Blue Fox Drive In

1403 Monroe Landing Rd.
Oak Harbor, Wash. 98277-8108
(360) 675-5667

http://www.bluefoxdrivein.com/

Saturday 13 April 2006

Meta: this post ran away from me a bit. It got much more serious and involved than I had anticipated and took me far down all sorts of paths of socio-cultural thought. Perhaps outside events, such as the current discussions on immigration, made me read too far into simple observations. Since I spent considerably time working on it and editting, I feel it would be a shame to not post it. Comments, counterpoints, and discussions are welcome.

Islands and the Future of Cinema

Sometime after I moved here in the autumn of aught-two, some new colloquial phrases entered my lexicon. Chief, of course, was "the Mountain is out", although I prefer the edgier, though dated, "the Mountain is in effect". But we in Seattle are blessed with both mountains and the sea. Thus, the other phrase that made its way into the fore is "across the water".

I'm not sure whether anyone else really uses this phrase. It is certainly not as widespread as the one about the Mountain. But it has that quaint tone to it, much like the Brits when said "across the pond". In any case, whenever I say across the water to anybody here, most people get it. It should be noted that the water here is not Lake Washington as, of course, I would in that case say "across the Lake" or, more simply refer to the Eas'side. It seems that Lake Washington lacks the grandeur and gravitas to be the Water.

The problem, however, with this phrase and, more correctly, this Sound is that there are a bunch of pieces of land sticking out of The Water before one gets truly across. So what, exactly comprises "across" in this nautical cul-de-sac anyway? I mean, topologically speaking, taking a jaunt across three-inch-wide Budd Inlet in Olympia is technically just as across as going from Seattle to Bummer-town. As a result, it becomes a bit problematic to define just exactly where across lies. In fact, considering the coastline of the Sound is really just one continuous line, is there really an across at all? This was my philosophical dilemma the other week.

Islands... perhaps the most across of it all.

We set sail across the water. The Mukilteo ferry dropped us on the southern tip of Whidbey Island. A ferry ride as short as this one hardly gives one sufficient time to climb onto the passenger deck and properly take in the Sound. Yet it is too long to sit in the car, as many people do. Still, though, a 15-minute crossing hardly seems like a proper maritime voyage at all.

I thought that I had moved beyond making comparisons between other places to Chicago. I have lived here long enough that, internally, I am no longer Chicago-centric; however the comparisons sometimes sneak in. As is usually the case whenever I roll off the ferry, I realize that Across the Water is to Seattle as the woods of Wisconsin are to Chicago. These places are where city-zens get away to. Thus, Whidbey Island is like crossing the border into Wisconsin, perhaps, with the Peninsula being like going all the way Michigan's UP.

Aside: Taking this analogy further, eastern Washington is to Seattle as downstate Illinois is to Chicago. Come to think of it, one could take the geographic unit of Illinois, Wisconsin, and da UP and rotate it 90 degrees counter-clockwise. Then one could construct a mountain belt along the I-80 corridor. Finally, were one to whip up an entirely more agreeable climate for this new landmass, one would have a pretty good approximation of the state of affairs in the Pacific Northwest.

Both Peninsulas share more than a name and similar topographic situation. Their natural beauty is unparalleled... except by each other. Unfortunately, though, they are more conservative culturally than is to my liking. I'm entirely used to getting stares on occasion from people when I go out, so much so that I usually tune it out. And I fully expect to get stares when dressed in certain ways in areas outside the city. However, in Oak Harbor, the stares seemed more pronounced; I might even call it leering, or glaring. I was wearing an above-knee-length dark olive green skirt and black thigh-high socks with my burgundy Doc Marten boots. In truth, the stares felt a little imposing at times, more palpably so than I've felt in a while. It was good, I suppose, in the end; such challenge is necessary. It builds character and moral fiber... not to mention social gumption.

