The Dilbert Blog

How to Make a Comic Strip

Here's a visual tour of my comic-making process. If you are not already a syndicated cartoonist, just copy these steps.

Please excuse the random formatting of this post. I don't have time to tweak the HTML.

Click on the photos to enlarge them.

This is me at 4:59 AM, just before my BlackBerry alarm goes off.

5:02 AM, I put on some clothes and head downstairs to eat a banana.

Mmmm...good banana.

Put the flip-flops on and begin my commute.

Usually it's dark when I go to work. And I'm not smiling so much. Clearly these photos are staged.

47 seconds later (I timed it), I reach my office. I wave to the guy delivering newspapers. At that time of day, it's just him and me.

Upstairs to the office.

I head to the office fridge for the first of many Diet Cokes. My office cat, Sarah, hears the refrigerator open from the next room and will be waiting for me in her designated spot.

Sarah demands quality time on the rug or she literally won't let me work. She'll scream and start ripping my stuff to shreds unless she gets her quota of petting. This part of my routine has not varied in 17 years.

I take Sarah with me to get additional petting while I check blog comments and e-mails. She looks uncomfortable but she's actually totally relaxed. It's her favorite petting position.

After I write my blog post, I start the comic-making phase. In step one, I look at a Word document where I saved a bunch of suggestions from readers. I peruse the suggestions to see what inspires me.

Once I have a general idea, I use Photoshop to call up a blank comic format, 600 dpi. I draw directly on the computer screen using a stylus. The monitor is a Wacom 21UX. This is the equpment I've used for the past two years or so. Before that, it was all on paper.

I draw the first panel (in rough form) and type in the words using a font I created of my own handwriting.

When you draw on the computer at a "natural" size, the limit of the technology is that your lines will be jagged. That's fine for the rough draft. (If this were paper, the rough version would be in pencil.)

To finish the art in clean form, I change the rough lines to a light gray, then adjust the viewing size to 200% and "ink" over the rough art. I get a smooth line when I work at that size.

In Photoshop lingo, the rough draft is a "layer." To turn that layer into a light gray, I adjust its opacity. The layers are the digital equivalent of tracing paper. You can see the layer below, but your drawing only touches your current layer.

This is the size I use for the final clean lines. Any imperfections disappear when the image is shrunk to publishing size.

Sunday strips are a somewhat different process because of the color. It starts the same, with a black line art version. Then I copy the file and create a second version with color. The color version is then stripped of its black. That leaves me with two files. One is only black lines, the other is all the colors except black. Both files go to the printer, who combines them during the printing process. I assume this kludgy process has something to do with the legacy equipment used by the newspapers. I just prep the file the way I'm instructed by United Media.

This is where I sit for most of my work day. There's a huge amount of paperwork with this job. My desk is normally covered with contracts, tax stuff, accounting things, and  various projects.

Here's the view from my chair. I have the TV on when I do the mindless step of adding the final art. While working, I usually watch recordings of The Daily Show, tennis, Real Time, or Battlestar Galactica.

I keep my original art table in a corner for historical and sentimental reasons. I refinished that little table in 1988. I'm not what you would call a "craftsman," so it's poorly done. My original chair, also shown, was created when I was a teenager, using parts from two separate chairs. Originally it had legs. I attached it to the base of an old office chair and my mother gave it some upholstery. It is also poorly constructed. I love it.

Here are the art supplies I used before moving completely to the computer. That's a daily strip, so you can see its size as an original. About half of all Dilbert strips were drawn with the mechanical pencil shown. The green thing on the art is what I used to keep the lettering on a straight line. The pen was for the final art.

If you plan to become a syndicated cartoonist, here is a summary of the equipment you will need:

1. Banana

2. Diet Coke

3. Cat

4. Computer with Wacom 21UX monitor

Good luck.

Fear of Fish

Did you hear about the gigantic flying fish in Florida? Huge sturgeons, up to 200 lbs, are leaping out of the water and attacking people in boats while making it look like accidents.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/main.jhtml?xml=/news/2007/06/17/wfish117.xml

It’s never a good idea for me to see this sort of story because I’m a worrier. Every time I see a plane pass overhead, I’m sure it’s going to double back and strafe me. And I assume anyone wearing baggy pants is planning to punch me. You might think this sort of thinking is silly, but you won’t be laughing so hard when you get punched and strafed.

