I read a blog in the New York Times from yesterday's "Idea of the Day" that was really intriguing. So intriguing that I thought it absolutely necessary to waste my time writing a response to the article. You can find the "Idea of the Day" about the "Twilight of Polymaths" at the site below:
http://ideas.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/09/29/twilight-of-the-polymaths/
Our society discourages the young enterprising polymath because there is no place for them outside of academia. The polymath is forced to create this “place” or “many places” in which they can produce, while supporting the habit.
This goal barely makes sense in this crisis credit-crunched job-hopping society. Many aren’t interested in the pursuit of intelligence, but at best the majority is in the pursuit of resume building. Goals in this day and age are much more short-sighted and quick-fixed, salary at the end of the month.
Like James, I do believe that society is in need of the depth of specialty. However, the polymath, equipped with a more expansive general knowledge can survey the scene with the eyes of someone who is the project manager of a Cathedral–he has the capability of thinking “outside of the box” or utilizing creative approaches to connect uncanny truths or solutions.
Obviously society today is not structured for “cathedral-building projects”; however this concept could be more aptly applied to an approach to solving wide-ranging problems in society.
However, in a society that creates Wal-Mart sized blockbusters and one hit grand-slams, it is no wonder that we can’t see past the punch, past the ticket sales. With all respect given to the specialized intellectual–can we please recognize the gross lack of creative thinking and long-term consideration or foresight. Crisis anyone?
— Young Multi-Tasker
Generally the article discusses that today's society focuses more on the specialized intellectual rather than a polymath (intellectual specializing in various fields in focused or generalized approaches) like Leonardo daVinci. The article also discusses how the intellectual capacity versus productivity has decreased greatly since the likes of Einstein.
I didn't write this because I am a multi-tasker. I wrote it out of my respect for Michelangelo, well-made things, and the idea of endurance. I also wrote because I am inspired by Ken Follett's novel, "Pillars of the Earth"--a book about Cathedral building.
It also has something to do with the previous blog that I wrote in response to my roof-top Duomo experience. haha.
Have a good evening!
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Cathedral Dates...
Sept 30, 2009
Matteo visited me yesterday morning, and he was to arrive at 2pm. Hahaha. I was busy writing my “Parma” blog, leaving an hour to shower and look pretty before his arrival. He, in his adorable thoughtfulness, decided to arrive 1 hour early to surprise me with a bagel and his presence! Oh my goodness, lets just say that I would have been much more pleasantly surprised had I not been writing in my blog and not showered! I dashed around the house in a frantic trying to tidy my room, throw on some makeup, and put on at least deodorant and a pair of jeans. Mamma Mia! Oh well…It happened as so.
He was very cute, and he was happy to give me his surprise of an “American bagel” and he had bought me one of his favorite films of all time, “Quinto Potere” or “Fifth Power?”—it is an older film. How sweet! He read the paper as I showered and got ready, and I presented him to my roommate from Sardinia, Viola, and they talked for a while in the kitchen.
We took a walk, talked in the park, got a coffee, and roamed to Piazza Duomo. He asked me if I’d like to go to the top of the Duomo….what a great idea! I had never gone to the top before, and I had been wanting to for some time!! He had never taken the climb either, and he told me that his grandparents took a picture together from the top when they were first married. It was a gorgeous day, clear sky, with hot sun beating down on the cathedral. We climbed to the top, and I took many pictures from this lofty magnanimous marble rooftop of Milan.
Cathedrals will always be unimaginable feats of human hands, minds, ideas, and beliefs. Viewing the large and ornate buttresses of the church, the grand dynamic forms, and its many carved intricacies truly is humbling and uplifting at the same time. The light of the day fell in and out of crevices, sparkling around and about statues and pinnacled structures, and the colors bounced off the white emitting a heavenly glow.
Once on the top, we literally walked on the roof tiles!! There were many tourists exploring the rooftop, lounging on the marble nest, and taking in the view and the sunshine-primarily Chinese, go figure. We just sat in the sun for a while. He gave me sweet kisses, and I went about taking my photos like a mad woman. I like this boy, and it was nice to share that experience with him.
There was an interesting blog article about using Cathedral-mentalities to solve the bigger problems in our world like environmental resources, etc. I’ve always been bothered by the idea of the fast ever-changing product of poor quality has diminished the idea of permanent lasting projects of value and beauty. However, when applying this “cathedral mentality” to our current socio-political problems (instead of tangible products), it becomes interesting and not so incredibly depressing. Read:
http://dotearth.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/09/27/on-cathedrals-dreams-and-climate/?scp=1&sq=cathedrals&st=cse
Matteo and I got a Panzerotto—a famous guilty-pleasure food in Milan, which is fried dough with sauce, cheese, prosciutto, or many other combinations inside. We claimed a bench in the piazza outside The Scala, and he laid his head on my lap as we laughed and talked about tons of things…primarily laughing about my embarrassing episode from two weeks ago.
