Europe Blows.

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So anyways, there I was drinking cappuccinos on my couch in Montana one August morning when Mai signs in on web messenger and says “hey, let’s go to France!” and that seemed like a good idea to me because I had f**k all to do for the next five months or so, ‘cept maybe find a job and take a night class or something.

I was at last starting to feel the often spoken of but seldom understood “comfortable numbness”, but the very though of relaxing at a time like this irked me. Looking around me I thought, that this must be the exact moment that most people in the 1st world decide to become mediocre: when the idea of not having any options starts to seem perfectly natural and the acceptable recourse becomes waiting until something happens.

That’s what I was doing. Waiting. Waiting for my- -my what? My girlfriend? Is that a good word for her? Usually, far enough removed from the situation I start to use it just for convenience of explaining in the story regardless of what I actually thought of ‘us’ at the time. This time around it just didn’t seem to fit the bill. And besides, I’m not allowed to use it anyways. “Complicated.” That’s how people described us. It was a joke to me at first, but I grew to hate the word as the summer drew on,



“Julia? ...No, she’s my ‘it’s complicated’-girl.”
“Dey ah compulicated...nobody knows what’s happening...”
“Why do you have to be so complicate with my friend!?”
.
.
.
I prefer things that are complex. The difference is minute, and discriminating between the two often turns out a matter of opinion, but I feel that the subtlety is often wherein art lies. As far as relationships go though, most women I know don’t seem to appreciate my contradistinction.

Gone. Just like that. No trace, and not even a kiss to remember her by. And as usual, only days after she was out of my reach, the thought of being without her was unbearable. A feeling that is coupled with the accustomed irony of finding an unspecified amount of solace in being relegated to the Apollonian chase from the Artemesian hunt.

I figured if I had gone from being one of those idealists who thinks true love lies in wait across the sea, to one of those philanderers who takes advantage of the white-fetish that some Japanese girls have, to one of those losers with a girlfriend waiting for him in Japan, to one of those disenfranchised poetical recluses who refuses to write or believe in true love anymore, that it was only a matter of time before that cycle starts over and I was on my way back to the top. Where did I get off though? Maybe this wasn’t the last stop either. Maybe I’d finally live the dream and become a high-powered heartbreaker ala Peirce Brosnan or Tetsuya Watari. I guess more importantly, where do I get back on?

In the process of trying to answer that question I was doing nothing. Just sitting there waiting. Waiting for her to call or write me. Desperate to hear her voice again, but somehow not dreading the possibility of never getting a reply. So France hey? I had never been to France. Or Europe actually. Or anywhere outside of North America for that matter, until I went to Japan the first time when I was 16. People ask me how is that a man of my means never made it any further than that are usually disappointed to find out that it’s because I never had any interest.

“What? How? Why? You’re crazy, once you’ll go there you’ll understand what you’re missing...you HAVE to GO.”

The opportunities were plenty, there’s just the simple fact that I hate Europe. Now, you might be inclined to ask why would I hate a place without every having been there, I would point out that you probably do the exact same. Just replace Europe with some place like “Alabama” or “rural Alberta” and you might see what I mean. If you still need reasons, there are three:

1. There is too much culture in Europe.
And me being an American could not possibly ever understand or properly appreciate it so there’s no point in me going. If I went, I’m sure I would just get confused and angered by all the history and the gaudy architecture and the art with it’s nudity and whatnot. For the safety of everyone concerned I always just assumed it was better for me not to go.

2. There are too many Europeans in Europe.
When Europeans (or “Euros” for short) are over here they spend most of their time complaining about how there’s no universal health care in America and how some of the people living in cities actually still go to church here. Occasionally you find them in our restaurants muttering that there’s “no real dining culture here”. Rarely you might see them at a tourist trap or a gallery downtown, looking semi-interested but never failing to mention how “there’s no real concept of urban architecture here”. The fact that our streets were planned by engineers instead of ox-carts never seems to impress them. The only time you ever hear them say something positive about North America is when you encounter them on a trail-head out in wild. They’re very impressed by our large, pointy mountains and our different colored rocks. This jollity only lasts until they return to the parking lot though. Then the sight of American vehicles, with their spacious and temperature-controlled interiors makes them inconsolable.