We decided to find Oak Harbor's quaint main drag. We suspected that it would have one because the sign welcoming visitors at the city limits said something about it being Whidbey Island's "premier waterfront" community. We found the quaint main drag a few blocks beyond the giant complex of chain stores and car dealerships. The area was significantly wound down and on this lazy Saturday afternoon. As we walked around, we passed two bars. At one a scrawny younger man stood outside smoking. At the other end of the quaint main drag there was a scraggly older man smoking. On both occasions I felt quite leered at as we walked past. Later at the Safeway, I noticed a portly middle-aged man sporting lazy personal hygiene and the standard ill-fitting t-shirt of male fashion glaring my way on several occasions.

I'm not surprised by these reactions and I'm certainly not naive enough to not question the wisdom of wearing what I sometimes wear in such places. It's unfortunate that I have to take these things into consideration -- and it is something that most male-folk in general never have to think about. At this point in my life, though, my plan is to be informed, aware of my surroundings, and sometimes cautious; however, I'm not going to hide by blending in on days when I have an overarching desire to not to do.

For these reasons, of course, I sometimes think that perhaps it is Seattle, and cities like it, that is the island. Like all significant cities, Seattle has become part of what The Stranger dubbed the urban archipelago. The paper couched this discussion within the results of the 2004 General Election. However, the metaphor can be extended to culture at large. Unlike The Stranger, though, I'm not calling for isolation between urban and rural; the two are too interdependent for such simplistic thinking. But the analogy bears deeper examination, especially given my particular weakness for constructing crappy metaphors by comparing natural phenomena to social phenomena.

The physical ocean is, for the most part, relatively homogenous in its basic characteristics. A point in the Atlantic is more like a point in the Pacific than a point in Saskatchewan. Thus, a rural Illinoian probably is more similar, culturally, to a rural Washingtonian than dissimilar. And both likely have more in common with each other than with a sub/urban Seattleite. More importantly, the points immediately surrounding our chosen point in the ocean are more alike than different. If they vary, it is within a much more constricted range. Thus, vast stretches of ocean are homogenous and generally change only gradually over long distances than abruptly in one spot. If there are differences, say with respect to temperature and salinity, they result in sharp segregation unless a preponderance of forces causes mixing.

Within the vast cultural sea, we have islands of concentrated variation. These are the heavily populated urban centers. In and around these islands, we are more likely find the forces which cause upwelling and mixing. We also find less homogeneity and a greater range of differences. These cultural islands don't coincide with topographic islands at all.

Thus, although Whidbey Island is not far across the water physically, it is certainly far enough culturally. One embarks the ferry in the suburbs and exurbs around Mukilteo and debarks in the rural hinterlands of Whidbey Island. Thus, despite the short distance, it is across enough from the (future) megalopolitan Pugetopolis to be properly considered Across the Water.

The Contradictions of the Military Smalltown

Oak Harbor, though, is not the typical small town of small town America. It is a military town. And despite their size, small towns with a military begin to exhibit some of the upwelling and mixing found in larger population centers.

Subarus are a geo-vehicular archetype. For whatever reasons, many Subarus in the Puget Sound are driven by Left-leaners, who often plaster them with a disheveled overabundance of bumper stickers. I base this conclusion on the content of those bumper stickers. Subarus are the 80s-era Volvos of the Pacific Northwest. In Oak Harbor, though, I spotted a curious Subaru wagon. It featured an Amnesty International bumper sticker on the back; in the lower left corner of its windshield there was a entry pass sticker for the local Naval base.

But some of the other contradictions seemed less humorous. A little distance away from the main drag, there are rows and rows of cheap cookie-cutter apartments. I speculated that this housing was built for military personnel and families, particularly those of lower rank. This reminded me of the mass-produced cheapness of soul-less 1950s Levittowns, many of which were built to accommodate returning GIs. Somehow, I thought that we'd do better for our military grunts. Slap-dash construction is barely good enough for undergraduate ghettos, much less for those on whom we depend to defend our country. We used to think that our military was the best equipped in the world. Of course, recent geopolitical events have demonstrated otherwise.

