My High Falutin Discourse on American Culture

Sometimes Americans will encounter somebody who isn't American.  This usually comes as quite the shock, since most Americans tend to think that the world is of the homogenous culture typically presented on TV, where you learn England is a drastically different world because they call the toilet a "loo." 

Today I was reading about folklore, and how the common savage was quite in vogue during the late 18th and early 19th centuries.  It intrigued me how the high society of different countries reacted to the Enlightenment.  Some of them, like the high society of England and France, embraced the pique of civilization more fully than others.  Those others, like the high society of Germany and Spain, called it elitist and stripped naked to sing "primitive" songs and dance around camp fires just outside their homemade grass and dung huts... while the common folk stared and wondered what the heck they thought they were accomplishing. 

Now, of course, France and England had their fair share of common folklore that was popular at this time period.  Germany and Spain also had Enlightenment speakers.  But, England had a lot more of Adam Smith than Goethe, and Germany vice versa.  As I read the article, it was interesting to see how the different values of different cultures were reflected in the writings they focused on... on which they focused.  Excuse my grammar.

It makes me think about American culture, and how our American values are reflected in our own "folk lore." 

Take, for example, a classic folk tale. 

Cinderella.

Dear Disney, you're really doing another-other Cinderella story?  Because the classic cartoon, and then a modern day rendition with Hillary Duff weren't enough?  You mean that Cinderella-teaches-a-pop-star-how-to-dance movie didn't do it?  Another one besides all those?  And it's not just Disney, either.  Ever After, Slipper and the Rose, CinderElmo (???), Cinderfella, and some would argue Ella Enchanted (though I kinda disagree... about the only similarity is the evil step family formula) are all either deliberately Cinderella or based off that one key element of Cinderella: a peasant girl defies those who say she can't to become a princess.

I think it's that key element - a peasant becoming a princess - that gives Cinderella such appeal in American life.  It's a HUGE part of our culture.  Rags to riches.  You can start with nothing, and defeat all the odds to end up with everything.  All you need is faith, determination, super cute shoes, and a godmother who can turn unwanted family members into squid.

There's a bit of the American revolutionary spirit in it as well.  Cinderella's society always says servants can't marry princes.  (Ever After: "First you're engaged, now you're a servant???"  Hillary Duff version: the school "dork" (who happens to have super blonde hair, a cute figure, and looks about as dorky as... well... Hillary Duff) falls for the star quarterback.  The Selena Gomez dance version: normal person falls for a pop star.  Etc.)  But, they always fight for what they want anyway, despite what social expectations say, and show society that society is WRONG.

Because all men are created equal (and women... and children... and apparently tuna too, thanks to PETA).  That's a Thomas Jefferson... well, would have been a Thomas Jefferson quote without all the addenda... which is the plural of addendum, for those (like me) who think/thought the plural of addendum was addendums.

Wow... tangent.

Anyway, that all men are created equal thing is another principle of the Cinderella story that echoes with Americans.


So, why not Snow White? 


Well, as we've just seen, it's because of the messages contained in the stories, and how they reverberate through American culture.  Cinderella, though not American in origin, has a lot of American messages.  Snow White?  Well, I'm pretty sure the message in that is that if you are a single girl and you go to live with seven creepy short guys, you can expect to do their laundry. 

That and the whiter your skin, the more likely you are to have your mirror send a crazy witch after you.

Sleeping beauty?  Pretty sure Rip Van Winkle is the closest thing to a non-Disney cartoon version of that story we have, and Rip Van Winkle was about the changes that took place in America in such a short amount of time, not about princes fighting dragons and rescuing helpless damsels.

Rapunzel?  I've seen 1 of those that wasn't Disney.  It emphasizes the purely American principle that blonde is better.

Little Red Riding Hood?  Now this is one we see a lot.  Perhaps, if this blog post wasn't already long enough to rival the article that inspired it, we would look at the principles contained in that story.  Don't talk to strangers, grandmas and granddaughters like to share cookies (awwwww!), and if you get eaten by a wolf, be sure to have a woodcutter whack him with an axe.  I'm sure, if I didn't need to get back to my homework, I'd find many much more deeper stuff than that.

And, speaking of that homework, I just found out that the discovery of common popular culture had political implications in Serbia too.

I wonder if Cinderella wears Serbian shoes...

Character Limits Stunt My Creativity

Why must my maintenance request only be 300 characters or less?  Seriously!  My maintenance requests have personality!  They can't be contained in 300 characters. 

I mean come on.  When your toilet breaks, you can't just say, "Toilet broke.  Come fix."  You have to make sure certain standards are met.

First and foremost, you must specify that there are to be NO plumber's cracks.  None.  Zilch.  Nada.  Sorry, Mr. Plumber, I don't care how sexy you think your smelly crack is, we don't need to be seein' that here.

Also, the seriousness of the situation needs to be portrayed by the maintenance request.  I recommend treating it as though you are in the middle of hostile warfare, and don't ask for maintenance.  Ask for "reinforcements."  Present your toilet as a viscious revolutionary that needs to be suppressed.

In case the maintenance man is feeling the urge to dawdle, you also must include a description of the consequences if your request is not granted in a timely manner: 

"Dear Apartment Manager,
My toilet is broken.  I was going to use the sink, but I really don't want to have that in my apartment.  Therefore, I'm left with no choice but to go use the washing machines in the laundry room.  That's as close to a flusher as we've got.  However, seeing as it costs a minimum of 2 1/2 dollars for ONE load of laundry, I can't afford to sacrifice any of my precious quarters, so I'll just leave it there until you come flush it.
Love,
Me."

