Nationalism and Tom Waits in February

When I started this gig I thought my novelty as an American would wear off. I don't know why I thought this. It didn't in England or Australia, where we speak the same language and wear basically the same clothes. But seriously 6th grade boys, You see me everyday, must you keep leering?

Which is a large contributing factor to my new-found ok-ness with returning the the states and admitting finally that I am, indeed, an American.

Even two weeks ago I was not wanting to return. Relentless plates of boiled meat and potatoes will make anyone raised on vegetables want to live somewhere a little healthier, but it never made me desire the mother country. Fantasies of Italy, Australia, Belize, Morrocco, Japan buzzed in the little blonde head.

Then the boys, on the radiator, skipping class, ignoring everything I say in order to laugh at me, again, struck me. I do not belong here. I am a foreign object.

You're saying "duh, Erika", but on a fundamentally physical level, I am the gum Moldova swallowed and cannot digest. Their acids just don't do it.

And neither would Australia, or Italy or Japan. I have a place, and like it or not (mostly not) and it's got a president who is reliably elected on a reliable, single date. There are jews there (ie, the holocaust means there's none here), there are burritos there, there is plumbing there, I have family there, and before I get all teary eyed on you there is a damned remarkable sense of Can Do, and Suck It Up there.

For research purposes I just watched 30 videos on YouTube of John F. Kennedy and Sargent Shriver talking about Peace Corps. You have to hand it to them. They were genius politicians. Who the hell else, in what other culture ever could pull off something as improbable as the Peace Corps?

Also, Tom Waits is an American. You know what he sings about? Everything Erika holds dear. Tom Waits and JFK. You can't beat it.