GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #629: 1985 BUICK SKYHAWK

 

Quick note: there two spoilers for the ending of Supernatural in this one. I think it would be an absolute crime to spoil anything about that final episode, so if you haven't seen it, don't read this.

I'll give you a little more space just in case your eyes wandered.

OK, so last month when I gave my final thoughts on Supernatural it occurred to me that some of you might not know why that scene where Old Man Sam clutches the steering wheel of the Impala got to me so much. It also occurred to me that those who know me very well might not know either because, silly me, I told no one about it. Not a single soul.

Until now.

When Gramps got rid of the old 1978 Chevy Impala that he used to drive when I was a kid, he replaced it with a 1985 Buick Skyhawk almost like the one pictured above. The one you see has four doors, and the one we had only had two. I loved this car from the moment I saw it because it looked so futuristic with the sleek front end sloping down, unlike that Impala with the square front. Wind resistance would be a trifling matter for that Skyhawk. Also, it had windows you could roll up and down with a switch instead of a hand crank, and I'd never seen that before.

Time passed. When I was in high school Gramps decided to get a Century. I forget the year. Or maybe it was during my time in junior high. Instead of getting rid of the Skyhawk he held onto it for himself. Grandma drove the Century. And as I got out of high school and started college, he all but gave the Skyhawk to me. It was his, sure, but I drove it all the time. It might as well have had my name on the title.

I had a lot of adventures in that car, but eventually it started falling apart until finally the brakes went out (while I was on one of those adventures, actually), and it was dead.

I didn't want to let it go. I had dreams of restoring it one day to its former glory, which makes me probably the only person who ever thought that way about a Skyhawk. I figured Sam Raimi could keep his old beater around and put it in a bunch of movies, so why can't I hold onto this car?

Gramps got a Cavalier that I started driving around instead, and when I got a job out in Schaumburg, I needed my own car to get out there, so I got the first car I ever paid for, a piece of shit used 2006 Ford Focus that caused me no end of troubles. All this time, as my life progressed, that Skyhawk sat in my garage, and the more time I spent away from it, the less likely it became that I would ever restore it.

I'm a terrible brother. While I got the Focus, one of my brothers wound up with the Cavalier. Because I parked the Focus in the garage, and the Skyhawk was on the other side of the garage, I made my brother park his Cavalier on the apron outside, and he had to move that car every morning when I had to leave for work. All because of my obsession with that Skyhawk.

Finally Gramps had to pull rank on me to get rid of that Skyhawk. I didn't want to let it go, but he said, "Dodge, it's my car. Not yours. We have to get rid of it."

Faced with that inconvenient truth, I had no choice. We called Victory Auto Wreckers. If you're from the Chicago area, you know their commercial well. I gotta say, that commercial didn't exaggerate much when it showed the Victory guy handing over $80 for that car. We got $200 for the Skyhawk, and that was about, what, twenty years after that commercial was filmed? Adjusted for inflation, that seems about right.

But I got one last night with my Skyhawk. I went into the trunk and thought about what stuff I'd like to save. I found a bunch of old newspapers. A lot of string for when Gramps had to pick me up from somewhere and put my bike in the trunk. A hammer, which I brought back in the house. A set of bases, home plate and a pitching rubber from when my cousin and I played baseball with friends, as well as one of the baseballs we routinely used.

I opened the driver's door and looked inside, marveling at what a time capsule the inside was. It looked regal in there and surprisingly dust free. I breathed in the air and felt like I was in high school again. I saw the sheath for the passenger seatbelt and remembered when I accidentally dropped Grandma's keys down into it, and we were never able to recover them. I wondered if they were still down there. For a brief moment I considered prying the plastic off so I could take a look.

And then I got in the driver's seat. I adjusted the rearview mirror. I felt my body fall into the familiar pattern of sitting in that seat, something I hadn't done at that point for probably more than a decade.

