Chapter 63 4. What I love about America

We should write these things down one at a time. In this way, all the questions raised by us, a foreign author, will have ready answers. All this love and hate may be wrong.Maybe if we live longer, our opinions will change, or we may even love what we hated before, and we will hate what we liked before.Those excitements of new encounters, those first impressions, the bewilderment, the wonder of newness, it is impossible to recapture them.I don't need a psychologist to tell me the law of habit—that once the human mind is used to it, it is good at ignoring discordant things, and finally everything is considered reasonable because it is used to it.

In the same way, I do not want to justify my loves and dislikes, personal loves and dislikes, are all things for which you do not have to give reasons.They are nothing but private loves and hates.I love certain things because I love them.If someone asks me why I like it, my answer is: "Because I like it." OK, so, what do I love about America and what do I hate? (I'm just going to put into practice the principle of American freedom of speech.) In New York, my favorite is the granite in Central Park, their majestic rhyme is as beautiful as those seen on the mountains and rocks; the second is the shiny chinchillas, and the third is the Men and women who feel the same interest in those little chinchillas.I thought that no one was as interested in stones as I was—those silent, immutable stones.

I like to eat hot dogs (HotDog), but I always don't like the kind of person who eats it with me.I love drinking a glass of tomato juice, but I hate being surrounded by bottles of digestive potions, packets of bowel cleanses, boxes of aspirin, and mountains of bath soap and sponges , toaster, toothbrush, toothpaste, permanent lip balm, and shaving brush.I like raw celery and honeydew watermelon in the basement of Louie and Amon's dining room, or a meal on the open air at Naidek's, whichever is fine.But if I have my way, never eat lunch at those soda shops.There, sitting on those swivel stools, I could neither treat his food with the religious zeal of a gourmet, nor of a happy and free vagabond, but just a busy man. There isn't enough room in the universe for a New Yorker to comfortably pull out a handkerchief.If I were to owe it (as everyone always does after a good meal), I would fall on my back.

I love everything about radio except its programs.On the one hand, I am amazed by the unprecedented opportunity to bring the enjoyment of beautiful music and art into my home, and at the same time, I feel that the enjoyment of beautiful music and art has never been rare.I feel infinite admiration for those mysterious wires, coils, switches and vacuum tubes, and the mechanics who use wires, coils and various instruments to collect music from the air; music, but felt extremely contemptuous.Americans have bad music, but good music to listen to. I am extremely amazed at the success that has brought the richness of European music to a complete halt, and to shame into obscurity.Likewise, I rejoice at the sale ad, which is the best part of a radio show, because it's the only part that's honest.

I love the sweet Bubunker pears and the fragrant American apples, and the plump, loud American notes, and everything that's alive and full and whole.I hated the thin clam soup and the effeminate tunes, and those burly American college kids humming that feigned tenderness, always rhyming "you" with "you."And everything infected, imitated, made and custom made. I love the magnificent American chrysanthemums, as enviable as the Chinese ones, and I love the many varieties of orchids in the Fifth Street florist, but most of all I hate the way many of the bulbs are tied, which lacks rhythmic vitality at all. Contrast with other charm.

I love to hear the loud laughter of children playing in the park without fear of dust, and the sweet whistle of girls calling chinchillas.I love to see innocent-looking young mothers pushing prams, dozing on the grass with bachelorettes, their faces slightly obscured by newspapers, all expressing the joy of life.But I don't like to see men and women lying on the ground together, kissing in front of other people.I love those black porters, messengers, and elevator drivers, no matter where they are, they always have a good attitude and smiles in their eyes, but I am most afraid of seeing those black people with serious faces, wearing gloves and shoe covers, Walking around under the guise of civilization.

