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Being in the United States is kind of like being in my own personal Disneyworld. It’s multicultural, there’s a sharps-disposal in the bathroom (not diabetic, but if I were, how great is that?), you can buy a ginger-flavored nonsparkling juice-type-thing, I’m eating a vegan sandwich with tempeh on a bus with Wifi on I-95 (bolt bus, if you were wondering) between NYC and WDC for $15.

But like Disneyworld, I’m really only skimming the surface right now. Just as I’m not privy to their hiring practices or whatever ugliness they may have going on in mouselandia, here I’m ignoring the headlines, and floating above the mortage crisis and avoiding rush hour and neighborhoods where I’m likely to get mugged and spending time with people who are in a really bad mood.

So the U.S. is like Disneyworld to me right now. There’s no giant mice in costumes, though the bus driver has incredibly long hair and a bit of a roundish face. But the thing about Disneyworld, this one or the real one is that though it’s a great place to visit, you have to wonder what it would be like to actually live there.


Administrative note: is mine, all mine mwahahaha, thanks to and prodigious use of my credit card. Tell your friends! (it just redirects here for now)