These numbers are somewhat bogus (and I'm the first to claim Euro supremacy in some areas).
US institutions are far older than many European ones.
Spanish democracy is younger than me.
Florida is older than Italy, Germany, Norway, Finland, Hungary, Poland, etc.
France has had 15 or so constitutions or regimes in the time the US has had one.
You can cite micro-examples like San Marino or some deliberative body in some tiny ethnostate as examples of political continuity, but in the big-country leagues, there isn't much older than the US.
Yes, the church my grandmother was baptized in is much older than the US, as is Galician/Spanish culture itself. But in terms of political bodies or law, not so much really. The US has been shockingly stable...only one civil war! Spain has had four during the same time.
I was talking to a friend this morning about why “Take Me Home, Country Roads” is the perfect song for Americans to be singing right now. He preferred that we sing something more on the nose like “God Bless the U.S.A.” Here’s why he’s wrong.
You need to understand the moment. You need to understand the global stage that’s afforded you as the host country of the World Cup. The eyes of the world are on America. It’s the 250th anniversary of our nation. To speak to your fan base, to your people, you need a song that has folk significance. Something that is earthy and working class. Something that signifies home. Something that is in the best sense tribal. Something that resonates with your people and communicates “this is ours and you wouldn’t understand.” It has to be understated. Evocative. Raw. A primal chant that has an instinctive immediacy of meaning that we all understand but couldn’t fully explain if asked. Denver’s classic captures that perfectly.
#FIFAWorldCup
#WeAre26
#America250
#TakeMeHome
Texas is France sorry.
-obnoxious, self-deluded people
-great food, like some of the best on Earth
-larps as pastoral but very urban
-strong economy despite everyone seemingly never working
-half the politicians are like cartoonishly racist
-diverse, pretends it’s not
-very fun
Nearly 20 years ago I took an Italian colleague to a Michigan football game.
I picked him up from his hotel in the 1966 Mustang convertible I owned at the time, and then took a drive through campus.
It was a perfect late summer day... about 70 degrees with a beautiful blue sky and puffy white clouds.
As we drove past campus buildings, fraternity and sorority houses, and throngs of students partying on front lawns, people continually yelled "Go Blue" to us. He quickly joined in and was responding, "Go Blue" back to everyone.
He commented numerous times how the experience was just like he had seen college campuses portrayed "in the movies."
He also enjoyed the game experience, with the marching bands and various cheers and other entertainment.
College football Saturdays are truly an American experience that I love to share with others.
“Oh Balogun is just playing for the U.S. because he couldn’t make the England squad”…Folks, that is the entire promise of our nation.
Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.
And then we’ll beat your ass with them.
USA. A Mexican restaurant. We had not yet ordered anything, and the food was already arriving.
Chips. Salsa. Unrequested. Free.
I stopped the waiter. "We have not earned these."
"They just come with the table, man."
They come with the TABLE. In my land, hospitality is a debt. Every gift creates an obligation, weighed carefully, returned in the proper season with interest of feeling. Here, the gift arrives before you have even proven you can pay for dinner.
This is not an appetizer. This is a declaration: we trust you. Eat.
I ate with the gravity the moment deserved. And then — I must report this calmly — the basket emptied, and a new one appeared.
"Did we…?"
"Refill," the waiter said. "It's bottomless."
Bottomless. They have wells of salsa. The supply lines of this nation are beyond anything my ancestors imagined.
My friend warned me. "Don't fill up on chips, dude."
Too late. I had accepted three baskets. Honor demanded each one be finished — an unfinished gift is an insult. By the time my actual food arrived, I was a ruined man.
I was not hungry. I was not comfortable. I had been defeated by a courtesy.
Generosity that arrives before the request cannot be repaid. It can only be survived.
I know the rule now. I have made my peace with the basket. One basket. Two at the most.
Who am I deceiving. There is no number of baskets I would refuse. The trust of a nation is in that salsa, and I intend to honor all of it.
Kind of funny that porn and tobacco pouches and online gambling have brought back a specific type of wastrel that we all thought went extinct around 1850