That night we went out for an aperitivo, and we met Benni and friends at the Columns of San Lorenzo for some drinks. We had a fabulous night, and I was happy to see that Matteo excels in public personal relations. He is very easy going and friendly-I like that.
I really like Matteo, and it comes as almost surprising to me. He is so sweet and considerate, and we enjoy one another’s company. He is respectful, and he asks me often, “Where did you come from!” He has also said, “I love the way your mind works.” Haha! Which is funny because I’m lucky to express myself when discussing complex issues in Italian. Given my tendency to digress in English, this becomes even more hilariously exaggerated when it takes me longer to arrive at my thoughts and their “supporting material.” Sometimes I close subjects--for my own satisfaction of finishing an argument--hours later because I never return from digressions in Italian. He is a good listener and teacher--helping me out when I need a grammatical boost to finish the sentence! In fact, I get 3 kisses when I say something complicated--is that cute or obnoxious? haha
We have interesting conversations as well, which is important to me. Oh….and he likes saying that I am a “crazy and strange American girl,” laughing at me with a tender smile. Another line becoming more frequent is that I am “a very difficult girl,” originally blurted out by yours truly! Apparently I can’t hide my goofy and complex inner circles in any continent or language—and this is incredibly amusing! I am glad, however, that he likes me exactly for who I am.
I introduced him to my sister last night—haha, it was hilarious. He gets so embarrassed to speak English, and I was teasing him and translating for him and my sister. These conversations fluster him enough to say, “Che ignoranza! Mi vergogno (what ignorance, I am embarrassed).” I think it has ignited a fire to learn English, which would be great!
Matteo visited me yesterday morning, and he was to arrive at 2pm. Hahaha. I was busy writing my “Parma” blog, leaving an hour to shower and look pretty before his arrival. He, in his adorable thoughtfulness, decided to arrive 1 hour early to surprise me with a bagel and his presence! Oh my goodness, lets just say that I would have been much more pleasantly surprised had I not been writing in my blog and not showered! I dashed around the house in a frantic trying to tidy my room, throw on some makeup, and put on at least deodorant and a pair of jeans. Mamma Mia! Oh well…It happened as so.
He was very cute, and he was happy to give me his surprise of an “American bagel” and he had bought me one of his favorite films of all time, “Quinto Potere” or “Fifth Power?”—it is an older film. How sweet! He read the paper as I showered and got ready, and I presented him to my roommate from Sardinia, Viola, and they talked for a while in the kitchen.
We took a walk, talked in the park, got a coffee, and roamed to Piazza Duomo. He asked me if I’d like to go to the top of the Duomo….what a great idea! I had never gone to the top before, and I had been wanting to for some time!! He had never taken the climb either, and he told me that his grandparents took a picture together from the top when they were first married. It was a gorgeous day, clear sky, with hot sun beating down on the cathedral. We climbed to the top, and I took many pictures from this lofty magnanimous marble rooftop of Milan.
Cathedrals will always be unimaginable feats of human hands, minds, ideas, and beliefs. Viewing the large and ornate buttresses of the church, the grand dynamic forms, and its many carved intricacies truly is humbling and uplifting at the same time. The light of the day fell in and out of crevices, sparkling around and about statues and pinnacled structures, and the colors bounced off the white emitting a heavenly glow.
Once on the top, we literally walked on the roof tiles!! There were many tourists exploring the rooftop, lounging on the marble nest, and taking in the view and the sunshine-primarily Chinese, go figure. We just sat in the sun for a while. He gave me sweet kisses, and I went about taking my photos like a mad woman. I like this boy, and it was nice to share that experience with him.
There was an interesting blog article about using Cathedral-mentalities to solve the bigger problems in our world like environmental resources, etc. I’ve always been bothered by the idea of the fast ever-changing product of poor quality has diminished the idea of permanent lasting projects of value and beauty. However, when applying this “cathedral mentality” to our current socio-political problems (instead of tangible products), it becomes interesting and not so incredibly depressing. Read:
http://dotearth.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/09/27/on-cathedrals-dreams-and-climate/?scp=1&sq=cathedrals&st=cse
Matteo and I got a Panzerotto—a famous guilty-pleasure food in Milan, which is fried dough with sauce, cheese, prosciutto, or many other combinations inside. We claimed a bench in the piazza outside The Scala, and he laid his head on my lap as we laughed and talked about tons of things…primarily laughing about my embarrassing episode from two weeks ago.