If they’re not doing any of that, then usually listening to irritating Euro-trance on their ipods or making out with their not-particularly hot, but extremely well-dressed boyfriend or girlfriend. Actually, when I say ‘well-dressed‘ I mean that their clothes look expensive and like they took a long time to put on. By any rational (American) standards, Euros look ridiculous. They’re always wearing jackets with way too many zippers on them, as if you need all that storage when you’re already carrying a gucci handbag the size of a goddamn oil drum. They always seem to have on some kind of expensive sparkly T-shirt with writing bearing no relation to things most Americans consider relevant, like sports or internet humor. This goes nicely with either acid-washed jeans or white-linen pants. Then finally, even though none of them drive (because they have things called ‘bicycles’ and ‘functioning transit’ over there) they’re always wearing Puma racing shoes, and complaining about how their feet hurt from walking on all those cobblestone streets.

Normally people would call this attitude of mine racism, but since “Europeans” are all round-eyes like me, most people are confused on how to take this statement so they just label it ignorance. Which is fine by me actually, because I think it’s easier on my ears to just be written off as an ignorant redneck then to have to listen to other North Americans talk about what a “enlightened place” Europe is and how all of it’s residents are “so liberal” and “progressive”...which is admittedly true I guess, insofar as it has to do with sex or dealing with people who speak the same language and are the same color as they are.

Bringing up European racism is a great way to confuse North American Euro-fans because over here we’re all brought up to think that Racism can only be found in the South or sometimes hiding under rocks in the Mid-West. It occasionally rears it’s ugly head in California, but only when the police are involved. And it’s a know fact that there hasn’t been a racist in New England since they burned them all at the stake in 1693. And if the most progressive and liberal place in North America is Racism-free then it’s unthinkable that an even more liberal and progressive place like Europe has any of the stuff to be found. Until of course you happen on the subject of Black France or Turkey’s bid to become part of the EU.

Bringing up intra-white Racism brings a more puzzling look to their faces because North Americans can’t seem to wrap their heads around the idea of hating a group of people the same color as you. I mean, somebody with a different skin tone, that’s easy to understand, but hating somebody just because they have brown eyes or curly hair or a slightly darker skin tone, that’s just crazy right?

See, ever since JFK made it acceptable to be Irish and Mario Puzo made it acceptable to be Italian (...sort of) everyone over here seems to have forgotten that all descendants of the Euros have spent most of the last 233 years in the new (a.k.a. free) world at each other’s throats. Occasionally your grampa will mutter something about a ‘pollack’ or a ‘kraut’ but that’s about the worst it seems to get anymore. Your average North American Euro-fan’s inability to comprehend this phenomenon stems, fittingly, from his own ethnocentrism.

You see, almost everywhere else on earth, the people that hate each other the most are actually the same color. This is surely very confusing for everyone involved. Just take a look at Yugoslavia. They’ve been stressing out over who to kill and why ever since Tito died. In North America, however, racism is divided purely across color lines for convenience sake. This is why it takes white North Americans such a long time to get used to the idea that Japan, China and Korea all hate each other, even though they’re all “Asian”. One would think they’d be the best of friends, because, you know, they’re all on the same team over here...at least the white-washed ones anyways.

At first, this would seem just to be a simple a failure of our education system to inform students of petty historical minutiae like the Korean war or the Japanese Empire. Looking at the big picture, I suppose oversights like this can’t really be helped when you think of the kind of people who write history textbooks, i.e. history majors. Getting a degree in history is basically the whitest thing you can possibly do, aside from investing in property, skiing or investing in a ski property, so we can probably assume 99.9%!p(MISSING)robability that any given history majors is white. This is especially the case in extremely specialized fields like Asian history or American Black history. As such, when you read history you’re generally only reading about historical events that white people were involved in, or non-white events that white people find interesting. At the least though, one would think that even the most cursory review of world history would at least make the idea of intra-color racism seem feasible to people, seeing as that’s all that used to happen until white people got so good at building boats (oh, that’s another really white thing: Yachting) that it became more convenient to kill and enslave other-colored people than each other.

