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County - An American tale almost

Crossville, Tennessee, USA, September 2005. I was wandering the fields of Tennessee ... no, sorry, I walked the aisles of Wal Mart, it was my first American spending and watched with curiosity and suspicion, the shelves filled with giant packs of chocolate cake filled with peanut butter, Cereals Kellogg's, cans of cola cherry flavored, bacon dried, sausages and giant packs of bread to hamburger, long-life - each item in the regular version and in the "fatties ingozzatevi pure" (see light ) - when I came across the department hunting and fishing. Imagine these banks, within our own supermarkets, selling mobile phones and cars cameras or jewelry, behold, there was an island of windows in the center of the small Wal Mart, where they were selling knives, pistols, shotguns, hunting shotguns, bows, crossbows, and ammunition. Ah, America! I knew that the United States is easy to get a .44 magnum, but I did not think you could put the gun in the bag with the bread and tomatoes, "Hey, that Remington remove it from crushing the entire salad, asshole!" "Yes, so sorry, I put a bag of marshmallows to absorb the impact, all right? "" Hell yeah! ".

So, while I was thinking "long live Italy", turned on the radar of beer and started to run between shelves well aware dell'espressione da ebete che avevo stampata in faccia. A un tratto, però, il mio volto si illuminò. “God bless America”, pensai quando notai che tenevano le casse di birra in luminose vetrine frigo, “questi americani, ne sanno una più del diavolo!”. C'era la Bud, la Bud light, la Bud super light, la Coors, la Coors light, la Coors super light e altre marche americane che non ricordo ma sempre con le corrispondenti versioni per birròfili ciccioni. Le file dei cartoni erano opulentemente lunghe e gradassamente profonde, così che nessuno avrebbe potuto esaurire la scorta ghiacciata di quel nettare favoloso, “viva l'America” pensai, “quasi quasi dopo gli compro anche qualche pallettone”. In my mind rushing Hollywood scenes of fishermen who uncork beer, neighbors who have cans on the lawn in front of the house, white teeth, tanned and perfect tits and ass a la Baywatch, cowboy hats, cigar between his teeth , super tuesday, Thanksgiving Day, ringo boys who are fighting a five-headed eagles, white stars and stripes flags waving everywhere, Marines and the Communists to defeat evil. "I'm in America, all others are losers," I thought. While my enthusiasm made me imagine these things, my common sense made me opt for a case of Heineken, which, incredibly, was the only decent beer you could buy at Wal Mart.

Mi avviai verso le casse, dove una simpatica signora in divisa mi sorrideva da lontano. Mentre mi faceva il conto le domandai dove si trovassero i vini e i distillati dato che fra le corsie non li avevo trovati. “Magari sono vicino ai fucili”, pensai sorridendo, e immediatamente mi immaginai a cavallo di un baio selvaggio nella prateria, con la mano destra impugnavo un Uzi e sparavo a casaccio (forse agli indiani), con la sinistra tenevo la mia bottiglia di ottimo Jack Daniel's e dalla mia bocca uscivano solo sputi, rantoli e “fuck off, motherfuckers!”. Insomma, dicevo, le domandai dove potessi trovare i vini e i distillati perché volevo assaggiare il vino della California e il famoso Jack Daniel's, la cui distilleria si trova just in Tennessee, to Lynchburg. In addition, there are a couple of varieties that are not easily found Jack in Europe: the Jack Daniel's Green Label, label olive green, not seasoned in the Old No. 7 and Gentleman Jack, if I remember correctly is a distillation most seasoned of the classic Jack Black Label, but less value than Jack Daniel's Single Barrel. We were saying? Oh yes, I asked the woman where hell is the department whiskey, but that he replied that his eyes open wide in the county of Cumberland, where we were, you could not buy liquor and this also included wines. Cumberland is one of the 33 dry county in the country, a dry county, literally, where if you're thirsty ... you keep it. You had to drive 40 miles to reach the nearest wet county County wet, in fact, wet.

