You Would Be Rude Too

In 1951, Paris celebrated its two thousand year anniversary. An immense and elaborate fete was thrown, with concerts and art expositions held all over the city.

This summer, New York celebrated the four hundredth anniversary of Henry Hudson stumbling upon what is now known as the Hudson River. "Celebrated" is the wrong word, though, because nobody really knew, and even if they had, they wouldn't have cared - and rightfully so. Compared to the rest of the world, four hundred years is just lame. And that's when it kind of hit me - if the Parisians are stuck up (they are), with a culture over two thousand years in the making, they have every right to be.

As I explained this epiphany to Sass, she immediately made a connection to the way seniors feel about incoming freshmen. Exactly one year ago, before Sass and I had descended into the fetid bowels of the real world, we were the smirking seniors, chuckling and looking down on the freshmen as they flirted and preened precociously. How cute, we said amongst each other. They think they're so old. It was at once amusing and irritating, though ultimately just irritating because they truly were newer, more freshfaced and thus infinitely more interesting to study and gossip about - despite their stupidity and immaturity.

So yeah, if New York were two thousand years old, we'd probably be assholes, too. Being half Greek, I can see where these Parisians are coming from. Are you kidding, I often think to myself. My ancestors invented democracy. They built the fucking Acropolis. (Side note: The Acropolis is almost 2500 years old - suck it, Paris.)

Two thousand years of history is also, I believe, one of the reasons Paris can feel so lonely. It is a city that is so very much defined by its history and visual beauty. The habits and traditions of Parisians are well-engrained - their routines radiate out of their homes and into the very soul of the city, and as a result, there is little room for change. And so Paris' heart beats at a constant rate. Even the strikes, demanding change, are predictable, normal, absorbed without fuss into the steady rate of things. Everyone knows when the next train will arrive.

Parisians live amongst their buildings, between them. New York is still constructing theirs - still deciding what the history of the city will be. There is a sense of possibility there that is so distinctly lacking here. New Yorkers never know when the next train will come, and although they might bitch about it, curse the MTA to high heavens, it's a tiny relief to know when you get on the platform, that the moment of the train's arrival is, like much of our lives, unknown.

Anyway, that was a tangent. Now for fun, I'm going to show you Sass' notes for this blog post:

France --> Why so stuck up? They've been around forever. How do seniors feel about freshmen? Like... Are you joking walking around up in here like you own this shit?

We've been doing this longer than you've been alive. US is so young and yet so owning. We saved their asses.. they were so bitter! They got served by babies... get your shit together, FRANCE!

And that, Class, is how a blog post is born. I didn't include the war stuff because we all know the French always surrender.