Rasmenia

“Christmas is doing a little something extra for someone.”  – Charles M. Schulz

“What kind of Christmas present would Jesus ask Santa for?” – Salman Rushdie, Fury

*

When I was a tiny, brand-new person, I knew what it felt like to be overwhelmed by music, cookies & twinkling lights. I knew the absolute joy that can only come from a tiny, brand-new person’s sense of wonder when presented with stories & images of magical elves, animals & places.

I knew Christmas magic. It was nothing less than magic.

Like any kid, I got excited about presents. But, wasn’t the anticipation & surprise always more fun than the actual object wrapped up inside all of that pretty paper?

I consider myself lucky that for the first few years of my life, I had grandparents who I always spent the holiday with & that they got more excited about Christmas than anyone I’ve ever met since. There was always an enormous tree, standing upon a big platform with an entire model town built on it… complete with the model train that would chug by, doing laps around the tree. There were cookies shaped like Santa Claus’ head, homemade candy & plenty of holiday music that my grandfather & I would yowl along to.

But… that was another time. The grandparents, the little model town & train are all gone. I am no longer a tiny, brand-new person, but am a big, grown-up person who no longer believes in elves, Santa Claus or that December 25th is Jesus’ birthday.

I am a big, grown-up person who knows that human beings do all of the rotten, terrible things in the world, not fantastic creatures & that it’s other human beings who do the few good things in the world, not mythical characters from stories that were written a long time ago.

Now, when Christmas rolls around, I am no longer overwhelmed by music, cookies & twinkling lights, but am beaten down by annoyance & loathing as I watch other big, supposedly grown-up people bickering about their imagined “War on Christmas.” I’m disgusted with the absurdity of holiday shopping – whether pepper spray is or isn’t involved. I’m saddened & sickened by how much I hear the word “want” for the last 2 months of the year. He wants she wants they want I want WANT WANT. “I want” seems to be said more than “I’m giving”. (Here’s the thing: if you say “want” more than “give” around the holidays, then you have failed at Christmas. You are doing it wrong.)

Over the years, I’ve morphed from being tiny & brand new to the jaded Scrooge I am now. I’ve been watching not only the dipshittery mentioned above, but also festive occasions where I have given a Christmas present to someone, only to have it insulted right to my face. (It wasn’t EXACTLY what they WANTED.) I have had my religious beliefs (& lack thereof) insulted & condescended to. Gifts I’ve given have been regifted back to me a year later.

What I’m getting at is, when I’ve seen the worst side of people, it’s usually been at Christmas.

Earlier this year, Olivier & I decided we weren’t going to be a part of this nonsense. We would not exchange gifts with each other. Instead, we decided to run away. We spent a few months tossing vacation ideas at one another.

“We could go to an island,” he said, scratching his beard. “We could be lazy & boozy. Cabana style.”

“Yeah, but… I don’t want to be summer. I still want to be winter. We could take a train to Switzerland & eat lots of fondue.”

“Uh. I dunno. We’ll think about it,” he said. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

This went on for months. Until we no longer had plenty of time. We could stay home, we decided, but really… that would just feel shitty. It was November. Holiday Hell was descending upon us.

Then on one average & unspecial Sunday afternoon, I asked my husband, “Remember when you were a tiny kid, how magic Christmas was, before the preaching, bitching & the wanting?”

“Yeah.” Olivier nodded. “It was. It was exciting & happy. It felt great. But, now… now it’s just fucked – nothing but resentment & stress.”

I thought about it for a few minutes, then I turned to my husband. “I know what we should do for Christmas.”

The answer was so obvious, we couldn’t believe how long it took us to see it.

We skipped the gifts, the tree & the decorations. We tried our best to avoid anyone who pissed & moaned about whether you should say “Merry Christmas” or “Happy Holidays”. We ignored everyone who wanted to lecture about “keeping Christ in Christmas” & closed our ears to talk of wanting & shopping. These are the people who suck the magic out of Christmas.

Instead, we contacted some local charities & asked them if we could lend a hand. We ended up working with Les petits frères des Pauvres (The Little Brothers of the Poor).

You may have already heard of it, but for those of you who haven’t, Les petits frères is an international non-profit that was founded here in France in 1946. They focus on aiding the elderly who may be ill, lonely or impoverished.

