A friend of mine is moving to California this week. He asked me for suggestions of places to see on his road trip. I told him to make sure he pulls over to see Cadilac Ranch outside of Amarillo, Texas. This morning he texted me a picture of said place. I was laughing when I saw it and proud that he had taken one of my suggestions. Have a good trip Mike.
I love this country and I love all the shit it stands for – most of it anyway. Where else in this world can you drive down a highway and see this?
It’s hard to buy American but it’s damn easy to experience it. Music is a great example of this. There’s no denying the fact that we have the best fuckin’ music anywhere in the world, bar none. In 1985 I lived in Paris, France. One day on my way back home I was walking down the winding streets of my neighborhood. I walked past an open window blaring Steely Dan. My god that made me home-sick. The fact that Hey Nineteen, she dont remember the queen of soul can elicit the same feelings with some french fuck as it does with me is, well magical. Salude mon ami.
Music has so much power behind it. It brings us together and it can tear us apart (no pun intended). We Americans love our arena rock where we can find a brotherhood of rockers with our index and pinky fingers standing tall at attention and shaking in the air as we bond together with AC/DC ringing in our ears. It’s a moment of rock bliss and that’s why we’re willing to throw down $125 for shitty seats on the third balcony. I mean, what the fuck?
American rock and American culture go hand in hand. It amazes me how much we take things for granted in this life we live, but we never take our music for granted. Next time you hear Back in Black throw your fist in the air and shake your head like there’s no tomorrow because the way things are going, tomorrow may never come.