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The Hand of God

Well, we're both still standing. So, I suppose the move went well. We now have all of our worldly belongings squeezed lovingly into a two-bedroom apartment along the Wallingford-Fremont Frontier. Of course, some 70% of it is still in boxes. As I dressed this morning, pulling a random pair of pants and a hoodie out of another box labelled Everyday Clothes, I lamented to Zach, then down the hall in the kitchen, that all of my clothes "smell like box stuff!"

His new excuse: "Jim, I can't hear you..."

Come to think of it, Pappaw used to say that a lot to Mammaw.

We still have much to unpack and organize. I've been using some saved-up vacation/personal time at work to make this a "light" week. Hence, I spent most of Monday and Tuesday setting up our (alas) small kitchen, (yes!) ample closet and storage space, and (broken toilet magically fixed itself) decent-sized bathroom. We're slowly planning various shopping trips to retrieve furniture items we thus far lack, and Zach is about two minutes from insanity regarding the set-up of our wireless connection.

But, for the first time in years, I have cable! Pity that nothing good is on.

Except Battlestar Galactica.

Saturday and Sunday, the stressful moving days, went better than expected. There were a few mishaps, culminating most embarrassingly in an episode where yours truly went into all-out panic mode while blocking an alley behind Zach's (now former) apartment with a large cargo van and, when a tow truck barrelled down on us as Zach was loading the last three boxes, I sped off, never to be heard from again. Well, actually, I was back in five minutes. But, I wrap up the whole incident thus: I've no grace under pressure, and Zach is a very fogiving soul. At least ma found the story funny, though.

Quite possibly the most interesting event in the 2005 Moving Saga, however, didn't occur on Saturday or Sunday. It happened last night. Heading home from lab after putting in a half day, I rang Zach to ask him what he wanted for dinner.

Zach: "Meet me at my apartment. We're going to clean it so I can turn in my keys and be done with it."

Technically, we both didn't have to be out of our old places until the end of the month (tomorrow, basically). Since I had all of my things out of my old room in the big house by Sunday, I rushed through, cleaning and polishing, Sunday evening, and turned in my key, skipping gleefully (dare I say girlishly?) as I ran to the car. While I had one room to worry about, though, Zach had an entire one bedroom apartment to deal with.

On the one hand, this may not sound like a huge deal. We'd already moved 97% of his things (as we were without internet at the new place, he'd kept his computer equipment in the old place as long as possible), and it is really only a one-bedroom apartment. As I was driving over there yesterday evening, I was thinking to myself, "Honestly, how much trouble could this be? It couldn't be that messy..."

Oh Fates, how you toy with me.

I've forgotten that Massive Amounts of Furniture and Belongings are good for hiding messes. And Zach's apartment, now furnitureless and belongingless (except for the aforementioned computer equipment)... well... I looked around in near panic at first, as I found Zach, grinning ear-to-ear, sleeves-rolled-up, holding a bottle of Comet in his hands (as if that one dinky bottle could restore that tub to its former glory), saying, "What's wrong?"

Me: "Where should I start?"
Zach: "Well, I've bagged up a little bit of garbage that was hanging around. Why don't you take it down to the dumpster?"
points to five oversized black garbage bags, yellow drawstrings barely containing the toxic waste within
Me: "Uh..."
Zach: "And I'll vaccuum while you're doing that."

I should note at this point that neither Zach nor I own a vaccuum. For my former room, I'd borrowed a housemate's vaccuum cleaner. Zach, when he meant "vaccuum," really meant: "I'll get down on my hands and knees with my handheld Dirt Devil and crawl around the room."

At this point, I noticed the floor was littered with coins, popcorn, old receipts, screws, and several other odds-and-ends.

"Zacharoo, how about I go around and pick up this crap before it breaks your dust buster?"

After correcting the dust buster remark, he consented. I think I made about $2.50 walking around, picking up loose change. I also have a pocketfull of odd screws from his bedroom. Since Zach sold his bed a little over a week ago, I've quit asking myself if these screws are indeed some vital part of his former bed's structural integrity.

At this point, you might be thinking that Zach is an absolute slob. I must point out how far this gross assumption is from the truth. I've known Zach prior to moving to Seattle. His apartment back in Iowa was a testament to neatness, taste, and the Schaumburg IKEA. I doubt I made more than $0.12 (mostly pennies) in trips to his apartment back in the Midwest. Only his bedroom, like mine, resembled any sort of disgraceful state. So, how did his apartment in Seattle begin to resemble a slovenly bachelor pad? Alas, it's my fault. We spent 99% of our time at my place. Any time Zach spent at his place consisted of
1. showering
2. work stuff
3. laundry

Anyway, back to the stuff on the floor. I collected money, receipts, and screws, before realizing that, every five paces or so, I'd come across something else: pills. Tylenol, aspring, ibuprofen.