Our task was to fetch two elderly ladies from their homes on Christmas morning & take them to a restaurant where all of the volunteers & guests would share a repas de Noël.

We chatted on the way to the restaurant & after we arrived, we helped other volunteers to get several more guests inside & seated at their tables.

After everyone was settled, we had a nice meal with lamb, smoked salmon, red wine & brie. We listened to interesting stories. We joked & laughed & danced. We clapped & hooted as we watched dozens of elderly men & women in Santa hats dancing, singing & laughing like children.

I looked over at Olivier, who had been smiling all day… & I realized I’d had a silly grin on my face, too. I glanced over at two ladies, one of them 100 years old… the other, 106. I thought of what it might be like to live that long & I realized… I’m still just a brand-new person by comparison.

Standing there, with a goofy grin on my face, clapping my hands among all of that joy & merriment, I suddenly thought of how magical Christmas used to be & all of a sudden, it was again.

Later, on our way home, after we had delivered our two new friends safely to their respective homes, Olivier & I decided that we would be volunteering with Les petits frères again in the future.

If any of you are interested in volunteering with Les Petits Frères, click on the link below. They are in 8 different countries, so you may find them in your area.

“Want to keep Christ in Christmas? Feed the hungry, clothe the naked, forgive the guilty, welcome the unwanted, care for the ill, love your enemies, and do unto others as you would have done unto you.”  – Steve Maraboli

“Americans should never come to Europe,’ she said, and tried to laugh and began to cry, ‘it means they never can be happy again. What’s the good of an American who isn’t happy?” — James Baldwin, Giovanni’s Room

*

“I think that something’s happened to me,” I said.  Olivier looked over at me & creased his eyebrows.

“Like what?  Are you sick?  Did you eat too much fiber again?”

“No… I’m not feeling shitsy.  It’s more permanent than that, I think… & it seems to be getting worse.  I think I must be developing some sort of misanthropic expat syndrome.”

“I think you’ve had that for a while.”

“It’s getting worse,” I said.

“Yeah. I’ve noticed.  It’s probably not so bad,” he said. “Eating too much fiber feels worse, I bet.”

He’s right.  That does feel pretty bad.  Unfortunately, my misanthropic expat syndrome seems to be permanent & intensifying.

Something happens after a few years of living outside of the U.S.  Things begin to look different.  Priorities shift.  The change of perspective, the conversations that are had with a new set of people with a different, un-American set of experiences adds new colors to the big picture.

In the last general election, American young people couldn’t even be bothered to get off their asses & vote.  That is nothing short of a fucking embarrassment.  Sitting here, thousands of miles away from American shores, I see & hear countless people ranting & bitching about Tea Partiers or whatever asinine thing Sarah Palin said last week, but I rarely hear anyone freaking out about the horrifying increase in apathy.

When I mention this to my French friends, they’re shocked.  Of course they are… how could anyone have the right to vote & not use it?  Why would anyone give up the right to a voice in regard to who controls their lives?

One thing I found refreshing shortly after moving to France was the fact that people know what is happening around them & actually give a shit about it.  I have yet to have an in-depth conversation with someone here who is not aware of things that are happening in the world around them.  Paying attention to global events – both near & far – are important, not to be ignored & are worth discussing.

That isn’t to say that French people only talk about politics.  I’ve exchanged many a dick joke with these people.  Their sense of humor is definitely intact & lucky for me, my sarcasm has been most welcome here.

What I haven’t heard from a French person is the phrase, “I don’t pay attention to any of that.  It doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

I wish I could say the same about Americans.

As much as it is an inconvenience each time the French practice their national pastime of going on strike & protesting, a part of me is glad to see them taking to the streets & making a lot of noise when they feel like they’re getting the shaft.  You’ve probably heard some of the noise that the French made recently when they were protesting the retirement age changing from 60 to 62.  Many of those protesters were young people – the very demographic that the U.S. can’t get in to a freaking voting booth.  Sure, to Americans, this didn’t seem like something that was worth taking to the streets for & to that I have to say, SUCK IT.

Whether Americans agree or disagree with the reason, I will say that at least these people got off of their asses & did something.  To be honest, I didn’t see what the big deal was with a 2-year difference either, but that isn’t the point – the point is that young people got up & took to the streets instead of watching fucking Jersey Shore.

