Homer Simpson | Ned Flanders | Springfield Airport | Squidport

For the moment, though, what he wants does not include speaking to me. I have pursued Homer for weeks, trying to get him to say a few words about his hometown of Springfield. He has been surprisingly difficult to reach. But I've finally found him, here at Moe's, and as soon as I can get up the courage, I'm going to ask him about the extraordinary place where he lives.

In some ways, Springfield isn't unusual. It's a frontier city, and, like other American frontier cities, it was founded by a rough-and-tumble frontiersman. (Jebediah Springfield is noted for, among other things, having killed a bear with his bare hands. Typical.) No, Springfield is unique not for its history but for its topography. As soon as you step off the plane at the Springfield Airport, you find yourself calling the landscape simply "unpossible." On one end of town, there are enormous purple mountains, a lake, a lush national forest, and even a glacier. Yet, nearby, there is also a desert. At the other end of town, there is an oceanfront and a Squidport. Somewhere in between, a fire has raged at the Springfield Tire Yard since either 1966 or 1989.
No one is entirely sure.

Maybe Homer knows. But now, sitting at this bar, which is in uncomfortable proximity to schools and a church, Homer Simpson seems miles away, in his own private world, not even reacting when the jukebox suddenly switches to a song Homer wrote, "Everybody Hates Ned Flanders." It is a lovely ballad that he first recorded four years ago. The lyrics are simple, yet the song still manages to evoke loneliness and sensuality:

"Everybody in the USA
Hates their stupid neighbor.
He's Flanders and he's really, really lame!"