what did I do but miss my home

Though geopolitical follies led to my entering this sad world south of the Mason-Dixon line, I've always considered myself to be a Bay Stater born and bred, and I take no small pride in that fact. It's a harsh region and it generates a harsh breed of people -- impatient, irritable, and fiercely devoted to the only religion that matters. Well, that and the First Church of Aggressive Driving Habits. (I recite the liturgy during every morning's and evening's commute: OHFORFUCKSAKE-WHATTHEHELLAREYOUDOING-HOWABOUTATURNSIGNAL-FUCKWAD. Amen.)

Among the many other aspects of this willful parochialism is my longstanding fascination-slash-repulsion regarding how the region is portrayed in television, movies, and other popcultural diversions -- fascination due to the "Hey, they're talking about us!" factor, with the repulsive flipside over how frequently the entertainment business screws up the various regionalisms. The only reason I could be bothered to watch A Civil Action (set in my dysfunctionally beloved Woburn) is to see Stephen Fry putter around the bank of an Aberjona River far wider and more picturesque than the muddy creek that flows through my fair city. (Woburn itself is depicted as a stock Hollywoodized "New England town," rather than appearing as the industrialized mid-ring residential suburb it was back then.)

By far, the biggest stumbling block in popular portrayals of the Land of Bean and Cod comes when non-natives try to imitate the region's distinctive accent. Tim Robbins nailed it perfectly in Mystic River, but most actors are content to retrofit a broad Brooklynesque accent with exaggeratedly dropped R's and liberal use of "wicked" as a modifier. Or, even worse, they imitate how the Kennedys speak, even though no one but the Kennedys talks that way. Seriously.

The devil is in the details, and the Hollywood Bahston accent overlooks numerous but significant linguistic tics that characterise the real deal. Just one example is the dropping of middle double consonants. (I've had two linguistically-minded friends tell me what the correct scientific term for it is, but it seems incapable of sticking in my memory.) "Button" becomes "buh-un" and "kitten" becomes "kih-en." It's a small detail, but one that makes it easy to pick out the pretenders from the genuine article.

And so, with my grumpy, hyper-specific pedantic mindset firmly in place, I would like to direct your attention to Ms. Marvel v1 #13-14 (January & Feburary 1978), a two-part non-arc set in Boston area. The actual stories are no big deal. Carol Danvers (a.k.a. Ms. Marvel) returns home to her parents' house in the upscale North Shore suburb of Beverly (which, oddly enough, borders on the town of Danvers. "Hi, I'm Joe Brooklyn from Queens!"). She deals with some Daddy issues, gets caught in a struggle between two alien beings, and fights the rivet gun-wielding Steeplejack. Oh, she also has a two page non-encounter with Dracula, whose only purpose was to remind readers that Marvel was publishing the Tomb of Dracula comic at the time.

Instances of local color in the two issues are pretty thin on the ground. As drawn by Jim Mooney and Carmine Infantino, Boston looks like pretty much any comic book big city. Writer Chris Claremont does get his geography straight...kind of. He correctly mentions Lynn (Lynn, the city of sin/you'll never come out the way you came in) as a midpoint on the Boston-Beverly commute, but inexcusably drops the ball in this sequence....

...in which the Kittery, Maine naval base has mysteriously migrated sixty miles south to occupy the previous location of the Charlestown Navy Yard. Thank goodness Old Ironsides wasn't harmed in the massive geographic upheaval.

Claremont made no effort to capture the Boston accent in the characters' dialogue, which is surprising considering how much he reveled in such antics in the X-titles he wrote. Och, the wee bairn, tovarisch! Mein gott! Mon dieu! Ah'm invulnerable, sugah! It's probably for the best, actually. Besides, having been made aware of Ms. Danver's Bay State roots, I've found myself subconsciously applying a Boston accent when I read her dialogue...

Rather pissah, I dare say.

Speech patterns and geographical accuracy aside, there is one panel where Carol does show her Beantown bona fides in big way...

...following a high-intensity superheroic workout with a lahge coffee regulah (from Dunkin Donuts, of course). Way to represent, Ms. Danvers!

(What the hell is up with the "even in Boston" caption, anyway? A sixty story building collapsing is big news where ever it happens. Hell, this incident caused a local panic and made the national news. We may be jaded around here, but we're not completely insensate.)

Jonathan Richman & The Modern Lovers - New England (from The Beserkley Years, 1987) - There's nothing I can add that Mr. Richman & Company haven't already got covered here.

the die was cast, the rebel flag unfurled

It’s Patriots’ Day today, commemorating the 1775 Battles of Lexington and Concord. It’s a state holiday in Massachusetts and Maine, which has led to a number of jibes directed this way from friends in other parts of the country, who tend to view it as another “hack holiday” along the lines of Bunker Hill Day or St. Patrick’s Day -- excuse me, “Evacuation Day.”

Yeah, I’m thrilled at getting an extra three paid holidays a year, but I’m also glad I live in a state (or technically, “a commonwealth”) willing to take pride in spearheading American independence. Other colonies hemmed and hawed about British rule; the residents of Massachusetts took the initiative and removed all doubt as to the course of action, and in doing so delivered stinging blows to British military that shattered its confidence (for a while, at least).

It has become fashionable in some quarters to dismiss Massachusetts as being “out of step” with the rest of America. I prefer to think of us as ahead of the curve, and the state’s legalization of gay marriage is another example of that proud, forward-thinking legacy.

Bob Dorough – The Shot Heard ‘Round the World (from Schoolhouse Rock: America Rock, 1997) – Pure nostalgia candy for a certain generation (i.e. mine). The “America Rock” songs are odd to hear after all these years spent studying and reading American history. They present a more sensitive, 1970’s version of the American national mythology: heavy on civics and progress, not so much on the victims of said progress. “Elbow Room” is especially creepy, being a children’s primer on manifest destiny that fails to mention the extermination of native cultures while incorporating a kid-friendly version of the Nazi principle of lebensraum.

The Alarm – Spirit of ’76 (from Strength, 1985) – A band that burned too brightly, too quickly. Their first EP and the Declaration LP are fantastic, containing an assortment of fist-pumping anthems which blended cowpunk and arena rock. It was all downhill from there, though, as the band quickly morphed into a weak U2 clone. “Spirit of ‘76” captures the band in mid-transformation, with flashes of their initial brilliance shining through the morass of excessively earnest “relevant rawk” nonsense.

Paul Revere and The Raiders – Kicks (from a 1966 single) – Straight edge, 1960’s style. Back then it apparently involved dressing up like an Revolutionary War soldier, rather than writing an “X” on the back on one’s hand with a Sharpie. Now that’s a trend I wouldn’t have minded seeing persist into the 1980’s hardcore scene.