Abstinence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

 

     I thought I was a minimalist, totally opposed to the gluttony of empty consumerism. I’d strut through America’s cavalcade of commercial excess, my nose held high above the stench of my fellow K-Mart shoppers, disdainful of their impulse buys and their conspicuous Biebermania. Was I the one buying Pumpkin Spice Tylenol and Calvin Klein Cheerios? Was I loading up on 4-D smart TVs and jet ski hot tubs like the rest of the cud chewers? No. I was a celibate shopper, untainted by manufactured desire. I was in a state of Buddhist transcendence, impervious to Hollywood trailers or viral marketing for instant pudding. I lived with blissful nothingness.

Howdy Duty

      Among the phone-drone German citizens huddled on the train platform, there is the Hello Guy. He never boards the S-Bahn with the rest; he just wanders the station, grinning vacantly and greeting everyone.

     “Hallo! Guten Tag! Hallo!”

Irony Deficiency

     There’s an old joke about the citizens of Deutschland that goes like this:

          How many Germans does it take to screw in a lightbulb?

          One. They’re very efficient and they have no sense of humor.

     The problem with indulging in completely accurate bigotry of this sort is that someone always presents exceptions to this blanket condemnation and ruins our fun of concluding that all Germans are uptight assholes. Usually someone on Twitter.

Home of the Crave

 

     There is, as we know, an idealized vision of European life held in the imagination of the average American Chomsky reader. Suave, French and Italian intellectuals in their stylish scarves, skimming through Sartre in sun-dappled cafes, sipping espressos, their heads full of historical and cultural knowledge, smug in their easily-affordable healthcare and 16 weeks of annual vacation. Well, I hate to break it to you little Medieval Poetry majors, but this vision is entirely true. Based on my experience, just sitting among these subdued Euros can make a Portland denizen want to break down in sweet, liberal tears (like the snowflakes we are). Where do they get off, these little multi-lingual sophisticates, secure in their rich cultural history and tasteful fashions while we’ve had to endure the Disney-fied inanities and jackbooted puritanism of our 24-hour, drive-thru, infotainment, megachurch, celebrity-porn, Super Bowl lifestyles?