Now I have to worry about huge, armor-plated fish jumping out of the water and killing me. I realize those sturgeons are in Florida, and I’m in California. But they are obviously determined. And the article doesn’t say how far they can jump. You’re probably thinking that common sense should tell me I’m safe. That’s what the guy in Florida was thinking right before a flying sturgeon broke his spine. Let’s agree that sturgeons are unpredictable.

Recently I went out on a friend’s boat. The only thing I wanted to know was my estimated survival time when I fell in the bay. Would it be faster or slower than Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic? Now I have to worry that some frickin’ fish thinks he’s a cruise missile. The next time I go on the bay, I’ll be wearing full body armor. I sure hope it floats.

I’m not a conspiracy nut, but you have to wonder if the sturgeons are acting alone. Do they have a sturgeon general orchestrating these attacks? It’s too coincidental that no sturgeons attack humans for thousands of years and suddenly we need an air traffic controller to track all their flights.

Bin Laden likes to plan impressive attacks that top whatever he did last. But how do you top jets flying into skyscrapers? Answer: flying suicide fish. I think he’s training the sturgeons in the mountain streams of Waziristan. He’s probably showing them propaganda films about Americans eating sturgeon babies (we call it caviar), and promising the fish 72 virgin sturgeons in the afterlife. You might think no sturgeon could be that gullible, but fish are not much smarter than people.

Muslims believe that Mohammed went to heaven on a flying horse. Personally, I find that hard to believe. But if I were a flying sturgeon, I’d think a flying horse isn’t much of a stretch. My point is that you should stay away from water or there’s a good chance a fish will kill you.

My Best Story

My best story is someone else’s best story too. Actually, his might be better.

It was about ten years ago. My first hardcover book, The Dilbert Principle, had just hit number one on the New York Times best seller list. I was already getting a lot of media attention because of Dilbert. That was nothing compared to the attention I got when my book hit the top of the charts. I sometimes did five interviews a day.

Luckily, cartoonists are invisible in public. No matter how many times my face got published, or I did TV interviews, I was almost never recognized in public. I counted on that.

So there I was, flying from California to Florida, to give a paid speech. The client paid for a first class ticket. I was in an aisle seat, reading a magazine. The fellow on my left pulls out a book to read: The Dilbert Principle. The back cover features a photo of me holding a huge pencil. “Uh oh,” I think. If this guy makes the connection, it’s going to be a long flight.

The guy starts reading. He laughs. Phew. I’m glad he likes the book. He laughs some more. He’s really getting into it now. I look to my right. The fellow directly across the aisle pulls out a book to read: The Dilbert Principle. Now I have them on both sides, and the plane hasn’t crossed Arizona yet. Damn. There’s no way one of them won’t recognize me from the book jacket.

Now the guy on my left is convulsing. He’s wiping tears from his eyes. He’s having the time of his life. But he realizes his laughter is disturbing me. So he turns to me and says, “I’m sorry. It’s this book. Have you read it?”

I’m staring at my own book, sitting next to a fellow who might be my biggest fan ever, and I don’t want to spend the next five hours talking about “where I get my ideas.” So I smile and say, “Yes. I’ve read it a few times.” Well, it was true.

The man goes back to reading. Now he’s totally losing control. He’s embarrassed at his laughing and tries to make conversation so he doesn’t feel so foolish. He turns to me again and says, “My boss bought fifteen copies of this book: one for everyone in the department.” That was my tipping point.

As much as I wanted to fly to Florida in peace, I know a good story when I see one. And this guy was on the edge of a doozy. I couldn’t let it pass without violating some cosmic law of storytelling. I asked the man a question that puzzled him, “Would you mind giving your boss a note from me?”

It was an odd request from a stranger on a plane. But what could he say? “Um, okay,” he answered, evidently confused. I took out a piece of note paper and drew Dogbert. Beneath it I wrote “Thanks for buying my book for your department,” and I signed it. I handed the note to the fellow on my left.

He looked at the note.