When my misanthropic expat syndrome really kicks in is when I listen to Americans bitching just as loud as a French protester about trivial things.  Lady Gaga.  Lindsay Lohan.  Hipsters.  It’s nigh impossible to even log onto the Internet without seeing someone pissing & moaning about this stuff.  If they’re 14 years old, then sure… I understand.  But, 30 & 40 year olds actually caring & knowing in-depth about celebrity train wrecks & what trendy, directionless kids are doing isn’t something I can have a conversation about.  Sorry.  Not unless I’m taking the piss out of it & the truth is, the only thing more annoying than hipsters & celebrity train wrecks is the people who whine about them or want to discuss them at length as though these topics mattered.

Pictured: Nothing worth getting worked up about.

What I see looking in from the outside is the threat of Internet censorship.  Alienating homosexuals.  Treating people with brown skin like a criminals.  Islamaphobia.  Insanity prevailing & a horrible lack of cooler heads.  The things that Americans believe to be true is astounding.  People dying due to lack of healthcare.  I see our 4th Amendment rights going down the shitter as American citizens are being groped & scoped at the airport.  I could keep going, but is it even necessary?

If I were an evil mastermind trying to take down America, I would love this shit.  The divide & conquer tactic is working beautifully all over the country.  Its citizens are getting fat & going broke.  They’d be too busy fighting each other & Tweeting about Justin Bieber to even see it coming.

Many Americans are so consumed with fear of terrorists that they’ve blinded themselves to the fact that they are more likely to die from poor eating habits than from a terrorist attack.

All of the paranoia, craziness & Americans fighting amongst themselves really makes me grateful to be living in Europe.  I’m not saying that France doesn’t have its flaws.  I’ve written plenty of blog posts rambling on about my pet peeves in regard to living here & will continue to do so.  However, those are pet peeves & in no way compare to the feelings of disappointment that I have in watching the place that I love more than anywhere else on Earth collapsing in on itself.

"America will never be destroyed from the outside. If we falter and lose our freedoms, it will be because we destroyed ourselves." -Abraham Lincoln

So, I’m not saying that France – or any other European country – is perfect.  What I am saying is that they are the grown-up version of a nation, as opposed to the fat, bickering, spoiled brat of a nation.

Maybe you’re thinking something like, “Oh, you’re just a cynical piece of Colorado Eurotrash.  What do you care?  You don’t even live here anymore.”

Well… for one, I most likely don’t give a shit what you think.  For two, I’m still an American & I still vote, which is more than I can say for many of the people who are living there.

Yep… I still vote.  I still pay attention to what’s going on at home.  But, I prefer to watch it from here, among the baffled Europeans because I’m just as baffled as they are.  Every day, there is something else to leave me disgusted, disappointed or disenchanted with the U.S.  Not that I don’t miss it every day – because I do, but I’m thankful that I’m not there.

"We have become a Nazi monster in the eyes of the whole world, a nation of bullies and bastards who would rather kill than live peacefully. We are not just whores for power and oil, but killer whores with hate and fear in our hearts. We are human scum, and that is how history will judge us. -Dr. Hunter S. Thompson

“So,” Olivier said.  “Does this mean that you don’t ever want to move back?  Will we stay here in France forever?”

“It’s looking that way,” I said.  “I feel safer here.  There’s less crime.  Affordable education & healthcare.  People here live longer.  They live more & work less.  No one here is causing hysteria about the French president’s religion or birthplace.”

“Indeed,” he agreed.  “It’s a bit more calm over here.”

“And sane.  But the American insanity seemed more tolerable when I was living there.”

“I think the U.S. just seems so bad to you now because you’ve seen what else there is – you’ve felt what it’s like to live another way.”

“Yeah,” I said.  “I’m suffering from expatriate-induced misanthropy.”

“Whatever,” he laughed.  “You were already well on your way before you ever got here.”

“Right.  Maybe it’s just me.”

At the restaurant inside the movie theater, Olivier & I sat down at the table.  He started eating.  I was struggling with the impenetrable plastic package holding my napkin & brittle plastic fork.

“Man… did you get a load of those fucking people that were in line in front of us?”

Olivier responded by nodding his head.  His mouth was full of sandwich.  He swallowed.  “Yeah, they were pissing me off, too,” he said.  Sip of soda.  Swallow.  “The wife was smashing her elbow into my ribs while she bitched about napkins to the person working behind the counter.”

