By Jon Roig (jonathar@gas.uug.arizona.edu)

Road Scholar - On video

I love America, but occasionally you need an outsider's view of our great country to remind us of how wonderful this place is. Andrei Cordescu, an ex-Romanian dissident, poet and NPR commentator who emigrated here in 1966, leaves his placid life as a pedestrian behind and takes to the road the way the Good Lord intended - in a giant, red Cadillac.

The focus of his journey is mainly a quest for spirituality, and what that means in this decadent and capitalist land. And what that means can be odd, affecting, and somewhat disquieting. From the Holy Roller church in Detroit, where the folks worship on roller skates, to the crazed healers of New Mexico, from Christian Communists in rural Ohio to the great goddess of kitsch herself, the Statue of Liberty, Cordescu reminds us that freedom can lead to some very bizarre consequences.

The spiritual heir to the "mondo" films of the 1960s and '70s, documentaries that focused on the weird underbelly of the country, "Road Scholar" manages to fuse the narrative structure of a man on a quest to reach San Francisco with the more amusing aspects of an expose on the state of spirituality in America.

I'll be the first to admit, I hate poets - I cringed when Cordescu visited Alan Ginsberg for spiritual advice at the beginning of the film. I saw the best minds of our generation fry their brains on bad beatnik prose, and I wasn't anxious to revisit the '60s-land themepark. Luckily, Andrei doesn't go there. His poetry skills come across in his narration € not in straight rhyme and verse, but in his careful and affecting choice of words.

"Road Scholar" is a perfect Fourth of July film for your leftist friend who hated "Apollo 13."

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Circle K - The corner of Speedway & Park

The opening of the new Circle K was a big event for all of us in that neighborhood. Actually, I don't really live near there at all, but Circle K ... it's on the way.

The 24-hour mini-mart is an American institution, a living emblem of all our great country holds dear. Brought to this already busy corner of Tucson by the lifeforce of capitalism, it exists as a temple of consumerism. A place where all can come to worship, fill up their tanks, and grab a pack of Cheetos - as long as you've got a couple bucks in your pocket. God smiles on the convenience stores. Heck, He probably finds a reason to run there Himself in the middle of the night - He had to buy his snacks somewhere on the Seventh Day.

I feel like I've been there from the genesis of the corner's latest convenience store. I've watched every aspect of the construction process - from its meager beginnings as a sign in a vacant lot to its final and epic end as the largest Circle K I've ever seen. The word on the street is that it took so long because they were trying to secure an elusive bread-baking license, although the superiority of the City Deli remains to be seen.

My earliest memories of my experience at this fine institutional learning facility are colored by wonderful memories of spending time on that corner, albeit at the 7-Eleven. It was the place where I, and a few random people from my residence hall (my new home at the UA - not just a place I left my stuff), congregated to sit around, smoke cigarettes and watch the ebb and flow of traffic on Speedway. And it is with a little sadness that the torch will now be passed to a new convenience store, and that people may never again have the inclination to gather at the old school store across the street.

Make no mistake, like Sodom and Gomorrah, 7-Eleven is doomed. An acolyte there, who preferred to remain anonymous, told me customers have dropped off a lot since Circle K's grand opening on Saturday. But who can blame them? Even my agent on the inside said he makes the pilgrimage across the street to buy Raspberry Snapple, a sacrament not available at 7-Eleven.

Besides selection, the prices are unbeatable. Cigarettes are cheaper, beer is cheaper - even dog food is cheaper, as an elated friend from the neighborhood pointed out.

But what of the ambiance? The Circle K is a tribute to modern, corporate America. Bright to the point of inducing nausea, it lacks the cozy atmosphere that 7-Eleven has become known for. It has no soul and reminds me too much of being in the greater Phoenix metropolitan area. Besides, I'm not sure I'm comfortable with my live TV appearances whenever I wander through those brand new doors to make my purchase.

It takes awhile to build up a good relationship with your local convenience store employees. The ones at 7-Eleven, man, they've been there for me, and I'm not sure I can bring myself to cheat on them now with that cheap slut, Circle K. Sure, she puts out ... but will she remember my favorite brand in the morning?