OH CLEVELAND, MY CLEVELAND

ROLL ON BIG CLEVELAND, YOU PHUCKING PLUMB

By Muggles 'I Wanna Be Like Chief Wahoo When I Grow Up' Greenwood

2008 (c) Copyright Mr. Clovis Shea and Mr. Mark Stueve. All Rights Reserved.

As I sat outside the train station of Cleveland, Ohio, waiting for the sun to rise to the west, I realized, 'wait ... what? hold on ... wait a minute! which direction is east?'

Just because I traveled to here from the east -no, correct that! I was traveling east -I came from the west -which means it is quite possible that I'd been looking to the east (thinking it's west) the whole time.

And that is my point exactly. I've always heard critical words used to describe Cleveland, specifically, and Ohio, in particular. However, I have come to believe that the City of Cleveland, itself, is a true testament of deep seated love. A deep seated love for something that has un-intentionally come to embody everything backwards -lopsided -and upsidedown.

This is a place that puts up neon lights reading 'Fifth Third Bank' on one of its seven silly skyscrapers and then fails (or refuses) to grasp entirely how someone ... not from here ... might fail to take it seriously ... or instead, find it almost comical.

This is a place that names its baseball franchise the 'Indians' and then uses a cavalry charge for its late inning rallies. This is a place that trades all of its best baseball players to league rivals and then expects its fan base to believe that a World Series victory sometime, either in this century or the next, is, perhaps, entirely plausible.

And so I continue waiting for the sunrise. Not knowing exactly in what direction to look, and thinking all the while, 'so this is how Moxie Axolotl and Old Mother Olmstead felt all those so many wonderful years ago.'

In my childhood, I always wondered what the hell was Moxie Axolotl talking about, anyway? And what exactly is a 'Whiz Bang?' But, when I dared to ask, she invariably gave me some round about answer that described an eclectic compilation of images and concepts that had little to nothing in common except for the fact that they were both unintentionally beautiful and unintentionally wierd. This is exactly how she described Cleveland. And, it brings me back to my original point (assuming, of course, that I actually had one).

Now, Moxie Axolotl always loved the Arcade. And she always made a point of re-acquainting herself with the building everytime whe came back from California to visit her beloved hometown. Me, on the other hand, I grew up in California, so I have a much more narrow minded view of art, and very little patience with the practice of admiring architecture. When I look at the Cleveland skyline and I see this historic landmark building, I can't help but to ask myself 'why would a city obscure the view of such a beautiful old building with a monstrosity skyscraper shit-ball replica of the empire state building?' [The answer being exactly what Moxie Axolotl would say, 'yes dear, we know, you're talking about two entirely different places and you're just a little bit confused.']

But, the real answer is simple. It is Progress, my friends. And not your ordinary typical everyday forward moving social progress, folks. No, this is a different breed of progress, entirely. This is a progress that defies all logic and prevails solely on the notion that if you keep doing the same thing wrong, over and over again, eventually you will wear down the laws of the universe and the logic of the cosmos until it reaches a point where everything you did will be right and exactly as you think it should because you convinced yourself that you planned it that way all along. In sum, it is progress because it says it is progress. It is, my friends, orchestrated chaos -without a conductor. Cleveland is the little train that could -but most likely won't, anytime soon, or in our lifetime; with the possible exception of some parallel universe where 'things are exactly as they seem' and Cleveland actually does 'Rock.'

But for its inspirational influence as a comedic one-liner, Moxie Axolotl's 'Whiz Bang,' its smog-filled majestic skyline, or its perplexing idiot wizardry, Cleveland, Ohio, is nothing inevitable and always something that some unknowing outsider (even someone such as myself -one generation removed) would easily mistake as being wrong. But, it isn't. And they're the ones who are wrong. And that's my point exactly, I think.

Cleveland is the little train that could have easily just given up. But it didn't, and it doesn't, because it can't. Even though it knows full well it is never going to make it up that hill. Shit, it could have packed it up and sent it back to the banks for liquidation so many times. But, it didn't. It could have simply set the lake on fire and called it a bay (on the North Coast, of course). But, it didn't. It could have accepted the fact that the Browns were probably better off in Baltimore. But, it didn't. I could have embraced the notion that the sunrises to the east, and not the west. But, I didn't.

Oh hell, why don't they just call it the 'Fifteenth Bank' and be done with it? Or better yet, how about the 'Fifth Reich Bank?' Well, the answer is simple. They don't because they didn't. And they didn't because they don't.

Besides, its like Old Mother Olmstead always said whenever Moxie Axolotl would start up with her California Prankster Shenanigans, "there are some things we just don't do here, in Ohio, dear."

Never mind the part where I ask the obvious question, 'what happened to the Third Third Bank or the Fourth Third Bank?' Because I already know that I won't get an answer. And I already know that there is no logical answer available. Because, the truth is simple: Nobody can ever conclusively prove to a Cleveland refugee, once removed, such as myself, that the sun won't maybe sometime actually rise in the west; and that the Browns won't always continue to win, maybe, except when it either seems inevitable or actually matters.

Why don't they call it 'Third World Bank?' Or better yet, reverse that and you've really got something 'World Third Bank.' In the early 1990s I drove past a Thai Restaurant named 'Phuc Yu.' I knew better to stop and eat, and Old Mother Olmstead never approved of such language. Besides, I've lived in California for over thirty years! I don't come to Cleveland for chinese cuisine!? I come here for its amazing autumn changing of the color of the leaves and its wild north coast western sunrises.

Oh phuc it. Sunrises are usually overrated anyway. Roll on Big Cleveland, you phucking plumb.

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