Earthly Pleasures

“Have I mentioned before that The Cartoonist Known as Addison and I have never actually met in person? I think our reluctance stems from the fact that, after all these years of working virtually hand-in-glove at Hubris, we’re now afraid to meet: so many expectations; so little hope of capturing in the analog the passionate love affair we have . . . in the aether (as it were). Imagine Beauvoir in rural South Carolina, and Sartre in suburban Atlanta (or Calvin in Pendleton, and Hobbes in Buckhead).”—Elizabeth Boleman-Herring

Addison

By Mark Addison Kershaw

ATLANTA Georgia—(Hubris)—February 2024—Have I mentioned before that The Cartoonist Known as Addison and I have never actually met in person? I think our reluctance stems from the fact that, after all these years of working virtually hand-in-glove at Hubris, we’re now afraid to meet: so many expectations; so little hope of capturing in the analog the passionate love affair we have in the aether (as it were). Imagine Beauvoir in rural South Carolina, and Sartre in suburban Atlanta (or Calvin in Pendleton, and Hobbes in Buckhead). One of these days, we must rectify this situation, but, for the time being, here Addison is, penning whimsies for you, and here I am, blathering on about what an honor it is to publish them, never having met the man. For the time being, there’s a big, captioned, single-panel-cartoon-sized hole in my heart: one day, Mark, you need to come ink it in!