That night we went out for an aperitivo, and we met Benni and friends at the Columns of San Lorenzo for some drinks. We had a fabulous night, and I was happy to see that Matteo excels in public personal relations. He is very easy going and friendly-I like that.
I really like Matteo, and it comes as almost surprising to me. He is so sweet and considerate, and we enjoy one another’s company. He is respectful, and he asks me often, “Where did you come from!” He has also said, “I love the way your mind works.” Haha! Which is funny because I’m lucky to express myself when discussing complex issues in Italian. Given my tendency to digress in English, this becomes even more hilariously exaggerated when it takes me longer to arrive at my thoughts and their “supporting material.” Sometimes I close subjects--for my own satisfaction of finishing an argument--hours later because I never return from digressions in Italian. He is a good listener and teacher--helping me out when I need a grammatical boost to finish the sentence! In fact, I get 3 kisses when I say something complicated--is that cute or obnoxious? haha
We have interesting conversations as well, which is important to me. Oh….and he likes saying that I am a “crazy and strange American girl,” laughing at me with a tender smile. Another line becoming more frequent is that I am “a very difficult girl,” originally blurted out by yours truly! Apparently I can’t hide my goofy and complex inner circles in any continent or language—and this is incredibly amusing! I am glad, however, that he likes me exactly for who I am.
I introduced him to my sister last night—haha, it was hilarious. He gets so embarrassed to speak English, and I was teasing him and translating for him and my sister. These conversations fluster him enough to say, “Che ignoranza! Mi vergogno (what ignorance, I am embarrassed).” I think it has ignited a fire to learn English, which would be great!
Parmesan weekend-DELECTABLE
September 30th, 2009
A weekend with the Parmesans
I spent the weekend in Parma with my girlfriend, Benedetta who is studying in Milan at Bocconi. It was a fantastic weekend, to say the very least, and a wonderful opportunity to discover another city in Italy.
Aside: I chose to write today in a park, and three little girls dressed in fuschia pink are running around me. They a flying around like little bees, swarming around me, the little one bouncing behind the others. They all are taking turns presenting me with pink flowers snatched from the nearest bush, and they giggle as they give me the pretty "presents." HOW CUTE!!!! They just asked me if they could make designs in my notebook, and of course I let them willingly draw all over this page. They are so adorable-with curly hair and one girl with clear glassy-blue eyes and dark messy hair. The youngest is precious, and she has rosy cheeks with bright chocolate eyes. They are so full of joy it makes me happy! Italian children and children in general are incredibly beautiful, it is striking.
Now this page is covered with their little drawings--the little ideas of the world, what they know and see, their imaginations at work so carelessly and freely, effortlessly. How wonderful! The one exclaimed that her sister was designing a belltower or "campanile". How fun to write between their scribbles of flowers, what-nots, and a faint "line drawing" made by the youngest who was the last to take her turn as the others ran away. The one boy who joined the bunch wanted to use a new page to trace his matchbox car, and he designed race car designs and numbers to his tracing. The church bells just started ringing, and there is a dog that is howling in tune along with the bells. There is an elderly woman in a wheel chair, and her caretakers are talking to her in the way that I am speaking to the little girls running around me. Life and its full circles. The air is filled with the voices of screaming children--hanging on trees, playing invented games, pushing strollers, and the sun is slowly sinking. haha, I am not surrounded by pink flowers, and the one girl with the blue eyes exclaimed as she was bouncing around, "She and I are dressed the same! That's because we're sisters!! hahaha!!" Twirl, giggle, hop, flight! I miss my sisters.
The mother came to collect the children so as to "let the nice lady alone." They are off now in another field playing. The simple things are so beautiful in life. I think that we adults will never fully learn the lesson that to live with childish joy and acceptance, and even wonder, is the key to happiness. Since when did growing up wilt away our soulful energy? Its like in the movie the "Christmas Story" where the grown-ups can't hear the bells of Christmas because the spirit of youthful joy leaves their hearts. Adults often miss the point. Its not like we all have the time to run around in fields scraping our knees, but they gave me flowers, and it made me happy.
Returning to Parma:
The weekend was FABULOUS! I will try not to give a long-winded summary, but it might be hard. Parma is a city built to the exact measure of the man and all his necessities, is what my new friend, Giacomo, said to me. It is one of the most livable cities in Italy, and it is renowned for its cultural preservation and appreciation. It is a city that was born in the Roman times, and since then, the people have been paving the the streets with their daily agendas, traditions, and communal habits.
