The United States of Generica

    Not so very long ago one of the joys of traveling across the United States was seeing and experiencing different places. When you crossed the state line, or sometimes even the county line, things changed, sometimes a lot. The towns looked different, there were restaurants that served local foods that were different from what you ate, or could eat, at home. Local customs were different from what you left behind. You could find something at the local store—a souvenir you could only get there—that personified that region and acted as a locally-made memento of your visit. Stopping at local diners or trucks stops along the way, you could watch the menus change as you traveled. The closer you got to Kansas, for example, the more likely it was that you could order things like biscuits and gravy, which hadn’t been on the menu at the last stop. If you were taking a southern route, you’d know you were getting there when you stopped to eat and for the first time saw grits on the menu. And it’s not like you had a choice; you were there, you ate the local fare or you didn’t eat. You could meet people who had backgrounds and experiences vastly different from what you had known all your life, with different stories to tell and different perspectives of what it means to be an American. This rich diversity of customs, foods, crafts, and local quirks was what made it so much fun to visit new places around the country. You could experience Texas barbeque hot off the grill, Chicago blues straight from the saxophone, New England lobster caught that day, Florida oranges right from the tree; every state had it’s own offerings. But you had to actually go to these places to experience the real thing. Going to the store in a new place could be an adventure. When you shopped in these new, unknown stores you would encounter brands you hadn’t seen before, with unfamiliar labels. You felt like you were away from home.
   

    Over the past thirty or forty years things have changed quite a bit. Our nation, and to a certain extent, our world, have experienced a sort of homogenization—a blurring of the idiosyncrasies and unique qualities that defined one state or one region from another until in many cases one place looks pretty much the same as any other place. For example, I live in Santa Rosa, in Northern California. I occasionally make a trip south down Highway 101 which runs through California’s central valley. Along the way I pass through quite a few small towns, from Salinas to King City to Atascadero to the tiny town of Gonzales. Zipping along the road as I pass through these towns, one thing quickly starts to stand out. Every single town I pass through has the same strip mall alongside the freeway. I mean, seriously, they actually look like the exact same strip mall. They are all designed in the modern strip-mall fashion, with the same color combinations of pastel brick red or light yellow or sage green stucco exteriors, and the same, endlessly-repeated corporate logos on the signs that rise above the freeway. Home Depot, Walmart, PETCO, Starbucks, Staples, Bed, Bath, & Beyond, Target, Best Buy, Costco, Borders, Barnes & Noble, Sam’s Club, Circuit City, Lowes, Michael’s, I could go on for a long time. Then—God save us—there are the fast food outlets that accompany these stores: McDonald’s, Burger King, Wendy’s, Pizza Hut, Jack in the Box, Subway—you get the picture. Driving along, when I would see another strip mall coming up, it got so I would think about pulling over to check a map or something to make sure I hadn’t been driving in circles. I felt like I was in an episode of “The Twilight Zone.” How, I would wonder to myself, could I have been traveling all this time and yet still keep passing the exact same strip mall? I would find myself saying aloud (and I’m not even Catholic), Holy Mother of God! How many Starbucks will it take until we’re satisfied? How many McDonald’s? How many Walmarts? When will it end?