Over there…
Quote of the day: “People that are really very weird can get into sensitive positions and have a tremendous impact on history.” – Dan Quayle, former U.S. Vice President
So I’ve been remiss. Back when I started this thing I thought for sure that I would be able to do a daily entry. Man, was I smoking crack. One of the biggest stoppers of typeage, aside from laziness, was my recent excursion to England. So I’m not sure how to approach this as it’s a delicate subject, so first off a big qualifier. I 100% love the English. After all, I did kidnap one of them, bring her back to America and marry her. Some of the closest, best, most trustworthy friends I have in the whole world are English. But this last trip over there, hmmm, let’s just say it was definitely something to write a blog about.
First, no matter which way you cut it, a 13-hour plane flight is not a brilliant preamble to a vacation. And when you’re promised in-flight entertainment system is busted, and you’re stuffed in $1,300 ‘economy’ seat, those hours become really, REALLY long. For this specific trip’s recipe begin with two days of blurry, stagger-inducing jet lag and then throw in a dash of panic trying to negotiate time w/friends and well-intentioned but sensitive in-laws. Mix this w/a teaspoon of pound to dollar inflation (which basically has me making in pounds the equivalent of a drive-thru manager at Burger King) and a half cup of good old fashioned terrorist activity and marinate in 9 straight days of pissing rain and what do you have – a rosy faced, wide-eyed American transforming beautifully into a cynical, embittered prat nursing a really nasty summer cold.
My wife, however, did get to talk to some mad cows in the field across from her Dad’s house. Here she is looking particularly British.
The English are a curious bunch. As Bill Bryson brilliantly pointed out, no one but the English have the perseverance to go to an English beach and manage to enjoy themselves. Whether they’ve settled behind giant brightly colored canvas walls to avoid the wind, or eating lunch in the car due to rain, the English are always brilliantly determined to make the best of things. On the flip side, there’s the cynicism. Now, a healthy does of sarcy cynicism is great. And, we on the left side of the pond, can definitely use a bit more. And, I have to say that most of my English friends don’t seem to be hyper-cynical, or if they do, they hide it well. But the country as a whole exudes it. Even Tony Blair took issue w/it in one of his valedictory rants aiming years of pent-up ire towards, what I believe, is a deserving press. To quote a recent Economist article:
“Above all, though [Blair] blamed the media for a widespread cynicism about politics and public life that he believes is sapping ‘the country’s confidence and self-belief’, undermining its assessment of itself and its institutions.”
Henman (seen here after one of his typical crash and burns) once again made his quixotic play for Wimbledon champion and lost in the semis. The British press savaged him, and if my memory serves me well, one headline read something like “Time to Face Facts – We’re a second class tennis club and a second class nation”. I don’t think you’d ever see that headline in any American paper.
That’s not to say that we Americans don’t have a have a similar problem, just on the opposite extreme of the emotional spectrum. The same thing that makes us wear flags all over our bodies out on the 4th of July and blinds us from questioning a war based on dubious terms and hyperbolic language can be even more problematic than suffering from ECD (excessive cynicism disorder).
Anywho… it’s not that I’m going to stop going to England. Hell, I’ll probably end up moving there some day. But if and when I do, look out. I’m unleashing a whole bag of bleary-eyed optimistic whoop ass. Thank god I’m done w/this post. Time to move on.
