My cartoons really started to percolate about the same time that I did. Sometime in 1985 or 86 my marriage of ten years had finally wound down to an official end, and all of a sudden I became single, happy, and productive.
I took an apartment in the "East town" neighborhood of Grand Rapids which sort of fancies itself as Greenwich Village west, providing that Greenwich Village east is populated with uptight dutch people. Marvin, my landlord, I've discussed him earlier, was an outstanding influence to come under in many (though not all) ways. His name wasn't really Marvin, by the way.
Marvin rented me the upstairs apartment of his Genessee Street home. The rent was something like $125.00 per month. Interestingly enough he'd only been charging the previous tenant, Bill, fifty bucks. I guess he thought is was time to stop renting to friends.
My sister turned me on to the apartment and gave me this warning about Marvin: "Never let him know who you're dating, he gossips like an old lady". I think she said "dating". Well, beyond any unfair stereotypes, that was some really good advice. Marvin was always keenly, painfully, interested in the details of my private life...not one single detail of which I'd ever shared with him. The very attractive women that he would occasionally see me making dinner for upstairs, he could only guess about. As much as he would pry he got nary a peep from me. It drove him nuts. See, Marvin and I were exactly the opposite. He would go on at length about his relationships, in utter detail. As I mentioned earlier, half the women in Grand Rapids know Marvin, and they either love him or they hate him.
He was a good role model of what not to be like when it came to dating.
I was just happy to be meeting so many cool women...the coolest of whom I'm married to today.
(Me, newly single...the phone just ringing off the hook, it was probably the sequins.)But before I could start entertaining in ernest I had to move into and clean out my new apartment. What a disgusting job lay ahead of me.
Bill, the former tenant (of many years) was into just three things:
1. Pornography
Don't get me wrong, that's fine with me, but when Marvin took me through the apartment prior to Bill's moving out, the place seemed to be carpeted wall-to-wall in skin magazines. I'm certain that no one greeted the world wide web with more gusto than did Bill.
2. Fishing
Fishing was Bill's big passion. He'd fish day and night. He got a job at the local hardware/sporting goods store to be near the equipment that his employee discount put into his reach. I think he liked catching fish even more than porno.
One of the problems that he left for me was the detritus of his hobby(s). The musty, musky shag carpeting (orange, thank you) was a mine field of fish hooks, long lost and embedded in the shag just waiting for an unsuspecting foot to happen by.
That carpeting was also saturated with Bill's favorite bait - salmon eggs. Like electric orange BBs made of jelly these fragrant little fertility bombs were liberally mashed into every highly trafficked area of the floor. I spent the next month cleaning salmon eggs out of every nook and cranny of the apartment.
3. Living like an unwashed human toilet of despair and slothfulness.
This was what Bill was the very best at. his rotting teeth were an eloquent testimonial to his lack of personal hygiene as well as his good-natured abandonment of what separates humans from dung-heaps. His stinky essence pervaded every inch of that apartment.
Having my sister Fran along for the initial recon of the apartment was very helpful...unlike me, she could see beyond the filth, stench, and degradation. She insisted that the place had real possibilities, especially for a young man in my position. Trusting in my sister's judgment I held my nose and gave Marvin the check.
When Bill moved out I moved in and the frenzy of cleaning began. These two cartoons will tell you all you need to know:
(not an exaggeration)
(only slightly exaggerated)Though daunting, the task of cleaning this stable was nothing that time, ammonia, vinegar, and elbow grease (and a strong stomach) couldn't accomplish. Eventually I'd established a pretty nice little roost for myself to take the best of what life had to offer.
Marvin and I also became pretty good pals, despite out differing approaches. And we spent many a happy hour on his front porch watching the wanna-be bohemians of East Town promanade by. The Pembroke strip below was informed by some lazy afternoons on that sagging by cozy porch.
And it only gets better,
Stay tuned (and turn down that music!)
Mannie
1 comments:
Haw, haw!
You won't be surprised to know that "Marvin" still lives there.
And by the way, Eastown is chock-a-block full of whities with dreadlocks. There are no yuppies anymore.
Post a Comment