He looked at me.

He looked at the note again.

He looked at me.

He turned over the book, remembering it had a photo on the back.

He looked at my photo.

He looked at me.

He looked at the note.

He looked at me.

Words can’t describe the look on his face as the coincidence sunk in. He asked me if it was true and I confessed that it was. Somehow the guy to my right overheard. We talked, naturally, and they were both nice guys. I didn’t get much reading done on that flight. That was okay. You only get one chance to have your best story ever. I think it was worth it.

Casting Dilbert

Suppose there was a Dilbert movie with live actors, not animation. Who would you
cast for the main characters?

I would pick Stephen Colbert for Dilbert. He has the perfect likeable nerd vibe.

If I wanted to go younger, I'd want Adam Brody, the actor from The OC.

In your picks, consider age. Danny Devito would have been the perfect boss
character years ago. but not now.

Go

The Day You Became A Better Writer

I went from being a bad writer to a good writer after taking a one-day course in “business writing.” I couldn’t believe how simple it was. I’ll tell you the main tricks here so you don’t have to waste a day in class.

Business writing is about clarity and persuasion. The main technique is keeping things simple. Simple writing is persuasive. A good argument in five sentences will sway more people than a brilliant argument in a hundred sentences. Don’t fight it.

Simple means getting rid of extra words. Don’t write, “He was very happy” when you can write “He was happy.” You think the word “very” adds something. It doesn’t. Prune your sentences.

Humor writing is a lot like business writing. It needs to be simple. The main difference is in the choice of words. For humor, don’t say “drink” when you can say “swill.”

Your first sentence needs to grab the reader. Go back and read my first sentence to this post. I rewrote it a dozen times. It makes you curious. That’s the key.

Write short sentences. Avoid putting multiple thoughts in one sentence. Readers aren’t as smart as you’d think.

Learn how brains organize ideas. Readers comprehend “the boy hit the ball” quicker than “the ball was hit by the boy.” Both sentences mean the same, but it’s easier to imagine the object (the boy) before the action (the hitting). All brains work that way. (Notice I didn’t say, “That is the way all brains work”?)

That’s it. You just learned 80% of the rules of good writing. You’re welcome.

Minutia

One of the questions I get most often is "What is your day like?" There is no good answer to that question because it's always so different. Today I will log my work day, almost as it happens:

5:00 am, PST

Wake to BlackBerry alarm

Eat a banana

Check e-mail on BlackBerry. Schedule a conference call.

Walk to office, 47 seconds down the street, still wearing shorts I slept in

Take garbage cans out to street for pickup

Get Diet Coke from fridge. Take first swig.

Pet office cat Sarah

Approve blog comments

5:20 AM

Check Internet for headlines, just to see if any planes flew into any buildings last night

Begin this blog (normally takes 90 minutes to complete)

Cat is yelling at me for more attention. This will continue off and on all day

Open Photoshop. Call up blank comic strip form. Give it a date of 8/17, when it will run.

Open the comic already drawn for 8/16 to see if today I will draw a continuation of that thread or start a new one. I decide to start a new one.

Open Word file where I keep ideas sent to me via e-mail. Look for something interesting.

Notice a sticky note on my desk to check a web site for a potential business deal. I check it. I send an e-mail to United Media with my comments.

5:30 AM

Back to looking at the submitted ideas. Time to make a comic.

5:45 AM

I decide on an idea. It involves the conflicting goals of reducing overtime and also doing more work. This will involve Carol the secretary (the only hourly employee in the strip) and the pointy-haired boss. I start to draw them. I'll figure out what they say later.

[I draw directly to the computer using a Wacom 21SX computer screen that allows me to draw on it as if it were paper, using a stylus.]

5:52 AM

First panel drawn. Boss and Carol are in conference room. I need to write the boss's line. He will set the scene.

Too hungry to think. Grab a protein bar and another Diet Coke.

Approve blog comments while eating protein bar (Clif Builder's, 20g protein). I have to approve the first comments quickly so I don't get a thousand comments saying "first comment!"

Back to working on the comic.

Cat is literally screaming at me for attention and sitting on some Japanese tax forms I have on the floor to remind me to mail them. I decide to drug her with catnip.

