Note: Irving Bible Church, for whom the column was originally written, has an odd, contemporary steel sculpture of unknown provenance (it was there when they bought the property) in the middle of its parking lot. Once a year, someone attempts to explain its existence. This year was my turn.
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Roswell, New Mexico. Sverdlovsk, Russia. The swampy marsh behind your Uncle Leon’s shed. These are the world’s most famousish locations of UFO activity. Now, joining that list is the parking lot of Irving Bible Church. Specifically, the area housing what has alternately been described as a sculpture, a thingamabob, a wangazoid, an eyesore and something-my-kindergartner-could-make-except-it-would-have-a-lot-more-glitter. Yes, the gleaming metal whatchamacallit has been confirmed to house extra-terrestrial technology of the third or fourth kind.
It is, dramatic pause, an intergalactic, inter-dimensional, temporal plane-shifting portal – or, time phone – of unknown power and suspect origin. As in, scientists suspect it came from a semi-intelligent species not of this world. Why semi-intelligent? Because, sadly, scientists have also concluded that this species has a soft spot in their probably nine-chambered hearts for members of a certain soft-core punk movement with a penchant for manufactured melancholia.
That’s right, folks, the “E” in “E.T.” stands for “emo.”
In a perfect world where odd scientific discoveries precisely mesh with idealized memories of youthful days gone by, the “E” would stand for “Elmo.” Instead, we are left to pontificate about whether Pete Wentz is really a shape-shifting anthropoid from Betelgeuse Five, forced to marry a Simpson (not Marge) in a misguided attempt to blend in. While the otherworldly architects of what could be the wreckage of Doc Brown’s De Lorean did not leave us with an instruction manual – or even a pictogram-heavy quick-start guide – scientists did unearth a bit of assumedly intergalactic detritus buried under the third handicapped parking spot from the left. (The one Mrs. Kulwitzki always parks in “by mistake.”) Such material may shed light on our moody spacefriends’ intentions.
Concert T-shirts for the band Jimmy Eat World – While many of us banged our heads (or pouted morosely) in the early Aughts to J.E.W.’s paean to muffin tops “The Middle,” our guests became the emo equivalent of Deadheads (Sleepyheads?), racking up shirts from every tour beginning in 1994 and ending with the “Back in Black Goatees Tour Sponsored by Just For Men” in 2033. The question is, why Jimmy Eat World? Is it just a love of pop-infused emo melodies or something more sinister? Perhaps Jimmy Eat World isn’t a band name after all, but a command meant for an interstellar devourer of planets. How to Serve Man, indeed.
“Pearl Onyx” guyliner – Just because you’ve crossed the void to the tune of 640 light years doesn’t mean you can’t get your metrosexual on with the best of the homo sapiens. While some scientists posit that particular tube of guyliner can be carbon dated to 1984 – making the owner more a fan of hair metal than mope rock – most other scientist dismiss such assertions as U.S.D.A. Prime Bunkola, pointing to the lack of spent Aquanet bottles that no Crüe or Leppard fan would be without. And making E.T. not just the poster boy for cuddly ALFs (sorry, Gordon Shumway), but also a Cover Girl.
A purposefully tattered Moleskine diary – Said diary appears to have been carefully, artfully, though possibly fitfully, dog-eared to attain a desired level of anthropomorphic sadness. It also includes 21 pages with nothing but “I ♥ Morrisey,” 24 pages of “I ♥ Robert Smith” and 112 pages of “Team Edward 4Eva!” Experts believe this diary shows that the alien life forms were either evolving in their love of proto-emo and emo-related things, or that they had a 13-year-old daughter who aged very, very slowly.
At this point, you’re probably thinking, “Could these aliens fire up the Shimmering Wangazoid and emerge some Sunday morning just in time to invite themselves to Denny’s? And would their manscara stain my upholstery?” The answers are no and yes, although since the first answer is no the yes is moot. It appears, according to an unmailed Business Reply Card found amongst the studded belts and mix CDs, that the portal’s warranty expired right around the time Tom Cruise and Val Kilmer played the lamest and/or hottest game of beach volleyball ever. So, whatever our unidentified time bandits’ motives may be, you, Kulwitzki clan, don’t sweat some three-eyed sulkster horking your Moons Over My Hammy. No, we do not yet possess the technology, or even an iPhone app, to fix these E.T.s’ phone. Although I’m guessing it’s nothing a little glitter couldn’t fix.