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HUMOR
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j i « r i C A H i l i b t a ■ f I s ? i c o t u r . r » «
Urban refusal
Why the suburbs suck
grew up in Deepest Suburbia.
And like so many sensitive, artistic types, I
couldn’t wait to get out from under the stifling
provincialism of a small town and relocate to
a hip, trendy city, where I’d live in a converted
loft with lots of windows and a bicycle hanging
upside down from the ceiling. To me, the very
word “suburban” meant “less than urban,” as in
the terms “substandard” or “subhuman.”
So I truly do not understand how 1 ended up
living in the suburbs. It’s like I got lost one
night in a subdevelopment and couldn’t find
my way out.
Now I wander around my house— Kittle of
scotch in hand— slurring along with Peggy Lee
as she sings “Is That All There Is?" At this
point I could easily develop a drinking prob
lem. That is, if 1 didn’t already have one.
Apparently I’m not alone. T h ere’s so
much depression in the 'hurhs they ought to
rename the streets. I imagine giving direc
tions: “T h a t’s right, take the Fibromyalgia
Freeway until you reach Disappointment
Drive. Follow Disappointment until it turns
into Disillusionment, then left at the Sylvia
Plath School for the
Gifted and Frus
trated. W e’re the
house on the cor
ner of Prozac and
Zoloft, the one with
the shades drawn.
If you reach
Despair,
you’ve gone
too far.”
Sure, I do
enjoy some
pristine, “let’s
barbecue in
the hack
yard” kind
of moments,
hut then I’ll
go to Costco
to huy supplies and
my entire sense of self
falls like a house of cards.
C ostco gives me the
creeps. I’m sorry, hut I just don’t
think you should he able
to huy olive and motor
oil at the same store.
And who actually needs
a gallon of soy sauce except the
Chinese army?
Worst of all, however, is the clientele. It’s as if
being ugly were a requirement for membership. I
look around at some of the pinheaded, buck
toothed shoppers, and 1 think, “Well, this is
what happens when cousins marry." Once I
stopped in the T V section to watch Shrek until
I realized I was looking at the closed-circuit
view of the store.
They travel in pairs, these homely people.
The husband always has a crew cut and sweat
pants with no underwear, the wife a dried-out
perm and visible panty line.
Like Jane Goodall studying gorillas, I’m fas
cinated as I watch these couples scarf down the
free samples. I follow them around the store,
mesmerized by their asses undulating in their
sweat pants like so many ferrets in a sack.
But one question above all others Kims in
my brain: Do really ugly people actually turn
each other on? Now I’m evolved enough to
THE GOSPEL
ACCORDING
TO MARC
b y M a r c A cito
know there’s more to sexual attraction than
just looks, hut c ’mon, admit it, haven’t you
always wondered whether two people who look
like gargoyles find each other sexy?
Unfortunately, this is a question even
someone as rude as I dare not ask. You can’t
just march up to someone and say: “Hey,
buddy, you and your wife are real Kiwzers. Do
you two keep your eyes closed when you’re
doing it, or what?”
But herein lies my continued resistance to
the suburbs: If I live in this community with
these people, then, by extension, I must be one
of them. And that thought sends me right back
to the Kittle of scotch and Peggy Lee.
For example, my partner and I work out at
the local community center because it’s close,
not because there’s anyone we want to com
mune with. I mean, the place is teeming with
heterosexuals.
Now don’t get me wrong; I don’t have any
thing against straight people— I just don’t like
the way they flaunt
their lifestyle.
The place is so
unsexy. Once when I
was in the shower I
was surprised (and
delighted) to hear
someone behind
me murmur,
“W ho’s
ranoiaor of the centennial;
f
of the birthfof
rorld-renowhed com poser Y
Hi chard Rodgers,
p resents s ix new works,
I two differlht program s.
|set to well-known tunes:
•fill! m »-ajjj
'Li’WiûiŒ
vour
daddy 7”
But
when I
turned
around I
real-
^
ized it
was
just someone
addressing a
lost child.
That did*
it. I drove straight over to
my cool neighbor Brooke’s house.
(Well, I dried off and dressed first.) Cool neigh-
Kir Brooke left her heart in San Francisco and,
therefore, is very PLU (People Like Us). “Hey,
neighb, what’s up?” she said.
I shared with her the lamentable tale of the
shower.
“Oh, dude, I completely understand,” she
said. “I used to think I was so totally trendy.
Now I’m just totally TalNits.”
She took a deep breath and sighed. “The
fact is, Marc,-you and I actually like the ’burbs,
but we resist it because that would mean
admitting we simply weren’t cool enough to
make it in the city.”
How sad but true. Maybe it isn’t the suburbs
that suck at all. Maybe I just suck.
And that, my friends, is The Gospel
According to Marc. JT1
im
H U lii
D avid W. O wens
P. C . & A S S O C I A T E S
serving the community since 1975
A t t o r n e y s a t L aw
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