Back in my first year of college, I ran across my first group of academic advisors.  (Okay, technically I met them sooner than that, but college was the first time I was old enough to tell them to shove off).  Dressed like some knock-off power executives they’d probably seen on TV, the advisors (or more accurately, trained idiots) began happily explaining all the classes and pointless bits of knowledge I would need to succeed in life.

Aside from the holy trinity of Math, Science, and English, a list was rattled off by my assigned group, with recommendations ranging from advanced government to underwater photography (The fact that the nearest body of water was at least a good 70 miles away spoke wonders about just how much their suggestions were worth). Near the top of the list, said with particular emphasis, was Life 101.   

Now, last I checked I was alive.  If not, then there are a lot of zombie movie and game addicts that would happily take me out in the style of their undead slayer of choice.  If being alive isn’t the problem, perhaps there’s a serious flaw in how I live.  Good thing a class exists to steer me back on the right track!  

Like a lot of high school students, I took Home Ec. (Apparently there’s a new, overly-complex pc title for it these days; Family and Consumer Sciences). Aside from being an easy A, it was the only class you could eat in without trouble. (Look, the class made pizza today!  Well, that can’t go to waste… enjoy, students!)  I learned a lot of useless garbage about the proper care of children, which was accurately demonstrated by, of all things, carrying around an egg for a week.  We also had the standard sewing, cooking, and so on.

Apparently one class wasn’t enough on how to live correctly.  Even college has several life classes now, as if sitting in a room, or doing silly activities, will suddenly offer enlightenment on all the secrets to existing on this Earth.  Or on the flip-side, how to deal with the stress of life disasters conveniently scripted for the class.  (As if a real divorce is anything like a classroom mock-up.)

That’s all well and good, but in reality it means about as much as a 5-star restaurant hiring a chef whose only cooking skills revolve around using a microwave.  Will a classroom textbook cover all those random things life is prone to throwing your way?  I don’t remember a book helping my dad fight off the monster under the bed, or grant my grandma the power to tell the best bedtime stories. Where was the lesson entitled Boxes and Sticks: 100 Ways to Make Children’s Toys?

Imagine if there was a life class (probably one with a high number, as something that practical would probably end up at the bottom of an advisor list) that actually pointed out useful things?  It could teach people about the random power of imagination, the ironic timing that all children seem born with, and how to actually get a car-full of kids to stop asking ‘Are we there yet?’!  Okay, that last one has been mostly killed by mp3 players and those DVD players built into cars….but you get my point.


Take a step back, if you would, to years dominated by imagination still untouched, creativity that hasn’t been worn down by life.  Emory is just such a kid; willing to brave the creatures lurking on the cellar stairs, fierce judge of animal cracker combat.

But Planet Saturday (a title that in itself conjures fond memories of Saturday morning cartoons, or long summers of childhood adventure) is more than a tale of Emory.  Rather, it follows the 40-ish adult that Emory became, who goes by the name ‘M’. (A point if you get the cute joke.)  Now a dad, M still has a strong memory of his own childhood, along with a good sense of imagination. - both of which he uses when raising his daughter, Dot.

The timeline of the comic jumps around, feeling more like sudden glimpses into the world of a parent and child, rather than a plot-driven series on life.  That is what makes Planet Saturday shine in my opinion.  A pun isn’t forced into every strip for the sake of pacing, and new elements aren’t needed to spice up a lagging story arc.  Instead, a snippet is revealed, free to stand on its own charm and humor. 

The art has an almost storybook feel, the type often found in children’s books, where a cute lesson is taught in a comical fashion.  Bright, (not in the color sense, but you get my drift) clear panels are common, with lots of space for background and characters.  Facial expressions are key, the dialogue often a secondary support for visual cues.  A lot of things aren’t said outright…but with so many comics happy to tell me what I should be thinking, such freedom is a refreshing change.  In many ways, it almost feels like a cross between Dr. Seuss and Calvin and Hobbs, where imagination meets family-friendly humor, while still being smart. 

Of course, that is part of the goal behind Planet Saturday.  It is intended to be family-friendly, a surprising contrast to most web comics.  It recaptures that spark of newspaper comics, offering something a family can read together, each age group relating to a difference slice of the layered humor.

Heartwarming charm, stories that most anyone can relate to - if only in part - all wrapped up in an art style that has regrettably been getting harder to find.  Like those childhood summers, it both lingers in a way only happy moments can, yet seems to end all too quickly.  Barely a year old, archives are quickly read through, but with a recent increase in update time, this is one treat that still has (hopefully) a long season ahead of itself.

If you ignore ninety percent of everything I ever suggest, make this part of that ten percent you listen to.  Yes, it’s worth every moment, trust me.

Lisa Anderson