Me: "Zach?"
Zach: "Yeah."
Me: "Why do I keep finding Tylenol every five paces?"
Zach: "Jim, I can't hear you..."

Later.

Me: "Zach, what are all these pills for?"
Zach, shrugging: "I get headaches."
Me: "Yeah, by why are they on the floor?"
Zach: "Well, they fell there."

At this point, I should note that, of the two of us, Zach gets more headaches. I'm sure, someday, I'll have the pleasure to meet Zach's best friend, who lives in the Chicago area, and I can anticipate immediately pulling him aside to ask: "Has Zach always suffered from frequent headaches?" He has as long as I've known him. But, as a scientist, I've of course considered the possibility that I am the cause of his cranial suffering.

Back to cleaning: by now, I'd let the Tylenol Issue rest for about half an hour. Bathroom done, Zach was washing his kitchen sink, as I opened cupboards to find all of the things Zach left behind, and hastily wrapped them up in bags for safe transport back to the new place.

Me: "How did all those pills get on the floor?"
Zach: "Huh?"
Me: "I've found Tylenol, asprin, and ibuprofen every five paces. About as often as I found pocket change. More often than I found screws."
Zach: "Oh, you found screws?"
Me: "Yes, but what about the pills?"
Zach: "Oh, I have a habit of breaking bottles."

Now, the pieces are beginning to fall into place. I am the cause of Zach's headaches! Sort of.

My mind began to spin a story that explained both the observed frequency of discarded Tylenol and Zach's admission of his propensity to break bottles of Tylenol. I pictured the ultimate game show, a trivia game hosted by God. Zach, the eager young contestant, is moments away from his final question.

God: "My dear Zach, you are indeed brilliant. I've given you quite a bulging cranium."
Zach: "Thank you, Lord. I've had a lot of fun here."
God: "Are you ready for your final question, Zach?"
Zach: "Yes."
God: "If you get this question right, you'll win the grand prize."
Zach: "Goodie!"
God: "Do you know what the grand prize is?"
Zach: "No."
God: "It's your heart's desire..."
Zach: "You don't mean..."
God: "Yes, I do!"
Zach: "Oh, you mean - "
God: "Yes, my dear boy. Get this question right, and Marin Alsop is your bride!"

I should pause this scenario for a moment to point out that Zach is a huge fan of Marin Alsop. I'm pretty sure he would leave me for her - I'm saved only by the fact that Zach is as gay as I am. We recently attended a Seattle Symphony concert in which she was guest conducting, and I though I'd have to restrain him.

God: "So, are you ready for your final trivia question?... I should note here that you've gotten all the other questions right, making you the most intelligent of my creations. I'm quite proud of you. Your knowledge of political science, policy, and political theory is especially sharp."
Zach, blushing: "Thanks."
God: "It's too bad the final question has nothing to do with any of the previous ones."
Zach: "Huh?"
God: "Name the capital of Croatia."

I should point out right now that the capital of Croatia is Zagreb, which all of you should now. You should all know this because geography is the easiest of all subjects, and I'll never understand how you can all be citizens of this country, this world, and not know the capital of Croatia, which continent Lake Victoria is on, or in which country the Deccan Traps are found.

Zach: "Oh, God! I don't know the capital of Croatia!"
God: "I'm afraid you can't change your name to Zach Alsop, then."
Zach: "I don't get to marry Marin Alsop?"
God: "Alas, no. But, you will get a consolation prize."
Zach: "What's that?"
God: "A lifetime of geography lessons, courtesy of the partner I've chosen for you."
Zach: "Huh?"
God: "He loves geography. And you. I'll bet you don't even know where the Deccan Traps are."
Zach: "The Deckon - "
God: "His name is James, but you'll end up calling him Jim. Careful, he panics a lot. But, he knows his state capitals, Canadian capitals, and South African provinces. Here, you'll need this."
Zach: "What's this?"
God: "Tylenol. A lifetime supply."

So, there you have it. So close to having Marin Alsop, but settling for me as a consolation prize, he's had to endure headaches brought on by what-might-have-been and, of course, geography lessons. Occasionally, I'm sure, the frustration is so rage-inducing that he's forced to smash whole bottles of pain relievers as a heavenly acceptable release for his rage. Of course, Zach's later admission to me that he spills pills because he can't figure out how to close those "damn child-proof lids" properly, I'm sure, is all just a cover.

Me: "Zach, the Deccan Traps are located in northwestern India..."
Zach: "I can't hear you, Jim. I'm in the kitchen."

Maybe I'll use some of the change I salvaged from his floor to buy myself one of those $0.75 hot dogs at IKEA this weekend.

Process Story

Moving adventures begin tomorrow. The verdict so far: we have a lot of sh*t.

