I can remember falling in love at first sight only three times in my life: with my wife, the city of London and Super Mario Brothers. I’m a man who knows what will last, you’ve got to say that for me. I just finished playing Super Mario Brothers Wii for the second time since I got it for Christmas and in the immortal words of Mario himself: “Wuh-hooo!” The new game is as good as that first NES version that stole my heart so long ago. I remember playing that one back in the 80’s and thinking: Italian plumbers stomping on evil mushrooms and turtles? Who comes up with stuff like that? It’s like an acid trip.
But it’s better than acid. More creative, plus your brain doesn’t come dripping out of your ear afterward. Plus, when you think about it, an Italian plumber going on adventures to rescue the pink Princess Peach from an evil whatever-Bowser-is is kind of a metaphor for assimilation and the American dream. You don’t have to be born to nobility to participate in the knightly quest here. Even an immigrant working stiff can be a hero—is in fact the hero of the American narrative. Or was, before the current crop of elites got a-hold of it.
Now if I were a grad student, I could write a PHD thesis on that, get tenure, and then, from my safe position surrounded by like thinkers, declare myself a brave radical deconstructing the American dream.
But then I would be an intellectual fraud. Or an American academic. But I repeat myself.