I returned to my apartment thoughtfully. Rest my expense, I opened a beer and lay down on the grass in front of the house. In those parts there is a wonderful climate in September, it's sunny but not too hot because Crossville, a town famous for golf, stands in the center of the state of Tennessee, on a vast plateau woods, streams and hills. My roommate had warned me that in winter, however, would make a bitterly cold and the trees were literally embedded in a thick shell of ice that formed the frost and high humidity. Shortly male, a fine ottobre sarei tornato a casa. “Crossville... città della croce!” pensai ricordandomi delle tante chiesette di legno con cartelli che dicevano “Jesus saves”, ma più tardi seppi che mi sbagliavo e che il nome deriva dalla posizione centrale della città nella quale si incrociano due importanti autostrade.

Mentre ero assorto nei miei pensieri americani arrivò il mio coinquilino, un uomo sui cinquanta, simpatico e abbastanza tranquillo: “Ehi! Metti via quella bottiglia” mi ordinò “o perlomeno coprila con un sacchetto, qui non si può bere per strada, è proibited! La polizia ti fa il culo.” “E chi l'ha mai vista la polizia qui davanti a casa?” I said slyly defiant raising the corpus delicti as to toast "They come out when you least expect it. If you make a mistake you see them now, you can not escape ... "and started telling me about a colleague who had been fined twice in the same day for speeding and that he should go to court, in short, a mess. I hurried to get home and shut myself in the room to read a biography of Che Guevara. I enjoyed thinking that if I had found the backpack at the airport, I would bring in a closet and the CIA would come to question me.

A couple of weeks later, my roommate invited me to accompany him to Lynchburg, Moore County, to visit the historic distillery the inventor of the mustachioed Jack Daniel's. I did not go, can not remember why, maybe I should just stay in the room to read and smoke. I remember that I said "Say hello if you see Phil Anselmo," "Who?" "Forget it, I'll see you tonight" and shut myself in my room. After a couple of hours I had already regretted not going because I was bored to death and also had seen a spider frolicking between the sheets. Colleagues had warned me that there were a couple of spiders and one, maybe two, poisonous snakes out there, it bothered me a lot and spent the afternoon trying to dig out that visitor side.

When my roommate returned were 19 (7pm, sorry), I remember exactly why I looked at his watch and obsessively repeated, with an American accent, the phrase "with God's help and with a handful of Marines defeat Communism in the world."

"Hello, where's the whiskey?" I asked without much polite "No whiskey, my friend," I protested and said, "Like anything whiskey? How the hell do I sleep tonight? There is a poisonous spider in my bed, otherwise I have to drink with the cabbage that I fall asleep with the fucking ... "" No whiskey I said, can not sell it to Lynchburg, is a dry county , like ours, "" Fuck, this is America, I have rights, the constitution ... the pursuit of happiness ... I appeal to the Fifth Amendment ... fuck! Fuck off! You cunt! Damn Mormons! God god here and there ... "and went on for two hours, then spent the night in white because of the giant spider.

short, even the factory where you can drink Jack Daniel's whiskey, how will you know when it's ready? They spend seven years to launch in the barrels and caps can not even get a drink, what kind of injustice! These were my thoughts Americans after that day. The great country, the land of freedom and of the pioneers, the home of liberalism and Smith's invisible hand disappointed me so much. How is it possible that I could not be free to buy a bottle of red wine at the supermarket but I could go out, indeed, with a shotgun on his shoulder? All right, it means I will buy a case of beer! We put a little 'more to get drunk but I'll make it, then I'll be free to do the shooting from my room, goddamn it!

What a country, America. You can walk with Smith and Wesson, but you will get caught up with Jack and Cola, you're fucked up. I realized that Hollywood movies are not American are realistic and America to be a colossal American , directors and copy writers e basta.

Un mese più tardi tornai a casa, diventai vegetariano e mi licenziai per intraprendere nuove ed esilaranti avventure.