If there’s anything in this world that really reminds me of my love for the USA, it’s the phenomenon of flamboyant fitness guru Richard Simmons. I still remember the time when my mother, who’s been Sweatin’ to the Oldies since the 1980s, dragged me directly from the eye doctor’s—dilated pupils and all—to a suburban Minneapolis mall to see Mr. Simmons live.

I was eight. The drive was two hours each way. And I couldn’t see. Yet, still, it was fabulous.

God bless America, people!

 

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