Gambling is not my strong point because I always root for the underdog. Some unexplainable discontent pulls my heart away from the obvious bet, so that I often find myself playing against the odds. My mind knows that I’m sabotaging my game, but what if?
So, excuse the imperfect analogy, but Russia is the guy at the casino who just spent his whole paycheck on a new tv, beer, scratch-off lottery tickets, and phone-in sexlines but who has a daughter who needs money for her 8th grade field trip to Washington D.C. Well, her dad doesn’t have the money because he blew it all. So he takes his last $20 that he keeps in the sun-visor of his car in case he runs out of gas (or has a bad day at work and needs to buy more beer) and he goes to the casino because he knows no other way to get the $400 for his daughter’s trip (he’s already maxed out his credit lines). He’s at the casino to win, not for himself but for his daughter because she’s been asking about the trip for weeks and doing little jobs for the neighbors to save up money. Sure, the guy may be a self-destructive ne’er-do-well, but who are you going to root for? You want his daughter to go see the Lincoln memorial and get a picture in front of the White House. You want him to win this time.
That’s Russia. You may hate the hell out of the government because of the way it blows the country’s potential by enriching oligarchs and brutalizing anybody who complains about it. But, you’re not rooting for those guys, you’re rooting for the people who have to live with them and have to suffer the consequences of their atrocious mismanagement. You want those good Russian folk to throw off the yoke of history and win for once.
France is beautiful and clean and the guys who check tickets on the Paris metro would never dream of taking a bribe so that you can get out of the $25 fine for hopping the turnstile. France is like that guy who you see at church and you know that when he puts an envelope into the collection plate that’s being passed around, there’s a hefty sum enclosed. All of his kids are well mannered, going to university on scholarship, and they tell you about it with the utmost humility if you bring it up first. A great guy, everyone should be like him.
But come on, that’s like betting on the hare when he’s racing the tortoise; I know how the fable ends, but that isn’t real life because hares are much faster, period.
That being said, I can still appreciate Mr. France’s daughter because she’s gorgeous, smart, clean, and funny. Yes, young Ms. France is quite a catch and I wouldn’t mind visiting her for a few weeks to see her Louvre and vineyards.
But Ms. Russia has that spark. She’s not so good in school and she can be snappy and mean when she’s in a bad mood. Her and I butt heads on a lot of things and she always leaves a big mess when she comes over. What can you do though? She’s just a lot cooler than Ms. France.
The European Union as a whole is a wonderful place to live and to work. Liberal attitudes flourish and politics generally serve the betterment of human life. Hearing the lectures and learning more about the organization made me very happy to see that centuries of struggle, war and bloodshed had finally culminated into a rather boring institution with rather mundane issues to tangle with. The European Union is the dream of social order: a place where power is tempered by extreme pluralism but cohesion is maintained through economic incentives. War is unlikely to break out, beautiful churches and castles dot the landscape, pretty languages, pretty parks, and healthy people abound. I can hardly think of a structure better suited to moderation or a nicer place to have it.
My impression of France before I came was basically that it was America but with funny accents. There are plenty of English speakers and you can buy the same shampoo in a grocery store in Dijon as you can in the WalMart in Easley, SC. That’s true, but there is still a cultural divide I’ve come to find out. French are different folk and they have some different strokes. Their palettes are much more attuned to fine wines, their views on gender roles and their preparation of buttered rolls are entirely different.
Strasbourg, specifically, was a great example of a city settled into the age. It had changed hands several times between France and Germany like an ugly sweater at a Chinese gift exchange. Generations of Strasbourganites had been distressed by border disputes between pompous men in capitals far away. Yet, today border-hopping goes unhindered by any physical or legal obstacles and the inhabitants of Strasbourg no longer have to worry about how they’ll respond on SAT tests (or whatever) when the question of nationality arises.
I am genuinely proud of Europe for constructing the union. High political mindedness has achieved something that will have incalculable benefits for the continent. So, onwards to the next country and the next region! I want to be at the forefront of the effort to make things boring for all people because boring is a lot better than bad. Therefore, the East post-Soviet block is to be my stomping grounds with Western Europe as a model for how Ms. Russia should dress, behave and be.
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