It is located in the region of Italy called Emiglia Romagna, famed for its culinary expertise--the indisputable Mecca of the Italian kitchen to which every Italian tips his hat in acknowledged respect for these everyday practitioners of impeccable cuisine and alimentary product--a place where dishes ooze of infused flavor, simple style, and melt-in-your-mouth textures. Products of the highest quality are a necessity given the trained and scrutinizing taste buds of the region, let alone the country as a whole. I have not yet discussed the genetic sensitivity, precision, and hound-dog skill of the Italian palate, but it is a cut above the rest-superior-or trained from birth to measure and judge the quality of their food. This fact is for another "Italian Fact of the Day," but it was necessary to insert in my homage to this region. When I speak of the level of expectation from the people born and bread in Emiglia Romagna, in this case-the Parmesani, we are talking about pleasing serious, lean, and mean food critics. An infant cries to his mom--"Bahahahblahgla"--Translation: "Woah, Ma', there is way to much salt. Psssht." Okay, maybe I exaggerate, but you get the picture. From their famous prosciuto hams and cured meats to the infamous Parmesan cheese and sweets--the list goes on endlessly!
A part from the notoriety in the world of the kitchen, they also have a deep-rooted cultural tradition as a city known for their passion for melodrama. The arts were patroned in this city by the Farnese family during the turn of the 16th century, and music, opera, poetry and art have always been inspired and cultivated in this center. The famous opera composer, Verdi, is among the list of proud Parmesans, and in fact a festival in his honor is quickly approaching in October. Many of my new Parmesan friends have season tickets to the shows during theater season at the Teatro Regio, a theater inaugurated by the Duchess of Parma, Maria Luigia d'Asburgo, the wife of Napoleon, with the lyric opera, Zaira, by Vincenzo Bellini in 1829.
As soon as we arrived in Parma, Benedetta took me around a quick and grand tour of the city. Piazza Garibaldi, on of the principle piazzas and gathering points of the city shined brightly in the afternoon light for my newly gazing eyes. She took me to the Duomo where I was again taken aback by the simple Romanesque facade and the lavishly decorated and frescoed interior. The designs were covering every wall surface, and it was as if it grew like ivy over the years, suffocating the walls with angels, saints, and biblical stories. Antonio di Correggio’s ceiling frescoes in the cupola of the Duomo are phenomenal, a sensual illusionistic painter that foreshadowed later Baroque and Rococo art, but never achieving great recognition outside Parma during his time. He might be one of my all time favorite Renaissance artists, and the dramatism of his work makes you dizzy in the swirling flurry of angels amassing in tornado circles as the clouds open up to let Christ ascend into the gold of heaven. Coreggio’s work can also be found in the church situated behind the Duomo, San Giovanni Evangelista, a church that accompanies its monastic complex.
I will stop giving a history lesson, but I will say that the combination of its history produced a vibrant and beautiful city, and the colors of the buildings are sunny and citrus, almost as delicious as its food!
Benni took me to her favorite gelateria, K2, and it was luscious and creamily delicious. If you ever thought that Italian ice cream has no ranking, you are wrong. I’ve never had a gelato so velvety lovely—I almost passed out after eating the chocolate, “Fior di Nutella”. She guided me around the winding streets, pointing out buildings and monuments and greeting many familiar friends and faces along the way.
Friday night we went to the graduation party of two of Benni’s friends and my acquaintances who were having a joint graduation party. They decided to have an aperitivo-style (appetizer/drink event) festa at a bar in the main piazza. I interrupt for the…
Italian Fact of the Day:
Graduation parties:
In the USA: we have a huge celebration for the high school graduation, inviting all of our friends and family to an organized party in the honor of our high school achievements. College graduation parties are not usually organized and widely popular.
In Italy: There is never a celebration for their graduation from their 5 years attending high school. They always celebrate the “festa di laurea” according to their graduations from university. Why do I say “graduations?” Well, the university system in Italia is broken up into two sections: Triennio (3 year) and the Biennio (2 year) degrees. The Biennio specializing degree is usually a necessary component to the Triennio degree, which comprises more general studies. They write a thesis for both. The “festa di laurea” is a very popular event, and there are fun traditions of playing jokes, presenting gag gifts, and writing funny/embarassing poems about the graduates. Of course in Italy, they have two graduations, celebrating both with high-flying regales and colors.
Allora, where was I?? Okay, we went to the party. There were tons of friends, and I met a sack of Parmesan people. Haha, I just translated an Italian expression, “Sacco di gente”, literally—a “Sack of People” instead of “Ton.” We drank wine and the popular “spritz” drink while conversing. Everyone I met was all very welcoming and friendly.
Later we went to a discoteca club, and we all danced until 5:30am to a ridiculous mixture of Italian/English/American 80’s music. I remember looking around at the dance floor at 4am, as “Dancing Queen” was playing, thinking about how absurd the whole array of people and dance moves were. Our feet stuck to the floor due to the “spillage” of drinks. We crashed at her friend’s house for the night.
