Having spent the past two years living in what I would call an “international community” of Americans, Brits, Scots, whatever you call the Irish, Aussies, Kiwis (New Zealanders), Fuckheads (Canadians…just kidding), South Africans, Jamaicans, and, of course, the Japanese; I have come to the realization that Americans (at least the ones abroad) are not the loud, fat, obnoxious, jingoes that most of the world pegs us to be. Actually, we are loud, fat, and obnoxious, but not nearly as nationalistic as, say, the New Zealanders or the Japanese.

The nationalism of the New Zealanders is somewhat endearing, however, as Kiwis in Japan—and I suspect the world over—scurry around to find other Kiwis and to take their photo in the shop entries of Canterbury of New Zealand rugby stores. For a Kiwi, being friends with someone seems to depend less on character or like-mindedness than it does on whether you happen to share a national anthem or whether you own a herd of sheep. Whereas, I, as an American, would rather squeeze acid-filled grapefruits into my eyeballs than have to even talk with 90% of Americans.