one of these.
BTW - thanks to Zach Kanin for perpetuating the stereotype that portrays us cartoonists as always drunk. It’s bad enough people think all we do is sleep all day when we’re not drawing or drinking. Now I’ll never be able to convince people that my flask is only filled with water. (It really is only filled with water. I mean it.) Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go back to bed.
