America, we need to have a talk.
We need to have a talk about your rampant insanity.
I want you to know right off the bat that I don't consider this entirely your fault. The world, as usual, is up to its poles in crazy. Between the wars, the terrorism, the climate change, and the continuing mass of delusion that is the global economy, our little space pebble is writing itself quite a depressing stretch of history. Assuming there's anyone left to look back on all this, they won't be calling this a golden age for planet Earth.
But does that get you off the hook? See, that's the problem, America: it's exactly that kind of thinking that's put you on the hook in the first place. You seem to think that you can be as crazy as a headless loon and still command the respect of the world, as long as you're rocking the most kick-ass theme music. It is precisely because of that sort of attitude that, in spite of our tremendous wealth, we cannot have nice things. Things like equality, justice, and a moment's peace from the squabbling of an entitled political class.
For as long as I can remember (and probably longer than that), the political process has been marked by an impossibly endless regression. Every time I get used to a sub-par status quo, a new one comes along to make me yearn for the days when I was merely "uncomfortable." And now I have to sit and consider whether the liberal, progressive President I voted for in 2008 is cynically enabling the gibbering zealots of the dreaded opposition in order to look better by comparison? It's giving me a terrible, terrible head ache.
America, I live about four hundred miles from the Canadian border. Yes, the Canadian border; beyond which lies an enchanted fairyland of delicious pancakes and unfailingly polite lumberjacks, and a system of healthcare that is more concerned with serving its purpose than with keeping up appearances. What a delicious, maple syrup-covered border it is.
Am I threatening to move to Canada, like so many liberals have threatened before? Threat is such a strong word. I'm merely reminding you, America, that Canada is right there. It wouldn't be hard. A couple of forms to fill out, a crash course in French, and a new wardrobe of beaver pelt coats. It would be weird having a monarch all of a sudden, but it's my understanding that Canadians don't really pay attention to her. I think I could handle that.
So why don't I go? Honestly, I still like you, America. In spite of all the rage you inspire in the blackest depths of my heart, your potential for true greatness is blindingly obvious. You may have to slip down a few notches before you see how far you have to climb. You may have to stumble around the woods for a while before you take off the damned blindfold. But one day, you'll grow up, take off the tea party hat, and act like the responsible and benevolent nation state you were always meant to be.
If worse comes to worse, I could always try and have it both ways and move to the socialist paradise of Alaska. In Alaska, I could continue to salute Old Glory every morning, while still enjoying the hearty Canadian lifestyle of wrestling polar bears and living off the government teat. Somewhere in the Great Frozen North lies the American Dream.