Why Eurotrash?

Christine Gonzales wants to know why I chose Eurotrash as the moniker for my blog.

Good question.

I think perhaps because it denominates for me not so much a lifestyle that I aspire to as an attitude that I would love to be able to adopt - i.e., about as far removed from my protestant Yankee "idle hands are sinful hands" sort of upbringing as you can possibly get.

I have a responsibility pattern. With age, it has only gotten worse. I used to believe in free will, in the sense that I thought it was attainable. I thought if you worked hard enough at it, you could rid yourself of all the distorting influences (read: neuroses) that your upbringing saddled you with and eventually get to the point where you could actually freely choose how to act or what to say or what decision to take in any given unique situation.

The truth is, I find that it only becomes harder and harder for me to ever do anything but be absolutely responsible in all areas of my life - as a mother, professional, wife, daughter, sister, colleague - you name it.

So, I'm reliable. My sins, my failures to "come through" are inevitably mere sins of omission - the birthdays I forget to send a card for, the letters I don't get around to answering, the homework I promise to help with and then get called away from to attend to a professional emergency. But those gloriously willful sins of commission - that ability to actually choose to do something other than the responsible thing - to just say, "Oh, the hell with it; I'm going to go for a long walk by the canal to enjoy the beautiful sunshine and the clients be damned!" - seem to remain always tantalizingly just beyond my emotional grasp.

"Uh...Excuse me...Weren't we talking about Eurotrash?" you wonder.

Yes. Here's the connection.

A couple of years ago, The New Yorker ran a cartoon cover depicting an airline arrivals terminal with Immigration lines for "US Citizens," "Non-Citizens," and "Eurotrash." The people docilely waiting their turn in the US Citizens and Non-Citizens lines were depicted as normal folks dressed in various colors and waiting in an orderly fashion. The Eurotrash zone, on the other hand, was populated by stylish people dressed mostly in black, having a wonderful time lounging in plush chairs, smoking, drinking champagne, dancing, engaging in intimate tête-à-têtes, and all being served by a uniformed barman at a makeshift bar.

The idea was clearly that for Eurotrash - life is one long never-ending party. Or as I saw it defined on a European blog site, "Eurotrash speak multiple languages, dress well, travel extensively and suck the fucking marrow out of the bones of life while sitting around in cafes drinking cappuccinos and smoking cigarettes until it's time to break out the red wine."

Sounds good to me...

I dunno. Embracing the "Eurotrash" monniker kind of makes me feel the way I used to back in the eighties when I found a button that said "Vicious power-hungry bitch" and proudly wore it on my coat lapel until a gay dancer friend of mine saw it and lusted after it so desperately that I just had to give it to him... (anyone who knows me will know why this is so funny).

While the term "Eurotrash" is often thought to refer to a kind of hedonism exhibited by its members, I'm convinced that its essence is more that of a freedom from the insanely strict rules that Americans always enforce on each other when it comes to lifestyle. That's what I'm after. Just to be able to loosen up a bit! (The "trash" part, I'm convinced, is one part irony and two parts envy in origin. )

So here comes this year's New Year's resolution (even if articulated a bit belatedly): From now on, even if finances don't exactly allow me to join the ranks of the actual Eurotrash, I am hereby resolving to nonetheless make every day a party. Even if only in my head and in reality I'm still slogging away at the multitude of tasks imposed by my various roles. Going through immigration isn't fun either, but you can suffer the banality and tediousness of it or you can do it with style. It's the party atmosphere I'm after. Life's too short not to make it fun.

And now I've got to post this damn thing and get on to finding that phone number I jotted down somewhere for some new friends and find out when they can come over for a wonderful dinner with some good wine and music and laughs...

Ciao, Bambino!

Inspired by my friend Tinabean, I'm daring to enter the blogosphere for the first time.

The fact is, as a classically over-committed working mom, the thought has occurred to me that blogging might be the best way for me to stay in touch with my friends. I can't begin to keep up with correspondence as I would like, but at least this way interested parties can tune in every now and then and at least find out how I'm doing. Of course, if anyone would like to add a comment or engage in dialogue of some sort, I will do my level best to keep up my end!

So on this Tuesday night, with a to-do list a mile long and two kids finally in bed (oh no! I forgot I told Max I'd give him a sign when he had to stop playing Runescape - oops! ...make that one kid in bed...), I'll not write more now, but will endeavor to get back here regularly with updates.

And so...for now...adieu.