Further Disdain.

I began thinking about my gradual descent into Americanitis, the dirty little seed of which has apparently sprouted some time ago, unbeknownst to myself. I was chatting to the [S]Wynhausen a few days ago, and it took me some time to realise that he hadn’t actually been spending time amid the brain-baked drawl of far north Queensland, but I had merely been quite removed from exactly how ocker [spelling?] all you [us] fucking Aussies really are. And so I began to think about how immersed I am actually becoming in this place. In fact, I am beginning notice the accents here less and less, and terrifyingly am starting to pronounce the odd r (not to mention uttering the occaisional tomaito). Aaaaargh!! Someone help me please.

So examining what other avenues my indoctrination might be taking, I have settled upon caffeine consumption. It is so darstardly difficult to find decent esspresso coffee in the [great?] nation, that I am forced to settle for drip filter. Which, to my continual surprise, is not as bad as everyone [with any refined sense of taste – which perhaps I don’t possess] thinks. Well, if you take the time to make it yourself, and don’t persist in creating grubby water that’s weak as piss. Upon further thought I have decided that the prevalence of half-flushed bog water in most “cafes” here is not due to any particular lack of refined taste buds among the north American population, but rather that there is a general lack of understanding of what coffee and cafes are all about.

There is a prevailing idea that big is better, and disregarding the dimensions of the purple wand and its hairy sack of magic, this cannot be the case, at least without some compensation. Cases in point: A huge fucking Hummer that takes up two and a half lanes on the highway is all very well, but for fuck’s sake run the beast on bio-diesel, or only drive it once a month (and not very far at that) and if you are going to make a Latte the size of a toilet bowl, then please, PLEASE, add more than a single measley fucking drip of coffee.

Note, however, that the lack of understanding extends to the caffeine dispensing establishments themselves. It should be painted in large, red letters (despite the possibilty of said colour resulting in a holiday in the Commie wing of Guantanamo) on every street corner, that a pleasant sojourn in the local ‘coffee shop’ is not designed to include the screaming of small children, scampering about and getting beneath the feet of the staff, causing the spillage of scalding bowls of soup and the blistering of the scalps of the unwary. Nor is “chatting” at a volume that precludes any form of independent thought or activity for a three block radius amongst the generally accepted etiquette in the rest of the world. This has a habit of being coupled with a general lack of awareness of ones surroundings, so that the same poor waitress, with her replacement bowls of soup, tries for ten minutes to get past a crowd of ignorant morons, er, customers, so that the liquid ain’t stone-fucking-cold by the time anyone gets to eat it.

At the risk of sounding a little cynical, I have condensed my intolerance over a couple of hours of observation (and a cup of the local piss-water) into another extension of the theory that the general public are merely fucking morons, every last one. And to allay the irritation, and national pride, of my (now) fellow US residents (aliens and naturals alike) I bring to attention the fact that although this particular manifestation of the general public syndrome might be peculair to this cordoned off section of North America, the rest of the world is far from free of it.

So (anyone likely to be subscribing to this jaded periodical) you may rest assured that you are indeed among the intellectual elite, if only by virtue of the fact that you are surrounded by fucking idiots. Never,ever let yourself suffer fools lightly!


~ by Gethin A. Lynes on August 23rd, 2006.

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