Her friend’s house was the equivalent of a Parmesan mansion in apartment form! Her dad is a noted Architect in the area, and I enjoyed the taste of the house immensely. There were two floors, high frescoed-ceilings, incredible furniture and accent pieces, and I was very impressed with the paintings hung in the house. A perfect mixture of old structures meeting modern day convenience, style, and technology. I slept in a bed on the second floor with a leopard-skin cover and headboard. We all laughed because I got to sleep in the second-floor “leopard-room,” sharing the bed with their friend Luca (adding to the joke.) No, I didn’t even kiss him! We are just friends, and we both passed out at 6:30am after the group chatted in the kitchen and the girls danced to the “Spice Girls” in her living room at ear-piercing volumes. I bet the angels in that ceiling fresco and antique mammoth chandelier never thought they’d hear the likes of the Spice Girls pumping through hidden booming speakers through the house. If I can personify them for a moment, I would guess they were crying.
The next day we ate lunch at Benni’s grandparent’s house. They own a furniture store in Parma, which she pointed out to me the day before. She spends every Saturday afternoon eating lunch with them, and they kindly invited me for this weekend occasion. We came bearing gifts of different foccacia breads and arancini (Breaded rice balls with meat and sausage stuffed inside—the size of small oranges, or “arancini”). I also chugged water to get rid of my headache induced by nocturnal dancing and wine-drinking. Benni told her grandparents to change up the menu this Saturday because she was unsure if I would like their normal meal, which is eating high-grade meat bought fresh from the machellaio (butcher)—HORSE!!!—but I insisted on sticking to tradition! I wanted to try it! Her grandparents were adorable and very kind and welcoming.
Her grandparents asked me many questions, and they conversed with their two granddaughters, Benni and Bianca, her sister. Her grandmother LOADED my plate with a mushroom-sauced Pasta for our first course, so much that the thick noodles were draping over the size of the curved plate! I could barely fit it all in my stomach, but if I have learned anything from having two doting grandmothers who are amazing cooks in the Italian kitchen—Never leave anything on your plate or it is the biggest insult to the love-labored meal and its maker! I stuffed all 10 pounds of delicious savory pasta in my stomach, washing it down with sparkling water. Last to finish.
We then dug into the foccaccia breads and arancini rice balls as her grandmother prepared the second course, the horse! They asked me if I wanted to eat it crude, as does habitually her grandfather—who literally spreads the raw horse meat on bread as if it were peanut butter! I kindly refused saying that I’d eat it partially cooked with Benni—one step at a time! It is hard to find horse meat, even in Italy; however, they have gone to their trusted Parmesan butcher for years who produces fine cuts of the regal beast. Bianca, the younger sister, never participates in the horse-meat meal, having given it up after she rode a horse for the first time. Drum rollllllllllll--------It was delicious!!!!
Later that evening, the itinerary was to walk around the outdoor “BoulevArt” art show of young Parmesan artists. This was a lovely event sponsored by all of the stores in the center of Parma that featured a street display of 300 artists, predominantly photographers. Taken from its flyer: “A unique event for Parma: Art shows, concerts, dance, theatrical performances, the exit from the darkness of drawers, hundreds of artistic products, fruit of young Parmesan creative minds between the ages of 14 and 35…a multitude of places in which young artists can express their art freely, also through elaboration of “en plain air” (outside) operas…” It was an open theater of art and performance lining every street—all of the stores remaining open as well--until midnight. Okay you get the idea! I was in my glory. Benni’s two friends were displaying their photography in the outdoor show.
This night was fantastic, and Parma was dressed at its best, the art show augmenting the vibrancy of the night. The life of Parma was so consuming and vivacious that I felt like it was actually inhaling and giving back breath to its nightly crowd. The city was way more than its parts; “life” was tangible and ripe to bite and experience its spectrum of flavor as if it were a juicy zangy orange or a chunk of aged Parmesan cheese. People were in droves, participating in the evening passeggiata and swarming in particular high numbers to appreciate the art and support their fellow friends and their art displays. The passeggiata can also be called, in a newly-coined term (by me), “peacocking” in its most conceited form.
I was meeting many many more Parmesan friends, and I revisited many that were at the graduation festival from the night before. We roamed through the sea of heads, and we stopped frequently to greet the many passing friends and acquaintences. In fact, we moved like snails—inch by inch—“ciao” by “ciao”! Parma, despite its many attributes, is richly packed into a rather small city, livable, hospitable. Therefore, there is a strong spirit of the collective unity and cordial recognition between the inhabitants of the town: spirit of place, home, family, friend, neighbor, comradarie, collective memory, gossip, sharing of business. One friend in particular, Giacomo, is hilarious with an animated disposition, and we hit it off from the beginning. He seemed to know everyone in the city, and I found his personable relationship with everyone very tickling and amusing—almost nostalgic for that idea or experience of “community.” However, he also explained that Parma, at times, can become “way too small” with regards to information.
