Woodstock was only thirteen years in the past when I drew these coming strips, after all. That’s only a couple of weeks in LSD years!

Soon I’d be drawing Ollie and Sterno instead of Cliff and Trev gnawing on those old Sixties bones. Listen, folks, the heady utopianism of that era had a big impact on me, and I had a lot of stuff to work through even after a decade’s passage, what with Reaganism in the ascendancy and cynicism fast rotting the soul of our republic.

In those days the surreal drawings of Walter Gurbo regularly appeared on the paper’s back cover, which lured me into fantasizing that some decision-makers in the Voice’s editorial hierarchy might tune into the sneaky way that Trev toyed with reader expectations.

George graciously sent my feature up the chain of command, but it failed to spark any interest. It was a pretty oddball experiment, I have to admit—partly because on the surface it looked so normal. (The ol’ Barefootz syndrome strikes again!)

Ah, the identity crises of yore!

A particularly excruciating gaffe from that endlessly excruciating blind date eventually inspired the cartoon below, drawn twenty years later for a mini-comic anthology called "Horrible Misunderstandings."