Beginnings: Moving Out
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Three more stories to go before The Moose turns into an “at most two times a week of whatever the hell I want” type of blog – for now. Couple of things before getting down the business…
First off, I posted a little bit of information on the World’s End Production Blog that gives some insight into the editing process and how it’s the kind of job you adapt to depending on the project and the team. I don’t know, if you’re interested in what editing comics is like that’s a good place to start. You can also read the Plot to Page piece I wrote for the Elk’s Run Bumper Edition – layouts on that done by the amazing Jason (Jaco) Hanley.
Speaking of Jaco, he’s busy doing some promotional material for me to bring to New York Comic Con regarding my super secret project. Since the decision to go ahead with the super secret project won’t come down until April (so, yes, this might not happen…but I think it will) I really can’t say too much about it but trust me when I say I can't fucking wait to blab my ass off about it.
And, finally, before story time – my fellow Moose in the Closet has some comments for all of you on the similarities between her site and mine. You know, despite the obvious differences like how mine has stories where I piss all over myself and she has stories about panties. (I’m just getting a kick out of the whole thing – it’s like Bizzaro Moose.)
Story time, savor the flavor, only three of these to go…
_____________________
Don’t remember much about high school graduation, mainly because nothing memorable really happened. Midwood was a competitive school, I think I finished up with a 92 or 93 average and my class ranking was something along the lines of 125. No awards, no special honors, got my diploma, took my pictures and called it a day.
By this point I was already set to go to Boston University and had a handle on who else was going – there’s a comfort zone to moving on when you know what’s coming next in life and you realize who you’ll likely never see again (upcoming ten year reunion aside). You give your hugs and jot down the phone numbers and email addresses and say goodbye and never look back.
You know what I remember about graduation? I remember it was held in Brooklyn College and we marched out to “Consider Yourself” from the Oliver Twist musical. Is that some kind of weird ass tradition I never heard of?
Consider yourself well in
Consider yourself part of the furniture
There isn't a lot to spare
Who cares, whatever we've got we share
I mean, what part of that song really signifies high school graduation?
The day of year book signing was much more fun – the book passes through many hands, cryptic things are written that make no-fucking-sense ten years later.
Jason, it was fun chilling these four years. We’ll always have B.P.O., right?
No. We won’t always have B.P.O.. The person who wrote that didn’t even leave a name, as if B.P.O is enough for me to know who it is. As if when I’m fifty I’ll look back on the book and say, “Hey, I wonder whatever happened to Jimmy and his plans for B.P.O.” I’d like to think B.P.O. stands for “Butt Plug Optimization” and I do hope “Jimmy” remembered it and is still working on it, only because I’d want to talk to him at the reunion and see how far he’s come. Currently, butt-plugs require way too much lube – it’s an expensive hobby.
There were certain people who I didn’t ask to sign my book and every time I saw these people outside during the signing there was a very awkward pause. M was one of them, at this point R already confirmed that she was indeed cheating on me, excuses have run out and I couldn’t deny it anymore. So there was never a proper goodbye, never some phony message scribbled down in a high school yearbook reminiscing over the good times we shared – I don’t know, I guess I was never an overly sentimental guy.
Over the summer there was orientation for college. I already told the story of the dope smokers I rolled with, getting the party started right.
My parents threw a going away party for me where The Moose was spawned in the wee hours of the night. Earlier in the evening family members gave me cash and well wishes, a couple of days later my father packs the car and it’s off to college – the first member of the Rodriguez family to make it.
They help me settle in; hang out for a couple of days. I’m making friends but already relying too heavily on R. The parents leave, my mom makes me promise I won’t smoke – ten minutes later she catches me smoking when they realize they left something in my dorm room.
I get drunk that first night and throw up all over the place.
Take the lumps – many a night doing the typical freshman thing of walking around Allston, looking for the party that your friend’s friend’s brother’s girlfriend is supposedly throwing. I’ve walked up to many barren houses, windows dark, and rang the doorbell – the middle of the boondocks, no party in sight.
Smoking dope, meeting “dealers” who are essentially kids with an extra ounce of weed they sell at a 200% markup but it’s not like you’re getting the shit anywhere else. Eventually find that guy that sells dope, heavy drugs and magic cards – sophomore year is over from that point on.
Try to keep in shape, remind myself I was an athlete in college while putting on twenty pounds over the first year. Going jogging with Mormon Josh and waiting over five minutes for the elevator – we’re on the fourth floor – realizing it’s a lost cause and we’re never going to be who we were in high school again.
