April 09, 2007
A collection of Gasoline Alley's Autumn Walks.
I guess it Sunday funnies Sunday.
10 years ago
Sure does showcase the decline in quality that comics have gone through over the past century. Beautiful link. Made me a little sad.
A great page, thanks for the link grover96! I didn't know about the yearly "walk" at all. Also a good use for a few of those Internets, in the absence of a book to do what that page does.
What Nick and pete said. Thanks for the link, grover! It's kinda fun to see scans from the old newspapers as well...
Comic strips were always weak,
. Come on, you sound a little like an old man. If you quantify all of the comics over the ages in a synchronic survey and compare those of quality and innovation to those of inane dumbfuckery you'll probably see a consistent or mildly fluxing pattern. The thing is: no one wants to archive all of the inane dumbfuckery so most of what remains is the quality stuff from the past which we compare with our contemporary inane dumbfuckery sample biases. At least, that's what Nietzsche said.
Heading off on a big tangent, I'm reminded of:
On Raglan Road
On Raglan Road on an autumn day I saw her first and knew That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue; I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way, And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day. On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion's pledge, The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay - O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away. I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that's known To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say. With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay - When the angel woos the clay he'd lose his wings at the dawn of day.
And as performed by the redoubtable and sorely missed
(warning, YouTube + banjo music)
O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.
MonkeyFilter: contemporary inane dumbfuckery