Tonight?
1. Drop off donations to the Goodwill.
2. Take two precious frames I foolishly dropped to a shop for new glass.
3. Sleep!

Since I'll be without internet connection until Tuesday ("...a Comcast representative will stop by to activate your account between 8:00AM and noon..."), amuse yourselves with my second favorite cellular process: Meiosis!

Not to alarm the censors or anything, but here we see two individuals of the organism I work on undergoing the beginnings of sexual reproduction. Don't avert your eyes - I know you like to watch. The rules are basically the same as humans: gays can't pair to make progeny. Except they have seven mating types, and we only have two - male and female.

Yes. That makes us dull.

That Sinking Feeling

"Let them alone: they be blind leaders of the blind. And if the blind lead the blind, both shall fall into the ditch." - Matthew, 15:14 [KJV]

Last Night:
Me: "Well, it finally happened."
Zach: "What?"
Me: "This is one of my last boxes to pack [for the move]. But, it'll be the first that I finally label Miscellaneous."
Zach: "Huh?"
Me: "You know - Miscellaneous. It's the first box in which I've basically thrown such a random assortment of stuff that even pretending to label it in an organized fashion would be a pitiful denial."
Zach: "Oh. I get it."
Me: "I think I've done pretty well, seeing as how this is my first true Miscellaneous box, and here I am with only three or four more boxes to pack. I thought I would've caved sooner."
Zach: "Yeah..."
Pause
Zach: "Uh... So, you've been labelling your boxes as you go along?"
Me: "Yeah. Of course."
Pause
Me: "Haven't you?..."
Zach: "Uh..."

Home

The new place isn't terribly far from where I'm currently living. Right now, I suppose I live on the eastern end of Wallingford, quite close (but, thankfully, not too close) to the University District. By sometime next week, I hope to be on the other end of Wallingford - in what I've started to call the Wallingford-Fremont Frontier.

Actually, when we first looked at this place, and liked it right off the bat, Zach gushed, "Oh, it would be so exciting to live in Fremont!"

Fremont?

"Zach, this is Wallingford. Granted, the other side of Wallingford, but we haven't even crossed Aurora [WA 99] yet."

The coined term "Wallingford-Fremont Frontier" was a compromise. They say that, in a relationship, one must compromise. Growing up, he had dogs as pets, and I had no pets. So, discussions of cats are a compromise. He says Fremont; I say Wallingford. Hence the Wallingford-Fremont Frontier, and all the bizarre stares that come along with it when we discuss it. He says Chinese food... I say pizza... and so we have pizza. [No compromise there.]

We're hoping to start the move this weekend. This should make things very interesting since Zach, through a former employer, volunteered us to pass out water at the Pride Parade this Sunday. But, aside from that, and some cursing at U-Haul due to their primeval system of reservations, we are calm - almost uncomfortably calm - about the impending move. I've casually packed all weekend, culminating in a dishwrapping conveyerbelt system that would bring tears of pride to ma's eyes, and Zach's only main concern has centered around how the two of us, Laurel-and-Hardy-style, are going to get his couch down the stairs of his apartment. If you're a fan of slapstick and want to watch, bring your own popcorn. Friday, I anticipated a 50% chance of freak-out on Zach's part, and a 95% chance of freak-out on my part, sometime this week.

Pretty much all weekend, Zach's favorite phrase has been, "I can't wait to move into our house!" My constant correction: "apartment." To me, a house is a physical structure with a front door, a yard, and so forth. Gate and fence optional. I'd like to own a house someday, and Everyone scolds me for not-having-one already, but I'm in no position to do that right now. Anyway, he says "house," and I correct with "apartment." Time for a compromise? Perhaps.

I make great distinctions between the terms "house" and "home." You've just read my physical description of "house." A "home" is more a feeling attached to a dwelling - the emotional label of "I belong here." Home isn't just where you hang your hat, it's where you hang your life - whether it be a house, condo, apartment, or what-have-you. I'm sure our new apartment will feel like a home, given time. But, pondering these points this weekend for presentation to Zach, I've realized my own feelings of home have changed since coming to Seattle and settling in my current house. I look around my bedroom disaster, with a big, sappy grin spread across my face, scanning the Pearson painting, the Ewan McGregor poster, the hand-me-down furniture, the dust, the books, and soak it all in: "This is home." But, transplant me to any other portion of the house, which I share with two housemates, and my attitude changes: "This isn't home! The furniture is uninviting, there are aphids on the houseplants, dishes have been piled in the sink all week, moths have invaded the cupboard, the front door's been left open all day again, only half the lawn's been mowed, and someone let f***ing rats in the house!!" Obviously, "home" also requires a certain closeness to the folks I share it with, too. Since my current house has only one locale, my room, where I don't have to share it with my housemates, and where I'm free to spend time alone with Zach, it's the only place - a rather small place - I've been free to call "home" these past two years. Looking back, that's rather sad. My recent frustrations at the house, culminating in the above rodent infestation (someday I'll share the drama), have made one thing evident: my soul's in need of a more-inclusive Home. Not just a small room in a large house. And my soul aparently knows that, soon, it will get its wish. It noticed that my mind labelled today as Probably-the-Last-Monday-I-Will-Take-the-66-Express-to-Work. It has foreseen that, tomorrow, my mind will proclaim a similar label for Tuesday, and so forth. It knows that, tonight, I'll finally remove the final decorative items from my walls, and that they'll soon go up in a new Home. It knows change is looming, and it wishes to get away.