Sadly that’s just not the way it is. Ideals die hard, and so despite all odds, Europeans are able to maintain a reputation among North Americans as the most enlightened people all the planet. You ask an actual European about this, and instead of trying to temper common misconceptions about European society with the mention of counter-examples or little-known-facts, they simply couldn’t be happier that you agree. That is, if you can actually get a word of praise edgewise with your European friends when their not ranting about “American imperialism”, the evils of the market system or how the government should be paying them more to remain alive.

3. You like Europe.
And ever since you “went to Ireland the first time to visit your grandparents, the summer of 9th grade”—or God forbid you actually have family over there and “hop the pond” regularly, you won’t shut the hell up about what a great place it is, and how “everyone should take a more relaxed attitude towards life, like how it is in Europe.” and how one day you’re going to move to Paris or Copenhagen and enter into a common law union with real Euro and have 1.2 children in a loft over-top of a cafe or maybe a bakery.

I wish there were some way to stop people from renting the movie “Amélie” permanently so I wouldn’t have to hear to this speech all the time. I hate having to ask the question: Where are you going to work? Because the answer I get after the awkward pause is always something equally contrived and bohemian like “I don’t know, maybe something in design...”. You know, cause that’s totally realistic seeing as how the EU is just handing out work visas left right and center for all those dream jobs like “urban planner” and “musician”. Especially because they’re lacking qualified people in Europe what with their unlimited free education and their constant job shortages.

Secondly, do you people actually think you’re going to live in a chic neighborhood in a major European city on the kind of salary that most Liberal Arts majors garner? Don’t you people ever notice that all the protagonists in those movies always have a cliched enabling factor like a wealthy old grandmother, or a loft in a rowhouse that they inherited and could otherwise not afford with their job as a waitress. Nobody can actually afford to live in Europe. Which is why they have all those superfluous laws like wage-doubling, rent control, utility control etc. etc. that manage to somehow keep people in their houses while simultaneously driving prices up year after year. Meanwhile as the birthrate continues to landslide, and population pyramid starts to invert, signaling impending economic collapse unless they open the doors to immigration, (which they won’t for reasons stated above) their only refuge seems to be post-modern art film. Which continually attracts more of the likes of you every year.

I don’t really get what the premium is on that “relaxed attitude towards life” either. I hate people who take 2 hours lunch breaks. I hate people who avoid doing the work that they’re paid for like the plague and expect you to agree that their underpaid and their boss is an asshole. I hate it when I’m out in the afternoon and I can’t get a decent meal because restaurants are closed for that arbitrary siesta period. I hate sitting around the dinner table for 3 f***king hours after I’ve finished eating when there’s a perfectly good couch that’s in front of a perfectly good TV where I can watch real (American) football, with beer advertisements that are plot driven and funny, instead of the kind that just sit on some sweaty guy’s jersey as he runs back and forth for 90 minutes.

“See Ted, that’s why you can’t loosen up. You’re obsessed with efficiency and making money.”

Probably true. I think maybe that’s why my parents sent me to school in Montreal. They were maybe hoping I’d learn how to relax a little. But all that amounted to was me getting pissed off how everything is always closed or under construction and how that didn’t seem to bother any of the locals. I got so jaded during the winters that I pretty much forgot that there is actually stuff to do there. Something I didn’t think of again until my- -whatevershewas took me out to see St. Josephs back in May.

