Americans abroad can be fairly obnoxious, fatuous and deaf, dumb and blind to their surroundings, often collectors of experiences without registering what they experience. On the Homes and Garden channel I often watch House Hunters and House Hunters International, both programs working on the premise that a couple see three different homes shown to them by real estate agents — a real estate agent is someone who eats and gives out shit in order to make a commission. Any dissent on that? The internal “excitement,” I suppose, is to compare your choice with theirs. I began watching the show before we moved to Nevada. One episode was about house hunting in Nevada that revealed the relatively inexpensive prices for homes. Jane and I went for it and so we are here. However, watching House Hunter 1 and 2 was and is a lesson in American values, of anthropological and sociological insights apparent to anyone who wishes to see beyond the surface, which is an unAmerican trait.
House Hunters International appeals to me in that I go on a tour to Cabo, Mexico, Panama, Paris, Aruba, Nicaragua, Spain and rural France. I observe real estate agents in these countries. They are all alike, acquisitive, stupid, pushy and remarkably obtuse, servile, all the characteristics one needs for a license in the States. They are parasites on the fat asses of the well-to-do. I try to overlook the agents and the house hunters and enjoy the visual surroundings; however, as you know human beings get in the way. What have I learned that I don’t really want to learn about Americans?
Couples, such as Liz and Bill, have three dogs. I sense that they view their animals as human beings and cannot differentiate between both species. Dog lovers view these animals as part of the family, as children in some cases. OK. I can take that for just so long. Often couples nearing retirement and in their early sixties, often without children, just dogs in this case, come into a home, this one is in Panama, and offer over a half hour the following commentary: Remember there are only two of them — there is no granite countertop…little counter space…not enough kitchen cabinets…the bathroom has to be redone…the bedroom is too small…I prefer a gas stove to electric…the floor tiles are not good for the dogs…it is too far from Panama City…the self-aggrandizing, “I can’t believe this backyard is really all mine”…this must go, that must stay, this is not good, that is so so. All in all we are getting here American insufferability big time.
What America needs is a good old-fashioned ground war with invading armies crossing our States so that we lose some of our precious airs and arrogance. Material discontent by couples like Liz and Bill runs rife through these programs: the inability to accept the less that perfect; the unwillingness to settle for an incomplete view of the ocean, the view of life as conforming only to one’s own needs. The list is endless. I watch the show and comment like a good old man reading the headlines and speaking to world leaders — that Beck is a schmuck; Hannity is a moron and Coulter is an ironing board posing as a woman. I comment as Liz and Bill actually do a dance for the camera, spoon for the camera, soak in their new Panamian spa, frolic like the old fools they are. Nothing is more embarrassing than to observe an old fool at play. Liz and Bill kibbitz and cavort with one another on camera, bill and coo, and one imagines them nude, flopping about, moving their redolent tummies aside to find access to empty pantries.
Unfortunately having excess money can wither the sense of proportionality. I sit and watch and wonder about what I am watching. What is it to want more and have the wherewithal to do that? What is it to have a need and be able to satisfy it completely? What is it to have no concerns about not having? What does it take to be less demanding, less narcissistic? What American contractor, what real estate agent, what hidden and driven agenda mandates that travertine is out and granite is in, that stainless steel appliances are the only way to go, that wood floors are a must and what demented soul or system urged an “open floor plan” upon house hunters? Who are, excuse the expression, the “tastemakers” in this nation? Not only are we conspicous consumers (Veblen), status seekers (Vance Packard) and outer-directed (The Lonely Crowd ), we apparently, like Liza and Bill, are caught in the Matrix, oblivious to how inane and insipid we have become.
We talk of nation-building in Iraq and Afghanistan. After a summer watching Tea Parties, Glenn Beck, “You Lie,” Wilson, we are the very last nation who should be doing that; our own democracy is pretty shabby of late. Arnold Toynbee, historian, once wrote that all that Western civilization can give the world is its “bag of tools,” meaning that we can offer techiques and diesel engines but not much more.
When I watched Liz and Bill this Saturday night I felt like an ancient Roman slave who wanted to put a dagger into the back of his master. The aristocracy of bloated self-interest and exalted bad taste reigns supreme and the two programs I watch slash open the belly of the beast to reveal the inner rot. As a culture we are long overdue for a comeuppance.