I only hope my own plants remain aphid-free long enough for me to evacuate them to their new home.

Witchcraft

Fans and maniacs the world over know already that Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, book six in the infamous series, is set for release in a month, on 16 July. And yeah, I guess I'm one of them, too.

It wasn't my fault. It's his.

In the summer of 2001, I was a mild-mannered intern in the Department of Microbiology at the University of Iowa. So was Mike. We were roommates. As we went to the same college, we already knew one another.

In the summer of 2001, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, fourth book in the series, was released. As I recall, Mike went to get his copy, as I remained blissfully unaware of the entire Harry Potter phenomenon. Then, the following (approximate) exchange took place:

Mike: "Have you read the Harry Potter books?"
me: "What are those?"
Mike: "You've never heard of them?! They're fantastic!!!"
me: "Oh, aren't they some British series for kids?"
Mike: "Well, yes - and no! You should read them."

Somehow, he convinced me. I spent the summer playing catch-up, coasting through Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, and Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, before finally venturing into a bookstore to buy a fresh-off-the-shelf-and-remarkably-heavy-for-a-"child's"-book copy of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.

By the end of it, I had a huge crush on Cedric Diggory*, and I was hooked on the series. And it's all Mike's fault. Bless you.

-------------------------------
*It should be noted that, to date, this is the only infatuation I've had with a fictional character.
Sincerely,
Mrs. Cedric Diggory
-------------------------------

Anyway, Zach has tolerated this phenomenon. Even before we were dating, he, though I can't get him to read beyond book two, came with myself and everyone's favorite one-armed lesbian to the Davenport, Iowa Borders at midnight for the release of book five, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. We dodged kids and adults alike dressed as Harry, Hermione, Professor Snape, and other characters (I was upset that no Cedric Diggorys were present), grabbed our reserved copies, and headed down the street to an IHOP for a snack and some reading time. In retrospect, Zach must have been bored. I'm sure he was expecting some conversation or something. But, instead, we were so engrossed in our new Bibles that we couldn't be bothered with much beyond pausing in between chapters to eat a few bites.

And now, here we are, half a continent away and two years later, with the release of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince a mere month away. So, here's my dilemma: do I again brave the midnight release parties for a copy, drag Zach along, and, unable to wait patiently for the ride home, insist on pitching tent in an IHOP so I can digest a few chapters?

Oh, and some Freedom Fries. Freedom rocks. So does careless, empty rhetoric. But, I digress...

Or, do I simply pre-order a copy online and wait patiently a few extra days for the sacred book to come right to my door, where I will no doubt be camped out waiting for it?

I'm sure Zach would willingly be dragged along to the first venture, especially if I bribe him. But, without him eagerly digesting the book with me, will it be as fun? Last time around, Sarah and I went absolutely apesh*t waiting for our copies. The time before that, I had Mike encouraging me all the way. But, this time around, I've no fellow Harry Potter fan to take me by the hand (the right hand, Sarah) and skip gleefully down the (Cedric Diggory) path of enlightenment.

Of course, this also overlaps with the dilemma of my previous post: even after two years, I've few friends in this town. And, of them, none understand that I crave(even though book five wasn't nearly as good as book four), and though I'm insane enough to wax poetically about my life-that-could-have-been in Cedric Diggory's arms, there's no way in hell I'll get dressed up in pointed hats and capes, put tape on my glasses, carry around a toy rat and pet it obsessively while purring "Scaaaaaabbers!", or paint a lightning bolt on my forehead.

We all have our limits, after all.

Then again, there is an alternative. What do you think I'd have to do to convince Zach to venture out for me, pick up the book, and bring it back to me? With a pint of coffee ice cream to boot.

Hypocrisy

Today, a local show on KUOW, Seattle's NPR station, focused on the phenomenon of friendships in the Seattle Freeze. My ears perked up, intrigued as I did not know what a Seattle Freeze was.

As it turns out, I do know. I just didn't know the term.

