6/11/98 Misc. column; as seen in The Stranger Misc. @ 12
It's the 12th-anniv.Misc., the column that wonders if Vancouver
essayist Brian Fawcett was right when he said malls and subdivisions are
typically named after the real places they replaced, whether a corollary might
be made about car commercials promoting further traffic-jamming steel tonnage
with images of the wide open road, or (even better) SUV ads using nature
footage to sell landscape-ruining gas-guzzlers.
OUR FAR-FLUNG CORRESPONDENTS: Loyal readers have been sending junk food
samples from far and near. Scott McGrath, though, takes the no-prize for the
biggest cache of snax from the furthest-away place. The centerpiece of his
shipment: a hamburger (made with chicken) he found at a Beijing convenience
store, in a sealed envelope complete with bun, lettuce, and "salted sauce." The
English half of the envelope's back warns of a two-to-three-day shelf life for
the product, depending on the time of year. The bun got squished in transit,
but it's otherwise a normal looking way-past-pull-date meat food. The rest of
his box contained Japanese, Filipino, and Taiwanese products he found in Guam:
Banana catsup, dried squid and cuttle fish, soybean and herbal-jelly soft
drinks, and Marine World Biscuits (shrimp-flavored animal crackers in fish
shapes labeled, in English, "Tuna," "Dolphin," and even "Sea Lawyer!"). Many of
these are more conveniently available at Uwajimaya and other local Asian-food
emporia, but it's the thought behind the gift that counts.
ANOTHER YEAR OLDER: I've traditionally used this, the anniversary week of
Misc. (begun in the old ArtsFocus tabloid in June 1986), to take
a look back at the column, the changes in Seattle, or my journeys. This time,
I want to look ahead. This li'l corner-O-newsprint ain't my sole ambition in
life. There's plenty of other things I've always wanted:
- My own restaurant. Under the big neon sign that just says EAT, the
Merry Misc. Cafe would serve honest grub at honest prices. On the menu:
Burgers, cheese steaks, whole-cut fries, meat loaf, fruit-cocktail salad. In
the lounge: Old fashioneds, Brew 66, naughty-joke cartoon napkins. On the
walls: framed drawings by alternative cartoonists, a Silent Radio LED
displaying post-postmodern aphorisms, a TV displaying old-time car commercials
or women's bowling coverage.
-
My own cereal. Frosted Miscberry Crunch would have the taste, and the
crunch, that wakes a person up after a long night of arguing in bars about
macroeconomic trends. Each box comes with a mini-Mensa exam on the back and a
"Great Postpunk Singer-Songwriters" trading card inside.
-
My own hydroplane. Watch the valiant Miss Misc. roar in the time
trials, with rock-band bumper stickers strewn over its sponsons! Shudder as it
flips on a harsh turn in Heat 2A! Cheer as the underfunded, underequipped pit
crew uses duct tape and extra stickers to fix it in time for a come-from-behind
victory in the Consolation Heat!
-
My own travel agency. Misctour would arrange charter bus, train, and
air journeys to all the truly great vacation spots--Tacoma! Ritzville! Bend!
Wisconsin Dells! Akron! Tulsa! Moose Jaw! Dollywood! Wall Drug! And only the
finest traveling amenities--clothing-optional planes; scat-singing tour guides;
the Game Show Network in every motel room; complementary copies of DeLillo's
Underworld; emocore karaoke parties; free ice.
-
My own (commercial) TV show. I've actually tried to make this happen,
rounding up crews and shooting test footage on three occasions in the past two
years. But it's proven a tough nut to get an independently-produced series onto
a regular broadcast station (not cable access). I've heard from producers with
much more experience than I, who've all told the same stories of stations
afraid to take a chance. Still, I believe broadcasters will eventually realize
local programming (of all sorts, not just sports or mayhem-centric news) is
their best competitive weapon against the growing horde of cable, satellite,
and (soon) Net-based video feeds.
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