Saturday, February 26, 2011

Clash of the Continents: 2nd Installment


In the second installment of my examination of USA vs. European character traits, I take a tougher stance on what makes each side great and what makes each side look like that decomposing rat your cat dragged onto the front porch to “thank” you for pampering it endlessly. In honor of my recently broken heart (definitely not related to my favorite actress’s pregnancy), the topics will not only be ranked by which continent did it better, but by how much the particular item in question allows me to forget the miracle of birth. Numerical rankings will be administered on a 1-10 scale of PIPs (Portman Isn’t Preggers), with a 1 meaning that I am still fully and furiously aware of Natalie’s baby bump, thank you, and a 10 meaning I believe I inhabit an alternate universe where pregnancy is a myth and Natalie is always single.

Things the US Got Right:

The Head Nod – Usually only used among male members of society, the head nod is an acceptable form of acknowledgment when you see someone as you’re walking by. It’s simple, effective to use on friends and strangers alike, and apparently a sign of aggression in most European cities. If any eye contact is made with a European stranger, it is guaranteed to be frigid and leaves you with an urge to pat yourself down to make sure all of your belongings and organs are still in place. The head nod receives 3 PIPs for being friendly, but not allowing me the conversation I need to express how deeply I want the music from Black Swan to follow me around.

Money – Yes, the Euro is stronger against the dollar and makes traveling abroad that much more expensive, but this has nothing to do with the exchange rate. The US Dollar has a superior design compared to the Euro. I agree, the Euro is more sensitive to individuals with impaired sight, but the dollar doesn’t look like monopoly money and through careful quality control standards, every bill manages to be the same size. That way I don’t have a bouquet of freshly collected bills spilling out of my wallet alerting every thief within the block to exactly how much money I have. And who the hell needs 8 different coin denominations, including a two-cent piece? 5 PIPs for the US Dollar, because when I get back stateside, I plan to make a thick, green, 1-dollar bill rain fall in my room rather than the thick, painful, 1-Euro coin sleet I get here. “God is in the rain. And definitely not the sleet.” – Evey Hammond, V for Vendetta. Mostly.

Construction – I will grant that the United States undergoes a lot of construction. After all, Pennsylvania’s official state nickname is “The Perpetual Roadwork State.” But when it comes to historic monuments or tourist attractions, we tend to leave well enough alone until something serious happens. I get that Europe’s sites are generally much older and in need of more extensive repairs. But in Bruges, I swear I saw the construction workers giggle as they rode an elevator up and down the scaffolding on the town’s main church tower, accomplishing nothing. And this happens everywhere, on major monuments. I’m willing to bet the worker’s would open the elevator like a carnival ride if they weren’t having so much fun themselves. 6 PIPs for the US for leaving decaying structures alone until they kill civilians and then blaming it on the original contractor for using “inferior materials.”

Fast Food – I will be the first to tell you that I use McDonald’s as nothing more than a glorified latrine if I ever set foot inside of it. But not all fast food is McDonald’s and the US has excelled in producing things that I will shove in my mouth when I hate myself. Europe does have kebaps (think Turkish burrito) that are Turkilicious, but otherwise, they’re lacking in a quality niche fast food chain. Americuh gets the win for having not only Chick-fil-a and my girl Wendy’s, but also Five Guy’s, Hardee’s (for those watching their cardiovascular health), and literally another Chick-fil-a right around the block. I won’t tell you the things I’ve considered doing for a Chick-fil-a biscuit over here (Hint: It starts with “puntin-“ and ends with “-aby”), but it’s frowned upon in civilized society. 8.5 PIPs for American fast food for giving me just enough fibrillation to make me worry about my own health rather than Natalie’s undoubtedly malignant stomach mass.

Thing Europe Got Right:

Leash Laws – In the US, there are very few places you can take your dog and many more where you can’t. In Europe, that is just the opposite. The places I’ve seen dogs (normal, untrained pets) include the metro, the grocery store, a bar, a sit-down restaurant, and a church. Because Rover needs to get his Jesus on after a few drinks and some mussels, too. That said, the dogs are much better behaved, rarely bark, even in public places, and their owners actually pick up after them! 5 PIPs to European leash laws for allowing me to witness a Pomeranian in a bar before imagining how far I can punt it.

Authority – In Europe, it seems the only two types of police you have to worry about are French and German. The French police are scary because they have a messed up judicial system and are really insecure from the years of merciless taunting. The Germans are terrifying because they’re called the Polizei, and that’s a lot of hard consonants. Otherwise, most police officers in Europe seem content to live and let live, only stepping in during emergencies. Or not, if a soccer game is on. 6 PIPs to European police officers for leaving people alone, like Benjamin Millepied should have done to Natalie.