And I put my hands on that steering wheel and closed my eyes. I felt like I was back in college, driving my friends around, going on all kinds of adventures, some that ended in glory and a few that ended in anger and tears. I was no longer my present self but my old self. Before a lot of the horrible shit that happened to me happened. The only really shitty thing that had happened earlier in my life was being physically abused by my stepfather. But in that moment, there were no psych wards, no alcohol addiction, no broken hearts, no pancreatitis, no health problems, no diabetes, no real tragedy. I might have been smarter than the average teenager, but I was still just a dumb kid back then, and it might have been why it felt so freeing.

For just that one moment I was surrounded by ghosts from the past. Or maybe I was the ghost.

The next day the guy from Victory showed up and dragged the Skyhawk out of the garage, leaving rotten rubber from the tires smeared on the floor and apron. I watched as it got loaded up onto the tow truck, and I still watched as the tow truck drove away. I could swear the Skyhawk was giving me a sad smile. Look above at the headlights and the grille. Those lights could have been eyes, the Buick logo could have been a button nose and the narrow grille could have been that smile. "So long kid. We had some great times together. Maybe we'll see each other again some day."

I can't bear to think about that Skyhawk in a junkyard, rusting away under the hot O'Hare sun. Or crunched up into a metal oblong. But I do know this: if Supernatural is right about the afterlife, when I get there that Skyhawk will be waiting for me. Just like the Impala for Dean.

I miss that Skyhawk unlike any other car I've driven. The others? I could take 'em or leave 'em. In the case of the Focus, I could fucking well leave it. But I wish I still had that Skyhawk.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #616: IT'S OK. YOU CAN GO NOW.

 (Before we begin I'd like it noted that everyone knows that 666 is the number of the beast, but there are some biblical sources that say it is actually 616. Heh.)

Sam, Dean, Crowley, Castiel

For the longest time people have been telling me that I should watch Supernatural, that it was right up my alley. I saw it was a CW show, and while they're good for DC shows, I didn't know if I wanted to get involved with it. And then people who know me really, really well started telling me to watch it for Crowley. Finally, I gave in and decided I would give it a shot. I'm very glad I did.

I probably should have taken a look a lot sooner because holy shit! It's the longest running horror TV show in history! That alone should have gotten me into it. Fifteen seasons! And I'm not talking about seasons today, which run about 10 episodes, more or less. I'm talking 20+ episodes each season! There are 327 episodes! That puts it at the 13th longest TV show PERIOD. Some people don't want to include cartoons in such things, and if you're of the same mind, that makes Supernatural the 9th longest running show.

(Also, while I'm looking at the list, did you know that Lassie was on for 19 seasons? How the fuck did that happen?)

(I also hear you point out that Dark Shadows had 1,225 episodes. Not counting the 'Nineties revival. That's a good point, but they weren't even on for five years. The only reason they have more episodes is because they were on every weekday. So no, it doesn't count.)

Supernatural is the story of Sam and Dean Winchester, two brothers who hunt monsters across America. They were raised by their father, a Vietnam vet, to do this. Their mother died when they were kids. Sam was just a baby, and he doesn't remember anything about her. Sam escapes the life and goes to college to become a lawyer while Dean and their father continue to kill all sorts of monsters until one day their dad goes missing. Dean gets Sam out of school to help look for him, and before you know it Sam is back in the life. For good.

At first the stories are low key (and yes, Loki makes an appearance at one point) and monster-of-the-week type stuff, but over time it becomes one big story about good versus evil with apocalypse after apocalypse. There are a lot of supporting characters, and almost all of them die. While watching the show, after I got used to its habit of killing these characters, I started to get nervous every time they brought a recurring character on, knowing this could be the day they die. And I was usually right.

Of the longtime characters, one of the best is Bobby Singer, the cantankerous friend of John Winchester who really raised the boys and offers words of wisdom sometimes. It's just that sometimes those words of wisdom are "idjit" or "balls." There's also Castiel, the angel who rescued Dean from Hell and became the closest ally to the brothers over the years.

And then of course there's Crowley. Everyone who told me I would love him? They were all right. He's a fast-talking contract-writing crossroads demon who lucked his way into being the King of Hell (long story). He's a tricky guy who is always about ten steps ahead of everyone. He's the kind of guy who would stab you in the back, and you'd thank him for the pleasure. But he's also got a human side to him, and you can tell he really does love his interactions with the boys. (Mostly.) The funniest thing is, the reason he got sent to Hell in the first place is because he sold his soul to get a few extra inches of cock on him.

