No doubt the next few days will present us with a wealth of dazzling patriotic imagery, Dear Breeder, leading up to what will certainly be a tasteful celebration of the 44th Presidential Inauguration. Understatement will be the word of the day when Barack Obama takes his oath to uphold the U.S. Constitution, against the somber backdrop of Beyoncé and her forty-eight contiguous backup dancers, each riding a segway, elegantly appointed with a Lagerfeld robot glove, and waving a handful of sparklers; meanwhile, over at the Lincoln Memorial, the Blue Angels will fly in loop-de-loop formation just above the heads of a Cirque du Soleil troupe flying in loop-de-loop formation, all of which will be timed to coordinate with the precise moment Faith Hill is shot out of a cannon while drinking a Coke Zero, brought to you by Best Buy. Yes, Dear Breeder, we Americans know how to celebrate almost anything with an eye toward dignity and simplicity.
“This is way better than the time Tim shot me out of his [CENSORED].”
In order to help you make sense of the ensuing cavalcade of national symbols, we at Breeder’s Digest have assembled this handy catalog of classic American iconography. We encourage you to refer to it as needed, Dear Breeder, while the nation collectively holds hands, sheds tears, and rediscovers the true value of maintaining an active National Guard.
BASEBALL
Step up to the plate, Dear Breeder, and take a swing at America! You might not realize that the ideas for both America and baseball originated in England. That’s right, we “borrowed” this sophisticated gentleman’s sport from the British and repackaged it as the stuff of American dreams. Stuff like spittin’ tobacco, slappin’ men on the caboose, and White Supremacy. Yes, the golden days of baseball gave us such classic images of Americana as the Louisville Slugger and the 7th Inning Stretch, while also introducing a revolutionary model for heterosexual courtship (i.e. 1st base, 2nd base, wife-swapping). Every time you pay your way into a game, you’re keeping the American Dream alive—an American Dream which at this point is as corrupt, drug-addled, and unfocused as the average Major League player. Nice game, buddy!
PATRIOTIC FOLK ART
I hear America singing, Dear Breeder, every time I see red, white, and blue paint carefully layered atop a delicate canvas of old, dirty wood. The rhythm of the sandpaper, the melody of a glue gun, and the harmony of jubilant brushstrokes crescendo into an expertly orchestrated tune of our country’s march of progress, until the thunderous cacophony of drum and bass culminate in a symphony of tacky American folk art made in garages by amateurs all over this land. From yard decorations (birdhouses included) to cumbersome expressions of crafty patriotism (Stars-n-Stripes picnic baskets included) to the elaborate flag barns (sweatshirts of Midwestern Moms included) dotting our country’s highways and byways, we honor this nation’s heritage of sing-songy, empty-headed, impractically practical folk art. Folk you, America!
“Hey Ma, them queers is takin’ them a pitcher of our barn aginny!”
HOT DOGS
This distinctly American culinary tradition famously celebrates several of our collective national obsessions: a near-pathological overuse of condiments, a burning desire to find and/or contrive appropriate contexts for the pickle, a perverse compulsion to slip things into buns, and a Frontier-era disdain for waste, as evidenced by the hot dog’s reclamation of what would otherwise be discarded animal parts, up to and including lips, claws, gallstones, and fur. America rocks!
BETSY ROSS
Born in Detroit, Michigan in 1944, Betsy Ross shot to musical superstardom and helped shape the sound of Motown as lead singer of the Supremes. With such hits as “Baby Love,” “Come See About Me,” and “I Hear a Symphony,” the Supremes brought the girl group sound to a wider international audience. In 1970, however, due in part to decreased record sales and a revolving, unpredictable lineup of group members, Betsy Ross gave her final performance as a member of the Supremes, and embarked on a solo career. Reinvigorated by the change, Ross sang such modern classics as “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough,” “Touch Me in the Morning,” and “I’m Coming Out,” and went on to participate in the recording of such uniquely American cultural touchstones as “We Are the World” and “Jiggling Lil’ Kim’s Breast on National Television.” Also, according to her Wikipedia page, Betsy Ross apparently made a flag once! You go, girl!
“Stop! In the name of historical accuracy.”
JOHNNY APPLESEED
This confirmed bachelor spent his whole life traveling the country in search of fruit. Where he found none, he compulsively spread his seed all over the ground. In his resulting shameful isolation, Johnny Appleseed sought refuge in the company of animals and tended to tend to their needs before his own. Johnny Appleseed—the man and the legend—lives on in America’s fondness for cross-eyed, Hee Haw optimists, backwoods anti-intellectual hootenannyism, and the rising cult of redneck celebrity. Git ‘er done, Johnny!
CULTURAL GENOCIDE
Which came first: the lesbian or the Indian? As fine velvet wall art often suggests, the answer, Dear Breeder, is wolves. The wolf represents a fierce American life-force that is not only intensely dykey but surprisingly easy to paint. Finding one’s inner animal spirit is a Native American and Native Lesbian tradition, honoring humanity’s deep connection to the natural world. As always, the white American mainstream has misappropriated this tradition in its use of animal totems for team names, such as the Tigers, the Bengals, and the Blue Jays. To add insult to injury, America’s corporate sports teams take it one step further by irresponsibly and callously co-opting the symbols of marginalized groups for their mascots. Next time you watch the big game, Dear Breeder, realize that there are real people behind those mascot masks. Native Americans are stripped of their individuality when it comes to names like the Redskins, the Blackhawks, the Indians, and the Chiefs, in the same way that Lesbians are robbed of their identities each time you cheer for the Oilers, the Twins, the Athletics, and the Rangers. God Bless the Utah Jazz!
Mr. & Mrs. Sister-Spirit
THE BALD EAGLE
While the American Dream may be one of expansion, of hard-fought success and well-deserved recreation, my recurring American Dream is more frequently a nightmare involving claws and beaks, and a flying creature with a nearly eight-foot wingspan, swooping down from a clear blue sky to snatch me back to its clifftop aerie, where I am unceremoniously ripped into gullet-sized pieces and devoured. See you in Hell, bald eagle!
UNCLE SAM
Nothing screams “free market capitalism,” Dear Breeder, quite like dragging a bum in off the street, and forcibly coercing him into dressing up as an historical icon for the pleasure and amusement of the tired, poor, and huddled masses. The top hat lends an instant air of formality to even the seediest of streetcorner denizens, while the cape adds a hint of magic and mystery to this breadline Charlie. To complete the look, a high-waisted, candy-striped pant gives his body all the proportion, streamlining, and sexual allure of a grasshopper, while simultaneously offering the world more than a hint as to what national treasures lie below his monument veneris. Just be careful, Dear Breeder: when this Uncle Sam grunts, “I want you,” it’s more likely he means, “I want [a decent meal and a hot shower, don’t] you[?]” or “I want [junk for my veins or I’ll stab] you,” or “[Please give me my dignity.]” Thank goodness this country has effective and well-administered social programs to provide for the protection and rehabilitation of its homeless and indigent populations. America, you’re the real winner here!
“Brother, can you spare some self-respect?”
As we’ve demonstrated, Dear Breeder, America is truly a melting pot for a wide variety of narrowly specific cultural heritages. These images of Americana offer an easy-to-grasp representation of our country, and excuse us from having to define what our country actually represents. Let’s hope that our newest Commander-in-Chief will keep our cherished traditions firmly intact, while simultaneously elevating the national dialogue just above the comprehension level of your average beer-swilling, athletics-obsessed, semi-literate Middle American.
Long live America(n intellectual elitism)!
