Hey, Garfield! It's your 35th birthday! Yesterday, I borrowed a graphing calculator and some legal pads from the library, and figured out that if your age was converted into dog-years, then reverted into human years, you'd only be five, which might not sound like much, but consider how long it is when re-reconverted into your actual age, which, I'm told, is 35! I know, right? That's older than I am, and I'm a person!
I spent the first decade or so of my long, storied path towards literacy absorbing as many Garfield collections as I could find. When one of your only goals in life is "locate more Garfield collections," and you're too young to have a job or get permission to venture too far from the front yard, it's shockingly easy to end up with an arm's-length rainbow of colorful book spines balanced on the shelf over your bed. As a bonus, the impressive neuroplasticity boasted by young brains was countered by the sheer number of strips available for consumption, so by the time I finished the most recent collection, I could start all over again with the first book, since my recollection had grown hazy and crowded in the intervening months. Thankfully, I no longer have to play such games with my own mind, as it's frequently so distracted that I forget to finish typing senten
Garfield is pretty great, and looking over a few decades' worth of strips, I realized that a lot of the tropes most readily associated with Garfield (lasagna, Mondays, napping, etc) don't come up as often in the strip as I assumed they did. They're in there, for sure, but I think the Garfield & Friends animated cartoon is more to blame for those things so sullying his legacy. Et tu, U.S. Acres?
Ah, heck-- the big guy's big day only rolls around once a year, so let's go a little nuts with some choice panels snipped out of Garfield strips new and old:
And finally, look what happened in the 80s:
Garfield's hustling for your amusement every dang day of the week, so you don't have to take my word for it-- click here!