While I'm rather unfamiliar with large cities, I know enough to realize that Seattlites are, to say the least, unique. This is a city where, once when merging lanes on Interstate 5, a driver brought his car to a complete stop, and smiled and waved to let me in his lane. But, this is also a city where No One will ever eye contact with Anyone Else on the bus. It's a city where countless gather at the Solstice Parade to cheer on the nude, painted bikers (this weekend, folks!), but will gasp and recoil with horror when the stranger standing nearby inadvertently brushes his arm against his or her own. It's a city full of smiles and friendly greetings at the neighborhood coffee shop or bookstore, but devoid of conversation afterwards... where neighbors exchange warm greetings, but would rather die than stop by to borrow a cup of sugar.

The alleged Seattle Freeze describes this phenomenon: where, superficially, Seattlites are more warm and friendly than other cities but, where any and all feelings, thoughts, and opinions are buried deep and guarded better than Fort Knox. Thus, friendships in this town are notoriously difficult to form and foster.

Allegedly.

The call-in audience for the NPR program seemed about evenly split. Some railed against what they saw as yet another negative Seattlite stereotype. Others simply wondered how, in such a heterogeneous population (which actually isn't that heterogeneous, since fully three-quarters of Seattlites are white or well-to-do), such blanket assertions can be made. Others called in to sympathize with the Seattle Freeze, but confidently asserted that it never happened to them.

The other half, however, consisted largely of folks like myself. Young "professionals" (let's stop here and now to assert Thing One: I'm more of a hack than a professional - but I did graduate college) moving from What Was Once Home and making Seattle a home, knowing few (if any) upon arrival. And, years later, it's still largely the same situation - few, if any, friends.

Of course, this can't all be due to some strange Seattle Freeze if such a phenomenon exists. But, I must admit, I've found it extremely difficult to meet people, form friendships, and maintain them to a level of closeness I was used to in other places I've lived. Sure, I've met folks. Many have been friendly, and smiled followed with a friendly exchange of "Hello!" and an inquiry about my health. But, beyond that, I haven't been able to foster much else. There are a few good friends I'm proud to call my own, though most of these stem through my current job. In essence, my circle of friends is right back where I left it, in the midwest or on the east coast.

The Seattle Freeze, whatever it may be (if it "is" at all), is obviously not entirely to blame. This is hopefully evident for the few out there who know-me-so-well-that-it-scares-you. I'm a shy guy, so shy that, in a crowded room, I may be found cowering in the corner. I've also a history of being a bit passive when it comes to forming personal relationships. To look at the two most recent relationships I've had, in fact, they were in both cases friendships first. Friendships that were fostered, painstakingly, due in large part to the other guy. I came along for the ride. But, that said, I think I've done a pretty good job the past few years, particularly when it comes to stepping out of my shell. I've been a bit more open, warm, and friendly. I've even had bouts of Worthy Conversation with near-strangers, albeit laced with a good deal of stuttering/word-tripping, and internal monologues of "Oh-my-God-did-I-just-say-that?" Not to toot my own horn (oh hell, nevermind... I'll toot it), but I feel like I've put a relatively decent effort into forming a small circle of friends here in Seattle. Yet, with limited success.

Is it the Seattle Freeze? Is that to blame? To be honest, yes and no. I have noticed this phenomenon, slight and superficial though it may be at first. But, if it persists, it can be bothersome, and counterproductive in the Friendship Forming Department. Yet, I can't just blame Seattlites without looking to my own house, too. While I feel I'm not as much of a horror to get-to-know as I once was, particularly in high school, there are some gaping wounds in my interpersonal relationship skills that have yet to be addressed. For one thing, I have this horribly nasty habit of falling-out-of-touch. Sometimes, it's a geographic barrier: separated by distance, I get absorbed in my Own Little World a little too much. I hear this happens to some of you other primates there, too. Many of my more patient friends have recognize this quality and, much to my relief, chosen to forgive me for it. Of course, though, I sometimes allow this to happen to folks I'm not geographically separated from, too. In that case, an unholy and entirely unproductive combination of guilt, shame, and utter embarrassment keep me from trying to reestablish contact. Unfortunately, I can think of many instances where this has happened in Seattle, where developing friendships are abandoned, or well-developed ones just drift away. That personal defect, more than any other (I'm willing to bet), contributes to the smallness of my small flock of Seattle friends.

Perhaps, then, the dreaded Seattle Freeze phenomenon isn't the core cause of the difficulty I've had forming friendships in the past two years. The Freeze may not be involved at all, or may simply reinforce some of my more asocial tendencies. "You just wanna say hi and smile? FINE! I didn't want to talk with you anyway." *humpf* It's an odd quality, in both city and individual. But, I've lately been attempting active steps to combat it, even if only on a small scale. I've tried to patch up and re-foster friendships with a few folks who seem willing, and for whom I can lay my own guilt aside. I'm also seeing the start of graduate school this autumn as a grand opportunityto make connections, and actually Be Myself at the same time. Of course, these may just be pipe dreams, or small fixes with little hope of stemming the Seattle Freeze tide, but, here's the part where I sit back, put my feet up, and say, "Hell, I have to try. After all, you only live twice, and this may be my second round."