He is a photographer, and we enjoyed walking around amidst all of the art displays discussing the merit of the artists and our favorite photos. There were antique markets and young street performers improvising for crowds as they sat down for outside dinner seating. I almost bought an antique Italian-Latin dictionary from 1839 for 30E, but unfortunately I couldn't justify the purchase without a paycheck. We all stopped for a coffee and gathered to go to a restaurant for dinner. We ate at the restaurant, “Trattoria del Tribunale,” and they make their pasta “in casa.” Beni and her friends were all insistent that I try a famous plate in Parma, the “Torta Fritta.”
We found the restaurant on a quiet more peaceful street away from the commotion of the center city, and we all sat at a big table near the Tribunale (the Justice court); the low lit streets were calming as groups of friends wandered off to their nightly activities and bicycles rode past with the girlfriend or child balancing or secured on the front. I just love the sight of bicycles with big baskets or people piled on one bike bumping across the cobbled stones! It fits so perfectly with the picture!
Anyways, we all had a very enjoyable, relaxing dinner, and they all advised me to try the tortelli d’erbetto—a specialty of Parma and of the restaurant. For our appetizer, they brought out the “torta fritta,” which is basically fried hollow dough (more salty than sweet), and you eat it with a selection of thinly sliced meats: prosciutto di Parma, salame, bresaola, etc. Oh My GOODNESS—it was incredible. My meal came shortly after, and I have no more words left to describe the creamy mouth-watering flavorful sensation of the pasta. I wanted to cry! Tortelli are a kind of small ravioli, and the filling was a creamy cheese, erb combination. Mamma mia, che buona!!!
After dinner, we all took a passeggiata along the streets, past the bustling city center, past the piazzas, past the churches with their belltowers hovering above us in the starry sky—ending at none other but the K2 gelateria, which provided the perfect finishing-touch for my overly-contented and spoiled stomach. We ate our gelato on the steps of a church, and we talked as Giacomo tried to hit on me. Haha. We took one final passeggiata past the hopping street of Via Farini where the masses all flocked to the many bars lining the street. There was music, parties spilling out into the middle of the street, and lots of good-looking men. Wow.
Parma certainly has a style to it, and I have to comment on the number of good-looking people I saw during my days spent in the city. They are definitely a lovely breed, and my eyes were slightly spinning in circles to view all the suave men with sweaters dashed across their shoulders, dark brooding eyes or light features nicely contrasted—some seemingly aloof to their beauty, others clearly conceited “players”, and maybe a few were gay. Who knows! My ignorant guess to describe my initial reaction to these people aside from the water in Parma, would be the mix of French blood that exists there due to the historical control of the city. Many have the lovely combination of light eyes and dark hair-good genes.
I went to sleep with a stomachache due to my excessive ingestion of food during the day, and at one point I thought I would throw up. Luckily, I was determined not to do that and to let digestion work its slow course from the daily smorgasbord.
The next day we woke up and went to Forte dei Marmi, a popular Tuscan vacation spot. Benni’s family owns a house there, and it is a rather chic summer tourist city. It was lovely, and the weather was fantastic!! Benni, her sister and I rode around in a convertible with the top down, they showed me the city, and I relaxed on the beach as the large mountains sat in lounge chairs in the background with margheritas. We joined her family for lunch, and they are incredibly warm and genuine people. I ate small gniocchis with salmon---we ate for 4 hours under a shaded umbrella next to the beach. I felt very much at peace looking at the sparkling ocean. Benni, her sister Bianca and I drove home with the radio, and that night we returned to Milan.
Summary: I think that I gained about 10 pounds. I also met about 200 Parmesan people. I've never eaten such amazing food in all of my FLIPPING life!!! I also ate the creamiest ice cream I've ever tried. My first trip to Parma was absolutely enjoyable, unforgettable, and I hope to return soon. Advice of the day: When life hands you a chunk of fine Parmesan aged cheese—eat it, eat all of it, and soak it in. Hell, use it as soap if you please.
A weekend with the Parmesans
I spent the weekend in Parma with my girlfriend, Benedetta who is studying in Milan at Bocconi. It was a fantastic weekend, to say the very least, and a wonderful opportunity to discover another city in Italy.
