"By good dark, Frank and the journalist had settled the barbecue
sauce debate and the cabrito simmered and sizzoled over a bed of hardwood
coals.  A pot of beans the size of a sidecar had appeared, dozens of
steaming tameles covered the table, and more people rolled into the
yard.  But if you watched, Barnstone occasionally turned people away,
usually groups of young men or a hard-core ex-con or a biker without
credentials or the wrong colors.
        "It wasn't a party that a Republican could understand--the
{*filter*} smoke sweet on the air, the occasional {*filter*} sniffle, cold
Mexican beer, good food, great conversation and laughter--but a Parisian
deconstructionist scholar might find it about as civiliced as America
gets.  Or at least the one I met, who was visiting at UTEP, maintained.  
Somewhere along the way, he claimed, Americans had forgotten how to have
a good time.  In the name of good health, good taste, and political
correctness from both sides of the spectrum, we were being taught how to
behave.  America was becoming a theme park, not as in entertainment, but
as in a fascist Disneyland."

Excerpt from "The Mexican Tree Duck", by James Crumley (1993)