My fork was now free.  I pulled my sandwich apart & began flicking bits of tomato off of it.  “Seriously… you’d think that her husband could have corralled their kids while she did her bitching.”  Tomato.  Flick.  “I thought that they were going to start climbing my legs as if I were a mighty oak.  I love how people think that any other adult in the room is obligated to assist in the supervision of their larvae”.

Olivier nodded in agreement & mumbled something about rudeness.  A little bird landed on our table.

“What the hell… ”

“It’s a little bird,” Olivier replied.

“Yeah,” I said.  “I can see that it’s a little bird.  Where did it come from?”

He shrugged.  “Outside.”

“Very helpful,” I said.  “Thanks.  I guess what I mean is, how did it get inside a restaurant that’s inside a theater?”

“The roof is open,” he said, pointing with his cup.  I looked up.  A few stories above, I could make out bits of sky in between rafters, stairwells & bodies.

He was halfway done with his food.  I was halfway through cleaning my sandwich of vile tomatoes.  Most of our meals are like this – he eats, then he waits patiently while I finish eating mine.

I said, “I told that fool no tomatoes.”  My task completed, I put the sandwich back together & started eating it.  “You know… I really hate people.”  I watched the little bird flutter away to search for breadcrumbs on an empty table.

In the past 5 years or so since we’d met, my husband has heard me say this countless times.  Enough that he probably knows in advance each time that I’m about to announce it again.

“It’s bad enough, the people in places like this – paying no attention to anyone else’s personal space, letting their kids run amok & talking like shit to each other.  But, I think I’m getting worse.  I have less & less patience for the humans on a daily basis.”

Olivier took another sip of his soda.  “Why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know,” I said.  “Maybe it was moving from a small town like Loveland, Colorado & into a crowded & condensed city like Paris.  Maybe it’s just me.  But, really… I blame a lot of it on the internet.”

“Why the internet?  You don’t have to see those people.”

“No, I don’t.  That’s true.  I don’t even know them.  But, think about it… some days, I spend more time on the internet than I do outside.  There is an advantage – the people on the internet can’t invade my personal bubble like the morons incapable of standing in line at the goddamn grocery store.  However, the people on the internet take advantage of anonymity & distance.  They talk out of their asses, comment on shit that they didn’t take the time to read, so they end up bitching in ignorance & make no sense.”

Olivier laughed.  “Yeah, I actually see that a lot,” he said.  He crunched a handful of chips.

“Ugh… & what’s worse,” I went on.  “These fuckers can’t even spell.  Seriously, as if the texting lingo weren’t bad enough, some of them have to completely eliminate vowels.  That’s not communication – that’s just typing.  Any monkey can do that… & probably better.  I mean, on a day-to-day basis, how difficult is it to type things out in adult-speak without being an asshole?  Can’t people be nice to each other?  There are too many people who seem to think that the anonymity provided by the internet is some sort of douche license.”

He scooped up my pile of discarded tomato chunks.  “But you like people,” he said.

“Dude,” I said.  “You haven’t been listening, or what?  People bug me.  Just look at the shit that they do: beating & killing each other, lopping off fingers because of a bit of nail polish, painting their fucking posters about who God hates more… they’re sickening.  Besides all that, you’re the people person.  You’re nicer than I am.”

Olivier shrugged.  “That’s only because I don’t have any expectations.  You have hope for people.  You want them to be better.  They’re not, so you’re disappointed in them.  Me, I’ve accepted that you can’t expect from people what you can’t expect.  I’m not disappointed.  I didn’t expect anything to begin with.”

“Yeah… maybe,” I said.

“See… so if you think about it that way, you’re probably nicer than me,” he said.  “I’ve already given up on them.”

I looked around & saw that there were now several birds hopping on tables, hanging out near trash cans & perched up above.

“This is crazy,” I said.  “Look at all these little birds.”

“Ferret,” Olivier laughed at me as he wadded up his empty food wrappers.  “You say that every time we come here.”

“I do?”  I took a sip of my Coke.

“Yeah,” he said.  “You do.  I guess you were just too preoccupied with the people.”

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Technocrati Tags: rant, writing, movies, misanthropy, Paris, people, eating, birds

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