A couple of fights – a couple of drunken almost hook-ups or attempts at hook-ups that caused me to be paranoid about what R’s doing when I’m not around. I used to read her email and then spend the night depressed, wondering what happened to get me so paranoid. In retrospect, the Hooker Hand wasn’t a huge surprise after all.
Nothing was, really.
Getting the job – I was so fucking proud to get a job in the dining hall; everyone else thought I was a bum. I was the grill man for the first year – I even had my own burger on the menu. The Jurger – a burger with pineapple and bacon, all grilled in teriyaki sauce, topped with muenster cheese and served up on a toasted Kaiser roll with spicy curly fries. It was one of the most popular items in the dining hall. The vegetarians loved me to, they called me the Stir Fry King because I wasn’t skimpy with the baby corn like the other grill men. I’d come home smelling like grease and my roommate would be playing video games, spitting his dip into a Snapple bottle which chain smoking Marlboro Reds.
Fighting with the mom – almost every conversation had me getting annoyed for the stupidest reasons – feeling guilty over it. Called her one night at around 11PM and just talked with her – it was freshman year, more than halfway through. I finished watching a movie that always reminded me of her (and I won’t say the name because I’ll never hear the end of it – never). Just got me upset – I don’t know, at myself – we had a nice talk. But it never really stuck back then, there was always something – smoking, not talking to Elizabeth enough – always some shit that I was getting mad at her for when I was the one being the idiot. My poor dad caught in the middle of it all and trying to keep his cool.
The newness rubs off quick and makes way for laziness and repetition. Get drunk on Fridays, smoke dope on Saturdays, study on Sundays, smoke dope Monday through Thursday. Arguments with the girl get worse as time goes on, I remember cursing at her several times, actually telling her to go fuck herself – I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone else to go fuck themselves and meant it – it’s not what I say, it’s not how I roll.
But everything was fine.
Friends from high school dropping off quicker than you ever imagined – even people who went to college with you slowly move away – the ones who went elsewhere never had a chance. Distance only makes the heart grow fonder for the first year, after that it becomes too much work to deal with.
Looking back at college, it amazes me how fast I adapted, how fast I fell into a routine and how fast I stopped giving a shit. Beyond that, it amazes me how one thing flips it all on its ass.
First off, I posted a little bit of information on the World’s End Production Blog that gives some insight into the editing process and how it’s the kind of job you adapt to depending on the project and the team. I don’t know, if you’re interested in what editing comics is like that’s a good place to start. You can also read the Plot to Page piece I wrote for the Elk’s Run Bumper Edition – layouts on that done by the amazing Jason (Jaco) Hanley.
Speaking of Jaco, he’s busy doing some promotional material for me to bring to New York Comic Con regarding my super secret project. Since the decision to go ahead with the super secret project won’t come down until April (so, yes, this might not happen…but I think it will) I really can’t say too much about it but trust me when I say I can't fucking wait to blab my ass off about it.
And, finally, before story time – my fellow Moose in the Closet has some comments for all of you on the similarities between her site and mine. You know, despite the obvious differences like how mine has stories where I piss all over myself and she has stories about panties. (I’m just getting a kick out of the whole thing – it’s like Bizzaro Moose.)
Story time, savor the flavor, only three of these to go…
_____________________
Don’t remember much about high school graduation, mainly because nothing memorable really happened. Midwood was a competitive school, I think I finished up with a 92 or 93 average and my class ranking was something along the lines of 125. No awards, no special honors, got my diploma, took my pictures and called it a day.
By this point I was already set to go to Boston University and had a handle on who else was going – there’s a comfort zone to moving on when you know what’s coming next in life and you realize who you’ll likely never see again (upcoming ten year reunion aside). You give your hugs and jot down the phone numbers and email addresses and say goodbye and never look back.
You know what I remember about graduation? I remember it was held in Brooklyn College and we marched out to “Consider Yourself” from the Oliver Twist musical. Is that some kind of weird ass tradition I never heard of?
Consider yourself well in
Consider yourself part of the furniture
There isn't a lot to spare
Who cares, whatever we've got we share
I mean, what part of that song really signifies high school graduation?
The day of year book signing was much more fun – the book passes through many hands, cryptic things are written that make no-fucking-sense ten years later.
Jason, it was fun chilling these four years. We’ll always have B.P.O., right?
No. We won’t always have B.P.O.. The person who wrote that didn’t even leave a name, as if B.P.O is enough for me to know who it is. As if when I’m fifty I’ll look back on the book and say, “Hey, I wonder whatever happened to Jimmy and his plans for B.P.O.” I’d like to think B.P.O. stands for “Butt Plug Optimization” and I do hope “Jimmy” remembered it and is still working on it, only because I’d want to talk to him at the reunion and see how far he’s come. Currently, butt-plugs require way too much lube – it’s an expensive hobby.