It's working. Hmm, cat on drugs. Maybe my comic can use that today. The boss might hire a beaver on speed to help Carol get more work done in fewer hours.

Can't say "speed" in the comic. I use Google to find out what's in Sudafed. That stuff gets me cranking. It's pseudoephedrine, I learn. Can I say that in a comic?

6:10 AM

I decide to go with "beaver on decongestants."

6:18 AM

I draw the second panel, including the nervous-looking beaver. I love the beaver. I hate the word "decongestants." Readers won't make the connection to speed quickly enough. Caffeine is too obvious. Red Bull is a product, so I avoid those. Energy drink is too generic sounding.

6:22 AM

I check blog comments to see if people think this idea sucks. I approve some more comments. It helps to take my mind off the comic dialog every few minutes so when I look at it again I see it fresh. Back to the comic...

6:25 AM

I draw a coffee cup in the nervous beaver's paw. I write "coffee swilling beaver." I Google "swilling" to see if a better word comes up. I get "guzzling." Not sure that's an improvement. I'll draw the third panel and get back to it...

6:45 AM

Distracted by incoming e-mail about my restaurant business. I answer it. Back to the comic.

I rewrite the first panel so now it's about the boss noticing he is giving Carol way too much work. So he hires a coffee swilling beaver to show her how to work faster.

6:50 AM

The third panel is drawn. Carol is in her low-walled cube, the beaver behind her. One of them needs to say something. Thinking....

Using my 2-of-6 rule for humor,  I already have three elements. It's recognizable (being overworked and not supported by your boss) and it's bizarre (a coffee swilling beaver). And the beaver is cute. Something naughty or cruel or clever would round it out nicely.

Maybe the beaver says, "You can save a lot of time by not wearing pants." No...

7:00 AM

I decide to go with this for my third panel (I can't show you the whole comic because newspaper clients have a contractual first right)

It's a first draft. Some time in the future I will clean up the art and finish it. I do my rough work in the morning when my brain works best.

7:10 AM

Time to start my second comic.

First I check my blog hit count and stats to see if anyone is reading this entry. 12,000 hits so far today. And the stats tell me that a lot of hits are coming from reddit.com. That means someone submitted it to their list of interesting web sites to check. That drives a lot of traffic.

Back to the comic. Do I do another day with the beaver or go another direction? Thinking....

Approved some more blog comments. Noticed a few people saying today's Dilbert is extra funny. Checked dilbert.com to see which one that was. I'm always surprised at which ones capture people's amusement.

Enough stalling. Beaver or no beaver? Back to the comic...thinking...

Bathroom break

Beaver dialog forms in my head on way back to desk. Not sure where it came from.

7:30 AM

Interrupted by incoming e-mail from United Media confirming conference call for 10:30 AM to talk about the Dilbert movie negotiations.

Back to the comic...

I label the first panel "Coffee Swilling Beaver" to show it's a continuation strip.

I draw Dilbert at his desk. It doesn't matter who the beaver will be talking to, and people like to see Dilbert more often than the other characters.

First line from beaver, "If a tree falls in the forest, and no one hears it..."

7:40 AM

Second panel, beaver says, "I'd still chew the bejeezus out of it because I have no impulse control." The word "bejeezus" is funny, but will give the foreign translators an ulcer. I try not to do that too often.

I approve some blog comments while thinking what angle to draw the beaver and Dilbert in the second frame.

8:15 AM

I finished the third panel. Here it is in rough form.

Some people will complain that it's not "officey" enough and too random with a talking beaver. Sometimes it's good to break from the usual, as long as I don't do it for too many strips in a row.

8:20 AM

Reviewed a license proposal that arrived by fax, for a Dilbert themed Soduko book. I approve it without knowing the details. United Media already vetted it and we do a lot of work with this publisher. If they think someone will buy it, that's fine with me.

Faxed back my approval.

E-mail my restaurant partner to schedule a meeting for later today.

Get another Diet Coke

Take 1000 mg of magnesium supplement. (I read on some unreliable web site that people don't get enough. The day I took my first magnesium supplements it solved 10 years of continuous sore knee problems. Might be a coincidence, but magnesium is suggested to reduce swelling.  Don't take as much as I do. That's way over the recommended dose. Don't get medical advice from cartoonists.)

