It’s the 12th-anniv.Misc., the column that wonders if Vancouver essayist Brian Fawcett was right when he said malls and subdivisions are typically named after the real places they replaced, whether a corollary might be made about car commercials promoting further traffic-jamming steel tonnage with images of the wide open road, or (even better) SUV ads using nature footage to sell landscape-ruining gas-guzzlers.

OUR FAR-FLUNG CORRESPONDENTS: Loyal readers have been sending junk food samples from far and near. Scott McGrath, though, takes the no-prize for the biggest cache of snax from the furthest-away place. The centerpiece of his shipment: a hamburger (made with chicken) he found at a Beijing convenience store, in a sealed envelope complete with bun, lettuce, and “salted sauce.” The English half of the envelope’s back warns of a two-to-three-day shelf life for the product, depending on the time of year. The bun got squished in transit, but it’s otherwise a normal looking way-past-pull-date meat food. The rest of his box contained Japanese, Filipino, and Taiwanese products he found in Guam: Banana catsup, dried squid and cuttle fish, soybean and herbal-jelly soft drinks, and Marine World Biscuits (shrimp-flavored animal crackers in fish shapes labeled, in English, “Tuna,” “Dolphin,” and even “Sea Lawyer!”). Many of these are more conveniently available at Uwajimaya and other local Asian-food emporia, but it’s the thought behind the gift that counts.

ANOTHER YEAR OLDER: I’ve traditionally used this, the anniversary week of Misc. (begun in the old ArtsFocus tabloid in June 1986), to take a look back at the column, the changes in Seattle, or my journeys. This time, I want to look ahead. This li’l corner-O-newsprint ain’t my sole ambition in life. There’s plenty of other things I’ve always wanted:

• My own restaurant. Under the big neon sign that just says EAT, the Merry Misc. Cafe would serve honest grub at honest prices. On the menu: Burgers, cheese steaks, whole-cut fries, meat loaf, fruit-cocktail salad. In the lounge: Old fashioneds, Brew 66, naughty-joke cartoon napkins. On the walls: framed drawings by alternative cartoonists, a Silent Radio LED displaying post-postmodern aphorisms, a TV displaying old-time car commercials or women’s bowling coverage.
• My own cereal. Frosted Miscberry Crunch would have the taste, and the crunch, that wakes a person up after a long night of arguing in bars about macroeconomic trends. Each box comes with a mini-Mensa exam on the back and a “Great Postpunk Singer-Songwriters” trading card inside.
• My own hydroplane. Watch the valiant Miss Misc. roar in the time trials, with rock-band bumper stickers strewn over its sponsons! Shudder as it flips on a harsh turn in Heat 2A! Cheer as the underfunded, underequipped pit crew uses duct tape and extra stickers to fix it in time for a come-from-behind victory in the Consolation Heat!
• My own travel agency. Misctour would arrange charter bus, train, and air journeys to all the truly great vacation spots–Tacoma! Ritzville! Bend! Wisconsin Dells! Akron! Tulsa! Moose Jaw! Dollywood! Wall Drug! And only the finest traveling amenities–clothing-optional planes; scat-singing tour guides; the Game Show Network in every motel room; complementary copies of DeLillo’s Underworld; emocore karaoke parties; free ice.
• My own (commercial) TV show. I’ve actually tried to make this happen, rounding up crews and shooting test footage on three occasions in the past two years. But it’s proven a tough nut to get an independently-produced series onto a regular broadcast station (not cable access). I’ve heard from producers with much more experience than I, who’ve all told the same stories of stations afraid to take a chance. Still, I believe broadcasters will eventually realize local programming (of all sorts, not just sports or mayhem-centric news) is their best competitive weapon against the growing horde of cable, satellite, and (soon) Net-based video feeds.