Having spent just about a full semester now studying in the United Kingdom, I’ve reflected a lot on my home country, the United States of America. I’ve learned new Scottish, Irish and English English expressions, and seen my own American English expressions greeted with stares of confusion. I’ve been nearly run over hundreds of times, misjudging traffic on account of the Brits driving on the wrong side of the road. I’ve noticed CCTV cameras just about everywhere, seen a National Health Service physician for a checkup, and been questioned sternly by immigration officials when exiting and re-entering the country (despite my possessing a perfectly valid student visa) — all of this reminding me that as big as government has gotten under Bush and Obama, it ain’t as big as the UK’s.

Similarly, as bad as it is going to a multiplex in the US and sitting through four or five commercials before the coming attractions — the main reason I avoid big theaters in the Land of the Free — it ain’t as bad as going to just about any cinema in the UK and sitting through ten to fifteen. That’s right. Ten to fifteen “adverts” (what they call them here) before the trailers.

This has happened to me twice here; both times I was seeing the Coens film A Serious Man — multiplex the first time, small theater the second. It didn’t totally ruin the experience, because A Serious Man is as close to a perfect film as you’ll see these days (which is why I saw it twice here and intend to see it again when I return to the US next week), but it did make me wish I had shown up twenty minutes later than I did.

The most frustrating aspect of this experience was that I didn’t know who to blame, who to complain to, where to [English] channel my indignation. That, I suppose, is why I wrote what you’re reading now.

I know what you’re thinking: “isn’t this a bit of a frivolous issue given the many perils our world faces today?” Look, buddy, I come from a blue-blooded American capitalist family, one that believes strongly in the business motto, “the customer is always right.” When we feel abused as customers, we damn well tell somebody about it, and we take pride in our ability to coherently and eloquently express that outrage. It’s why we blog, and write letters to the editor, and, when necessary, ask to “speak to the manager.” This time, though, I didn’t know if “the manager” was really the appropriate direction for my opprobrium. Odds were the distribution company was to blame. Or, more likely, some sort of strange government regulation. Either way, this atrocity went too high for my no doubt devastating complaints to really make an impact; even my sharp-witted censure wouldn’t have phased such monolithic entities. In a very real way this experience has made me wonder whether the United Kingdom is as immune to dissent as it is to dentistry.

So despite the wonderful education, edification, and recreation I’ve enjoyed these last months in the Old World, it shall be a palpable relief to sink into an AMC Cinemas seat this holiday season and enjoy Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakquel. After only five-ish commercials. Do sing along, if you know the words…

And I gladly stand up next to you, and defend her still today
‘Cause there ain’t no doubt I love this land… God bless the USA!

(I must extend a wholehearted hat tip to my friend Bill O’Toole for making me aware of Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakquel.)

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