June 13, 2010

We are in the final stages of our Tour de France. Last weekend, Mom, Erin and I drove (very slowly so as not to trigger any flash-happy highway patrolmen) to Giverny to see Monet's house and gardens. It was a little rainy, but beautiful. Erin especially loved the gardens; they were much bigger than she thought they would be.

Monet and his wife had eight children and were, according to the guidebook, "blissfully happy." My mother and I have concluded that he must've had a whole lot of help. Either that, or he spent a lot of time in his gardens.

After wandering around oohing and aahing, we had a wonderful lunch on the patio of a local restaurant, where many of the locals spend most of their Sunday afternoons. Then, back to Paris in time for the finals of the French Open (on TV this time).

The French are blissfully happy themselves, right now, and it has nothing to do with Monet. First of all, white asparagus are in season (Clementines are gone, though). Second, in anticipation of summer, they have given up all pretense of working and spend their afternoons in bistros drinking rose and arguing about...

Le Coupe du monde!!!

Really, no one has time for anything else. And who can blame them? You wake up, shoo the kids off to school, go buy another batch of white asparagus and stop for an espresso and a cigarette. By that time, it's close to noon, so you decide you'll hit the office right after lunch. Of course, lunch takes the usual two hours, but since it's springtime you indulge in 50cl of rose, by which time you're pleasantly buzzed. You really intend to go to work, now, but you get in an argument with the man at the next table about the France-Ireland qualifying play-off game. Unfortunately, the gentleman is Irish. You can't just let him defile the French team with all that nonsense about Thierry Henry handling the ball before France's winning goal. It is, after all, a matter of national pride. Your country needs you. So, you order another 50cl of rose and stay to defend your country's honor until the Irishman passes out or the waiter brings your check, whichever comes last. When you look at your watch, it's almost 1600 heures ( 4 pm)! What's the point of going to the office now? You'd just be a distraction to the four people at your firm that hate asparagus and aren't soccer fans, and have been working diligently all day. You shrug, make a few calls, and call it a day.

This schedule goes on for several weeks, by which time it's the middle of June, the kids have gotten out of school and now it really is summer. Now, no one goes to work. Vacation doesn't officially begin until August, but planning and anticipating take time. You can't just work like a dog and then show up on a beach somewhere (like the Americans, who finally start relaxing one day before their two weeks are up, and then have to be back at work wondering why they don't feel rested). It's a process. In order to benefit fully from your meager month off, you have to start unwinding ahead of time. Usually, you 'd start at the beginning of July, but alors! C'est le coupe du monde! Which means you need to move up your slacking a full month.

The World Cup isn't just paralyzing France. All of Europe has come to a standstill. So, if you're wondering how the whole Euro Zone crisis is going...

France: I notice Portugal has asked for a conference call next Thursday. What were they thinking? We play Mexico that day.

Germany: See, this is the problem with you French. It's all about fun. When are you people going to get serious? We have a currency crisis on our hands!

France: Spoken like a country that's playing Australia and Serbia in the first round. Boy, you guys must be sweating bullets.

Germany: Yeah, we're expecting a lot of...resistance.

England: If I could just say a word...

Germany: Why should we listen to you? You tied the US yesterday! You folded like a lawn chair!

England: Now hang on. The Yanks had a bit of luck, didn't they? Our goalie went from brill to bollocks. Seemed he was having a bit of a kip between the goalposts.

France: Kind of like Tony Blair during the Iraq War?

Germany: Can we please get back to business? What are we going to do about Spain and Portugal and the rest? And why is it always the southern Europeans that screw it up for the rest of us?

France: Angela! You're like a dog with a bone. Lighten up! If Germany wins the World Cup, no one will give a damn about the Euro!

United States: Hi fellas. That includes you, Angie. You really should think about a makeover. Say, why don't you give Michelle a holler? Use the red phone; it's an emergency.

Germany: Hey! This is an EU call! Who invited the US?

