Part 3: Future Stock
Moving on from school has been everything I had hoped it would be. No more late nights of stress and homework. No more soap opera friends, who take it upon themselves to make any and all situations into overbearing drama. And most importantly, no more grades hanging over my head, rating my success. Now, just a piece of paper that tells me I finished the whole ordeal.
And finally, I feel like I have something useful in helping me find success. I have a piece of paper that helps me into a teaching program. I have a piece of paper that shows potential employers the hard work I've put into the last four years. I have a piece of paper that qualifies me for clerical jobs at Marvel Comics. That's right, I finally have something that potentially puts me above other applicants.
So what am I doing with myself because of this? I'm staying right where I've always been. In Tacoma, living with my parents and being that creep who shows up at college parties long after he should have dissapeared. Oh, I'm living the life all right.
Here's the thing. I really want to get out of this town and on with my life. The problem is, I really have no idea what life that is. So in the meantime, I'm restless.
Here's the other thing. I really have no money to get out of this town and on with my life. I'm a poor man with sizeable debt, so I need cheap rent and a decent job. Hey, living at home means no rent. And working a managerial position in the meantime means I'm making out like a bandit.
So really, all this is helping me towards whatever long-term goal I come up with, or so I'm telling myself . .
Part 2: The Revolution
Over the past few years, it's become strikingly clear that as I've grown and matured as a reader, and also as a permanent adolescent, the comicbook medium has matured in its own right.
Now, let me clarify that when I say 'comicbooks' I'm referring specifically to the superhero genre of comics, and not the Harvey Pekar, Bob Crumb style of 'real-life' or 'underground' comics. The reason this distinction is important is because of the relative acceptance of these two narratives.
While underground comics have already recieved a sort of Andy Warhol counter-pop-culture or beatnik fame, superhero comicbooks mantain the stigma of critics that they deal with insubstantial subject matter and show a certain lack of artistry. Superhero comics, because of their traditional target audience, are deemed childish, adolescent rubbish.
I bring this up (again) now, because in the last month, Jack put to words some of his thoughts on the subject, making a decisive argument about the growing force of the superhero comic as an identifying cultural icon (white male cultural, perhaps, but that's still a culture). As I really can't speak his point as eloquently as he, you'll have to read it here.
What I can speak to is my own prediction that in the near future, we'll be seeing a more critical dialogue on the subjects and stories of mainstream superhero comicbooks.
With multiple movies in the recent years that are taken straight from the pages of comics, we are beginning to see what a versatile media comics are. Think about how movies are written: they're storyboarded. They're written out in a comic form so that the production team can visualize what needs to be done with the set and where the cameras and actors should be placed. These storyboards are just comics that tell the story of the movie in images.
But this isn't the only place you'll see the parallels between the comicbook and other media. When we consider that children's books, with all the large illustrations and minimal text, are almost an extension of the comic art, here again we see an example of the versatility of comics. These books are truly just simplified and enlarged comic strips, because at the heart is the same principle: telling a story through a combination of words and images.
Of course, this still isn't saying much for the superhero genre. The problem with taking superhero comics seriously isn't one of technique, it's one of content. Comicbooks still do target a teenage male audience, it's easy to do. For teenagers, the story of Spiderman draws on some distinct fears of the demographic: being a high school misfit, a social outcast yet with a hidden talent that sets him apart. This story has an allure for any boy who's felt similarly, an allure in the same way that The Matrix does - it's the same heroic archetype.
Interestingly, the romance of these characters is surfacing in other forms of literature and media. As Jack mentioned, Micheal Chabon's 'Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay' treats superhero comics with a certain respect, a reverence of a man who once identified with the misfit, downtrodden hero (and perhaps still does). But further, Chabon co-wrote the screenplay for Spiderman 2, bringing this reverence to help create a superhero movie based in complex characters wrought with internal conflict.
This is the beginning of a mass media revolution. A change in how the characters and stories once considered trivial and adolescent are taken seriously. Where the stories are respected as a part of our unique cultural heritage.
Part 1: Out 'West'
So, I've always had trouble with the idea that easterners think of anywhere beyond Ohio as 'The West.'
For me, the West has always been synonymous with the Coast. When I think 'going out west' I think temperate rainforest, sunset over the water, sandy beaches, and the rainshadow effect. I don't think plains, farms, or cowboys.
While I realized that this vision of the West was certainly a unique one based on the fact that I lived beyond what easterners defined as the West, I still thought of Washington and the coast as part of the western frontier. As part of that lawless ideal of homesteading and the Oregon Trail.
Ok, so maybe it's not.
You might have guessed where this diatribe is leading. That's right, Montana. And let me tell you, the story that I'm here about to unfold is a tale of life without borders, without rules. It's subject is the living epitome of the modern western frontier; a contemporary Wild Bill, if you will. Or Wild Kenny, to be proper. Well, here goes . .
Lindsey's family seems thin, at least compared to mine. This is thin both in the sense that there aren't many living relatives that she can relate through blood, and in the sense that even with such tenuous 'relativity' these family members are spread all across the country. In contrast, my family seems like an inbred band of northwestern bumpkins for the fact that nearly all thirty of my cousins live within 10 miles of each other.
But a good thing can be said for Lin's brittle web of a family tree: travelling anywhere has the possibility of a free room and a few meals. In fact, this is certainly the only reson this story exists as I'm going to tell it, since it all takes place in and around Kallispel, Montana where Lindsey's mother's cousin (Sassi) lives with her son. Confused yet? So am I. In fact, I'm either going to refer to this lady as Lin's Aunt, or simply Sassi from now on.
