Gary’s Back

Half a year of nothing. Gary went to Tokyo, sent a vague note about following the oranges and Pikachus, and then disappeared completely. I figured he’d either stopped existing or merged with some anime dimension he couldn’t escape. But he’s alive—showed up today like nothing happened, explaining it away with some story about a woman who wouldn’t let go, so he had to vanish for a while. Classic Gary.

The man’s taste took a weird turn somewhere between Narita Airport and now. Used to load his iPod with winter depression soul, pseudo-gothic droning, the occasional Amy Winehouse tribute artist nobody asked for. But Tokyo rewired something. Now it’s S Club 7, constantly, at skull-cracking volume. S Club Party. Don’t Stop Moving. Every drive, every quiet moment, every meal. I asked him once if he was serious. He looked at me like I’d questioned his religion.

The rest of him is the same chaos as always. One day he’s in Photoshop creating abominations that shouldn’t exist. The next he’s hunting down some local rock band with zero reason except that he feels like hitting something. There’s no pattern to it. No way to predict which Gary you’re going to encounter.

He’s on a plane to Queensland as I write this, swears he’ll keep sending back reports every week about what’s happening in the world, which trends are real, which ones are worthless noise. I’ve heard that promise before. But if he actually pulls it off, I’ll take it. Gary scattered across the country is better than Gary disappeared.