Got to Get You Out of Our Life
We’ve lived our entire life within an hour of the Pacific Ocean. So have our parents. And so, substantially, did our grandparents. Border to border, all our relatives are scattered along I-5.
The West Coast is all we know. Sure, we’ve visited Back East, but hey, we’ve also visited England and Japan. All are equally foreign to us.
And yet, for those of us of the European Persuasion, the West Coast remains virgin territory. Everybody came here from somewhere else, for whatever reason. There’s little history here; Southern California is fascinatingly rootless. Which means, even more than the rest of the country, we make things up as we go.
There’s no tradition to smother you growing up, nothing to rebel against when you come of age. Some things could be better — some things could always be better — but you don’t have to fight an entrenched power structure to get it.
The West is no longer the Frontier, but it’s where the frontier closed. It’s the America we are forever reviving — nobody cares about the Colonials, but everybody’s up for a good Western, classic or postmodern. The Midwestern isn’t a genre, unless you count Coen Brothers movies.
We say all this because, well, we’re fucking tired of people telling us we don’t live in the Real America, that our values are suspect because we can’t see land in all directions. People came here to escape you assholes, to live the dream you denied them, and fuck you for resenting our pursuit of happiness.
Must be the humidity, near as we can figure. We don’t know how you can stand it.
We also don’t know what set us off on this tangent; something about North Carolina, we guess. California certainly isn’t innocent in the matter: See “some things could be better”, above.
But here’s the thing: We know some things will be better, and soon. Which is more than we can say for Our Fellow Americans still living under the tyranny of a False God who has nothing to do with the Book they don’t read and its Good News they do everything in their power to crush.