Halle the cat watches me color a comic. OK, the comic was already done, but I thought it was so funny the way she just patiently watches me work that I held my iPhone in one hand while drawing with the other. That’s the kind of expert production values you get here at Cheesebo.


Comic ComicI think I made this for my old website, but never used it. I found it recently and kind of like it. I’m not sure why it has a monster vibe.

 


Above is my lovely wife Rachel holding a lovely, squeezable bottle of Marmite. How did this mysterious object make its way across the Atlantic Ocean and deposit its contents into the depths of my intestines? The answer is simple. Cartoonists are the most sharing and kind people on the planet when it comes to spreading yeast products.

D. M. Rolfe, creator of the wonderful webcomic The Mighty Monocle wrote about spreading Marmite on his toast. Darren (or ROLFE, as he signs his name) lives in the UK, which my American education of world geography tells me stands for “unknown”. After a little research on Darren I found out that he really lives in Britain. Britain is in the continent of Europe, even though it looks like an island, and Europe is a continent that pretends it’s in no way a conjoined twin with Asia.

I actually pride myself on my English heritage. The Beals’ go way back to the early colonization of America and I’ve always maintained that I should be allowed to visit England for free on the basis that we never used our return ticket.

Marmite instantly fascinated me. If I ever make it to England, I need to be able to talk the talk and walk the walk. Surely, eating something like Marmite correctly and without hesitation would make me a part of the club. I could be leaving the airport, casually tossing a bottle of Marmite into the air, and everyone would assume I was a native.

That was my thinking when Darren offered to send me a bottle. In fact, I’m going to throw my reputation as somebody you’ve never heard of into the wind and say that anticipating Marmite was the highlight of my early Spring. Yes, I’m either extremely eccentric or extremely boring (answer: both) but I had Marmite Fever there for awhile.

Then the Marmite arrived. From England. The Homeland Of My Ancestors. I could tell it was from a different land instantly, because the date was written all funny the way they do Over There. They write the month first, then the day, then the year…or is it the year, day, month? Maybe it’s the time, year of their birth, then the day of the last full moon. Whatever, the date was on there and I didn’t recognize it.

I was in the office working when the Marmite arrived. I found out later that my wife (above) took a sneaky taste of it before I had a chance. Did I mention that their slogan is “Love It Or Hate It”? You see, Rachel (again, above) is smiling in that picture because she’s only holding the bottle and not actually consuming its contents.

Here’s my first taste, as I described it to Darren: Rachel was asleep by the time I got home, so I had to go it alone!  I was a bit …. stunned. I’m a little sensitive to salt and this reminded me of soy sauce with an additional pound of salt. My salivary glands constricted so suddenly and tightly that I might have oral bruises. My immediate thought was “My god, no wonder the English could hold their own against Hitler for so long! This is what they eat for BREAKFAST”

I’m pretty good at acquiring new tastes and I don’t give up easily. What I wound up putting it on (ever so lightly) was potatoes. I really liked that, even though there was some aftertaste. Of course, I have to wait twelve months since I used up my yearly sodium intake with that one potato, but I’m going to try  it again.

Darren told me that there are Marmite chips in England. If I become hooked on this stuff, I’m going to have a real problem tracking it down over here. I may have to fly to England, which would make for an interesting airport customs exchange:

“What’s the purpose of your visit?”

“Marmite.”

“I see.” (waves over gun-wielding officer)

I have to conclude that “Love It Or Hate It!” has to be one of the most honest slogans I’ve ever heard. It’s pretty smart of the people at Marmite, really. If your product causes a strong reaction, use it.

The real treat for us was the note that Darren attached to the Marmite. I’m a huge fan of his work, so an original sketch by him is worth a thousand bottles of Marmite (maybe I should rephrase that, depending on taste). If you feel adventurous, spread some Marmite on toast and read Mighty Monocle. Or just read Mighty Monocle and skip the Marmite. You’ll be happy either way.

What’s uniquely American that I could send Darren? I’m still struggling with that.


 

I inherited good teeth from my father (better than money, really), but I haven’t been to the dentist for an embarrassingly long time. In fact, I think my dentist retired a long time ago.

Anyway, I need to go. They’re in good shape, but the hull of the Titanic has probably been more thoroughly examined in recent years than my teeth. Sketching out an expected dental visit prepares me for the experience.


 

I hate talking on the phone, but I have to if I want to doodle bunnies.

My drawings generally reflect the tone of my conversation, too. If I’m having a nice conversation, I may draw a bunny balancing on a basketball while eating cookies. If I’m having a more serious conversation, the bunny may be holding the basketball with a scowl on his face that says, “This is MY court, so BACK OFF!”

I’m not sure how these drawings would ever be interpreted if something mysterious happened to me. Say I’m the subject of one of the many, vaguely similar forensic shows that populate cable TV like an edible fungus:

“Stephen Beals is missing and hasn’t been seen since leaving the Dairy Queen restroom with what security camera footage clearly shows is part of a Peanut Buster Parfait  stuck to his forehead.” That’s typical. There’s nothing unusual to worry my immediate family members.

But if people actually conclude that I’m missing, police will sift through my papers for clues as to what I was up to before my disappearance. They’re going to assume I was a) participating in some sort of black market bunny-fighting ring or b) very unbalanced and drawing the same small dog with a spiked collar over and over in some obsessive ritual or even c) not worth the money the police department would have to spend in finding me.

None of that will probably happen. There won’t be any mystery behind my doodles other than why I haven’t thrown many of them away.