PS.
It was the yankees who f*cked with me on the airport in Detroit, it wasn’t me who f*cked with them.
But that’s the problem with Yankees I guess, they think they own the world because they have the richest country.
F*ck of Yanks or Dixie.
PS 2.
I’m the guy who grew on Bergeråsen, with the Star and Stripes flag, on the wall, on my bedroom from I was elleven or twelve to I was nineteen.
So I’m not sure if it’s me who has changed or America(?)
PS 3.
PS 4.
Plano is in the part of the USA, that’s considered to be the cultural South or ‘Dixieland’:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Southern_United_States
Plano is also considered to be one of the best places to live in the USA:
In 2005, Plano was designated the best place to live in the Western United States by CNN Money magazine. In 2006, Plano was selected as the 11th best place to live in the United States by CNN Money magazine.[3] In addition to its many industries and good-quality living, Plano has excellent schools that consistently score in the top few percent of the nation, and has been rated as the wealthiest city in the United States by CNN Money [3]with a poverty rate of under 6.4%. In 2008, Forbes.com selected Plano along with University Park and Highland Park as the three “Top Suburbs To Live Well” of Dallas.[4] Plano was also declared “Most Affluent City” in 2008 by the United States Census Bureau.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plano,_Texas
PS 5.
I think this means that these people are eighter the Ku Klux Klan or Hillbillies(?)
PS 6.
When I was elleven or twelve, my father took me with on a weekend-trip by car, to Karlstad, in Värmland, in Sweden.
And there, on the Saturday, I think it was, he brought me to an American-store/shop, or something.
They had Dixie-flags and Stars and Stripes.
I think the shop was closed, more or less, and it wasn’t like it was in a High-street, or anything like that.
The shop was quite hidden, I seem to remember, and with no customers except for me and my father.
My father insisted on me to get a brown leather bomber-jacket.
For some reason.
This I think must have had some symbolic(?) meaning, this jacket, but I can’t say exactly which meaning it had.
(But some other kids on Bergeråsen stole it, while I played fotball, and hid it, and it was refound a year later or so, but then it looked much older, than a year old, with holes in it and stuff).
But anyway.
My father also wanted me to have a Dixie-flag.
With an X almost, on it, with stars on.
But I had seen the ‘Dixie’-flag, in a mens-magazine called ‘Vi Menn’, that my father bought.
And it was assosiated with some nazi’s, or Ku Klux Klan, or something like that, I seemed to remember then, in Karlstad.
So I said I rather wanted the Stars and Stripes.
Because America was very looked up to, in Norway, in my familiy, (by my father especially, he listened to Elvis but also Beatles etc, and drove a Ford Lincoln Continental car and other American (but also German) cars), at least, and also by many other people, in the 70’s and 80’s.
So I had the Stars and Stripes hanging on my wall, till I was 19.
A big flag, like a real flag.
A mate of mine, in class, Espen Melheim, found the jacket, the next spring.
I returned it to my father, in the plastic-bag that Espen gave me it in.
Even if the jacket looked very old then.
But my father got disapointed, or hurt, when he saw the jacket then, I think.
But it wasn’t very comfortable, to wear.
And, it wasn’t the nicest brown colour, really.
And it was warm, to wear, in the early automn.
And I wasn’t that preoccupied with clothes at that age, so I didn’t really notice properly, that the jacket was gone.
At least I didn’t tell my father.
But anyway.
That’s how it is I guess.
Just something I remembered now.
Sincerely,
Erik Ribsskog