American Identity: Plastic Santa vs. Lawn Gnome

I have always loved what America is when it is at its best. A big piece of that affection is the mongrel dog bit, the, “we are the mutt of the world, our strength is in our diversity.” The fortitude and innovative spirit of my great nation comes from melting pots over homogeneity or desperately clinging to old world mores.

This means as a Bostonian, I always cringed when I heard some guy from Southie screech out, “Dude, um fahkin’ toe-dily Irish. Toe-dily, ahunert fahkin’ pacent dude,” as I am thinking, “No you are a retarded American criminal destined for state prison, rehab, reality TV or some combination of the three.” In fairness and for the sake of full disclosure, I am largely of German descent. OK, so I have joked about Aryan pride here and there, but mostly in the western Zoroastrian sense, and sure there was the occasional claim of genetic superiority but I was always American first, genetically superior second.

I was doing some consulting work for a company in Germany. Upon landing in Germany I had a sense of belonging I had not had since getting into the Sky Bar at the Mondrian in ‘98. After finishing the consulting job I was traveling to Frankfurt from Cologne to meet one of my very good friends-a German. I had met him several years before on a project I was running. He was a 3D artist working with several others on one of the components of a large, complicated project I was producing. He was helping a French girl who was very inexperienced try to get her bearings on a project that didn’t have time for people to get their bearings. Unfortunately it didn’t have time to find new 3D artists with bearings to replace the bearingless ones either. She had asked him for help on a 3D render. He replied, “I will be there in two minutes." He said this in a civil, professional tone that did little to disguise his contempt for either her Frenchness or her total lack of experience. I surmised it was likely a combination of the two. After about two minutes and fourteen seconds he stood beside her and said, “I am sorry I am late, how may I assist you?” I was intrigued. Several days later as we got to know one another over 22-hour days, martinis, Marlboros, and steak, we discussed her inability to produce. He said disparagingly of this young women and her nationality, “Dude, we took their entire country in like 2 weeks man, what do you expect.”

In an instant intrigue turned to love. I had found a fellow tribesman.

I had taken on this project for a friend’s company, he had taken the money and let the project languish for eleven months and now had one month to finish and deliver. One month to do a year’s scripting, storyboarding, game design, brand identity, customer education and acquisition creative development and technical execution. His company was in the process of being purchased by an “internet consulting” company, it was the dotcom heyday and this “internet consulting” company wanted everything to go smoothly. This meant they had tons of mostly clueless venture cash for their mostly clueless business model and wanted only good press. My company was offered the job as fixer. I was up for the challenge and all I needed was about $100K. They were happy to write the check.

All ended exceedingly well with me winning “Best in Show” for the client, doing some amazing European drugs (dunno why but they're just better there, ok) at a rave in a castle in Geneva after leaving a club where a hooker had accidentally set her hair on fire while telling me I looked like an American movie star which was right after I was parasailing in natural updrafts of a glacial lake in the French Alps where I was staying in a 15th century monastery. To cap it all off, I got free drinks since mine had burnt hooker hair in it, and really, everybody loves free drinks.

My German friend picked me up at the train station, we got dinner and caught-up. We did not talk much about the aforementioned project because as he once said during the job, “Dude, um only a verker bee,” therefore not able to take part in the international hijinx. During that project he described everyone by his or her equivalent bee roles, most were like him, worker bees, but as the producer attempting to keep order amidst the chaos, I was the soldier bee. The creative director, who was gay, was not surprisingly, the Queen bee. As such our conversation was limited to making fun of people and discussing new projects.

The next day I was treated to the German version of the big box store, it was a smart but odd combination of Target and Home Depot. It was just before thanksgiving so the store was brimming with Christmas stuff. They had the same crappy plastic lawn decorations we did; the electrified plastic Santa and the three and a half foot high red candles with “Noel” on them that were destined to quickly fade to their more natural pink hue as seen on the front lawns of the poor and elderly in March. He stopped as we walked by these petro-chemical atrocities and said, “Dooood I toetoly blame you faw dis sheet man. Da sawn-tas I con teak…dare OK, but da condols are bulsheet man.” I agreed. I was ashamed, we can push a lot of our crappy pop and consumer culture on the world but the three and a half foot high plastic Noel candles did indeed cross some line.

I was not sure I had the sovereign authority but I asked his forgiveness for my country’s transgressions anyway. He was so moved by my apology he later took full responsibility for lawn gnomes. I thanked him. Two great nations and a lawn ornament detente.

As we left the store we were stopped at a railroad crossing with the bars down, bell clanging and lights flashing. We were talking and laughing and after about five minutes realized nothing was happening on the tracks, no train, no action, just a bunch of Germans waiting patiently---because it is the rule, for some event that at this point seemed suspect.

Another five minutes went by with nothing happening, except of course Germans waiting patiently---because it is the rule. I said to my friend, as my impatience grew, that, “If two guys wearing lederhosen and green felt hats do not come through on one of those hand pumped rail cars seen only in cartoons in my country...America...I’ll be bullshit.”

Sure enough, no sooner said…not quite garbed in lederhosen but two guys on a pump cart, albeit motorized, went by. No really. He later made an animation of the event for me as a screen saver, possibly to replace the, “May Death Come Swiftly” screen saver I had recently dispatched.

I turned to him several minutes after this had transpired, and to satisfy a long burning question of mine that I believe most Americans, if not all humans have. I asked him when he realized it was funny to be German?

Without a dropping a beat he looked at me and said, "It took me a while dude, but I get it now." And I thought, there is the difference—my friend only has a single absurd, but largely accurate, stereotype in which to self-identify and understand himself in the broader world context. I, and all Americans, have a multitude of specific American stereotypes to draw on (New Yorker, Southern, So. Cal, etc) in an effort to better understand myself. But we are also blessed in that we can assume the native brands of our forefather’s to further distill a spunky amalgam of “self and the other,” or perhaps even better, "the American diaspora," as some retarded professor in humanities would say.

I surmise our strength of character is in our diversity of not just “type” but stereotype...as long as it is in English (they all speak it).