So, for any of you out there who once found me cold, strange, or just plain frustrating, please be patient. After all, Zach is.

In the meantime, if we see each other on the bus one morning, take heart: one day, one of us might overcome that deleterious combination of shyness and cultural taboo (read: Seattle Freeze), and buck up enough courage to do more than smile and nod.

And if it's you, I hope I'm receptive.

That Time of Year

It would almost be a pleasure to be robbed by such creative minds.

Almost.

But, if they've already stripped down to their skivvies, one might as well shrug and say: "Just go for the birthday suit."

This resurgence of Underwear Thieves in Cambodia, oddly, coincides with this weekend's World Naked Bike Ride, and next weekend's Solstice Parade here in Seattle (painted bikers and all, I expect). It's that time of year. Yet, I'll resist the trend, and remain dressed.

Indeed

Our apartment search may be is over. Stay tuned...

Sabotage

Well, I said I'd wait and see what the Dutch do.

Now, however, we know.

So, now we have a new count: ten EU members have approved the European Constituion by parliamentary votes (Germany, Austria, Slovenia, Hungary, Italy, Slovakia, Lithuania, Greece, Latvia). One, Spain, has done so by both referendum and action within the Cortes Generales.

On Sunday, French voters overwhelmingly rejected the EU Constitution, with over 54% saying "non" to all 300+ pages. Wednesday, the Dutch came out in force with an even more pronounced "nee" (nearly 62%). So, have France and the Netherlands, both founding members of the European Coal and Steel Community (think "proto-EU") in the early 1950s and traditional EU enthusiests EU supporters, put the brakes on the latest move towards European integration and EU streamlining?

Ah, there's the $64,000 question.

In the short term, yes. In the long term, probably no.

Of course, there were signs that rejection of the European Constitution was looming. Ironically, I'm sure big-wigs in Brussels, after the signing of the Constitution in Rome, feared rejection by some of the later referenda, particularly from the UK, Denmark, and Poland. After Spain's resounding "YES" back in February, the first signs of a possible French or Dutch "NO" began to pop up in earnest. How did it come to this? And, where does the EU go from here?

First off, it's important to realize, in all 25 EU members, the "NO" and "YES" camps were far from unified lobbying groups. Granted, the "NO" camps in France and the Netherlands both sought the same outcome, but, even within France's "NO" community, heterogeneity ruled. All-in-all, the Constitution rejections in France and the Netherlands don't send one, single message. They send an assortment. Just taking a glance at public comments of French or Dutch voters leaving the polling stations reveals a few of the alleged motivations behind a "NO" vote:
1. "I'm not in favor of the European Constituion" - Pretty obvious. In theory, any "NO" voter should be able to look me in the eye and say this. As the multitude of other explanations shows, however, the Constitution itself wasn't necessarily on everyone's mind.
2. "I'm dissatisfied with my government." - Chirac has a 39% approval rating, and Raffarin may go down in history as the least popular Prime Minister of the Fifth Republic... unless de Villepin does worse, that is. In the Netherlands, Queen Beatrix may be popular, but Balkenende’s center-right coalition hasn’t been doing so hot. For reasons I have yet to understand, most likely due to the fact that I was always raised to divide the issues between candidates and offices (a problem with Democrats on the national level, for example, won’t keep me necessarily from voting for a Democrat for a local or state office), large chunks of the European electorate still see any chance to go to the polls as an opportunity to voice their collective approval or disapproval of who’s-in-government. The fact that various opposition parties (especially in the Netherlands) were campaigning ferociously for a “YES” vote alongside those in government apparently didn’t turn any heads. Many French still read the referendum question Sunday as “Chirac: good Jacques, or bad Jacques?”
3. “I’ve always been against the European Union.” - Ultra-right nationalists freely testify to this. While in favor of the peace-through-unity, the (so far small) losses of national sovereignty have irked many groups committed to the independence of their respective countries.
4. “In theory, I support the Constitution and consolidation of the EU, but [insert problem with the Constitution or the EU itself]…” - With the possible exception of #2 above, I’m willing to bet this is the largest group of “NO” voters. Many folks on the street, particularly in Paris, The Hague, and Amsterdam, feel the EU itself is a worthy project to continue. But, small problems with various aspects of the EU system that have popped up in the past, in combination with reservations concerning the voluminous Constitution and possible ne’er-do-well “secrets” tucked away in its pages, have compounded to become huge problems for the “YES” camp, and a huge asset to the hardcore “NO” camp. These “problems” vary… they produce a similar result: anxiety about Europe’s future in a rapidly changing world.