Feeling a historical lesson coming on, I further wonder whether the WWII industrial machine has become just as highly romanticized over the decades. Remember the Liberty Ships that were turned out en masse? Their service lives were only about a handful of years. Yet they were such tremendous workhorses, surpassing everyone's expectations. They did this in spite of the crappy hands they were dealt, undoubtedly putting a great number of happy-go-lucky soldiers in danger. Was Rosie the Riveter forced, by extraordinary circumstances, to cut corners and churn out mass-produced crap? Was GI Joe really that well equipped? Or have the rah-rah newsreels given us a slanted version of reality by masking the horrible failures? Is this where the notion of "good enough for government work" comes from?

The inalienable right to make-believe.

Speaking of things romanticized, we found ourselves at the drive-in theater. It was the reason for this little day trip. A few days before, I had read that Washington had only 8 drive-ins. As a result, I had made it a personal mission to visit them all this summer. Tonight's feature was a double bill: Poseidon, featuring a devilishly handsome Andre Braugher in nautical regalia, and 16 Blocks, staring a comically mustached Bruce Willis.

We arrived a little early, parked, and watched the lot filling up with an armada of cars. People here are pros. Some with wagons and covered pickups parked backwards and had blankets and pillows in back to enjoy the films in comfort. One uncovered pickup truck even had a full-sized mattress thrown in the bed. And it's not just the young. Next to us, a late-middle-aged couple, snuggle in the bed of their truck.

We tuned the car radio to receive the movie audio and sat back to enjoy the previews just as the remaining light of day receded from the sky at 9 PM. I had not expected there to be bonuses. At $6 for a double-feature of first-run movies, I thought that was bonus enough. However, after the previews, there were several vintage cartoons. They started with period adverts for the snack bar and propaganda extolling the virtues of drive-ins: enjoying a movie under "nature's blanket" and in the comfort of your own automobile. I couldn't agree more! At the Safeway, we picked up a bag of snap peas, crackers, sharp cheddar cheese, jo-jos (that's "potato wedges" for the unwashed like me) and drinks. When we parked, we installed the block of cheese on the dashboard and cut slices for the crackers. This is truly the way to enjoy a movie. After the soothing propaganda, we were treated to a few Looney Tunes -- Sylvester the cat was yet again scheming to eat Tweety but was continually foiled by the obstacle of a yard full of hungry bulldogs.

The other thing I had not expected was the national anthem. After all, this does not happen in the typical PanaCinePlex 17,000. I don't particularly view this as a patriotic duty, especially given how obviously and patently un-American Hollywood is. On the other hand, enjoying the cinema and, simultaneously, one's automobile are, indeed, one of the blessings of American-style freedom.

The anthem was accompanied by stunning 1950s-era cartoon visuals replete with subtitles. I seem to recall a stylized Paul Revere and a Liberty Bell in the montage. More interesting, though, was the reaction. People cheered, car horns blared, and high beams flashed the screen. It was a little surreal, of course, largely because it had caught us off-guard. It seemed somehow amplified by the fact that we were under nature's blanket as it were. It sounded as if the little movie lot was letting loose a tremendous cry to the heavens: "We're Americans, we drive, we watch crappy movies!" Why, I bet there are no drive-ins in Red China. I also suspect this outpouring is a partially a function of this being a military town; however, it probably would have gone off equally as rambunctiously in non-military small town America.

PLACEHOLDER: insert national anthem movie clip...

Of course, the issue of patriotism cannot be separated from small town America. But the typical small town, though, engenders a particularly troubling form of patriotism. It is a hyperpatriotism that often closes ranks with the town's social and cultural homogeneity. As a result, it then gets conflated with nationalism and an "America for Americans" world view. What's more, with the smaller incidence of diversity in smaller towns, the definition of American has the potential to become defined as "those who look and think like you" -- Us comes to mean a very narrow range. It's difficult, especially for kids, to be aware of the larger world, or even the larger America, when they are immersed in such a small slice of it.