I like the smiles of cute girls in New England, and the beautiful voice, and I don't like to see people in the underground trolley, the jaws are constantly moving, but there is no smoke. I love the underground tram, it always goes so fast if it's going to take me where I want to go.But when I walked faster, the blonde girl in high heels rushed ahead of me, and I felt ashamed.God!Where is she going? I like the men and women I see when I ride the underground train in the morning, their eyes soft and their faces beaming with joy after they have slept well.But I felt very uncomfortable when I was riding in the afternoon. At that time, people's faces were deeply wrinkled, their eyes were stern, and their faces were tight.

Sometimes I catch a glimpse of lovely serene faces, solemn faces, and animated faces; Among the people who said that they wanted to achieve great things, they didn't have a good voice when they spoke. I also saw middle-aged housewives coming out of the grocery store with bags of things, talking about the realities of life all the way, and talking very interestingly. It made me feel comfortable when I saw them, because it made me Think of my country.Sometimes I see a lovely, melancholy, lonely maiden with no one to talk to, and I wish I could see into the depths of her soul. I saw the old man with red face and white hair, and I suspected that he must be browsing the crowd just like me.Then, I was surprised to see other old people who always complained about being old, but their actions always showed that their spirit was still very young.

I often find it amusing that even in America men don't often stand up and give up their seats to women.But when I saw an old man trying to stand there, I felt very angry. I think five twin girls is a rare thing, but it's amazing to see them being used for money.I respect Lin Bai and his wife, and I can't help complaining for them when I see photographers stalking them like this.I am a believer in American democracy, passionate about the rights and liberties of the people.But I am amazed that the Constitution of the United States has not included an article protecting every American citizen from harassment by photographers and journalists, guaranteeing them the right of seclusion, the only right that makes life worth living.

I admire the noble men of America, and yet feel sorry for them, who should be ashamed of their upbringing and better opinions--I feel sorry for him, who cling to their prejudices, guard their silence, and fear to be different from the common people.I understand, but am also amazed, that the American political arena has seen the near complete absence of noble people. I have respect for American democracy and freedom of belief.I am pleased with the freedom of American newspapers to criticize their officials, and at the same time admire the good sense of humor with which American officials deal with criticism of public opinion.

I'm often impressed by American business politeness and the use of the phrase "thank you" wherever possible.But I've often been amused by the phrase "Ah, is it?" because it's a cliché that hides the speaker's lack of intelligence. I love diners with dim lights and secluded parties in good American homes, but always come back exhausted from a CocktailParty where physical activity is at its peak In this kind of banquet, you have to talk to someone you don't know about topics that don't interest you.It's like getting on the wrong train ten times, coming back from Manhattan Station ten times in a row, and finally getting off at Pennsylvania Station after an hour of completely wasted and aimless activities. At a cocktail party, you learn to wave to the people on your right side of the room, greet the people on your left with a smile, and say "ahh" to the wife in front of you who is talking about philosophy with you. ,yes?" I can appreciate the elegance of the broth giant, the pork king, and the mane girl who moved the entire English and French castles brick by brick to the United States, but I can't help but feel the elegance of the factory-like buildings. Office housing, and residences built to imitate office housing are not taken seriously.In fact, in New York City, I have only seen business magnates working in factory buildings, and men and women living in office buildings, but I have never seen American families living in residential buildings. I admire Americans' taste for antique furniture and carpets, but I feel sorry for the status of chromium furniture replacing wood furniture in their homes.Chrome furniture is too cold for the home, too hard for the soul.It seems to me that there is a similarity between the platinum blonde, the chrome home, and the tin can soul. I'm happy with things like televisions, electric refrigerators, vacuum cleaners, and elevators, but what I hate most is seeing a bed fall out of what looks like a wardrobe door.I love labour-saving implements, but hate all space-saving inventions. The American house developed from a log cabin with a chimney, then changed into an apartment house, and then became a station wagon.The station wagon was the logical progression of the American family from the apartment house, since an apartment was once defined as a place where some members of the family waited for the return of other members of the family who had been out in the car.So why not build a bigger car where the whole family can live at all times?Americans will soon be living in boarded-up cracker bins if they're not careful!