United States: Hah! That' s funny. We don't wait for an invitation! We just show up and assume everyone will be happy to see us!

England: That explains a lot. Vietnam, Iraq, Somalia...

France: Actually, we invited them to Vietnam. By the way, who designed the US World Cup uniforms? Your guys look like they're in a beauty pageant with those idiotic sashes down the front.

United States: In the last administration, that would've prompted us to come over there and kick your skinny French asses. But, now we have a post-imperialist foreign policy. Thanks to me, we now make a point of pursuing a diplomatic solution first. We engage in constructive dialogue, then craft a clear, constructive message. Ready? Here it is:

We're going to come over there and kick your skinny French asses.

Germany: Is it me or are you guys in denial? Spain? Portugal? Italy? Sovereign debt? Ring any bells?

United States: Which is why I jumped on the call (although I had to skip my Sunday hoops game). We have a solution for you. A little something I like to call WMD.

France: Oh, here we go again. What's wrong with you people? Didn't your mommies let you play with guns when you were little?

Germany: I'm desperate. Let's hear him out.

United States. Stay with me, here. "WMD" stands for Weapons of Monetary Development. The way we see it, you people are obsessed with the World Cup. No one will pay attention to anything else. So, we think (and I have to give Timmy Geithner full credit on this; in addition to having a brilliant financial mind, the guy is a soccer nut) we need to link European Central Bank decisions to World Cup match results. Are you with me?

Germany, France, England: No.

United States: Good, okay. Here's how it would work. Every time Spain, Portugal, Greece or Italy wins a game, they get a point, right? Now we know none of them is going to win the whole enchilada. Brazil is going to win (my CIA Latin American desk told me so). Doesn't matter.

At the end of the World Cup, the country with the most points out of the four of them gets a flotilla-full of cash from your central bank. The rest, well, you ignore them.

Germany: Ignore them? How do we do that?

United States: Angela, don't play coy. Not your style (what is your style, by the way? Michelle's been wondering). Ignore them, annex them (you remember how to do that, right?), whatever.

England: But that's morally bankrupt! That's like George Bush Sr. abandoning Kuwait!

France: We learned a long time ago that a word like 'moral' gets you nowhere. It just leads to other nasty words like "fraud," and "infidelity." No one wins.

Germany: You guys know I'm not one to get hung up on morals. But, seriously, how would we justify letting three countries wither and die on the grapevine?

United States: Geez, what's with the negativity? Chins up, people! The point is, the countries that get the fewest points in the World Cup aren't going to need saving. Their citizens will be so ashamed that they'll emigrate. Those countries will empty out faster than the UK at Easter. In fact, England could just take them over and turn them into a vacation spot. Build some plantations, exploit some natural resources. Good times.

England: Tenerife is getting a trifle crowded... you make an interesting point. Everyone will completely understand that, in the interest of EU pride and solidarity, you can't hang on to a country that can't make it out of the first round.

France: Portugal is playing South Korea and Brazil in the first round.

United States: Exactly! No way will Portugal survive. Which is perfect! No one wants to live in Portugal anyway. They've never been team players. I mean, what's up with the language? Why Portugese? What's wrong with Italian, or Spanish? No solidarity there.

Germany: I'm just doing the math, here. Greece has already lost. Portugal doesn't have a chance. That leaves Italy and Spain. Realistically, we're talking about saving one of those two and dumping the other three.

France: We can definitely live with that. Although, personally, I'd prefer Italy. Spanish designers use way too much color. It's vulgar.

England: I'm warming up to the idea. Seems to me, we can do bugger-all until the end of the first round of play. Which gives us roughly two weeks. I'll have time to unpack. By the way, Mr. Brown left 10 Downing Street a right mess.

United States: Just glad we could help. But now, I gotta catch a chopper down to the Redneck Riviera to watch oil spill. Anyone know how to cap a leak?

France: You're asking the wrong guy.