I was reminded that day of the original quality of Montreal that made it attractive to me in the first place: the presence of the Urbane. The city I grew up in swelled an astounding half a million people during my lifetime. The price of oil soared to $100 a barrel, bringing up with it a whole generation of transplants who were willing to leave behind everything they’d ever known for the prospect of wealth and big suburban home. It’s a city of workaholics. Early to bed early to rise. Even come the weekend, house parties start when dinner is finished (dinner starts at 6) and finish at 2AM so all the next day is not wasted in sleep. The appeal of the city has very little to do with the city itself. Mostly to do with the things within an hour or two’s drive, or the money you make there to fly you to the world’s older, warmer and more exotic places. By all measurable standards, a very good place to live and raise one’s family.

However rich in opportunity though, it remains poor in all those intangibles that people tend to line up when comparing places. Basically, a small concentrated commercial center surrounded by 250 sq. miles of continuous suburbs with one freeway and two train-lines bi- and trisecting the whole mess of it. All erected so recently that very often it’s residents don’t even refer to Calgary as home. True Calgarian as I count myself, it was easy enough to leave my shallow roots there for more glamorous places in search of love and the coveted prose aesthetic. Perhaps it’s youth as an urban center is what gives it that seeming lack of any permanency.

I doubt it’s permanency that I had in mind, the first time I visited in Montreal in May of 2005. My recollection of those two days is a blur of fois gras, cathedral visits and the soul-obliterating hangover that caused me to sleep through my entire orientation workshop, the day after my first visit to a nightclub. I recall feeling on the plane ride home though, that I was destined to live in “the big city” somewhere. I made plans to inform my girlfriend that we had three months left together, I wouldn’t be going to Edmonton with her.

What was it about the city that made me decide to leave my wonted lifestyle on a whim? What was it about the city that made me so hateful and depressed by the end of my third semester? More questions, less answers. But I had a singular instinct telling me that if I retraced the steps of that last summer of high school that with any luck I’d find myself near the place where I started. Right at the junction for the path leading down towards Asian fetishist, Lothario, wanderpoet and sometimes internet advice columnist. Back the good life as a bad boy! And this time, I wasn’t scared of finding out that I’d gone in a big hopeless loop. That moment, at the end of a lukewarm cappuccino I felt as I did leaving for the very first time. That swelling, happy emptiness as the sun grew orange on my last day in Calgary, almost four years ago to the day.

I took it as a sign that the road beckoned once more. I had to get out of here. I had to go somewhere French. And I had to look for AZN girls once I got there. That was exactly how it started back in August of 2005. I wrote Mai back “Let me talk to my dad about that.” And picked up my empty cup and my periodicals and moved over to the kitchen, and started thinking about the kind of speech I was going to have give in order to convince him to co-finance this venture.

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Photos

St. Joseph's Oratory
in Montreal

Yours truly
Trying to smile for once because he's on a date

Comments

[C-Benz]

Montreal, actually...
I really enjoyed the 'comfortable numbness' part. Even though Seattle is #1 in youth employment opportunities (according to the Wall Street journal), i can't help but feel I'm slowly growing mediocre. Do you think living at home helps? That the familiar surroundings elicit a dependent attitude? Right now I feel like a 22 year old high schooler... with less responsibility than my sister, who's actually in high school! Argh... c'est la vie.

[gong]

were all the same over here the one thing european about you is that you don't love tv. unlike me, who needs more than 12 television channels, and for 5 of them to not be some division of BBC. Nothing is more north american than having a whole channel dedicated to food, and bass fishing, and nascar.

[Michelle]

You are right on with the europeans
HAHAHA.. I loved reading your page. You are so completly right about the Europeans. I agree with everything you said. We are stuck here right now with my husband being military..we only have 6 months left and then we are back in the GOOD OL USA! I must say it was good to have a reality check here in Europe. I truly never knew that the Germans were such assholes..but after being stationed here I know now that ALL Europeans except for the Scots, the Irish, and The Brits are arrogant, stuck up, humorless, lazy idiots. Thanks for the great blog! Nothing like the good ol USA!!!!

[anonymous]

America
fuck yeah