So here's a good place for me to mention that there will be spoilers from here on out. If you don't want to read anything further, then goodnight to you, kind fucker. Come back when you've watched the end of the series.

Just in case you skipped ahead, here is one more warning about those spoilers. You can still turn back.

OK, too late to escape.

Crowley is so smart and so cunning that the only person on the show who could have possibly ever killed him was himself, and that's how it turned out. He had Lucifer trapped on another earth (I swear I wrote that Zimventure before I realized that there was a Supernatural multiverse), and the only way to trap him there was for someone to die for a spell. Crowley was the only one around, and he loved the boys so much (and hated Lucifer so much) that he sacrificed himself to do it. It was a great moment, but I had a couple of regrets. For one, Crowley's plan didn't work. Lucifer found a way out, anyway. And for another, everyone who died in making that moment came back to life EXCEPT for Crowley. Talk about unfair.

Misha Collins, who plays Cass, entertained me a great deal for a variety of reasons.

His inability to effectively insult anyone is one of them.

On a meta episode in which Sam and Dean find themselves on the set of a show called Supernatural (where everyone thinks they're actors named Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles), Misha Collins gets to play himself playing Cass, and it is fucking hilarious. On another episode, Cass gets possessed by Lucifer, so Collins has to play Cass possessed by Lucifer pretending to be Cass, which is a great concept. Also, it's very unsettling. Watching him filled me with such wonderful revulsion!

But I have to say his finest moment was his speech he gives to Dean before he sacrifices himself to save the boys. When he first appeared on the show he was an angel who didn't know the first thing about right and wrong. He just did as he was told. But having spent so many years with the boys, Dean in particular, he discovers what it's like to be human and even becomes human, himself. He learns to love humanity. That speech is amazing. Go ahead and watch it again. And then see if you were fast enough to see the handprint he leaves on Dean's shoulder. Just like the one he left on his flesh when he first met him and pulled him out of Hell.

I'm not going to rehash my thoughts on Bobby Singer. If you want to revisit that, you can read it here.

Here's a thing I wonder a lot about. And keep in mind, this wasn't some niche show that barely anyone watched. This is one of the longest running TV shows ever. As we approached the ending of season 14 we learned who the biggest of the big bads on this show was. It's crazy when you think about it. I mean, I was totally on board, but I'm not . . . usual. God turns out to be the series villain. For most of the show he's kind of a loveable writer named Carver Edlund who then goes on to call himself Chuck instead of God, but when his creations refuse to follow the script, he flips his shit and decides to end the multiverse! Saving his favorite earth for last, of course. But that moment when you realize God isn't on their side is fucking chilling. How do you fight God? How, indeed? And how did the Religious Right not rise up in arms about this show calling God the villain? Or was I just not paying attention? Maybe they don't watch shows like this. I don't know.

This is running a little long (and I admit, I'm cheating a little, as I've been chipping away at this one since I got home from work), so I think it's time we talked about the very ending. While I was watching the penultimate episode I could have sworn it felt like the final episode, and I'm pretty sure they did that on purpose. Like Stephen King at the end of The Dark Tower, you're given a choice. You can take this as a celebratory happy ending, and you don't have to watch the final episode.

But I've never heard of anyone taking King up on that. I would never let it go at that, myself. I can't imagine the kind of person who would.

Because the final chapter is always the one with heartache and woe.

A while back I was having a conversation with a friend about the possible ending of Supernatural. (You'd better not be reading this. I know you still have 10 episodes to go.) I couldn't imagine that it would end with both brothers still alive. I told him if I had to guess, they'd probably kill Dean. He said that he agreed, but he figured Sam would be the one to die. I admitted that the show sometimes went in an unexpected direction, but Dean has been saying throughout the entire series that the only way his story ends is in violent death. I didn't think they would ignore that kind of a buildup.

