Previous Post You know where I was, just over a month ago? I was celebrating Vaisakhi at the local Sikh temple. I knew exactly two things going into that story; Sikhs are not Muslims, and Sikhs tend to be Indians rather than Arabs. Everything else was an on-the-ground learning experience. I'm not religious. At all. Most of you know that already. And no, I can't suspend my disbelief enough to accept Sikhism any more than I can any of the Abrahamic religions (in fact, the backstory behind the establishment of the Khalsa kind of scares me, for pretty much exactly the same reasons as Abraham being asked to sacrifice Isaac by Yahweh before he said PSYCH JUST KIDDING). But goddamn, you want to talk about people who practice what they preach? Sikhs pledge to offer hospitality and food to visitors, and by God, the ones in Marysville were RELENTLESS in living up to that creed. The Punjabi mommies were so insistent that I eat more, even after I'd gone back for seconds at their all-volunteer free kitchen, that I felt like I was in the middle of a bunch of Italian mothers. The temple representatives saw that I was hesitant to get into the middle of the ceremonies too much, for fear of interrupting or disrespecting them, so they took me by the hand and encouraged me to get right on top of things, with my lens right in people's faces. I met people who were happy to have me there, even as I stumbled through their customs like my feet were made of mutton. I heard from folks who are proud of their faith because they see it as a defender of ALL faiths. I saw adults socializing amiably, either meeting for the first time or catching up on old times, while children laughed and ran and took naps in the arms of mom and dad and grandma and grandpa. Small daughters received help in adjusting their colorful headscarves to help them stay on, while young sons with immaculate turbans texted and played video games on their cell phones. At the end of the day's festivities, when the temple's faded flag and flagpole covering from the past year were traded for bright orange replacements, with the temple's congregation washing the flagpole underneath with water and milk in between removing the one and tying on the other, the children of the temple waved American flags as they wore clothes that represented their cultural heritage. THIS is what religion, or any other community, should be about — fellowship and cheer and goodwill — and I should be able to find at least as much that's as positive and life-affirming in fictional stories about SUPERHEROES as I do in the news stories that I write about real life. ... I mean, what IS this, anyway, that I'm still doing here? A few months ago, I was riding along with Dave Vasconi, a local police officer who'd lost 158 pounds through diet, exercise and simple long-term commitment. I'd already interviewed him about how he'd managed to drop the pounds, so this was just to get some photos of him while he was on duty, to spruce up the news story. This is a service-minded man whose hard work and determination has instilled in his fellow officers the drive to improve their own lives, and even as I'm snapping shots of him in uniform on patrol (he loved how he looked, when I showed him the pictures on the camera's digital display), it's nagging at me in the back of my brain that ICv2 is going to release its sales figures for the preceding month within the next few days, and I'm going to have to do the Amazing Spider-Man sales charts for that month. As I'm sitting in his passenger seat, making small talk with him, he tells me how much he appreciates that I'm writing this story about him. I assure him that it's no big deal, but it's a big deal to HIM. He tells me that he and his fellow officers at the local police department all consider my stories to be the gold standard of local news reporting — if I'VE written about them, then as far as they're concerned, they've "made it" in Marysville — and informs me that no less than his chief expressed his confidence that this story would be "excellently written." These guys SAVE LIVES, and he's acting like I'M someone who does some great service for the community. ... What the fuck is WRONG with me? I'm interviewing ACTUAL heroes on a daily basis, and all I can think about is how disappointed I am in the FICTIONAL heroes from my comic books. And yet, even now, as I'm typing this, I feel profoundly betrayed by the fact that my fantasy idols, who got me through so many real-life traumas and hardships over the years, have become so much less inspiring than the actual people I meet right here in my newspapers' hometowns, every day just doing my job. That shouldn't be so. It seems ... backwards, somehow. And yet, here we are.

Now go and watch the old Spiderman cartoon theme on Youtube to cheer yourself up.