Dilbert

February 8, 2005

DilbertAs I’ve got­ten older (and wiser, nat­u­rally) I’ve noticed my tastes have matured like a fine wine. For exam­ple, I used to have a strong dis­taste for onions, but now, after becom­ing the res­i­dent cook in my fam­ily I’ve real­ized that onions add a cer­tain dis­tinc­tion and fla­vor to all kinds of dishes. Same goes for spices, which if used effi­ciently can turn a rather flat, muted taste into some­thing extra­or­di­nary and of course this varies depend­ing on your own per­sonal tastes.

Like other things I’ve come to enjoy I’ve also grown quite fond of Dil­bert. Dil­bert, like Far­side is an acquired taste that varies depend­ing on who you are talk­ing to. I’ve known peo­ple that when I’ve shared with them a Far­side comic that I’ve found funny, they take a glance at it and shrug, won­der­ing why I’m on the floor in stitches. Most of the time they find it nec­es­sary to ana­lyze the comic and com­pare it to real life; “Okay, so the dog writes ‘Cat Fud’ on the washer to lure the feline into his dev­il­ish trap? Yeah, I can’t believe that. First of all, a dog can­not write.”

Dil­bert, on the other hand, makes sense only if you’ve been sub­jected to the fan­tasies of the cor­po­rate realm. Which is why when I was younger it didn’t make sense to me and I rated it right up there with Ishtar or Her­cules in New York which wasn’t bad if you were an Arnold fan.

Once you’ve worked in a cubi­cle and shared office space then you begin to under­stand Dilbert’s agenda. Scott Adams’ cre­ation is one of white col­lar blues, office pol­i­tics and quirky cowork­ers and some­how he man­ages to make it funny and poignant, but that’s usu­ally the case when you’ve pulled from real-life sit­u­a­tions. You can’t help but stiffle laugh­ter when what’s hap­pen­ing to Dil­bert has hap­pened to you numer­ous amounts of times in your work­ing life and that’s why I make it a rit­ual to check my Dil­bert feed every morn­ing and breath a sigh of relief that a comic strip char­ac­ter shares my woes and aspirations. 

4 comments

I’m try­ing to imag­ine what it’d be like, as a cook, to not like onions .…..

Nope, can’t do it. Onions are a cook’s best friend. Fla­vor, tex­ture, sweet­ness, crunch, carameliza­tion. There aren’t many dishes that don’t call for onions, or some­thing from the lily family.

Now head to Out­back Steak­house and have a Bloomin’ Onion. ;)

by Matt Burris on February 8, 2005 at 11:26 am. Reply #

Matt, is the Bloomin’ Onion any­thing like Chili’s Awe­some Blossom?

by kartooner on February 8, 2005 at 11:40 am. Reply #

In high school, I used to think Dil­bert was a waste of space as I mourned the loss of Calvin and Hobbes.

Ten years later, I feel despair and some sort of cathar­tic jus­ti­fi­ca­tion when Dil­bert too closely resem­bles my life. AND I still miss Calvin and Hobbes.

by Max on February 8, 2005 at 11:43 am. Reply #

For me, Dil­bert is the very image of every­thing I loathe about the cor­po­rate world. Don’t get me wrong, I think Scott Adams is a genius who did the right thing at the right time, and a mas­ter at mak­ing our­selves laugh at our own daily miseries.

But when you real­ize how real all of that is — white-collar back­stab­bing, cubi­cle cul­ture, sick­en­ing syco­phantery and all other “gems” of the cor­po­rate world, it makes the fact of laugh­ing at your­self through Dil­bert all the more… how could I say it, dimensional?

by beto on February 8, 2005 at 4:30 pm. Reply #

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