Answered e-mail from my real estate broker regarding some property I'm trying to sell.

Approved more blog comment. Noticed lots of people asking about the movie. Here's the scoop...

We agreed on a movie deal with Warner Brothers over a year ago. Since then we have been trying to penetrate the bureaucracy at the studio to finalize the contract details. In an ironic Dilbert twist, the lawyers at Warner who are authorized to speak with us are apparently not willing or able to speak with anyone in their own company who can make the kind of decisions needed to finalize the contract. Our current projected timeline for penetrating their bureaucracy is infinity. I don't expect the deal to be completed.

9:15 AM

Answered an e-mail about my book, God's Debris, and some interest in a movie deal for it. Movie deals are always long shots, but worth looking into.

Answered e-mail about designing a new Dilbert logo. We need a catch phrase. I suggested one.

Pet cat

Took Longvinex capsule, a wine extract that will make me nearly immortal if it works. Google it. I know it's unproven. But the expected value calculation makes it attractive if you can afford it. Is it a 1% chance of living for another 50 years and feeling great the whole time? Who knows? Worth a shot.

Took a work break

10:00 AM

Working on writing jokes for my restaurant menu. Each item includes a witticism about the dish. We're adding some items.

Interrupted by more e-mail about God's Debris and movie or mini series options

10:30 AM

Phone call with president of United Media about Dilbert movie contract situation.

Still writing jokes for the menu. Can't think of anything for rib eye steak.

Nailed the rib eye joke. Sent off the menu.

Heading back to the house for a shower. Then lunch.

Then meeting at the restaurant.

Tennis at 2 pm if it gets confirmed. My opponent is eleven. I figure I have one more year before he kicks my ass. (His dad is a pro.)

Signing off until later...

3:30 PM

Home from tennis. Had a snack and another Diet Coke.

Shower

Waiting to go next door for a barbecue

5:15 PM

I'll end here, telling you in advance I'll be having a good time with fun neighbors and friends and getting to bed around 11 PM.

Thanks for reading this far.

The End

Why Cartoonists Can’t Be Archaeologists

In the news, archaeologists with nothing better to do have been digging up graves of prehistoric hunter-gatherers in Europe. They say there’s evidence that human sacrifice was common back then. But I looked at the picture they provided and all I saw was evidence that the skeleton on the left was giving the skeleton in the middle a “happy ending.”

http://news.aol.com/topnews/articles/_a/study-points-to-human-sacrifice-in/20070611165609990001?ncid=NWS00010000000001

Is it my imagination, or is the guy in the middle enjoying having his bone touched? I didn’t realize a skeleton could look so happy. Anyway, the guy on the left, who I call Bruce, is the one I have the most questions about. Was he always gay, or did he just figure there was no harm in experimenting since he was going to be ritually slain in half a minute anyway.

Bruce: Hey, Larry. Can I ask you something?

Larry: Yes, Bruce?

Bruce: Do you mind if I grab your junk right before they kill us?

Larry: Whatever.

The skeleton on the right appears to be a woman who died from some sort of camel toe problem. But that’s another story. I apologize for making you go back and look at that same picture three times. I think you’ll agree it was worth it.

This is another example of why cartoonists are not allowed to practice archaeology. We’re too easily tempted to arrange Upper Paleolithic skeletons in sexual poses and claim we found them that way. Some might call that sort of thing desecration. To them I say, “Too soon?” Because unlike those skeletons, that joke never gets old.

It’s a bit unnerving to know that 27,000 years after I die, some goober can dig me up and start guessing what my life was like. That’s why I want to be buried with a kangaroo, a piano, and a bottle of mustard. I don’t want it to be too easy.

And come to think of it, throw Bruce’s bones in there with me too. He seems like fun.

How I Solved the Energy Problem

As regular readers of this blog know all too well, I like to solve world problems via a process I call “sitting and thinking about stuff.” Today I will describe my solution to the energy problem.

I think everyone is looking in the wrong place for additional energy. We’re scratching around in the ground for stuff we can burn, redesigning cars, putting solar cells on the roof. The real solution is in my left front pocket.

