Only In America Baby

I love being an American more than being a native New Yorker. And I’m louder than Busta Rhymes at a midnight showing of Higher Learning.  I also got my TV writing break in Manhattan in Times Square in the Viacom building down the street from the old Paramont Theatre where Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis took a giant dump on anything SNL ever produced.

Last year, I tell my daughter 1st thing in the morning. The Yankees won. She replies. I heard. That’s why New York City never sleeps. Being a native New Yorker who was in LA when 911 happened. Who later wrote a pilot about a TSA star, heavy set agent from Ethiopia who becomes the new face of homeland security because homeland security was so weapons of mass destruction years. I firmly believe we’re not the racist a country knowing what a melting pot New York city is and how I’ve consistently been able to bond with taxi drivers from all over the universe through humor.

 

I love my grand old USA, land of the free and home of John Coltrane, NY Yankees, Hulk Hogan, The Grateful Dead, Les Paul, the band Boston, Bill Hicks, Andrew Dice Clay, Don Rickles, Brian Wilson, Hank Williams Junior, Danny McBride, Charles Bukowski, Marc Maron, General Patton, Johnny Cash, Axel Rose, Nikki Six, Albert Brooks, Randy Newman, the Zucker Brothers, Wayans Brothers, Derek Jeter, Michael Jordan, Muhamad Ali, Walt Whitman, Chuck Zito, Chuck Norris, Jim Brown, Stan Lee, Kevin Smith, Bon Jovi, Mr. Rogers, the Beastie Boys, Dennis Hopper, Rudy, Red Foxx, Chris Rock, Larry David, Sly Stallone, Gene Simmons, Jim Norton, Jeff Ross, Patrice O’Neal, Vince Vaughn, Stryper, Adam Sandler, Joan Jett, Henry Miller, Robert Frost, Marilyn Monroe, Joan Rivers, Howard Stern, president Donald J. Trump.
Why would I include, Donald J. Trump on this illustrious list of American heroes dear to my heart forevermore? Because he inspired my children to hug old glory after I showed them a picture of our President doing the same. They say, a picture speaks a 1000 words, no amount of spin semantics and propaganda brainwashing can mistake our President’s love of flag, vets and fellow hard working Americans, free to exert their will onto this universe in the effort to enact their most deep rooted dreams of opening a business or providing for their family without being totally miserable into a glorious, real life unfolding reality.

 
I showed my children a picture of our president hugging an American flag with his arms wrapped around tight, exuding a boyish, young at heart, grin, screaming I love my country and my flag because it represents a land where I was free to pursue my dreams and make ball busting great again. A place where his scrappy, hard work was rewarded, to become everything he dared to dream into doing and becoming.

 
Driving cross country to Los Angeles for my last semester of college, was the most patriotic experience of my life. The surge in patriotic pride hit me like a battering ram as I drove around the Grand Canyon with Bruce Springsteen’s greatest hits playing as the perfect soundtrack backdrop to all the wonderous, beauty piercing natural wonder.
For the 1st in my life, driving around the Grand Canyon, taking in such a beauty spewing tapestry of sandblasted, orange hues and violet shades of red bursting color, it was impossible to not feel like I was in the haunting, holy presence of God’s finger-painting best work.

 
I also lived in LA for 6 years after spending my last semester of college out there, interning for a talent agency called the House of Representatives.  I sold wine in California. Took many girlfriends to day trips in Santa Barbara because I couldn’t afford to stay in hotels when I sold wine.

 

 

How can my various girlfriend getaway adventures to Santa Barbara on PCH up through the winding hills of the Santa Anita Mountains, to stop off eating the most delectable, scrumptious Tri Tip sandwiches of my life make me hate America one bit? Knowing I get to take PCH up through Santa Barbra for the most part, becoming at one with the mighty Pacific. Where that lucky old son, Brian’s Wilson’s favorite muse, bounces, skips and prances in a scattered, flickering glorious light over such a breath-taking oceanic stretch of deep, soothing, soul penetrating streams of blue.

 
Now, my son’s favorite toy is the Blue Angel plane I got him after taking my 3 kids to their 1st air show. I had never been to an airshow before either. Just picture the parking lot scene of a Kid Rock show, but with more wide-eyed kids and not as much tore up looking talent from the nineties since Kid Rock went platinum.

 
I have a framed picture in our bathroom with my son Arthur and his older sister Matilda posing in an old school fighter jet, with real deal pilot helmets on and cool looking shades on. You’d think they were posing for a subway poster of a more child friendly remake of Iron Eagle for Nick Junior.

 

 

Patriotism is taught at home. On Presidents Day, I taught my children this year how our 1st President George Washington, freed all his slaves eventually and paid them reparations in the form of a giant buyout severance package.
My children know about Lenny Bruce Live at Carnegie Hall and how his attacks on organized religion ruling by fear versus love was his God given, American right to do so. Every year on 4th of July, I bust out my original Dream Team USA tang top jersey from 92 for Christ sake before Magic made HIV disappear. That’s teaching your kids patriotism folks. Especially, after stressing to my kids, how Americans pride themselves on their killer work ethic compared to the world at large. Not always peachy about it but if you’re making 6 figures a year I don’t want to hear any bitching from you.  You also teach your kids patriotism by stressing how having our best US college players lose to Spain in the Olympics the previous year because of Alonzo Mourning’s unreliable hook shot from 4 feet away is unacceptable in the winning obsessed USA.

 

But then, MJ, Bird and Magic would follow the illustrious footsteps of other all star American Olympians such as Jesse Owens, Edwin Moses, Carl Lewis, Sugar Ray Leonard, Jackie Joyner-Kersee. Can we make Usain Bolt an honorary American Olympian for the purposes of this conversation, considering his brash, super charismatic, obviously influenced by Iron Mike’s, big time brash bravado  personality in some capacity?

 
My son’s going to join the Boy Scouts, next year when he starts Kindergarten, which is as American as Reese Witherspoon getting pulled over for a DUI with her husband agent at Creative Artists Agency. I think she got with a traffic ticket. It’s nothing a million dollar residual check from Legally Blonde can’t solve. Only in America baby.

The End
By,

Michael Kornbluth

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