Lagunita”? Who seriously thinks ofnOur Lady of the Angels in connectionnwith El Lay, or of Santa Cruz asnhaving anything to do with the cross ofnChrist?nThe result, for some of us anyway, isnreflected in one of my favorite Californianstories. When some professorn(maybe Hugh Kenner?) who hadntaught out here for many years left tontake a job back east, someone askednhim how it felt to be leaving after allnthat time. He said, “Like checking outnof a motel.”nCalifornia, what I’ve seen of it, is likenthat: very pleasant, a good place tonspend some time, but-not somewherenyou could actually get attached to. I’llnleave with fond memories, but I won’tnmiss it, exactly — not like I miss thenSouth.nMost Californians seem to feel thensame way. Many, in fact, don’t evennrecognize that there’s any other way tonfeel. So many came to California in thenfirst place because they liked what itnhad to offer; if somewhere else offersnmore, they’ll move on (as many nownseem to be doing to Oregon). Locationnis just another consumer decision, anutilitarian, cost-benefit calculation — andifferent proposition from liking anplace because it’s your home. WhennCalifornians ask you to admire theirnstate, they’re asking you to complimentntheir discernment and good taste, justnas they’d like you to admire theirnchoice of automobile or wine.nSome people like to argue that thenSouth is the most American part ofnAmerica — usually as a compliment,nthough sometimes (as in a trashy bookncalled The Southern Mystique) not.nBut John Crowe Ransom claimed innI’ll Take My Stand that, no, the SouthnFor Immediate ServicenChroniclesnNEW SUBSCRIBERSnTOLL FREE NUMBERn1-800-435-0715n46/CHRONICLESnis the most European part of the nation.nI now think Ransom was right.nThe South is different from the rest ofnthe country, but especially from California,nin many of the same waysnEurope is different from America as anwhole.nTwo of my friends out here arenEnglishmen. Both grew up lovingnAmerican music (jazz for one, rocknand roll for the other); both came herenstraight out of university, became citizens,nand haven’t looked back. Bothndespise England; both love America.nBoth told me, in almost exactly thensame words, “If you like America, younshould like California.”nI can see that. It’s easy for a Southernernto make fun of California as ansort of New Age Florida, just as it’sneasy for Europeans to make fun ofnbumptious, naive, self-absorbed America.nBut the place can be exhilarating.nThe liberation from the past, fromnattachment to a social and even physicaln”place,” the freedom to pursuenhappiness any way you can afford, thensheer newness and flux and sense ofnunending possibility — that’s whatnAmerica used to offer, and Californianstill does. And that can be powerfullynalluring, particularly to someone unhappynwith a more rigid or traditionalnplace — a place, that is, like England,nor the South.nYeah, I can see it. But it doesn’tnappeal to me. Frankly, I feel aboutnCalifornia the way some of my Baptistnfriends feel about Bob Jones University,nthat it’s a caricature of their tradition,nan exaggeration of some of itsnfeatures to the point of ugliness. Nondoubt if California were a separatencountry, I’d find its culture as charminglynexotic as its landscape and cuisine.nBut I don’t like the idea that onenAmerican congressman in eight comesnfrom here: those guys make laws that Inhave to obey. I don’t like being heldnresponsible as an American for whatnCalifornians do (no more, I presume,nthan they like being held accountablenfor what Southerners do). Most of all,nthough, I don’t like being made to feelnlike the kind of anti-American EuropeannI’ve always despised.n]ohn Shelton Reed should havenreturned by now to his home innChapel Hill, North Carolina, after anyear in the Bay Area.nnnLetter FromnScotlandnby Katherine DaltonnBeyond the FringenOur Scottish friends were trying tonexplain the phenomenon of the televisionnpolice, and we were trying tonunderstand. Television sets are taxednyearly in Britain and require an annualnsticker. But since the sticker buying isndone on the honor system, the citizensnof Great Britain enjoy an occasionalnvisit from the television police, whoncome into the house to make sure thenstickers are current. This year the postmannhad come up the glen sounding anwarning that the sticker checker was justnbehind him. Our friends were in thenclear but there was a lady up the glen,nsaid Margaret, who’d had to make anquick run to the post office for a stickernfor her black-and-white, and who’d simplynhid her three color sets.nWith a few exceptions the Scotsnseem resigned to the television tax, butnthe same cannot be said of the poll tax,nwhich, they will remind you, Scotlandnhad a year before the rest of the union.nIn Edinburgh, whose beauty is notngenerally marred by graffiti, what graffitinwe did see was opposing that tax. Inngeneral the level of Scottish resentmentnagainst England goes largely unreportednhere, but the Scots National Party has anfair amount of sentimental support innScotland, even among those who donnot really want to break with England.n(One strongly nationalistic lady of mynfriends’ acquaintance persists in callingnthe land below the Tweed “Englandshire.”)nWe were in Perthshire to see ournfriends, but the main purpose of our tripnhad been to attend all we could at thenEdinburgh Festival and its accompanyingnFringe. By my count there were thisnpast August sixteen Festival theater productions—nthe bigger, more ornatenshows, where the companies have beenninvited — and something like 700 onnthe Fringe, where the quality rangesnfrom good to awful, and where anyonenwho can rent a venue and snake his waynthrough the British labor laws cannmount a production. Given the sheernnumber of offerings and our limitedn