Back from Delaware Valley Bluegrass Festival
For those of you wondering where the hell I’ve been the past four days, I’ve been at the Delaware Valley Bluegrass Festival, with girlfriend Christina, Sam, and the Grillbillies. At the risik of sounding like Applebenniganchilis, good times, great friends, and one of the consistently best festivals on the east coast.
I will admit that being away from the news and the internet was hard. About as hard as a soft-boiled egg. To be honest, I’ve been dreading catching up with the news, the FOOBS, and everything else. I understand why people run off to Montana to live in the woods: the sensory overload most of us live in, day in and day out, is, well overload. Too many things, trivial and substantial, to think about: will the Republicans continue their reign of terror and error (I am scared to visit firedoglake and glenn greenwald, as much for their news as for the effect on my own consciousness).
Combined with Cavalier Telephone’s failure to provide internet service (and my failure to pay the bill) I don’t have any internet at home either. I’ll pay the fuckfaces tomorrow, but man am I excited for Philadelphia’s citywide wi-fi program to get underway: only twenty dollars a month if I understand correctly, and then I am getting rid of Cavalier, a company I fucking hate and cannot recommend to anyone. Lousy, a lousy shitty company that has the WORST CUSTOMER SERVICE EVER.
However, I have done one bit of catching up, and that of course is with “For Better or For Worse”. Click on the “comics” category for background information, but the Granthony-Lizard plot is continuing apace, and holy fucking shit is it creepy. This is for you, Binky Betsy.
Lizzy’s job interview, as expected, went well, and it appears she got the job on the spot. This in itself is interesting, because every job that I’ve ever applied for that had real responsibility attached to it took at least 2 weeks to get back to me after the initial interview. Worse, Johnston assaults us, AGAIN, with Lizzie’s hopeful “let’s look skyward” face:
That final panel really, REALLY ticks me off. Not the words (which are inane) but the expression. I don’t know what it is about that particular face, but it makes me want to smack the whimsey right off her lips. It’s so “Anne of Green Gables” (or is it more “That Girl”?), that I can feel my gorge rising in my throat. (Also, gotta love the odd posture as Lizzie heads down the stairs to work. What is she, on pointe? Perhaps she’ll jette to the school instead of driving.)
With regard to the text, what the fuck is she talking about “Counting the days till Christmas”? When Melissa and I were together, and I was making a cook’s salary (a princely $300 each week after taxes) I took whatever opportunity I could to take the train to Montreal: 12 hours, leaving at 5:00 in the morning, at a cost of $150 round-trip. This woman, who pretty much left her boyfriend in the lurch but has been stringing him along into moving to Ontario, is going to let him hang out to dry until Christmas?? What about Labor Day, Thanksgiving Day, and Remembrance Day? If I could drive 10 hours for Melissa or take a 12-hour train trip, why can’t Lizzie, who owns a car, take a long weekend off for the man she loves? Not that Lizzie puts out: this was established long ago, when she moved in with her college boyfriend, acted stunned when he expected to have, you know, normal sexual relations with the woman he moved in with, and then was mortified when he found loving elsewhere. So Paul isn’t missing much. No mounting for the mounty.
The plot continues and the reader has to accept a stunningly absurd proposition: that Lizzy, making a teachers salary that starts around $38,000, has no other recourse but to move back in with her parents. Lizzie makes almost $10,000 more than I do: back when I was a renter, I had no problem making my rent at a salary of $32,000, even $28,000.
It seems that at the end of the day, the reason Lizzie is moving back home is because she’s a cheapskate. So says here sister April:
In the following strips, the dysfunctional nature of the Lizzie-Elly relationship is revealed: the fact is that Elly can’t, and won’t let go of her children, and that her children are all too willing to play roles in her psychological games.
I remind you that the young woman in question is in her 20s. I moved out of my parents’ house for good when I was 21, and while I love visiting them, about the only way I would move back in with them is if I was flat fucking broke, and even then my mom would be on my ass to get a job and get out of their house.
The “it’s as though I never left” line is just creepy: the long shadow behind Lizzy and the steep Victorian staircase brings to mind Norman Bates dressing up as his mother. How long until Lizzie starts putting on the wig and housecoat, and commence slashing family members?
“I’ve already made up the guest bedroom honey. We’d love to have you move back home.” If my mom said that to me, I’d be callign the doctor to see if she needed to be committed. The only adults I know whose parents want them to move back in are… well, I don’t know any actually. But if I did, I’d want to know what was wrong with them.
Finally, we get this bit of drivel: April’s worries that she’ll be treated like a child if Lizzie moves back in (Mom always did love you best, Lizzie).
Well, like, maybe if like you didn’t like talk like a sixth grader and like learned to like, y’know, chew with your mouth closed like a fucking grown-up maybe like you wouldn’t have these problems an’ stuff.
So how soon before Lizzie heads north and finds that Susan has taken her job and her man? How soon before Lizzie realizes that Millborough is where she belongs and has ALWAYS belonged? Mother always said, a girls best friend is her mother….
2 Responses to “Back from Delaware Valley Bluegrass Festival”
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September 14th, 2006 at 8:26 am
“The only adults I know whose parents want them to move back in are… well, I don’t know any actually. But if I did, I’d want to know what was wrong with them.”
Come on, really, if your parents would react with horror to the suggestion that you move back home with them, I’d say it was you that had an unhealthy relationship with them.
What did you do when you lived there that was so bad that they would never want you back ?
Maybe this is a culture thing, but I would be horrified if I heard of a friend having to move back home only to find his parents wouldn’t let him….
- NightRaven
September 14th, 2006 at 2:47 pm
I have a wonderful relationship with my parents, but if I told them I was moving back in, they WOULD react with horror. they would say, “You’re 35 years old and can’t afford to pay your mortgage? what’s wrong with you?” Once you’re over the age of 21 you shouldn’t be living at home with your parents. i can think of only a few scenarios in which that would be acceptable: one involves a serious illness, and the other is that you hit rock bottom and can’t afford rent or mortgage.
“Maybe this is a culture thing, but I would be horrified if I heard of a friend having to move back home only to find his parents wouldn’t let him….”
I don’t know anyone whose parents would not allow them to move back, but that’s a different thing entirely from being horrified that their adult child was incapable of self-sufficiency. My parents wouldn’t say no if I needed to move back in with them, but they wouldn’t be happy about it.