So I used to do this recurring thing on Red Eye and also on this blog where I’d mention cartoons I’d draw if I drew cartoons for the New Yorker. They were always kind of purposefully lame with perhaps a wee ribbon of clever in them although really, there was no guarantee of clever. If there was a clever surprise in there you would feel fortunate but realize it was nothing to depend on. Sort of like when the results of any sort of blood test come back and you find out that you’re not dying, if you happen to be a hypochondriac which I’m not but I’ve known a lot of them, some of whom are still alive.

Anyway, I woke up this morning with the following in my head. It’s only semi-amusing if you realize that this was dream logic—it makes little sense in waking life.

Here is the cartoon.

I’m on a corner. A cat is, well, I just realized the cat is positioned “catty corner” (ugh, sometimes my dream brain is so cliche) and the cat has its paw extended as if giving me the right of way. The caption is, “And they say feline chivalry is dead.”

Some of you may be familiar with my ongoing “If I drew cartoons for The New Yorker” blog post series. Others of you are about to become intimately acquainted. Hope you’re sitting down because hilarity is about to ensue. Or if not hilarity, a slight titter. A wee chuckle. A pained grimace.

If I drew cartoons for The New Yorker I’d draw one of a woman staring at a bunch of magazines on her coffee table with titles like “Go to Hell!” and “Don’t Talk To Me!” and “Don’t Even Start With Me!” and “I Hate You!” and she’d have this horrified look on her face and there would be a guy coming through the door to save the day and the caption would be, “Have no fear ma’am, I’m an anti-social media expert!”

If I drew cartoons for the New Yorker I’d draw one of someone saying that lately they’re having trouble getting out of bed in the morning but then the image would be someone in bed and there would be some actual physical impediment preventing them from getting out of bed in the morning. Maybe there would be a tiger sitting on them? I can’t figure out what it would be exactly but it would be very clever and also whimsical.

I think I won’t be sharing this one on Red Eye. It’s TOO GOOD. And by that I mean, not good enough.

Note: Click here for all the “If I drew cartoons” posts should you be wanting more background on all this.

If you’ve known me for any considerable period of time then you can attest to the way your life has been quite improved from the constant and steady influx of me, me, me. Wait, that wasn’t what I was intending to say.

Also, if you know me then you’re familiar with my recurring “If I Drew Cartoons for The New Yorker” which I do on Red Eye and also this blog.

While admiring the me of years ago on my old Myspace blog I found what I think was the first ever cartoon. I hired a team of archaeologists to dig it out of the tar. It’s a pretty big find for our team and I beg of you, please mind the railing.

Dec 20, 2006

SUBJECT: If I were a cartoonist

I would draw a picture of a CIA operative, or some kind of person who very clearly has a mysterious job, a kind of job where the mystery is necessary, and he would be drinking and confiding in a friend saying “I just feel like she has no idea what I do all day.” No idea might be ital’d.

It would be very funny, but not the kind of funny that causes people to laugh out loud, but instead the kind that causes them to smile and maybe chuckle very quietly to themselves, like when you see a snail falling in love with a tape dispenser.

I don’t mean to suggest my imaginary cartoon is as funny as the above, or that it’s New Yorker worthy, but… but… um…. huh? Exactly.

Someone reached my blog by searching “caterpillars coughing cartoon pics.”

It’s funny because I’ve written about all those things, just not together.

Also I have puffy eyes from crying. Puffy sad crying pillow eyes. It’s very sexy, as you can well imagine. Also sexy: death, grief and mourning. Right?

I’m sorry, I’m making you uncomfortable. Shall we talk about puppies and ducklings?

I think this is in order:

There, I feel a little better.

Watching Red Eye tonight and wondering to yourself, Who is that vixen and what’s she all about? Just say yes, it’s easier that way. Well welcome to my blog, make yourself at home and whatever you do, don’t touch that. Dammit looks what you’ve done!

Anyway, perhaps you are wondering about the New Yorker cartoons? For a history, click here.

And if you want to follow me on Twitter, please do. It’s important to me that I have more followers than like anyone I know, especially Andy.

When it comes to social interactions I prefer to have them with a mic in my hand or a camera in my face. Tonight I mixed with people unknown to me without all that though. Just me, my bongos and a bottle of Wild Turkey. Minus the bongos and Wild Turkey.

I went to a party with Red Eye pal John Roy where I met a guy (funny comedian Pete Holmes) who draws actual cartoons for the New Yorker. I got all excited and tried to explain that I draw fake cartoons for the New Yorker but I don’t draw them, I just think them up, and I never send them in because it’s not about that. I think he was suitably impressed. Then I mentioned that some of my fans have actually drawn them but what I really meant to say was, “Did I mention I have fans?”

And then I had a horribly awkward exchange with a woman by the crudite, but it’s late and I’m too tired to write it out. Perhaps tomorrow, my dears. It involves slippery bell peppers and tongs.

I just do. I am too delightful and I know too many words to not have my delightfullness represented in an author photo and my words tucked between dust covers. I don’t even need my words to be alphabetical. Or real!

But really, I am tired of going to Barnes & Noble and seeing all these books by all these people and not seeing any by me.

At the same time, I hate paper in general and yesterday I got this crazy papercut when I opened up an envelope containing fabric swatches and then I had to go hunting around my apartment for bandaids and it took forever to find one. That’s what paper will do to you. It will cut you. In fact, if I drew cartoons for the New Yorker I would show an envelope saying to a woman who is about to open it, “I’ll cut you, bitch.” The envelope would be somehow made to look like it’s in prison by the way. It would be a tough menacing envelope.

But anyway, what should I write about? I need something fun and easy that doesn’t involve that much time or energy or hard work. You know, like a book I could write in the shower.

I’m joking. Kind of!

But really. Ideas? I mean, I could collect all my funny essays and some blog posts, that would be a damn good book, but it seems like a new idea would be better. I should probably clear that path to my door so more publishers can beat a path to it. Maybe I should also get a doormat that says “Welcome, publishers!”

I’d draw one of a guy in the middle of a labyrinth or maze and the caption would be “I’m getting a little tired of staring at these same 37 walls.”

If I drew cartoons for the New Yorker I’d do one of a guy on a horse near a cactus and maybe some antlers or sagebrush or a skull and he’d be wearing a sombrero and a poncho and he’d have a look of total confusion on his face, like he didn’t know how he got there or who he was. The caption would be “Mr. Smith has a señor moment.”