Doctor Offices – After rescuing so many orphans from apartment fires, I managed to contract an infection. I won’t relate the gritty details, but let’s just say that I required medical attention. My roommate escorted me to the doctor’s office where I was third in line to see the doctor. I realized I wasn’t in Kansas any more when I didn’t have to fill out any paperwork. I was out in less than 45 minutes and paid the doctor herself 23 Euros (31 dollars) for the examination, blood tests, urinalysis, and prescriptions., which is still less than my co-pay at home. The test results were in within 10 hours. 8 PIPs for allowing me to get better quickly and focus on important things like sabotaging Millepied’s engagement.

Barcelona – Did I mention I love Barcelona? 11 PIPs to Barcelona.

Friday, February 11, 2011

Boo-eh-nos Die-ass. Me Lahm-oh Captain-o Ryan


            First off, sorry about the delay in writing this. I was so busy rescuing Belgian orphans from house fires this week that I never had enough time to sit down and start this post. Anyway, I spent my last weekend in Barcelona. I’m now going to explain to you, in detail, why Barcelona is better than your favorite city, better than you, and nearly better than Natalie Portman. It’s statistically impossible for anything to actually be better than Natalie Portman, but Barcelona sure tries.

WHY BARCELONA IS BETTER THAN YOUR FAVORITE CITY:
            Because your favorite city wishes it could be Barcelona, that’s why. Your favorite city wishes it could speak Spanish. Your favorite city would love to have 60-degree sunny weather every day in the winter. Your favorite city is jealous that Barcelona is located on the Mediterranean Sea and that laying out on the beach is perfectly reasonable in February. Your favorite city yearns to have Camp Nou and FC Barcelona, which are both better than your favorite city’s best stadium and best sports team. Basically, your favorite city is Robin to Barcelona’s Batman, or that little, gimpy, traitorous humpback in 300 to Barcelona’s King Leonidas.

WHY BARCELONA IS BETTER THAN YOU:
            Have you seen yourself recently? You’ve really let yourself go over there. Seriously, go check the mirror. Barcelona hasn’t let itself go. In fact, judging by the cranes that litter the skyline, Barcelona is gearing up for one monstrous facelift, even though Barcelona is already more attractive than you. And it’s smarter than you too. It created the ideal formula for siesta, something even Einstein never accomplished.  In fact, Barcelona is pretty much better than you at everything. It’s a better cook, a better cleaner, a better listener, and it remembers to lock the door when it leaves for the night. Barcelona is the perfect roommate. The only thing you’re better at than Barcelona is pissing me off, and that’s only because Barcelona is incapable of making me anything but happy. But if Barcelona could piss me off, it would be better at it than you.

WHY BARCELONA IS NEARLY BETTER THAN NATALIE PORTMAN:
            As previously stated, it’s impossible for anything to be equal to or better than Natalie Portman. Even trying to think of something better than Natalie Portman is a crime against humanity, punishable by 30 years in prison and a forced viewing of every one of Rob Schneider’s movies. But Barcelona gets as close as legally and physically possible to equaling Natalie Portman. Barcelona is almost as attractive, has appeared in almost as many movies, also speaks multiple languages, and is also part Jewish. In fact, Barcelona surpasses Natalie in one respect because it is not pregnant or engaged to someone that isn’t me. But it can still never be better. I love you though, Barcelona.

Notes:
1.     In case it wasn’t clear, I really love Barcelona, particularly the lifestyle there. It’s one of the few places I’ve been where I just do not care about what time it is or what I have to do. It’s very relaxing.
2.     They do futbol (soccer) justice in Camp Nou, the stadium where the local soccer team, FC Barcelona, plays. The stadium holds 98,000, there’s not a bad seat in the house, and the team is REALLY good. Lionel Messi is arguably the best player in soccer, and most of the team was on the Spanish national squad that won the World Cup. Tickets are expensive, but witnessing a Messi hat trick in person is worth it.
3.     Barcelona’s seagulls aren’t from Hell. Another point to Barcelona.
4.     This post is referencing no one in particular in the “Better Than You” section. Don’t get your undies in a bunch over it.
5.     I finally felt useful in the language department. I can speak broken but functional Spanish and was able to converse with some of the natives decently. It feels really good to survive a conversation with someone who can’t speak English and be able to hold your own.
6.     That said, Catalan is a dirty bastard language who enjoys harassing tourists and has no business in functional society. And it drowns puppies. Probably.