Dispatches from Real America…

I immersed myself in some Red and Blue America activities this week. Just a warning for all of our friends worldwide, the United States is going to talk about itself a lot in the next year. It will be a cacophony of opinions about “American Exceptionalism,” “America’s Original Sin,” and everywhere in between. Brace yourself for a wave of red, white, and blue babbittry and self-contradiction. We still think of ourselves as a young country, and as you might remember from children that you may know, those early birthdays are the most important. (Unless you are Philip the Arab, who enjoyed the big one.) Oddly, for a young country, we are an old democracy (yes, the oldest, don’t argue with me if you still have a king, just don’t.)

I have been to my share of parades in my life…Christmas parades, St. Patrick’s Day parades and plenty of Mardi Gras parades. But it has been a long time since I went to a Fourth of July parade. I think that I marched with my cub scout troop in Willow Grove, Pennsylvania in 1975, so a long minute. I was in Eastern Tennessee this year as one passed my house. It was a side of America that those on the coasts don’t often see. It isn’t quite Norman Rockwell’s America, but it would be recognizable to anyone from a small town in the last one hundred and fifty years. Two or three rows of lawn chairs appeared street side and families sat on blankets just before 10:00 a.m. The city had put flags on every light pole. Traffic was blocked off and the street was empty.

The whole parade lasted less than an hour. There were marching bands, dance troupes, Shiners, and lots of Baptist churches. That is England’s legacy to rural America, we got all of your dissenters. They now form a patchwork of Baptist congregations all over the country, but particularly away from the coasts where all of us Papists immigrated. There were no political slogans, no party messages. Candidates rode in their trucks with magnetic signs on the side. There is no real glory in being a state assemblyman. They just smiled and waved. The church groups handed out hard candy to the little kids.

Everyone was behaved and polite. All the trash was cleaned up and put in bins provided by the city. I found myself becoming sentimental seeing this version of America, the one just beneath the surface of what gets shown to you on social or legacy media.

Before you think this was just some homogenous fly-over town, the street in front of my house was more varied by skin tone than that. Not everyone required sunscreen. American families have been mixing for a while now. It started with Irish and Italians (neither considered “white” until recently) and now extends to everyone. Once you are away from racial studies programs in universities it neither looks or feels like oppression or “white supremacy.” That term came back into vogue just as the real-life problem it described was well and truly consigned to placards in museums.

I didn’t get a picture of it, it might have seemed rude, but there was another cultural indicator on display in one of the high school flag teams. The flag teams, with flags and/or batons, actually give you more bang for your buck in parades. The skinny little cheerleaders can’t do their being tossed in the air stunts on the move. The healthy girls with flags can do their thing and still march.

In the middle of all of these young women with really pleasant personalities was a young man, about six feet tall, with a shock of red hair. He was covered, as they all were, in purple spangles. And he was in his element. His forte was the baton toss and forward roll trick. He nailed it. He wasn’t invading a women’s space or locker room. He was being allowed be his authentic self in high school. Things have changed for the better since I was in high school. He got the same claps from the crowd as the other twirlers. It was notable for not being notable.

(They hate our freedom.)

I also went undercover in Blue America territory. I enjoyed another Phish show last night in our local coliseum. I can’t do three nights, but I feel honored that we merit three shows. I have been seeing America’s pre-eminent jam band for more than fifteen years now. I missed their early fame; I was busy with a new wife and a young kid. The crowd has aged like I have. I sat with three younger guys that I went to a show with many years ago. They are now married with kids and gray hair.

A Phish show brings out the mellow. No politics, although I could guess if I tried. Instead, it was about the music and the experience. But mostly, it was about the groove: thousands of middle-aged people twitching rhythmically, thinking that they are dancing. Lots of babysitters were hired to let mom and dad have a night.

We need to get off of our phones and out of our curated silos of information. It is a good and great country still. I read some posts on our popular watch forum lamenting that these folks did not feel good about their country. They don’t get out in it enough. I didn’t argue or push back, it would be like arguing about the best ice cream flavor (it is black cherry), you can’t argue someone out of a mood. But our politics shouldn’t get us down. Unplug and pull up a seat along the parade route and talk to some neighbors. See live music and discuss just what the band was doing with “Llama” (a lot).

Random notes and dozy doats and liddle lamzy divey:

So, About Vintage changed their name to AV86. Ugh. Did they not notice that one of the Dartmouth brands is AVI-8? They sell decent pilot-inspired watches. I am surprised the lawyers let that one through. Also, in the United States to “86” something is to eliminate it. It comes from food and beverage (“86 the clams, we are out…”) Recently, there was a stupid (from both sides) controversy about the very silly man who used to be the head of the FBI using seashells… Their old name was bad. Their new name is worse.  Your name is the most important asset that you own as a business. I almost bought one of their limited-edition football (soccer) themed watches a few years ago, now I am glad that I missed it.

I stopped taking wrist shots and uploading them every day. I wanted to take my own advice and step back from social media, even watch social media for a bit. I was noticing when certain watches only got 60% of the “likes” that others did. Who cares? My phone had an embarrassing amount of watch photos.

When I did that, I found myself wearing the same watch for about ten days…and I liked it. And it wasn’t vintage.

I don’t take selfies at music shows. I take a few photos, mostly so that I can remember the date…things get fuzzy in time. The band’s moving LED lights were at times great, but mostly not.

Did I wear a watch to the show? Old and quartz…with soul.