Really though, the only reason Sassi is important at this point in the story is for two reasons. First, she has four cats that drove my allergies to critical levels, and second, she has a son, Kenny, who lives with her amid the nests of fur and litter boxes.
Kenny, as I was introduced to his existence, is an ex-con. Let's just get that out there. Now, on the train ride out to MT, Lindsey let's me in on the fact that he indeed has a criminal record, though she knows little about what the charges have been against him. In fact, she's only really met him once when she was in Montana last - about six years earlier.
Ok. So this Kenny guy has a checkered past. Who hasn't? (*cough*)
Well anyway, as far as Lin knows, it wasn't for anything truly serious. Maybe just a few times he ripped off an electronics store or something. Who knows?
Our first day into town, Kenny comes by to look at the car which we'll be using to drive up to Glacier Park. It's at this point that we discover the room we've selected to stay in is actually Kenny's. This is revealed when he comes in to remove the battle axe from the night stand, just so we don't hurt ourselves stumbling about in the middle of the night. Thanks for the thought, Kenny.
So the car gets what it needs and we head up to Glacier. And the weather turns on us. And we run out of money.
Back in Kallispel for the last two nights, I'm already nervous about the high dander content, as well as the possibility that there might be some sharpened weapon waiting to fall off a shelf as I trip my way to the bathroom in the night. This is when Lindsey and I make a plan to head to dinner (I've tracked down a few choice pubs) and a movie, both within walking distance. But, as you might have guessed, Kenny gets himself involved in our plans.
Let's put this right out front: Kenny is an intimidating guy. Though not exceptionally tall, he is rather butch in a biker sort of way. That includes the stringy jet black hair that's pulled into a ponytail and the scraggly six-inch goat that shoots strait down from his chin. His voice sounds like he routinely swallows the burning embers of a menthol while cruising down the Montana open highway.
And not to mention he's pushy.
"Oh fuck, man," he says, "you don't want to go to Moose's."
I don't?
"We should go to Del's instead."
We should?
Great. So now he's not only invited himself along, but he's determined to head for his favorite drinking hole, a full forty minute drive out of town. Nervously, we protest.
"I think we were looking foreward to just walking somewhere, Kenny," I say, "Are you sure we can't convince you to walk with us?"
"Does this body look like I starve it?!" comes the glaring response. "We're going to Del's, man."
Ok, so using the excuse of getting back in time for the movie, we at least ensured that we wouldn't be stuck out in the boonies all night with a drunk Kenny and his drunk cronies. In fact, this is where dinner started to turn good.
For the duration of the meal, Kenny held an enlightening conversation on what it means to be a Montanan, the nature of life, and the merits of vegetarianism. No strong intimidation, except for that feeling of embarrasement from the fact that Lin and I are both placing our napkins back in our laps after wiping our mouths clean. Of course, there's still the ride home.
We get into Kenny's car, confident that he can get us back home safely and in good time to see our movie, while our conversations continue. Kenny points out a few of his friends houses along the way, and begins a monologue about friendship.
"A true friend is one that doesn't close their door when you mention the word 'felon'," he says. "A true friend would take a bullet. Shit, I've taken three of 'em already."
Now we really perk up.
"For a friend?" I ask.
"Shit no," he replies, "from a cop, though. Where do you think I've been the past four years?"
So he begins explaining that five years ago or-so, he was driving outside of the Tri-Cities area in Washington, when a cop pulls him over with a Governor's Warrant for his arrest. Calmly, he tries to explain to the officer that he's having a bad day, and it may not be the best time for an arrest. Surprisingly, the cop isn't having it, and insists that Kenny get out of the car. So this is about when Kenny pulls out the gun.
Kenny gets all his shots off, takes a bullet in the hand, the arm, and the gut. He then proceeds to charge into a fist-fight with the officer. At this point, I don't know what else to say except,
"Did you get any good hits in?"
"Shit yeah," he says, "I knocked that fucker out! The only reason I went down was because his partner was standing right there."
The rest of the ride feels like an eternity.
Keep in mind, the last (and only) time Lindsey saw Kenny was about five years ago during a family vacation, right around the time that the gunbattle would have happened.
The jail time for shooting at an officer lasts just about that long I guess.
Alright, alright. We're pushing well into October by now, and you all are probably thinking 'Andy, you better damn well have something interesting to show for yourself after keeping your mouth shut for so long.'
Well, I think I do. Only I don't know where to begin. So here's my plan: Every two days for the next week, I will post a new story in the continuing saga of 'My Life for the Last Month-or-so'.
Let me lay out now that this is not necessarily a re-cap of what has happened to me, but more of a chronicalling of my thoughts; a philisophical pondering of the events that have shaped my life for the last month-or-so.
That said, I should bring you up to speed on a few significant things that have happened recently that I'll be referrencing:
- I got a promotion at the Art Museum, and have decided to stick around Tacoma for a while longer to take advantage of the free rent and insurance package that this offers me. Though this descision was hard to come to, as I'm very restless to move on from Tacoma.
- I took a trip with Lindsey to Glacier National Park for about a week. The trip was incredible (I have many pictures), and I learned a few new things about life and living from the experience.
- Lastly, Lindsey left town soon after our trip, marking the final departure of my long-term college friends. I now search for my identity in a city which has become linked to all those people now absent.
I'll be back with my continuing thoughts on these issues and more . . .