Jason Rodriguez - The Moose in the Closet: Progressive Ruin and Staten Island, The Eternal Ruin

Mike Sterling’s Progressive Ruin has become a daily stop for me – it’s fun to see the world through the eyes of, from what I can tell, a responsible comic shop owner. I could say the same about James Sime from The Isotope but I imagine seeing through his eyes is occasionally blurry, what with the Johnny Walker Blue Label, or whatever he drinks (EDIT: I was informed by Larry Young that James isn't much of a drinker, but he is much of a God). I also firmly believe that James sees everything plated in gold, because he’s a marketing genius, and that type of vision gets a bit intimidating. But I digress, today Mike shared some gems from the past about his shop, nice little stories of 1990s comic shopping. Worth checking out.

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My Aunt Jackie and her family lived out in Staten Island, an island made of kryptonite for any Brooklyn born youth. Staten Island is just ugly – the landfill, the mall, the zoo, the 9 to 1 ratio of whites to non-whites and the overpriced Verrazano Bridge that only charges you when entering Staten Island, as if trying to limit their visitors. It has no redeeming value.

But, we’d go out there at least monthly to spend some time with the family because the family sure as well wasn’t coming to Brooklyn (Staten Islanders hate Brooklyn). The trip over there was never too bad. When I was younger we’d play a game going over the Verrazano, inspired by the original Donkey Kong game, where whoever saw a Verrazano Bridge ladder (they’re sprinkled throughout) first had to shout “There he is!” in order to get a point (“he” being an imaginary Mario). My parents usually let me win but if Nanny was in the car with us none of us stood a chance, she was ruthless. So I at least had that to look forward to.

Once we got to Aunt Jackie’s house there was plenty to do. They always barbequed while the kids played in the pool. Having a pool to swim in was a dream come true for a kid from Red Hook and I usually spent the entire day in it. All we had back home was the Red Hook Pool. I have no idea what that pool is like now but back in the day it was what I imagine a pool would be like in a prison. And if I where in a prison, I would be the bitch from day one. Not the best way to spend the day.

I had an irrational fear of sharks attacking me when I was alone in Aunt Jackie’s pool, however. My plan to spend the whole day swimming was occasionally cut short because I wasn’t able to see every square inch of the pool’s floor at all times. I honestly though a portal would open up and shark would swim through and eat me. Which, I admit, was better than getting ass-raped in the Red Hook Pool; the shark attack was a risk I took from time to time.

My Aunt Jackie’s house has an interesting history. While digging for the pool they come across a tombstone that was buried in their yard for a man named John Finn. Having no idea what to do with the tombstone, they simply set it up in the corner of the yard. People would always ask who “John Finn” was and the answer would usually get them out of the pool – we all saw Poltergeist. There were stories about the house being haunted, messages written on the bathroom mirror when someone takes a steamy shower. My cousin John had “Thou Shall Not Kill” scratched several times into his doorframe, apparently like that when they moved in. He said when they try to cover it up it would always come back. All the stories seemed to be someone in the house playing a prank on someone else.

At the end of my Aunt Jackie’s block there was this little beach. No one would go swimming there, the water was way too rocky and the sand itself was a mixture of rock, sand, glass and beer bottles. But to the right of the beach was this awesome collection of huge rocks that stretched for about a quarter mile until reaching a larger beach. The rocks were great for climbing and one of them was sort of shaped like a captain’s chair and we’d use it as the centerpiece of some Star Trek role-playing. I was never the captain, unfortunately. One you cross over the rock formation you get to the bigger beach which was made of actual sand but the shore was littered with horseshoe crabs.

Around the corner was a little wooded area that the neighborhood kids took over. The cleared out a kick-ass dirt bike path and there were tree-houses scattered throughout. The wooded area was a great place for hide and seek or bottle rocket wars – we’d put bottle rockets in the holes at the bottom of waffle ball bats, light them up and shoot them at people.

They had a nice big TV, plenty of movies and video game systems. John had a computer before I did, a Commodore 64, and we’d play Goonies on it and other fine games – he also had a tarantula (which is a rite of passage for all Staten Island males) which I thought was bad ass – all I had was a cat. They had a fireplace which was absolutely mind blowing; only rich people have fireplaces. They had two bathrooms – TWO – our one bathroom is the size of most people’s closets.

Every kid had their own room. When Elizabeth was born we had to put up a false wall in my parents room so she had a place to sleep. As she grew up she started platooning between my parent’s room and my room. The day I went to college (she was seven) she moved into my room and finally had some space of her own.

They had a trash compactor. They had an attic (the John once told me had ghosts in it so I never entered). They had about fifty picture frames on the wall of their hallway that was about half the size of our apartment. They had a table in their kitchen that wasn’t the dining room table.

Aunt Jackie’s house, for me, was a place of wonders. Until this one Christmas. But that’s tomorrow’s story.

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Progressive Ruin and Staten Island, The Eternal Ruin

Wednesday, May 18, 2005

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