Just a little point...about my manifesto that isn't really very manifesto-like and which I actively advise people not to read...
It addresses the question: Am I an American? What the hell is an American? What does it mean to have any nationality let alone being an American? And then wanders off into nonsense.
Still, I was thinking about this African friend of mine and how he is fascinating and perplexing and sometimes I think that is a cultural thing. At the same time, the fact that it is a cultural thing doesn't mean that anyone from his home culture (which actually turns out to be this super tiny tribe in this village/kingdom place (I'm kind of shaky on the details) would be anything like him. Culture doesn't make any sense to me either.
Being American explains some things but what things does it explain. It explains why I have so many pairs of underwear, tubes of lipstick and varieties of eyeshadow. But not completely...
What the hell was I going on about? Oh yes, I just remembered: Some people here in my fair land are as foreign and strange and inexplicable to me (or more so) than anyone could be anywhere else. The ideas of many of my fellow citizens seem nuttier and crazier and loonier and more nonsensical than I could imagine I would find high in the hills of Rongostan (not a real country, actually). There are probably people in Burkina Faso that I have more in common with than some people in Ohio.
I don't know what that means. But it's really late and I haven't been sleeping much lately.
It addresses the question: Am I an American? What the hell is an American? What does it mean to have any nationality let alone being an American? And then wanders off into nonsense.
Still, I was thinking about this African friend of mine and how he is fascinating and perplexing and sometimes I think that is a cultural thing. At the same time, the fact that it is a cultural thing doesn't mean that anyone from his home culture (which actually turns out to be this super tiny tribe in this village/kingdom place (I'm kind of shaky on the details) would be anything like him. Culture doesn't make any sense to me either.
Being American explains some things but what things does it explain. It explains why I have so many pairs of underwear, tubes of lipstick and varieties of eyeshadow. But not completely...
What the hell was I going on about? Oh yes, I just remembered: Some people here in my fair land are as foreign and strange and inexplicable to me (or more so) than anyone could be anywhere else. The ideas of many of my fellow citizens seem nuttier and crazier and loonier and more nonsensical than I could imagine I would find high in the hills of Rongostan (not a real country, actually). There are probably people in Burkina Faso that I have more in common with than some people in Ohio.
I don't know what that means. But it's really late and I haven't been sleeping much lately.
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