Sure enough they didn't. Sam and Dean go off on one last hunt, and Dean dies violently, just as he always knew he would. Sam gives his brother a hunter's funeral--ie. burning the body on a pyre--and he gets a call on one of his FBI cellphones. There's another case.

Before I move on with the ending, here's a point that I don't think I understand. When Sam gets that call, he agrees to go, and we see him closing up the bunker. I thought he would go on a solo hunt and live out the rest of his life doing what he does best: killing monsters. But I have another thought, considering how the rest of the episode goes. I don't think he went on this hunt. I think he was actually closing down the bunker and giving up the life. If anyone has any thoughts about this, I'd love to hear them.

Anyway, we see Dean in the afterlife, where Bobby is waiting for him with a beer. Bobby tells him something quite beautiful, and if I were one to believe in the afterlife, it would give me some kind of hope. Bobby tells Dean that "he'll be along." Meaning Sam. To look at death in such a way actually brought a tear to my eye.

And then Dean sees Baby, his 1967 Chevy Impala, is there waiting for him, and he decides to take a ride. And then, as he drives through the afterlife, we get glimpses of Sam's life without Dean. Give it a rewatch here. Guess which part gets me the most. I'll tell you in a moment.

If you guessed it was the moment when old man Sam sits in the Impala, closes his eyes and touches the steering wheel, you would be right.

And then a very old Sam dies. I'm pretty sure that he never taught his son the life of a hunter, that young Dean Winchester will never know the sheer madness of hunting monsters. And that is probably a good thing.

And of course, the whole time you're watching Dean drive through the afterlife, you know exactly how it's going to end.

Oh yeah.

I was a very different man when I first started watching this show. I've been through so much in such a little amount of time. Because I lucked out. I got to binge the show. I have no idea how the rest of you did it, watching weekly episodes over the course of 15 years. If I was still the same, I probably would have had a whiskey, toasting to the Brothers Winchester. May they rest in peace.

PS:

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #602: FAILED IDEAS

Can't stand my work? Blame this book.

 

So here's a peek into my thought process behind ideas, in particular ideas that I should not have had. This happens to me often, sad to say. I come up with this great idea before I realize that it already exists in a very blatant way. This is the most recent idea that went south on me.

Writing last week about Vivian Schurfranz made me feel nostalgic for the kinds of things I used to write. My first stories were imitations of the Hardy Boys, so I started thinking about those books on Friday and throughout the weekend. I kind of wanted to go back and read some of the classics. 

If you don't know, the Hardy Boys were created in the early 20th Century. They're brothers who follow in their father's footsteps to become detectives and go on all sorts of adventures.

Then I started thinking, why don't I do something like the Hardy Boys today? Except they'll be actual teenagers instead of the sanitized all American clean boys that we know. These teenage brothers would think about things like sex all the time, just like actual teenage boys. And hey! What if they hunted monsters instead of criminals? Wouldn't that be cool?

It would be cool. Except at that moment I realized there already was a duo of young brothers following in their father's footsteps, hunting monsters. Supernatural, in other words. Whoops!

Although that goes a long way towards explaining why I enjoy that show so much. It's not just a love of horror. It brings back a feeling I used to have often as a child. It scratches that same itch.

Maybe one day I'll tell you about the time I came up with the idea to have a detective tracking down aliens and bigfoot and other monsters while accompanied by his skeptic partner . . .

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #579: THE COWARD'S WAY

Truer words, never spoken.

 

I don't consider myself a particularly fearful man. I don't think of myself as a coward. To the best of my memory I have only ever done one cowardly thing in my life, and that was because a friend made a horrible decision and I had to back said friend's play by doing something stupid. I'm no longer friends with that person, and I think about that moment often and don't like talking about it at all, so we'll leave it at that.

But I recently realized I may have done something else cowardly, and it bothers me.

A little background. I don't have any children (and I've been pretty fucking careful to ensure that never happened). I don't ever intend to have children. I'm probably too old for that by now, anyway. If I had a kid in nine months, I'd be in my sixties when that kid becomes a teenager. I don't want to be in my sixties chasing a shithead teenager around. That's strictly for the birds.

