An American Epiphany in Croatia

19 Nov

The effects, of booze, asses, sun and patriotism on the young American’s mind… Also a brief statement on the old sitcom Step by Step.

As I stared longingly at the bronzed, perfectly shaped pair of butt cheeks that rested only a couple yards from my shameless eyes, I began to ponder America. Here I was, in an unspoiled paradise, laying gloriously nude beside the Adriatic Sea which, mirrored the cloudless sky above, and I could just manage to split glances between this u Utopian view and a suspected Brazilian girl with an ass that gave my boner a boner. Is it this exact set of priorities that Europeans and the rest of the world snub Americans for? Was I contributing to our bad name? Fuck if I cared, and that definitely is one of the reasons everyone hates our great country. But generalizing is a tool of the ignorant and like a skilled carpenter with a piece of driftwood, they can do a lot with a little.
So Americans are classless pigs, consumers of a monstrous and unethical proportion and ignorant to a point of criminality, so pigheaded and shallow they cannot raise their beady little eyes from one phenomenal behind to appreciate the deeper beauty all around them. These are the stereotypes that I feared I was enforcing. But why should I feel so self-conscious, why do I have to prove myself to a bunch of fat Bavarian tourists, if this young woman wants to wear a g-string to a public beach, than it is not only my right to enjoy the view, it is my civic duty. She spent damn good money to be gawked at and who am I to deny her the satisfaction of a wise purchase. Nude beaches need Americans, nude beaches need people like me. A surge or patriotism began working its way through my thoughts painting everything it touched red, white and blue.
I calmed myself down as this was not the right scene for a patriotic meltdown, too many speedos, too good looking of a Brazilian. I was on their turf now and a mixture between the sun, the sea and the sights had scrambled my brain. There is no reason to feel patriotic after staring at butts for a couple of hours, clearly the gap between nonsense and reason had been crossed by a bridge of insanity. A bridge I was strengthening with every sip from my flask of the cheapest Croatian liquor.
I laid back against my rented mountain bike that was acting as my main means of transportation, my best friend and my lawn chair. I postured up so as to be able to look out to the sea, having been nude at the time, I tried to contort my body in a fashion that was as flattering as it was unnatural—flexing your arms or sucking in a fat gut is child’s play compared to trying to flex the muscle that connects your thigh to your taint, or to try to clench your ass shut when you get up so as not to give anybody the dirtiest of winks. Again I was struck by a sense of disappointment. Why was I thinking about my taint muscle when in five minutes I could be in the shadow of an ancient Roman Amphitheater  For the love of Moses why bring the dirt-star into this realm of tropical beauty? It seemed clear that I had been completely indoctrinated with potty humor and the grotesque version of the American Dream. Helpless and doomed to a life of shallow satisfaction and sinful material greed. I suddenly thought myself condemned to chuckling at poop jokes and thinking a flat-screen TV was the “most beautiful view in the world.” I had to go.
Finally, I rose from my spot and threw on the only pair of shorts I had brought with me to Europe. I exchanged numbers with the Brazilian girls but had no cell phone, which was for the best due to the fact that the most romantic date I could offer was them buying me a loaf of bread and cruising around on my 18th Century bicycle. I left the beach to go back to my hostel, so I could try and write something meaningful in my journal and figure out if I was truly a lost cause in the cultured eyes of the world.
Sitting in the hostel watching my scrambled television— which mysteriously only played old episodes of Step by Step and Family Matters—I found something I had jotted down in Dublin about a French girl I met in a classy downtown bar. I was drunkenly and sloppily apologizing for not being able to speak French, or any non-dead language for that matter, when she stopped me;
“You know,” she said, “I just wish I could’ve been a cheerleader, I wish I had prom, I wish I had been able to throw that stupid hat in the air when I graduated,”
She continued with almost a desperate, on-the-verge-of-tears tone, “You see, we are so serious all the time, not like here at pub, but with family and in school.” I listened as intently as my drunk, semi-deaf brain would allow, “I just want to be goofy and have fun but I am too old for that now.”
She was only 26 at the time which compounded the impact it had on me.
Perhaps the simple pleasures we as a nation take in the most idiotic, thoughtless endeavors and sights is what makes us great. Maybe we don’t have a ‘culture’ because within our nation is every culture on this planet. Like the color white, we are bland and unimpressive at first glance but look through the right prism and we contain every single color in the spectrum. The world looks towards us not for historical value or antique artwork but for entertainment and to find out which way to bend the brim of their hat. We are unrefined because our country is still so new and we are ignorant because most find a more gratifying escape in anything but keeping up with World Politics. And remember, if a tree falls in the woods, is it still a big horse?

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2 Responses to “An American Epiphany in Croatia”

  1. jumpingpolarbear November 19, 2012 at 3:22 pm #

    The Americans I have met in Croatia and in the rest of Europe have been awesome people, so you are not so bad as you think :).

    • dubiousdookowski November 19, 2012 at 4:37 pm #

      Haha that is good to hear. I definitely received mixed reviews when I asked around about our general first impressions.

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