Aside: I chose to write today in a park, and three little girls dressed in fuschia pink are running around me. They a flying around like little bees, swarming around me, the little one bouncing behind the others. They all are taking turns presenting me with pink flowers snatched from the nearest bush, and they giggle as they give me the pretty "presents." HOW CUTE!!!! They just asked me if they could make designs in my notebook, and of course I let them willingly draw all over this page. They are so adorable-with curly hair and one girl with clear glassy-blue eyes and dark messy hair. The youngest is precious, and she has rosy cheeks with bright chocolate eyes. They are so full of joy it makes me happy! Italian children and children in general are incredibly beautiful, it is striking.
Now this page is covered with their little drawings--the little ideas of the world, what they know and see, their imaginations at work so carelessly and freely, effortlessly. How wonderful! The one exclaimed that her sister was designing a belltower or "campanile". How fun to write between their scribbles of flowers, what-nots, and a faint "line drawing" made by the youngest who was the last to take her turn as the others ran away. The one boy who joined the bunch wanted to use a new page to trace his matchbox car, and he designed race car designs and numbers to his tracing. The church bells just started ringing, and there is a dog that is howling in tune along with the bells. There is an elderly woman in a wheel chair, and her caretakers are talking to her in the way that I am speaking to the little girls running around me. Life and its full circles. The air is filled with the voices of screaming children--hanging on trees, playing invented games, pushing strollers, and the sun is slowly sinking. haha, I am not surrounded by pink flowers, and the one girl with the blue eyes exclaimed as she was bouncing around, "She and I are dressed the same! That's because we're sisters!! hahaha!!" Twirl, giggle, hop, flight! I miss my sisters.
The mother came to collect the children so as to "let the nice lady alone." They are off now in another field playing. The simple things are so beautiful in life. I think that we adults will never fully learn the lesson that to live with childish joy and acceptance, and even wonder, is the key to happiness. Since when did growing up wilt away our soulful energy? Its like in the movie the "Christmas Story" where the grown-ups can't hear the bells of Christmas because the spirit of youthful joy leaves their hearts. Adults often miss the point. Its not like we all have the time to run around in fields scraping our knees, but they gave me flowers, and it made me happy.
Returning to Parma:
The weekend was FABULOUS! I will try not to give a long-winded summary, but it might be hard. Parma is a city built to the exact measure of the man and all his necessities, is what my new friend, Giacomo, said to me. It is one of the most livable cities in Italy, and it is renowned for its cultural preservation and appreciation. It is a city that was born in the Roman times, and since then, the people have been paving the the streets with their daily agendas, traditions, and communal habits.
It is located in the region of Italy called Emiglia Romagna, famed for its culinary expertise--the indisputable Mecca of the Italian kitchen to which every Italian tips his hat in acknowledged respect for these everyday practitioners of impeccable cuisine and alimentary product--a place where dishes ooze of infused flavor, simple style, and melt-in-your-mouth textures. Products of the highest quality are a necessity given the trained and scrutinizing taste buds of the region, let alone the country as a whole. I have not yet discussed the genetic sensitivity, precision, and hound-dog skill of the Italian palate, but it is a cut above the rest-superior-or trained from birth to measure and judge the quality of their food. This fact is for another "Italian Fact of the Day," but it was necessary to insert in my homage to this region. When I speak of the level of expectation from the people born and bread in Emiglia Romagna, in this case-the Parmesani, we are talking about pleasing serious, lean, and mean food critics. An infant cries to his mom--"Bahahahblahgla"--Translation: "Woah, Ma', there is way to much salt. Psssht." Okay, maybe I exaggerate, but you get the picture. From their famous prosciuto hams and cured meats to the infamous Parmesan cheese and sweets--the list goes on endlessly!
A part from the notoriety in the world of the kitchen, they also have a deep-rooted cultural tradition as a city known for their passion for melodrama. The arts were patroned in this city by the Farnese family during the turn of the 16th century, and music, opera, poetry and art have always been inspired and cultivated in this center. The famous opera composer, Verdi, is among the list of proud Parmesans, and in fact a festival in his honor is quickly approaching in October. Many of my new Parmesan friends have season tickets to the shows during theater season at the Teatro Regio, a theater inaugurated by the Duchess of Parma, Maria Luigia d'Asburgo, the wife of Napoleon, with the lyric opera, Zaira, by Vincenzo Bellini in 1829.
As soon as we arrived in Parma, Benedetta took me around a quick and grand tour of the city. Piazza Garibaldi, on of the principle piazzas and gathering points of the city shined brightly in the afternoon light for my newly gazing eyes. She took me to the Duomo where I was again taken aback by the simple Romanesque facade and the lavishly decorated and frescoed interior. The designs were covering every wall surface, and it was as if it grew like ivy over the years, suffocating the walls with angels, saints, and biblical stories. Antonio di Correggio’s ceiling frescoes in the cupola of the Duomo are phenomenal, a sensual illusionistic painter that foreshadowed later Baroque and Rococo art, but never achieving great recognition outside Parma during his time. He might be one of my all time favorite Renaissance artists, and the dramatism of his work makes you dizzy in the swirling flurry of angels amassing in tornado circles as the clouds open up to let Christ ascend into the gold of heaven. Coreggio’s work can also be found in the church situated behind the Duomo, San Giovanni Evangelista, a church that accompanies its monastic complex.