All of this is crucially important information for the maintenance man and/or apartment manager, but there's that 300 character limit!  Why?  Are they trying to limit themselves?  What do they hope to gain by suppressing our ability to describe the problem?

Clearly, plausible deniability.

Big piece, Little piece, Side piece, Middle piece, Playing on a fiddle piece, and other forms of eating cake.

This week my first niece, Sophie, turns that glorious age when you are no longer allowed to ride an airplane for free!  To celebrate the occasion, my entire family gathered to Nana and Papa's house to spend Labor Day weekend eating hotdogs, hamburgers, potato salad and enough ice cream cake to make frosting stream from our ears, and then fly us back home before Sophie's birthday (and 200 more dollars of airfare) actually happens.

It's been amazing.

When I first came off the plane, I was excited to see my mom's reaction to my hair.  It's no longer blonde, and is now dark red instead.  I did that on Tuesday, and exerted great effort to not tell her I'd changed it so that when I came off the plane, she could be extremely shocked.

The plane landed.  I sent a text letting my mom know that after LOTS of delays, I was finally there.  After sending the text I giggled to myself that she had no idea what color my hair was, and maybe, if I didn't make eye contact right away, she wouldn't even see me until I was up close!

My mom opened her phone.  She read the text, then turned to Kamaron.  "So, do you think her hair will be red or black?"

Apparently my unpredictability is horribly predictable. 

Anyway, Sophie's actual birthday was great!  Barry and Jessie came over bearing a tray of the most blob-like cookies I have ever beheld.  They looked like plastic, toy cookies that had liquified, with a smooth center and rippled edges.  I laughed at Barry's mad cookie making skills... and then I took a bite.  I have to say, for massive, squished together cookies with hills and ripples through them, those were sure purty dang good.

Sophie loved her presents, and is now the proud owner of an entire library of chewable books (ie, books her 4 1/2 month old sister can chew on without destroying), as well as a weaponized doll stroller, that has already left bruises on my legs, as well as Papa's.  This is to go with her weaponized wooden snail that, when swung in a circle, gathers roughly the force of Thor's hammer before impact against her target's shins.

Today is my last day here, and we're spending it working.  It's the kind of work I've missed desperately while sitting in my cubicle, staring out the window, answering phones and trying to convince customers that noni is an acquired taste and therefore doesn't taste like rotten fish bile after you get used to it.

We're out in the orchard, pruning trees.  It's so much fun to have almost every member of my family out there (Barry and Jessie are unfortunately absent), talking, laughing and ripping the life out of small branches that, after sitting in the sun to dry, will be burned to a crisp in a giant bonfire.

The best part is working with my family.  The best part after that is the set of memories.  I'm remembering all the times we got together to clean up after a storm, or to weed the garden, buck hay bales, or haul a year's supply of chicken feed.  I'm out there, in the cool breeze of a Missouri September, clipping twigs, hauling branches, and clotheslining myself on a low-hanging peach limb.

And when all is said and done, it's been an awesome vacation, and Sophie is still the cutest two year old who throws a fit, smacks my face and tells me "NO!  STOP!" if I try to sing in her presence.

Zeus is a jerk.

The sun was shining - beating down on me, actually.  The a/c in my car had officially frozen me into a lumpy ice sculpture, so I turned it off, and instantaneously began to melt, dripping salty sweat all over my car.  I turned it back on to the lowest setting and refroze.  So I turned it to blow somewhere other than my face and spontaneously combusted.

When it comes to a/c, there is no middle ground.

If getting to my destination were any less important, I might have just given up.  I had been in the car for 45 minutes.  I had traveled 4 miles.

I suddenly began to miss the days of speedy travel by covered wagon. 

Pity I had to get to the airport.  I had a flight at 5:10 to catch.  I even took a half day off work so I'd have time to get to the airport, park my car, check my bag, get through security, and get to the gate on time.

So, I made it onto the freeway (eventually) and got to the airport.

Pretty sure the covered wagon would have been faster.

While sitting in the sun-encased terminal, waiting for boarding to begin, the ticket taker person got on the radio.  "Ladies and Gentleman on board flight [insert random number here], headed to Denver, unfortunately we can't take off yet.  There's a thunderstorm in Denver, and no flights are landing or taking off until the storm passes.  We are checking your connecting flights to see if any of you will have trouble making them."

Thunder storm?  Really?  I always kinda wanted to fly through one... except for the getting fried to a crisp part.  But the clouds are so pretty and they look so exciting!

But alas, that will not be happening.

We all settled down to wait for the all clear from Denver.

5:10... can't board yet.  We were supposed to be taking off.  5:30... Nope.  No updates from Denver yet.  5:45... still no idea.  5:55... Guess what!  We'll be taking off the ground at 6:15!!!  Yay!!! 

6:15... "Ladies and Gentlemen, we will now begin the boarding process."

Anyway, to make a long story not as long as it could be, we made it.  I'm in Denver now.

There's another thunderstorm.  We were supposed to leave an hour and 15 minutes ago. 

Then they updated things and we were supposed to be boarding right now.

The plane hasn't even landed yet.

Dear Zeus/Thor/whatever other gods of thunder there are out there,
You stink.
Love,
Me.

Things I won't actually say to his face, and since I'm pretty sure he doesn't read my blog and I'm not mentioning his name anyway I can say whatever I want, right?

Dear you,
You're a flake.  This is why I didn't want to date you.
Thanks for the reminder.  I almost forgot while you were making me laugh.
Love,
Me.

Random thought of the day:

If consciousness comes in a stream, what does unconsciousness come in?

Obviously, a box.  With a Priority Mail sticker on the side.  It's that important.