I love my country. I hate my country. Love it or leave it. Hate it or stay. Rise above or go with the flow. I am torn. I am split. I am the bastard child of Americana and sophistication, and the battle for my soul is never ending.

What to eat? Shall I tempt my palate with the wild spices of the Orient, the olive-drenched entrees from Greece, or the bountiful portions of Old Mexico. Quit tormenting yourself, Jungle boy, throw some charcoal on the grill, light the fire, and cook up some juicy cow burgers. Throw a little processed cheese slices to trap that extra grease. That's good eating.

Want some culture? Stroll over to any of the local theatres and watch actors writhe and emote right before your eyes. Tales of Ibsen, Mamet, and local playwrights. Get into issues, challenge yourself, get cultured, man! The truth is that Ibsen was longwinded and simple minded, the Mamet play was butchered, and the local playwright never got to any discernible point. Americana laughs at me. I gave you another Star Wars flick, Adam Sandler is a football player again, and Batman Begins (yet again). Plop down your ten dollars and sit in dark massive air conditioned rooms for a couple hours. Who cares what you learn? Why don't you relax? It's just a movie.

How's your fashion sense these days? Bright colors really show off your skin in the summer time. That belt doesn't really go with those pants. You're not going to wear those shoes, are you? Where did you get that shirt? That is so hot! That is so now! That is so hip! That is so in! Hey, stylish boy, you know what you really want to wear. Put away those slick and sleek pieces, and put on a T-shirt and jeans. This is America, and who are you trying to impress anyway?

French, Spanish, Italian & Chilean wine, English gin, Finnish vodka, Islay Scotch, Irish whiskey, Caribbean rum, Mexican tequila, rich crafty lagers and pilsners from almost every imaginable location on the planet, adding a richness to the elixirs that can't be captured except through special craftsmanship... yeah, yeah, yeah, blah, blah, blah. Go pick up fifth of bourbon and six pack of whatever's on sale. I guarantee you'll be as drunk as any sophisticated aficionado in the hood.

Attended the symphony lately? What a powerful expression Mozart had, and that third movement, stunning, simply stunning. Did you catch that jazz performance? The improvisation was astounding. Those cats play on another level, capturing the majesty of the one truly great Americaaaaaaauugh! Shut it, shove it, and screw it. Symphonies are glorified cover bands, jazz musicians are noodlers who refuse to evolve into the twenty-first century, and all I want to do is drive around listening to the Green Day over and over and over.

Dance ensembles or strippers. New age philosophy or baseball metaphors. Alfa Romeo or Ford Explorer. African drum circles or ghetto hip-hop. Salvador Dali or Norman Rockwell. Sorbet or ice cream. Canadian bacon or ham. Broadway musicals or rock n' roll extravaganzas. Critically acclaimed novels or tabloid magazines. Cuban cigars or a pack of Marlboros. Clothes by labels or thrift shop junkie. One world of peace or support our troops. All the colors of the rainbow or red, white and blue.

I can't tell you which side I'm on, or rather I've been on both sides. There is no right answer. Sometimes, the sophisticated choice is tedious and tiresome. Sometimes, Americana is vulgar and stupid. But sometimes, I pick the right thing at the right time at the right place, and life is good. The battle for my soul will rage on, and I imagine both sides will claim victory several times before I'm dust and bones.

The truth is that I need the tug of war. I need the checks and balances. Neither side is quite what it's cracked up to be, but it's nice to know I have a lot of options. America is better than any other country on Earth for that one reason: we have the option to do so many things. Take advantage. Happy Memorial Day.

Chris Jungle was born very close to the geographic center of the United States.