Hey now.
Well, I’m back in NYC. Not going to bore everything with all my personal business, though I will state that, as far as trips back home goes, which are never that much fun to begin with on my end, this past one was easily the most emotionally draining. The old saying “You can’t go home again” was never been so perfectly illustrated like it has this past week.
I grew up in the beautiful Pacific Northwest, in the city of Lakewood, which is a suburb of Tacoma, just south of Seattle, in Washington State. My childhood was… a unique one. And I’m not just talking about all the stuff that goes down when you live less than a mile away from a mental institution, one where they let the crazies go out and mingle with the rest of the populous. There were loads of other wacky things as well, and all I can say is how I do believe David Lynch didn’t chose a state at random when deciding upon the location of Twin Peals. Anyhow, I’ve shared plenty of the more light-hearted anecdotes to assorted friends and colleagues, some of which have become fodder for comics. Though if you ask those closest to me, the ones that have heard the darker, not so funny stuff, most might be inclined to say that my childhood was in fact fairly rough, even flat-out horrible. F’d up is the term I hear the most, and to be honest, when folks state amazement that I’m exceptionally well adjusted, given all the insane things I had to endure while growing up, I consider that a real compliment. But at the end of the day, I honestly believe that I didn’t have it all that bad. Which is why I have absolutely zero tolerance for those that bitch and moan about their supposed bad childhoods, primarily those that are hung up on it to this very day, and most especially when past events are used to justify horrible personality traits in the present.
On a semi-related note, it also happens to be why I’m not such a fan of the world of indie comics these days; either it?s about telling the whole world why they can’t get laid or find love, because when it comes to the opposite sex they are either total creeps or total a**holes (and how detailing such things in the form of graphic novel isn’t so much a means to confess and repent, but simply validate said asinine behavior), or being hopelessly hung-up on one?s supposedly crappy high school experiences (usually when it’s many years after the fact, which is often the case). I’m sorry, but I don’t want to hear how bleak and depressing your ultra bland and conservative school in the suburbs was, because I’m pretty sure some kid in some third-world, war-torn nation who can’t even get an education in the first place, let alone have parents, and might also be missing a limb, wouldn’t mind being stuffed into a locker and called stupid names as an alternative. I know that’s somewhat of a silly exaggeration, but my point is, no matter how bad you may think you may have gotten it, someone else out there had it much worse. My attitude is, unless you were sexually abused, you’re childhood was probably just fine. Note: I fully realize that not all of indie comics are about people in arrested development spinning tales of narcissistic woe. And even those who chose to tap into their past can be exceptionally entertaining, with none of the trappings I’ve just described. Take Miss Lasko-Gross for example; she had a genuinely insane upbringing, but manages to look back without a hint of self-pity in either of her tomes. It also helps I suppose that she’s an insanely talented writer and artist. Why I am I even bringing comic books up in the first place? I guess because MoCCA is just a few weeks away. Yeesh. Hopefully Bear Bear #2 will be on-hand. But moving on…
On my way back home, I ran into another pal, Marianne Ways, at Sea-Tac Airport. She had just spent a month in Seattle, scoping out the comedy scene, which is her primary background, and trying to figure out if the Emerald City would make a suitable new home. Back to my formative daze; despite those very rocky years, which was a primary reason why I chose New York City when selecting a location to attend college, to get as far away as possible while I took a breather, the plan was always to move back to Washington and settle in Seattle proper. Each year I would go back home to spend time with the family for the holidays, but I mostly looked forward to the few days I’d be able to spend up north with old high school chums that had migrated there. Yet as each year passed, the visits became less exciting and increasingly pointless. It eventually became clear that Seattle, and Washington as a whole, was no place for me. Don’t get me wrong; it’s a really nice environment, especially Seattle, which is exceptionally pretty and extremely clean, especially for such a big city. The people are also quite friendly for the most part; despite the city’s vast size, it still feels like a small town… for better or worse.
Though when I asked Marianne if she could ever consider Seattle a new place to live, the answer was an unsurprising “no”, especially given what she’s interested in. Humor and Washingtonians do not mix, I’m afraid. One of many major issues with its people is how everyone is so stiflingly politically correct, as well as exceptionally passive aggressive. Here’s a more recent tale from my hometown of Lakewood: according to my father, there was a local Chevron station owner whose prices was, for whatever reason, a couple cents higher than all the other stations in the area. And there were quite a few, including other Chevrons. People were pretty pissed about this, so what did they do? Instead of just not doing business with the man, and letting him learn his lesson, or even telling him directly how they felt, they all wrote angry letters to Chevron HQ, who then revoked his license, or something to that effect. Note: my father also recently told me that my old high school was shut down for two weeks due to swine flu hysteria, which turned out to be only one whole day, plus he has a tendency to exaggerate quite a bit. Still, I do believe this particular example, and the point is this: as much as New Yorkers drive me nuts, at least you know exactly where they are coming from, there is no bullsh*tting around here. Also, as much as New York City as a whole drives me nuts, there’s just so much culture here, diversity, things to do, etc. No other place on earth quite seriously has it all. It is quite literally impossible to be bored here, and if it ever happens, all I can say is that you?re doing it wrong. Oh, also, you don’t need a car here, which honestly can’t be said for practically every one major U.S. city, and both Marianne and I do not want to bother with automobiles. I hate the subway with a burning passion, but at least the stupid thing exists, and generally works. So yeah, I’m here to stay, because I’m just flat-out spoiled by the Big Apple.
