On the Other Hand...

I just can't seem to get those Songs of the South from playing in my mind. Sometimes I can't get some of the stinkier southern things I step in off the bottom of my shoe.

...I can get pretty peeved at some ignoramuses in the south. After all I've been Californicated.

I have this T-shirt that I just love to wear. It's from The Nation magazine and depicts Bush with a face that is a cross between his own and Alfred E Neumann's, you know that Mad magazine guy whose motto was "What, me worry?" However, on the lapel was not an American flag pin but a button with just one word, "Worry."

So I note reactions. This shirt on it's own is the source of a lot of varied conversations with political soulmates but then there are others. The funny thing is that some people boil inside but say nothing. From others there's just a smile or at best a few friendly words and more.

If it is any barometer of international relations the Ticos and Ticas in Costa Rica loved it. "A mi me gusta su camisa" they say to which I reply "Esta una cosa triste pero mi presidente esta un tonto." (it is a sad thing but my president is a fool). They smile warmly with these beautifully deep Tica smiles, laugh and I get a slightly better price when I buy something while simultaneously dispelling the notionthat might are all "ugly Americans." I should run for ambassador, yes I should.


On the way back we had a layover in Dallas, Bush country I suppose. We went through customs there and had to make a domestic flight back to LA.

I was wearing a lifeguard hat with a big brim so I took my shade with me wherever I went in CR. It was straw so I had to wear it on the reutrn trip...it wouldn't fold into the bags.

As I approached the customs agent, a big ol' boy in his mid to late 50's, about 6'2" with a burred head and flat top, I noticed that he had a dour look but I figured that was just the official customs agent look...suspicious and an attempt to unnerve evildoers. Now I can speak Texan (you should hear my Ross Perot imitation). You just take the basic Floridian add a twang and speed it up a little. So I prepared myself to worm my way into this big ol' boy's good graces and to make that frown go away, a personal challenge of sorts.

"How ya doin'?" I greeted preemptively with the biggest, warmest, I-am-glad-to-be-back-on-US-soil smile that I could muster...one that almost always works wherever I go. Uh-oh, the look grew more stern. "Los Angeles" as city of issue on the passport probably didn't help.

"Where y'all coming from?" he asked flatly.

A few beads of sweat start to break out on my brow and a tension hung thickly in the air. US customs can cause you a lot of grief and delay. They can take you into back rooms, take the heels off your shoes, and also probe places a straight guy never wants another male probing. This happened once coming back from a surfing trip in Eleuthra, Bahamas, but that's another story.

"Costa Rica." I managed, despite the lump in my throat.

"Ya know ya wear that hat in Amarillo and you'd be asking for a shitload of trouble"

Are customs agents allowed to say "shitload" I wondered? My mind raced. Where are all my snappy answers when I need them most? It was a tossup as, within several milliseconds, a couple of possiblities occurred to me. One in our party explained that the hat kept the sun off which gave me time to decide.

I could have said that if you try to wear a cowboy hat at Malibu they'd think you gay. Not that I have anything against gay people but odds were that he did. Naw, scratch that one. There's a better one....

"Sir, are you Christian?" I inquired as if I were in search of a long lost friend or tall, cool glass of water in the desert.

Finally, the frown melted away and he beamed proudly.

"Yes I am" he declared resolutely with a firm nod and a smug smile.

"Well then, forgive me" I beseeched in a tone that was all at once profound, devout and confidential.

We walked on without so much as a single look back.

We debated whether it had really been the hat and decided it had really been the shirt but he couldn't have very well taken a political stand as an employee of the US government.

So tomorrow my mornings writing assignment is to turn the minds eye and cultural spotlight onto Californians, well the LA and Southern sub-species. Some might already know that these regional blogs are really not about regions but about people...how acutely aware we are of the slightest differences and about our reactions to the differences. Now THAT is something people from every region have in common. I've really not noticed people in one place or another being any better or worse than anywhere else. We just get kind of nuts when we think others, or actually ourselves, might be different. Worse still we sometimes have to turn it into a matter of right and wrong, with us being the right ones of course.

Maybe it's sappy but it would be nice to think that one coul seek the commonality and appreciate or respect the differences rather than feel they are a threat.

The crush of afterthoughts overwhelms me. I am now torn between sticking it to Californians and a blog on male psychology that has been fermenting for quit some time. Any preferences? (that's laughable...as if anyone really cares, reads, or listens)