In reality, of course, Americans consist of a wildly heterogeneous mixture of people, backgrounds, and ideas. Furthermore, America is much more than just of, by, and for Americans, like it or not. Apparently, World War II did not do enough to dispel isolationism. The social engine that has drawn outsiders to our shores for the duration of our existence is what has provided the necessary, inconvenient influx of interlopers and troubling ideas that has kept America fresh and vital. Immigration keeps a nation relevant on the world's stage and makes its domestic conversations interesting; isolation makes a nation stagnant. Contrary to the oft-repeated clap-trap, it is not a "melting pot" in which every trace of ethnicity has been blanched out, to use Bukowski's words. This observation can be broadened in scope by replacing ethnicity with "otherness".

Sometime ago, a friend who grew up in a very small southern Illinois town said that small towns may be great places to raise children but they are not so good at raising adults. Kate tells me that, while we were at the Safeway, a little girl asked her mother why that boy (me) was wearing tights. I can't imagine what the mother's response was and I should likely be apologetic for causing such a cultural inconvenience. To be fair, I'm sure such a transaction between mother and daughter would have happened in urban centers. But I think that in an urban center, the mother would have been more prepared to field such a question due to the higher likelihood of it being posed. Moreover, in an urban center, there should be no need for the catalyzing agent to be imported from away.

For my own small part, I'm glad that I was able to drop a tiny cultural bomb on the Safeway and on Oak Harbor. Despite the conventional wisdom -- in other words, the potential threat to personal safety -- of dressing in certain ways in certain places, how free is one when one lives in fear? Besides, somebody has to do it. I'm paraphrasing liberally here, but I remember the movie The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert in which one of the main characters asks something along the lines of whether the freak zones of urban centers are designed to keep others out or to keep the freaks in. In other words, do we isolate ourselves in our comfortable islands or do we venture forth, living freely and perhaps even bringing our light to the perceived darkness? Not that I'm saying I did anything great or particularly noteworthy, but the realist in me acknowledges that I stuck some part of my neck on the chopping block to pursue my happiness, demonstrate my beliefs, and indulge my vanity.

Is there anything more American than that?

Here, then, lies one of the unsung blessings of the military presence in small-town America. The military draws its ranks from many pools throughout the entire length, width, and depth of the nation. At the very least with respect to race and ethnicity the military brings diversity. For example, at the drive-in we saw proportionally more black and Hispanic children that one would typically expect in a small town in this region, migrant workers notwithstanding. Moreover, it was a mixture. The Hispanics were not the farm worker Thems to the whites townie USes; rather, there were townies and military brats of differing backgrounds mixing, ostensibly anyway. Furthermore, the military brings in people who have at least seen other parts of the country and the world. This mixing and upwelling brings in an awareness of, at least, and personal connection to Others than is typically found in small towns.

Aside: Some college campuses have recently become anti-military, largely due to the military's non-gay-friendly policies. I don't think this is wise, even despite my belief that the military's official policy on gays and lesbians is utter nonsense. Campus environments expose future military leaders to the existence of diverse people and broader world views. Instead of causing the military to close ranks and become isolated in closed like-mindedness, campuses should be fully embracing and, thus, naturally injecting and subverting the military with diversity just as a military presence injects a small town with diversity and mixing. All of this is connected.

The Future of Cinema... is the Past.

The ability to yell at the screen without disturbing others makes the experience somewhat... island-like, to brutally beat this theme into the ground. Where else can one enjoy a first-run movie on the big screen, all the while being able to commentate, yell, discuss, and feast on large blocks of cheese? And let's not forget the neckin'! It would seem more isolating were it not for the fact that everybody else is doing the same things in the relative impunity of their own cars. In the end, then, the lines of cars at the drive-in consist of archipelagoes of movie-going experiences rather than the monolithic mass of people viewing a movie in the theater.

But there is also a buzz about the drive-in lot. When you go to the snack bar, you can still see and hear the film. If you want, you can sit on the benches in front of the snack bar. Additionally, some people sit outside their cars on folding chairs or blankets. Oddly enough, the whole affair somehow seems more social than a movie theater. Perhaps the fact that it is outside makes it more picnic-like and, thus, less isolating? It really doesn't matter and the sufficient analysis can be summed up eloquently as:

Cars plus movies... God Bless America, indeed!

 

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