Just yesterday I was guiltlessly not doing laundry, paying bills, grocery shopping, cleaning tampons out of clogged rental property toilets or listening to hold music at my health insurance's 800 number, but instead watched Clear and Present Danger, with Harrison Ford. It's my two hours of free time and if I want to squander it watching tired Tom Clancy vehicles you can't stop me.
For about the thousandth time in recent memory, some secondary character in a film made reference to Cleveland in a condescending way. This time the comment was about ripping the stars from the lapels of some well-meaning officer and stowing the poor bastard behind a desk in Cleveland. Cleveland, spat from his mouth like he just discovered ass lint on his tongue. The assumption being that Cleveland is cosmic landfill, the junk heap for all the people, things and ideas that don't make it in real places like Los Angeles or New York, or in this case D.C.
Its ironic that this should bug me, considering how I so enjoy disparaging Cleveland myself. There's a lot wrong with this town, and I plan to bitch about each and every one of them in future posts. I fucking LIVE here, so I get to say whatever I want about it. But rich screenwriters living in the Hollywood Hills, who have never even stopped over in Cleveland on their way to New York, don't get to. People who enjoy ordering food in the middle of the night from really good Ethiopian restaurants, after attending art openings in cool re-purposed auto-body shops don't get to. Until you know, really know, how badly a place can suck, I don't think you should be able to casually include it in your knowing derision. Plus, Cleveland isn't Detroit. I've never been there but Detroit fucking blows.