The American obsession with the ass
As an immigrant to the Land of the Brave, I’ve made some cultural observations over the past 13 years. To wit: 1/ Food portions are usually silly big; 2/ The U.S. has screwed up a lot of terminology: lemonade is called Sprite; lemon cordial is called lemonade; scones are called biscuits; biscuits are called cookies; the boot of a car is the trunk and the bonnet is the hood. The list goes on and on.
But the observation that has gripped me like a fever for all these years is the American obsession with the ass (actually, the word is arse, but let’s not nitpick). It seems that “ass” is the key substitute word for just about any occasion: be it suffering (inflicted or endured), insults, or everyday tasks.
Why is every difficult thing a “pain in the ass”? Do asses really suffer so? Sure, there are some posterior afflictions that come readily to mind, but we’re talking about an epidemic of ass pain here. And what about the threat “I’m gonna kick your ass”? I mean, picture it. Trying to maneuver around someone, in what could have been a completely acceptable fist fight, trying to lay leather to rump like something out of Looney Tunes. What kind of threat is that?
“Your ass is mine!” Okay, so now you’re gonna end up with two asses and throw yourself wide open to obvious asshole insults. You gotta think about this stuff, people! Of course you can save someone’s ass: where and for what is a tad more problematic. You can kill their ass if you’re a true fiend -- but will the rest of them die along with the ass? And, of course, you can drag your ass out of bed in the morning which, given the aforementioned observation about food portions in this country, could actually be translated almost literally.
In Australia, the land of my birth and criminal record, the ass has not been bestowed such iconic status. Sure, we’ll throw it into our bastardized English, already overblown with slang and cuss words, (e.g. You may well get told that you’re “uglier than a hatful of arseholes”), but its utilitarian value is way lower Down Under. For example, for insults we go straight to genital references. Every time. And we would never, ever say we’re going to kick someone’s arse. And I’m talking about a country where fighting is a national pastime. We spend about a third of our waking hours in “stoushes.” (Another third drinking, and the final third thinking about stoushes and drinking.) More likely we’ll pull out the old “Liverpool kiss,” which is far more effective and involves significantly less embarrassing street ballet.
About the highest status the gluteous maximus has received in the Great Southern Land came from a band we had in the 70s and 80s that went by the name The Fabulous Zarsoff Brothers. There was Bluey (a common Aussie nickname), Bernie, Shaggy, and so forth. Are you following this?
But that’s as far as the arse ever got. And never is it likely to achieve the cultural heights of its trans-Pacific cousin. So it goes.
Anyway, it’s probably time I got back to some serious editing before the boss comes over and tells me I’ve lost the plot and “couldn’t find my ass with both hands.” Which, as a foreigner, has always been a trick that has eluded me while typing. But I’ll keep trying, America, I really will.
Adrian Zupp is the Web Content Editor of LasVegasWeekly.com. Email him at [email protected]