Don't give me this Love It or Leave It bullshit!

Bi-cultural? Bi-lingual? Bi-national? All convenient euphemisms for confused.  I resigned  myself years ago to a partial cultural, social, national and linguistic limbo.  Not that I'm complaining, although I talk like I always know exactly what I'm saying, the truth is I've come to feel grateful for the ambiguity in which I dwell, it makes life richer.

Yesterday I was stuck in rush hour Los Angeles traffic with my housemate, like me the American born offspring of immigrants, well traveled, worldly, but, unlike me in no way confused about where he belongs.  We were bottlenecking off the highway onto the exit ramp and traffic, which was already the stuff of nightmares on the five-lane highway, had become nearly unbearable.  I noticed that on either side of the single file line of cars contained neatly within the stripes painted on the asphalt there was enough room for another whole line of cars and I commented that if we had been in Italy where traffic rules are obeyed only if they make sense (but not even always when they do make sense) the cars on the exit ramps would have used the additional space, chaos may have ensued but I would have felt less a victim of my circumstances, and more like I was telling the traffic jam to shove it.  In short, I was feeling harmlessly nostalgic about the old country in all its anarchic rule-defying charm.  My housemate had the cheek to say, "Oh yes, Italy where people know how to drive... If you like it so much better there, you don't have to stay, you know."  In short: love it or leave it.  And not just love it, love everything about it, including its crazymaking obedience.  A few years ago I might have kept my mouth shut at such a comment, but yesterday I said, "Don't you give me that bullshit. You only have one passport, you have nowhere else to live, I choose to live here, I could live in several different countries: Italy, France, Germany, England... I live here because I love it, because I choose it. Of course I love it otherwise I would leave it."  I should have added, "I admit that my relationship with this country is often stormy, but my love for it is one born of reflection and choice. How many of you flag-waving love it or leave it types can say that for yourselves?"

And someone famous (probably some Frenchie) once said that it is the true patriot who most fiercely criticizes his country.  I couldn't agree more, it is because of how much I love this crazy place, that I would like to see it do better, reach its potential, be, dare I say it, all that it can be.  I'm not suggesting that we should rally for Italian style traffic anarchy in the U.S., my reaction yesterday was just an emotional knee-jerk response to my frustration at this city's overpopulated highways.  What I am suggesting is this: criticizing a country does not mean you don't love it.  It is good and healthy to think and speak critically about democratic nations, indeed it is a necessary part of any working democracy.  And people who claim otherwise need to pull their heads out of their asses.

Scribere est agere? Really?

There is a large part of me that is unsure whether writing is indeed acting, or the pen mightier than the sword etc. etc.  I started this blog today because all of me hopes so. 

Just today I became involved in a Facebook argument about whether Rush Limbaugh and other such hate-spewing intellectual midgets should be pulled from the airwaves in light of how they may have influenced the behavior of one Jared Loughner. My answer is and will always be: FUCK NO! I believe in personal responsibility, that we get what we deserve, that if no one listened to trash, trash wouldn't be on the air.  The answer then must surely be to raise your voice too, to shout til you're hoarse, in the hopes of drowning out the Rush Limbaugh's of this world.  Add to the cacophony, it doesn't matter if it's already deafening.  Maybe I feel this way because I spent too many Sundays at Italian dinner tables where shouting was the only option if you ever intended to be heard.  Whatever the case may be, this is my tiny pulpit, here is my megaphone.