And for all my bluster about despising children, I kinda don't. Yeah, they're annoying and filthy and stupid and generally disgusting, but when it comes down to it I'd rather hang out with them than their awful adult counterparts. I kind of view them like Eric Northman in True Blood.

Why don't I have kids? First and foremost I'm a child myself. I'm the oldest eight year old boy I know. I'm irresponsible and I'm selfish. When you have kids, you're supposed to put them first, and I have absolutely no desire to do that.

But a major concern of mine was that I'd wind up just like my stepdad, a drunk who beats his wife and kids. Even before I became a teenager I could feel his hatred and rage in me. I still feel it to this day. Sure enough, I became a drunk. I've never intentionally hit a woman in my life. I accidentally slapped a girlfriend while rolling over in my sleep. It wasn't the impact that woke me up but the feeling of her face on my hand after. It wasn't forceful, and she didn't even wake up. I was just startled because I don't really sleep well around other people, and it kind of surprised me that someone else was in bed with me. It took me a moment to reorient myself and remember who she was.

And though I've wanted to many times, I've never struck a child. But I knew that was in me, and I didn't want to pass that down. Child Abuse: The Next Generation. I wanted to make sure that whatever thing that lived in my stepfather would die with me. And I think about how he got to be that way sometimes. I have a sneaking suspicion that his dad was a Nazi. I don't mean that figuratively. I mean, the guy fought in WWII for Hitler.

Anyway, that's what I was thinking about when I considered the coward's way.

Not too long ago I watched what is possibly my favorite episode of Supernatural. It was about the life of Bobby Singer. This would probably be considered a spoiler for the show, so if you haven't watched it, maybe skip the rest of this.

The episode is called "Death's Door." In the previous episode Bobby is shot in the head. He's still alive in this episode, but he's struggling for what, at first, you think is his life. He's trapped in his memories, and he has to relive some of his deepest regrets in life. Before this episode you know him as the gruff and ornery surrogate father to the Winchesters. He's a no-nonsense kind of guy with more than a tinge of paranoia. He's also the most knowledgeable hunter the boys know. They go to him when they don't know what kind of monster they're facing.

But we learn more about what makes Bobby tick in this episode. You see, his Reaper has showed up to take him to the other side, but like I said he's struggling to succeed at something before that happens. He has to run and hide from the Reaper, and he learns the best way to do that is to find his worst memories and stick with them.

His absolute worst memory is of his father and why he doesn't have kids, either. His father beat his mom. He beat Bobby. Often. And li'l Bobby did what I'd always fantasized about when I was his age. He killed his abuser. Shot him in the head. And he swore to himself that the cycle of abuse would die with him.

And so he raised Dean and Sam as best as he could when their real father was hunting monsters. He didn't always raise them like John wanted. Sometimes he let them play hooky from target practice so they could play a little ball instead.

And Bobby realizes, in these moments before the Reaper catches up to him, that his deepest regret was not having kids. It had been the coward's way. You don't just avoid evil. You step in its path and fuck it up as best as you can. The truly heroic thing would have been to take a stand against the evil within himself and NOT LET IT WIN. To be the best father he could have ever been.

And he manages to do the one thing he was really struggling to do as he stood at Death's door. He helped the boys one last time and died.

Fear stands in our way a lot more often that we'd like to believe. We do something or we don't do something because doing the opposite scares us in ways we can't even comprehend. When I discover I'm afraid of something, I usually just do it anyway, but in this one case, where it might have mattered the most, I didn't.

And that's one of the regrets I may have to hide in when my Reaper comes for me.

IDJITS.

One more thing. Gramps had a saying. "'Balls!' said the Queen. 'If I had two I'd be king!'" This went back to his high school days, apparently. I was thinking about it earlier tonight and decided to look up where it came from. No one knows, like no one knows who came up with the song that says, "Milk, milk, lemonade, 'round the corner doody made." Or the one about what King Kong went to Hong Kong to do. But Gramps never told me there was a second part to that. The King responded by saying that it takes 12 inches to make a ruler.