It’s my phone.

Imagine a few years in the future, when almost every phone has GPS, high speed internet, and a few other goodies. Hold that thought.

Now look out your window and see how many cars have exactly one passenger. It’s most of them. If you can get two or three people in a car, the world is a happier place, energy-wise, pollution-wise, and traffic-wise. The problem is that ride sharing is inconvenient. Hold that thought too.

Now imagine a future where a large company, say Google, sets up a service that lets you find a ride to share in less than a minute, from anywhere to anywhere. You walk out your front door, take out your phone, fire up Google Maps, point to your destination on the map, and wait for the service to negotiate a ride for you.

With GPS, the system knows where you are. Drivers who are already on your road, and have pre-registered their final destination, get an alert on their phones saying someone on the route needs a ride. The first person who responds to the phone alert by pressing a few keys, and who passes a filter (described later) gets the assignment. At that point, both the driver and the intended rider can track each other’s location by GPS on their phone’s screens. And they can call to speak with each other immediately without needing each other’s phone numbers. The system would connect their calls without showing caller ID, for privacy reasons, as often as they need. That way they can negotiate the fine details, such as “I’m the guy in the green sweater standing by the oak tree.”

Drivers would get credits for all rides provided, based on distance, which they can redeem by getting free rides themselves. Or they can resell their credits to others in some sort of open Internet market. Both the driver and the rider have a financial incentive. And like the peer pressure of recycling, it could soon become socially unacceptable to do much driving alone.

All users of the system would have to pass some basic screening, such as credit worthiness, driving record, and criminal record. Beyond that, every rider could specify what sorts of people they would accept rides from, and vice versa for the driver. An ex-marine might accept a ride from anyone. Grandma might only accept rides from married females in newer cars. Over time, drivers earn a ranking from their passengers, so you can choose to accept only four-star drivers if you prefer. Before you get in a car, you can match the driver’s photo on your phone to his face, and the license plate too, to make sure everything is legit.

Your phone could include an emergency panic button, in case a serial killer gets through the filter. Your phone’s location would be immediately available to both law enforcement and other registered drivers on your road. Perhaps your phone would require a password indicating you are safely at your destination in the estimated time. Any other password would trigger a silent alarm while appearing to the kidnapper to be the “all okay” password.

Imagine walking out of Home Depot with a cart full of building materials, firing up your phone, and finding someone with a truck who is heading toward your neighborhood. It beats trying to fit lumber in your Prius.

And if you plan to have a few drinks, there’s no longer any incentive to drive. Part of the reason that people drive while drunk is that getting a cab takes forever in some places and costs more than you want it to.

In this vision of the future, most people still have cars. They just use them less. And you probably wouldn’t allow minors to be in the system, except perhaps as part of a parent-approved circle of known friends and neighbors.

You can find plenty of problems with this system if you try. But you can also imagine that the types of problems you foresee could be solved with a bit more cleverness than I described here.

Okay, to recap: My idea will solve the energy crisis, reduce global warming, put a cap on terrorism, reduce pollution, eliminate traffic congestion, and virtually eliminate drunk driving.

But I’m sure you did something useful today too. Good for you.

[Update: Would the people who are saying "it won't work" please talk to the people saying "it's already being done." Work it out and get back to me. I want to know if I am a crackpot or an idea stealer.]

F.U.T.B.

I’ll never forget the day: June 1st, 2007. I was playing tennis with my friend Peter, at ClubSport in Pleasanton. I had just opened a new can of Dunlop balls. We were hitting ground strokes to warm up. I bent down to pick up one of the balls. And there it was. . . a fucked up tennis ball.

I have been playing tennis since I was eleven. I have seen a lot of tennis balls. But I have never seen this.  It’s the one on the right.

My first reaction was “This is a lucky omen.” Sure enough, I won. I have never lost a set using my lucky fucked up tennis ball. I retired it undefeated.

My second thought was “I wonder if this is worth anything.” There’s no point in having something special if you can’t sell it to a stranger. But how do you put a value on something like this? I became curious, and nothing good can come from that.