There were certain people who I didn’t ask to sign my book and every time I saw these people outside during the signing there was a very awkward pause. M was one of them, at this point R already confirmed that she was indeed cheating on me, excuses have run out and I couldn’t deny it anymore. So there was never a proper goodbye, never some phony message scribbled down in a high school yearbook reminiscing over the good times we shared – I don’t know, I guess I was never an overly sentimental guy.
Over the summer there was orientation for college. I already told the story of the dope smokers I rolled with, getting the party started right.
My parents threw a going away party for me where The Moose was spawned in the wee hours of the night. Earlier in the evening family members gave me cash and well wishes, a couple of days later my father packs the car and it’s off to college – the first member of the Rodriguez family to make it.
They help me settle in; hang out for a couple of days. I’m making friends but already relying too heavily on R. The parents leave, my mom makes me promise I won’t smoke – ten minutes later she catches me smoking when they realize they left something in my dorm room.
I get drunk that first night and throw up all over the place.
Take the lumps – many a night doing the typical freshman thing of walking around Allston, looking for the party that your friend’s friend’s brother’s girlfriend is supposedly throwing. I’ve walked up to many barren houses, windows dark, and rang the doorbell – the middle of the boondocks, no party in sight.
Smoking dope, meeting “dealers” who are essentially kids with an extra ounce of weed they sell at a 200% markup but it’s not like you’re getting the shit anywhere else. Eventually find that guy that sells dope, heavy drugs and magic cards – sophomore year is over from that point on.
Try to keep in shape, remind myself I was an athlete in college while putting on twenty pounds over the first year. Going jogging with Mormon Josh and waiting over five minutes for the elevator – we’re on the fourth floor – realizing it’s a lost cause and we’re never going to be who we were in high school again.
A couple of fights – a couple of drunken almost hook-ups or attempts at hook-ups that caused me to be paranoid about what R’s doing when I’m not around. I used to read her email and then spend the night depressed, wondering what happened to get me so paranoid. In retrospect, the Hooker Hand wasn’t a huge surprise after all.
Nothing was, really.
Getting the job – I was so fucking proud to get a job in the dining hall; everyone else thought I was a bum. I was the grill man for the first year – I even had my own burger on the menu. The Jurger – a burger with pineapple and bacon, all grilled in teriyaki sauce, topped with muenster cheese and served up on a toasted Kaiser roll with spicy curly fries. It was one of the most popular items in the dining hall. The vegetarians loved me to, they called me the Stir Fry King because I wasn’t skimpy with the baby corn like the other grill men. I’d come home smelling like grease and my roommate would be playing video games, spitting his dip into a Snapple bottle which chain smoking Marlboro Reds.
Fighting with the mom – almost every conversation had me getting annoyed for the stupidest reasons – feeling guilty over it. Called her one night at around 11PM and just talked with her – it was freshman year, more than halfway through. I finished watching a movie that always reminded me of her (and I won’t say the name because I’ll never hear the end of it – never). Just got me upset – I don’t know, at myself – we had a nice talk. But it never really stuck back then, there was always something – smoking, not talking to Elizabeth enough – always some shit that I was getting mad at her for when I was the one being the idiot. My poor dad caught in the middle of it all and trying to keep his cool.
The newness rubs off quick and makes way for laziness and repetition. Get drunk on Fridays, smoke dope on Saturdays, study on Sundays, smoke dope Monday through Thursday. Arguments with the girl get worse as time goes on, I remember cursing at her several times, actually telling her to go fuck herself – I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone else to go fuck themselves and meant it – it’s not what I say, it’s not how I roll.
But everything was fine.
Friends from high school dropping off quicker than you ever imagined – even people who went to college with you slowly move away – the ones who went elsewhere never had a chance. Distance only makes the heart grow fonder for the first year, after that it becomes too much work to deal with.
Looking back at college, it amazes me how fast I adapted, how fast I fell into a routine and how fast I stopped giving a shit. Beyond that, it amazes me how one thing flips it all on its ass.
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posted by Jason at
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jason rodriguez is an eisner and harvey-nominated editor and writer. email him. or become his digital BFF below:
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Previous Posts
- Beginnings: Cutting Out
- Beginnings: The Speech
- Toys
- Gross!
- Putting the Mega in Jesus Christ
- Paintball
- Sweat Shop
- My B, B
- Pets
- Bits