Americans; that bunch of daffodils. I am one of those who 
travel the world following the work contracts. This time it 
brought me to Pittsburgh, PA, USA. Usually, after a couple 
of months the habits of the locals start to irritate me 
(que's in Italy, excessive drinking in England, etc.), but 
this time life has been pretty comfortable. However, I have 
to complain, especially because complaining about America 
seems to be frowned upon here. So, being dutch; believing in 
damnation and original sin, I just have to poke this one. 
First of all, what is this: "God bless America"? Is it a 
demand, a question, a fact, an outcry? And what should 
America be blessed with? Rain? Children? Sentences that make 
sense? But I guess I am not allowed to question this. Here 
lies the real problem. "Salem" is the word here. People 
pretending to be on some moral high ground, associating 
every form of criticism with devilish wicked 
add-more-adjectives evil. In any normal civilization people 
put signs up on preachers like that: "to be ignored," here
they get elected. I admit believing in God, but only because 
it is relevant for what I am saying next. It makes me cringe 
seeing people standing outside the family-planning clinic 
downtown carrying horrible signs. Jesus meant us to be 
compassionate, not spiteful and judgmental. I imagine these 
people-with-signs feeling bloody good about themselves at 
the cost of others. I imagine that anybody who goes to a 
family-planning clinic is making a difficult decision, 
whether it is to have children or not to have them, and 
deserve our sympathy. 

Then there is verbal diarrhoea. Waiting for the truly 
wonderful buses in Pittsburgh, you might pick up a 
conversation like: "Hi, it's me, you know Lisa just called 
me, she had a call from Leslie, who told her that while she 
was waiting for the bus she saw a strange guy. Lisa thought 
that Leslie called her because she thought she was her best 
friend, but Lisa thinks that Leslie is a bit of a drama 
queen. But I think Lisa just wanted to show off." I did not 
hear anymore, because I passed out at that point, and I 
missed my bus. This is not just a girl-thing. I would rename 
most departments at the universities like the "Department of 
Such-and-So," into the "Department of Our Personal Feelings 
about Such-and-So." Even books: you cannot find a serious 
study, it is all stuff like: "the daffodil: its implications 
on post-modern global market economy from a feminist perspective." 
Spare me. Apart from being utterly useless, it has a nasty 
side effect. When I first arrive in a country I can tell 
within a couple of days whether meeting people is going to 
be easy. I realized America was going to be hard. It is all 
groups you see: 5'4 girls with long hair, pastel sweaters, 
and jeans hang out with 5'4 girls with long hair, pastel 
sweaters, and jeans. More groups of clones like that than 
I care to distinguish. It is miniature color-coordinated 
fascism, controlled by the same verbal prodding: 
You know you are going to be talked about, if you overstep 
any bounds. Really, they have nothing else left to talk about, 
being identical copies. 

Then you might think that in the alternative scenes things 
are better. No, sir! Twice I sat in the Melwood Screening 
room, if you know it, looking at the back of somebody's 
I-am-me hat, probably because this person thought I had come 
there to admire his/hers stupifying pick of hats, and not 
the movie playing. With the hat comes an attitude which 
makes clear that taking off the hat is out of the question: 
"the hat is me, I am the hat." But then on the screen things 
are not much better, local products are about not watching 
TV, not eating at McDoolittle's, not being into career and 
money, not being into straight sex. Headless-Hat Productions.
The most interesting films were imported from Canada. 
God bless Canada. With nice movies, that is. 

No more words. If I had the chance, I would rant about 
cars, plastic bags, taste, walking, language, reviews, and 
food too. Lucky you.