Obviously, particularly with #4 above, both Brussels and the national governments have thus far failed to address these numerous issues to the public’s satisfaction. And these problems are not unique to the Netherlands and France. Thus, whether or not the Constitution is dead at this point, Brussels must take warning: deal with these issues, or ignore them at your own risk. The fact that the press has so many photographs of so many EU and national government officials looking stunned after the French vote, and downright pitiful after the Dutch vote (the image of Jean-Claude Juncker, Luxembourg’s PM and current president of the European Council, with tears in his eyes, for example), merely drives home the point that THE EU DIDN’T SEE THIS COMING. Sure, perhaps a few “pessimists” in Brussels and Strasbourg were expecting ratification “trouble” from Denmark (where the Treaty of Maastricht had to go through two referenda before passing), the U.K. (a “traditional Eurosceptic”), or newcomer Poland (still feeling like it and Spain lost out in the new European Parliament voting system), but I’ll bet the farm that cognitive dissonance set in among the “EU Elite,” and very few folks expected trouble from France, the EU’s third-largest nation and a founding member, or the Netherlands, another founding member and one of the EU’s most painstakingly loyal financial backers.

My gut tells me that Brussels tried to impose too much, too quickly on an increasingly unaware European audience. For the past several years, the gulf between EU institutions and the people they (in theory) represent has widened considerably, and the signs of the philosophical and political distances separating the “EU Elite” from the rest of Europe were there to see (if they’d wanted to see them, that is). Participation in European elections has been in a steady decline, culminating in a miserable turn-out for the most recent round of European Parliament elections… which some in Brussels had tried to brush of with, “Well, at least it’s not as low as turnout for American elections…” And, even with that low turn-out, Eurosceptic parties across the board made surprising gains. Anxiety over the EU’s most recent enlargement earlier this year, in which the project grew from fifteen to twenty-five nations, also fueled the Constitution’s “NO” vote. While France feared its waning influence in an EU of twenty-five, coupled especially with a stagnant economy, the Dutch continued to voice concerns of the opposite, that new, larger members like Poland and the Czech Republic would team up with other established members (Germany, France, the UK, Spain, Italy) and further dampen the cries of the EU’s smaller, yet no less significant members. With Italian, German, and French blatant violations of the Eurozone’s Stability and Growth Pact ignored, along with the Dutch government’s nearly masochistic attempts to abide by the Pact, it’s easy to see why the Dutch, and perhaps other small EU members, feel they’re being ignored by their big brothers and sisters.

Other enlargement arguments abound. Many assert that, after this huge addition of ten countries to an already strained and somewhat cumbersome EU, Europe needs precious time to… well… get used to its new self. Years, perhaps. I’m obviously pro-Constitution, but not right now. As the EU grew eastwards, voices in western Europe were urging restraint, allowing time for established EU citizens to become accustomed to a union of 484 million people. Talks of enlargement should have been curbed or, better yet, put to the voters first. I’m not advocating referenda each time a specific country wants to enter the EU, but Brussels failed to take the temperature of EU citizens regarding how much they’re willing to accept in such a short time frame. The EU went from fifteen to twenty-five overnight. Almost immediately afterwards, Romania and Bulgaria finalized accession procedures, and will join in 2007. Croatia opened (now stalled) negotiations. And, finally, Turkey, bulging with nearly 70 million predominantly Muslim citizens sitting (mostly) on the Asian continent, will begin accession talks this October. While it may not have seemed like a very large step to take in the halls of EU institutions in Bruseels, to Europeans in the streets of Paris and Amsterdam, the idea of an institution that once stretched no further east than Helsinki to embrace Ankara seemed like a large pill to swallow. Is it subtle racism that made the Dutch and French shake in their boots and yell “NO” (the anti-Turkey accession camp was widespread, vocal, and popular in both countries)? To me, not at all. I’ve more faith in humans. I still assert that anxiety stemming from the most recent enlargement, and fear about future enlargement, still boils down to economic woes. The EU cannot yet revive its overall economy. Sure, countries like Ireland are thriving, but Germany and France are facing massive unemployment, abysmal growth rates, and an increasingly grumbling electorate. Chirac’s UMP government became unpopular due largely to economic woes, and Germany’s ruling SDP/Green coalition just called for early elections after yet another statewide defeat, this time in North Rhine-Westphalia. The French, Dutch, and many other Europeans, instead of seeing “help” from their governments concerning their economies, hear rumors that further EU enlargements will lead to an export of jobs, and an influx of immigrants to compete for the few remaining positions. These are some of their fears. Will Brussels address them now, after such a resounding wake-up call?

Some commentators have also argued that the French and Dutch “NO” votes on the Constitution served merely to put the brakes on the direction they felt the EU was heading. Various “American-style” market reforms and curbs on EU government procedures were unpopular to both left-wing and right-wing parties, who saw long-term erosion of national identity and personal freedoms, in favor of unrestricted capitalism.