Liz And Bill Go To Panama
Americans abroad can be fairly obnoxious, fatuous and deaf, dumb and blind to their surroundings, often collectors of experiences without registering what they experience. On the Homes and Garden channel I often watch House Hunters and House Hunters International, both programs working on the premise that a couple see three different homes shown to them by real estate agents — a real estate agent is someone who eats and gives out shit in order to make a commission. Any dissent on that? The internal “excitement,” I suppose, is to compare your choice with theirs. I began watching the show before we moved to Nevada. One episode was about house hunting in Nevada that revealed the relatively inexpensive prices for homes. Jane and I went for it and so we are here. However, watching House Hunter 1 and 2 was and is a lesson in American values, of anthropological and sociological insights apparent to anyone who wishes to see beyond the surface, which is an unAmerican trait.
House Hunters International appeals to me in that I go on a tour to Cabo, Mexico, Panama, Paris, Aruba, Nicaragua, Spain and rural France. I observe real estate agents in these countries. They are all alike, acquisitive, stupid, pushy and remarkably obtuse, servile, all the characteristics one needs for a license in the States. They are parasites on the fat asses of the well-to-do. I try to overlook the agents and the house hunters and enjoy the visual surroundings; however, as you know human beings get in the way. What have I learned that I don’t really want to learn about Americans?
Couples, such as Liz and Bill, have three dogs. I sense that they view their animals as human beings and cannot differentiate between both species. Dog lovers view these animals as part of the family, as children in some cases. OK. I can take that for just so long. Often couples nearing retirement and in their early sixties, often without children, just dogs in this case, come into a home, this one is in Panama, and offer over a half hour the following commentary: Remember there are only two of them — there is no granite countertop…little counter space…not enough kitchen cabinets…the bathroom has to be redone…the bedroom is too small…I prefer a gas stove to electric…the floor tiles are not good for the dogs…it is too far from Panama City…the self-aggrandizing, “I can’t believe this backyard is really all mine”…this must go, that must stay, this is not good, that is so so. All in all we are getting here American insufferability big time.
What America needs is a good old-fashioned ground war with invading armies crossing our States so that we lose some of our precious airs and arrogance. Material discontent by couples like Liz and Bill runs rife through these programs: the inability to accept the less that perfect; the unwillingness to settle for an incomplete view of the ocean, the view of life as conforming only to one’s own needs. The list is endless. I watch the show and comment like a good old man reading the headlines and speaking to world leaders — that Beck is a schmuck; Hannity is a moron and Coulter is an ironing board posing as a woman. I comment as Liz and Bill actually do a dance for the camera, spoon for the camera, soak in their new Panamian spa, frolic like the old fools they are. Nothing is more embarrassing than to observe an old fool at play. Liz and Bill kibbitz and cavort with one another on camera, bill and coo, and one imagines them nude, flopping about, moving their redolent tummies aside to find access to empty pantries.
Unfortunately having excess money can wither the sense of proportionality. I sit and watch and wonder about what I am watching. What is it to want more and have the wherewithal to do that? What is it to have a need and be able to satisfy it completely? What is it to have no concerns about not having? What does it take to be less demanding, less narcissistic? What American contractor, what real estate agent, what hidden and driven agenda mandates that travertine is out and granite is in, that stainless steel appliances are the only way to go, that wood floors are a must and what demented soul or system urged an “open floor plan” upon house hunters? Who are, excuse the expression, the “tastemakers” in this nation? Not only are we conspicous consumers (Veblen), status seekers (Vance Packard) and outer-directed (The Lonely Crowd ), we apparently, like Liza and Bill, are caught in the Matrix, oblivious to how inane and insipid we have become.
We talk of nation-building in Iraq and Afghanistan. After a summer watching Tea Parties, Glenn Beck, “You Lie,” Wilson, we are the very last nation who should be doing that; our own democracy is pretty shabby of late. Arnold Toynbee, historian, once wrote that all that Western civilization can give the world is its “bag of tools,” meaning that we can offer techiques and diesel engines but not much more.
When I watched Liz and Bill this Saturday night I felt like an ancient Roman slave who wanted to put a dagger into the back of his master. The aristocracy of bloated self-interest and exalted bad taste reigns supreme and the two programs I watch slash open the belly of the beast to reveal the inner rot. As a culture we are long overdue for a comeuppance.