Yet, despite how traumatic this past excursion was, I will continue to go back home, since it offers a nice little break from the norm. Since once again, Washington is just a silly and strange place. Here are a few recent examples…
- My first day back, while driving around my old neighborhood, I passed the house of an old high school pal of mine. Though I certainly didn’t recognize the dude who was on the front lawn, taking a huge dump. Might have been said friend’s sibling or something. He was too old to be a child. Not related to the subject at hand, but I do love how EVERYONE I used to go to school with now has like at least three kids. Kinda scary.
- There’s honestly nothing much ever going on. Case in point: one of the biggest stories on the news while I was there was of some big food fight that took place at a local high school. No one was seriously injured or anything like that. In fact, via the camera phone footage, it looked to be hella fun. But in the end, 14 kids were expelled, and the future of the prom is as of yet “undecided.”
- Want to know the biggest issue facing teens in Washington State? Believe it or not, gambling. I guess that somewhat makes sense with all the casinos in the state? Though given how Nintendo and Microsoft are located there as well, you’d think it would be video game addiction, or something else a bit more topical. At any rate, the PSAs were a nice break from all the retarded anti-smoking ones that litters the airwaves around here, featuring this woman from the Bronx with missing fingers, from supposedly too many cigarettes, that even the most ardent anti-smoking people I know think are total b.s.
- Local media as a whole is a pretty interesting thing. Never-mind that everyone spends way too much time obsessing over the weather, especially when everyone knows that it rains a lot. Apparently everyone except those who lives in Washington, naturally. But take the traffic reporter on the local big AM news radio station for example, who explains how every traffic slow-down is thanks to people just transfixed by nonsense on the side of the road, and then goes far as to scold individuals like they’re misbehaving students in the second grade, by calling out specific offenders via their cars.
- Then there’s advertising; you have this one homegrown chicken joint that calls themselves Winger’s that uses classic 80s rock to push their food and name. So what band’s catalogue do they utilize? Winger obviously, right? Wrong. Journey is the correct answer. And something that most local businesses in NYC are well aware of is how names that are easily confused with a sexual euphemism are usually a pretty retarded idea. Meanwhile in Washington… the new hot family restaurant is a joint called BJ’s.
- A new thrift store opened near me, and they sell just expired bread tossed out by the local super market. And here we have the only picture from my entire trip:
- And finally there’s my father, who is somewhat of an enigma to all my friends back in NYC, who love to hear about his wacky character traits and the kooky antics that, despite all the frustration and embarrassment he causes, is fairly entertaining I must admit. One of this more nonsensical hobbies it collecting state quarters, which I suppose many people do, but instead of filling up some goofy map with coins, he’s been tossing every state quarter that’s come his way since they first began circulating. This past trip I came to discover that he’s accumulated about 8,000 of said coins. That’s like two grand’s worth, right?
… That’s honestly about it. Each and every trip, I go out less and less, due to fears of running into people from back school, since that’s become such a thoroughly depressing affair. Still, I’d love to know how my old junior high cohort John, whom I last ran into on a bus a couple of years ago, who at the time had just dropped out of plumbing school to take college classes to learn how to organize and run a commune… this is the same guy btw that my other old pal Steve ran into at a gas station, doing some grocery shopping for him and his family that consisted of five kids, each of whom were conceived at different Phish concerts each… is doing. This was the same John who?s referenced in UNLUCKY #4, for those who might be curious. Pretty much the only person I still keep in contact with is Suzanne, and the highlight of our last get-together was hearing how her make out sessions with now husband Mark used to be interrupted by a next door neighbor’s exceptionally crappy Rock Band drumming, which was so bad that they couldn’t help but bust out laughing. Speaking off, no local bus rides for me this time around either, which also meant no visit to that gigantic ghetto arcade that I try to hit at least once per trip. Who knows if that almost broken down Virtua Racing deluxe cabinet is still operational; for the first time in almost twenty years, they finally changed all the bus schedules.
Even my numerous trips to assorted hot-spots to scope up hard to find games, and on the cheap, produced nothing of any real importance, unlike every other year. Other than finally nabbing Major Minor (I’ve been waiting for a copy from Majesco for weeks now, and am pretty sure that either it got lost in the mail or was simply never sent out) and Battle Fantasia (which I’ve been interested in ever since spotting it at an arcade in Japan two years ago), there’s the sealed platinum Wavebird, which is like a hot commodity, right? Oh, and both of those games totally suck; I’ll go into Major Minor next time, and how the very first version I played, which was like a 70% build, had controls that weren’t frustrating difficult. On the cable television front, didn’t even get a chance to watch any G4, so Ninja Warrior for me, and on Game Show Network, only caught Match Game once. So yeah… it was a trip that I’m glad to finally have behind me.
Not much else to say otherwise. Just starting to play catch-up. My plate was pretty full to being with, but after effectively losing five whole days, it’s even worse. At least my appearance on that talk radio thing yesterday afternoon relatively went well. Hope some of you were able to catch it, and if not, simply go here and select the Sex, Lies, and Videogames episode (try using the iTunes option, it works best for me).