With all of the above arguments (and many more where those came from), who’s got it right? Why did the Dutch and French reject the European Constitution? I favor the Murder on the Orient Express approach: they all did it. Each tiny argument - economic and integration fears; right-wing anti-Turkey views; small-nation concerns; large-nation concerns; government dissatisfaction; the Constitution’s sheer length and painstakingly-negotiated language (which makes for one rather difficult-to-read document; the Constitution’s vague compromises in some areas, yet over-the-top details in others (do Maltese land transactions really deserve so many pages?) - each small criticism appealed to its own audience until, suddenly, the “NO” camp grew from a small band of “far-right crazies” to the empowered mainstream. And they sure turned out in force, as shown by the 69.3% French and 62.8% Dutch turnouts.

What now? Various EU and national leaders are calling for a continuation of the ratification process. I agree. At the very least, all twenty-five EU members should have to go on record one way or the other. And, when the dust settles, we’ll see where we stand. If, in the end, we’re left with twenty-three “YES” votes, and only France and the Netherlands saying “NO,” the Dutch and French governments may find themselves arm-twisted into second rounds of voting. EU-enthusiasts point to the second votes Denmark and Ireland had to have on the Treaties of Maastricht and Nice (respectively) as assertions that the Constitution is not yet dead. They also point to Spain, the only other nation so far to hold a referendum, which passed by 76.7%. But, like all European elections lately, turn-out was “American standard” low, at 42%. As shown by the high Dutch and French voter turn-outs, anti-Constitution sentiments run deeper than pro, as opponents came out in force to check non or nee. So, Spain did indeed say “YES,” but not enthusiastically, much to the embarrassment of the Zapatero government.

Here’s my prescription:
1. The Constitution, in its current form, is all but dead. But, let the voting continue. Let Europe have its say, showing each complaint and the reasoning behind it.
2. Let Bulgaria and Romania (assuming the latter gets its act together) join in 2007. It’s already agreed to. It’s only fair.
3. Slow down further enlargements. Talks with Croatia are already on hold until The Hague tribunal is satisfied. Talks with Turkey should go on, though current EU members must have their reassurances regarding economic recovery and immigration policies. Europeans must also be made to understand that Turkey is most likely decades away from joining. As for future would-be EUers, including Serbia and Montenegro, they should be given every opportunity to join, SLOWLY.
4. Present a new treaty for a Constitution, in a few years, at the earliest. This Constitution should be shorter in length and lighter in substance. Establish a Confederation, rather than a Federation.
5. Resist the urge to establish common policies for all in Brussels. The EU must realize that, for the time being, the European project works best on the scale it has currently established - with different policies implemented and experimented with in a single country, or groups of countries, and with national governments given substantial flexibility in implementation of EU policy, to fit their individual needs and cultural considerations. Obviously, agricultural policy for Malta will differ than that of Sweden. Austrian fishing regulations diverge from those of Ireland.

This week’s Economist paints a similar picture. The EU can continue to function very well with its established policies, and must come to appreciate the unity it can foster with a true appreciation of diversity. Perhaps, the Economist asserts, a new European motto should be “E unum pluribus” (out of one, many)… recognition that European identity IS its diverse cultural, ethnic, and religious heritage. By that token, the next Constitution should be deliberately flexible, reserving the “how to” for Nicosia, London, Madrid, Vienna, Luxembourg, Helsinki, and, eventually, Ankara, Zagreb, and beyond…

Capitalism

I began packing up clothes this weekend, starting with sweaters and pants. As my routine of careful-and-delicate-folding followed by rough-and-uncermonious-stuffing-into-a-suitcase-or-box was established, I realized something: I haven't bought any new clothes in months.

Though this might horrify someone else, I was elated. Aside from the "basics," like underpants and socks, I've resisted the urge to add to my already overwhelming, and yet still perplexingly dull, wardrobe. I was so proud of myself - my mind must have somehow come to terms with the fact that I'm approaching a substantial pay cut this fall, and subconsciously decided to cut down the expenses before my heart was ready to implement the difficult changes.

It's so kind of my mind, I thought to myself, to spare my heart the agony of initiating such gut-wrenching alterations.

Pumped with pride, I continued folding. Then, I realized the truth...

this is Zach's sweater
this is a pair of his pants
those are his shirts
I'm wearing his Iowa State t-shirt

Damn. I didn't buy new clothes. I've just been robbing Zach of his even-more-extensive wardrobe, one piece at a time.

Pride-in-refusing-to-increase-the-size-of-my-wardrobe gave way to pride-in-my-cleverness-by-stealing-from-my-boyfriend. Then, as the clothes-folding-and-packing spree continued, I noticed something more fiendish:

I can't find my demin jacket
nor my old Augustana College hoodie
my University of Iowa t-shirt is missing

I'm being beaten at my own game. By my boyfriend, no less.