The Idler, uesday, January 5, 2010

The incredible take-over

MICKEY Mouse and Spider-Man are to team up. Walt Disney, home of Mickey, Minnie, Donald Duck, Daisy Duck, Huey, Dewey, Louis, Goofy and the rest, has taken over Marvel Entertainment, home of the X-Men, Iron Man, The Incredible Hulk, Captain America, the Fantastic Four and Thor, as well as Spider-Man and about 5 000 other characters. The deal went through for $4.3 million.

But are these characters compatible? Can a character who derives his superhuman strength and climbing ability from being bitten as a boy by a radio-active spider – and spends his entire life fighting villains – really have anything in common with a collection of mice, ducks, dogs and other animals who lead ordinary middle class American suburban lives?

Will Daisy Duck be expected to join Spider-Man in his scaling of the Empire State Building in pursuit of The Chameleon, The Vulture, Doctor Octopus, the Green Goblin and the Sinister Six?

The AGMs could be chaotic.

Donald Duck: "Mr Chairman, quack quack, I believe we lack a quorum quack."

Mickey Mouse: "Mr Secretary, do we lack a quorum?"

Goofy: "We do indeed, Mr Chairman. Missing are …"

Spider-Man (appearing at the 44^th-floor window): "On a point of order! That Disney dog of yours (he means Pluto) won't let my colleagues, Captain America, The Incredible Hulk, the X-Men and the Iron Man, into the elevator …"

Has it been properly thought through?

But at least the Beano and the Dandy remain separate. No attempt to mingle Desperate Dan, Lord Snooty, Keyhole Kate and Korky the Kat with the Bash Street Kids, Denis the Menace and Our Ernie, Mrs Enthwhistle's Little Lad.

Daft, I call it!

Ages of Man

 

MORE on the Ages of Man. Reader Martin Done zeroes in on the Ages of a Business Career, of which there are at least four.

 

·         The Age of Innocence when, as a junior manager, you arrive at work in your Golf, five minutes late, carrying an empty briefcase. You don't need an appointment diary; your lunch of sausage, egg and chips is taken each day at the local hostelry and washed down with draught beer. The biggest decision of the week is what will win at Greyville on Saturday. It's an Age when every decision the boss makes is diametrically opposed to the interests of the company and yourself. The only fringe benefit is from the well-endowed blonde in the typing pool. You leave promptly at 4.30, relaxed and refreshed, knowing you have a heavy evening ahead.

 

·         The Age of Discretion when, as a middle manager, you arrive at work in your Jetta, five minutes before the boss, with a large genuine-leather briefcase full of unread files and your lunch in a yellow plastic box. The biggest decision of the week is whether to oppose the boss's new ruling on maternity leave. You go out to lunch three times a week because your wife is on diet. You discover that fringe benefits are for other people and to forget your Time Management A4 diary is worse than forgetting your anniversary. After work, you slip off quietly home to your wife in order to avoid a row.

 

·         The Age of Recognition, when they eventually make you a director because you know too much. You arrive at work in a turbo-charged Audi, on time, or not at all, with your elephant-hide briefcase containing only a slim-line diary and a newspaper. You drink wine at lunch so you can stay awake during the afternoon. You discover that fringe benefits are things other people have been getting for years. You are forced to make all the decisions yourself because your staff are incompetent. You arrive home late from work, complaining of the chairman's late hours and smelling of malt whisky.

 

·         The Age of Retirement when you are no longer allowed to play the game but can enjoy the sight of others struggling to achieve the impossible. You can call into the office at inconvenient times and regale anyone foolish enough to listen, to an endless stream of apocryphal stories of your youth. You pop into the local for lunch and harbour improper and impractical thoughts about the elderly and unattractive barmaid. Sex, alas, becomes no more than a Latin numeral. Your briefcase reposes at the bottom of the wardrobe, a receptacle for old company ties.

 

Tailpiece

AN ANCIENT  Greek walks into a tailor's shop and holds up a torn tunic.

Tailor: "Euripades?"

Customer: "Eumenades?"

Last word

Not only is the universe stranger than we imagine, it is stranger than we can imagine.

Sir Arthur Eddington

GRAHAM LINSCOTT