  You know that there's something wrong with a place if it's too quiet the entire afternoon. According to the Golden Globes of magazines, U.S. News and World Report, who instead of being journalist publish nothing but a series of "best and worst" lists. According to these crack (as in smoking it) journalists, the optimal places for the average American to live is some white bread, zero crime, WASP suburb where conformity and routine is just not the rule, it is dogma. Sunday in burbs, not a peep from even the streets. No Sunday drivers, to wild kids running around in nothing but a crap filled diaper, not even one minor domestic disturbance.
No place on Earth is suppose to be this dull. No noise, no crime, no businesses open the entire day, come on! We all have our moments of living in the past, but a whole community that is still trapped in the 1950's? No wonder suburban house wives are alcoholics and their husbands have a sick obsession with yard equipment.
"Hey Mr. Cleaver, put down the rake, pick up the shotgun, cause some mindless havoc, then crawl into a corner, assume the fetal position, and reminisce on you molester uncle. This place is starting to scare me. One day, I feel that a deranged Bavarian mob will be beating down my door, armed with torches and pitch forks. Mobs never hunt or try to skim the excess of their own skim milk cloister; they go after the green guy who doesn't speak the language. It's no coincidence that life imitates fiction, hopefully I'll hear whatever ominous musical interlude tickles my fancy, before the mob is within sight. Who am I kidding, that will never happen. Such behavior requires independent thought, which is not present here. 