If this were a stamp, or a dollar bill, I imagine it would be worth a lot, and people would be eager to own it. I’m not so sure there’s a ready market for fucked up tennis balls. Maybe it needs a little extra. For example, I could autograph one of the other balls, and that would add another dollar to the value. I could take the third ball, rub it against my own balls, and include a signed statement to that effect, just to increase its conversational value. I’ll even throw in the container for free. It’s good for storing things, such as tennis balls.

You can almost imagine the conversational value once you have the three balls mounted on some sort of display rack in your living room:

You: Have you seen my special tennis balls?

Friend: What’s so special about tennis balls?

You: Well, for one thing, look at the label on this one on the right.

Friend: Wow. That’s fucked up.

You: The original owner of these balls never lost a set. They are undefeated.

Friend: They must be lucky or something.

You: The original owner was the guy who does that Dilbert comic strip. He signed this other ball, see?

Friend: Well, I’ll be darned.

You: This third ball is the most special of all.

Friend: How so?

You: The Dilbert guy rubbed his own balls on it.

Friend: You magnificent bastard.

You: That’s nothing. I got the container for free. I keep my coins in it.

Friend: I. . . I’m speechless.

You: By the way, your wife had her hand on my leg all through dinner.

As you can see from that hypothetical conversation, you would be able to win almost any conversation involving these tennis balls.

I could put these tennis balls on eBay, but first let’s see what value you, my blog-reading savants, can collectively come up with for them. What is an honest price that you, or someone you have talked to personally about them, would pay?

I assume the answer for most people is “zero.” But maybe there’s a collector out there who will surprise us.

For the Love of Soap

I remember when my bar of soap in the shower was fresh and large and satisfying. I like the way a new bar of soap feels in my hand, all heavy and bursting with potential. It makes you want to shout to the world, “I HAVE PLENTY OF SOAP!” When soap is abundant, I’ll wash parts of my body that aren’t even dirty, just because I can.

Ah, those were the days.

About a week ago, that bar of soap had shrunken to the size of a small dog’s ear. It was still functional, but no longer the joy it had been. I can afford to replace soap before it surrenders its last bubble, but that would be wasteful. So I snugged the dog ear into the palm of my hand and lathered up. The tiny soap got me clean, but I couldn’t enjoy it.

Ah, those were the days.

More recently, I was in the shower, all wetted down, and reached for what I figured would be, by then, a Chiclet-sized bar of soap, only to find no soap at all. I wiped the fog off the glass shower wall and squinted to the bathtub area. There it was. My wife had moved it. Damn her love of baths! Now I had a tough decision.

1. Abort shower, dry off, fetch Chiclet, fetch dry towel, restart the process.
2. Walk wet across the bathroom wet, fetch Chiclet. Slip on the wet floor and die.
3. Use shampoo on my entire body and tell myself it’s “the same as soap”

I shampooed my body. It’s the same as soap, right?

Ah, those were the days.

I soon learned that my wife had moved the Chiclet because we had no other bars of soap in the house. I probably should have made myself a note right then and there to add it to the shopping list. Soon, the soap was the size of a Tic Tac. Then a grain of rice. Then. . . I dropped it.

I don’t know if you have ever tried to pick up a tiny piece of soap after it hits the shower floor. It’s difficult, even if you aren’t in prison. It suctions itself to the tile floor and starts to melt almost immediately. I tried to pry up some of its little soap body, but I was too late. My soap had failed me, or perhaps I had failed it. In the end, I was wet, and dirty, and still a soap waster.

If you have not tried to wash your entire body with the soap you have under one fingernail, it’s harder than you think. Once again, I reached for the shampoo. That was empty too. I considered the other sources of soap in the house. There was the dishwasher soap, but that seemed like it might hurt for some reason that wasn’t entirely clear to me.

We had liquid hand soap at all the sinks, but I couldn’t see myself toweling off and bringing a nice soap dispenser in the shower. And given my soap-dropping propensities, the dispenser would either break my foot or burst into sharp pieces and unleash a Walt Disneyesque tsunami of bubbles that would fill the shower and eventually the entire house.

I ended up taking a water-only shower, but only because I didn’t think of the toothpaste until I wrote this.