I will stop giving a history lesson, but I will say that the combination of its history produced a vibrant and beautiful city, and the colors of the buildings are sunny and citrus, almost as delicious as its food!
Benni took me to her favorite gelateria, K2, and it was luscious and creamily delicious. If you ever thought that Italian ice cream has no ranking, you are wrong. I’ve never had a gelato so velvety lovely—I almost passed out after eating the chocolate, “Fior di Nutella”. She guided me around the winding streets, pointing out buildings and monuments and greeting many familiar friends and faces along the way.
Friday night we went to the graduation party of two of Benni’s friends and my acquaintances who were having a joint graduation party. They decided to have an aperitivo-style (appetizer/drink event) festa at a bar in the main piazza. I interrupt for the…
Italian Fact of the Day:
Graduation parties:
In the USA: we have a huge celebration for the high school graduation, inviting all of our friends and family to an organized party in the honor of our high school achievements. College graduation parties are not usually organized and widely popular.
In Italy: There is never a celebration for their graduation from their 5 years attending high school. They always celebrate the “festa di laurea” according to their graduations from university. Why do I say “graduations?” Well, the university system in Italia is broken up into two sections: Triennio (3 year) and the Biennio (2 year) degrees. The Biennio specializing degree is usually a necessary component to the Triennio degree, which comprises more general studies. They write a thesis for both. The “festa di laurea” is a very popular event, and there are fun traditions of playing jokes, presenting gag gifts, and writing funny/embarassing poems about the graduates. Of course in Italy, they have two graduations, celebrating both with high-flying regales and colors.
Allora, where was I?? Okay, we went to the party. There were tons of friends, and I met a sack of Parmesan people. Haha, I just translated an Italian expression, “Sacco di gente”, literally—a “Sack of People” instead of “Ton.” We drank wine and the popular “spritz” drink while conversing. Everyone I met was all very welcoming and friendly.
Later we went to a discoteca club, and we all danced until 5:30am to a ridiculous mixture of Italian/English/American 80’s music. I remember looking around at the dance floor at 4am, as “Dancing Queen” was playing, thinking about how absurd the whole array of people and dance moves were. Our feet stuck to the floor due to the “spillage” of drinks. We crashed at her friend’s house for the night.
Her friend’s house was the equivalent of a Parmesan mansion in apartment form! Her dad is a noted Architect in the area, and I enjoyed the taste of the house immensely. There were two floors, high frescoed-ceilings, incredible furniture and accent pieces, and I was very impressed with the paintings hung in the house. A perfect mixture of old structures meeting modern day convenience, style, and technology. I slept in a bed on the second floor with a leopard-skin cover and headboard. We all laughed because I got to sleep in the second-floor “leopard-room,” sharing the bed with their friend Luca (adding to the joke.) No, I didn’t even kiss him! We are just friends, and we both passed out at 6:30am after the group chatted in the kitchen and the girls danced to the “Spice Girls” in her living room at ear-piercing volumes. I bet the angels in that ceiling fresco and antique mammoth chandelier never thought they’d hear the likes of the Spice Girls pumping through hidden booming speakers through the house. If I can personify them for a moment, I would guess they were crying.
The next day we ate lunch at Benni’s grandparent’s house. They own a furniture store in Parma, which she pointed out to me the day before. She spends every Saturday afternoon eating lunch with them, and they kindly invited me for this weekend occasion. We came bearing gifts of different foccacia breads and arancini (Breaded rice balls with meat and sausage stuffed inside—the size of small oranges, or “arancini”). I also chugged water to get rid of my headache induced by nocturnal dancing and wine-drinking. Benni told her grandparents to change up the menu this Saturday because she was unsure if I would like their normal meal, which is eating high-grade meat bought fresh from the machellaio (butcher)—HORSE!!!—but I insisted on sticking to tradition! I wanted to try it! Her grandparents were adorable and very kind and welcoming.
Her grandparents asked me many questions, and they conversed with their two granddaughters, Benni and Bianca, her sister. Her grandmother LOADED my plate with a mushroom-sauced Pasta for our first course, so much that the thick noodles were draping over the size of the curved plate! I could barely fit it all in my stomach, but if I have learned anything from having two doting grandmothers who are amazing cooks in the Italian kitchen—Never leave anything on your plate or it is the biggest insult to the love-labored meal and its maker! I stuffed all 10 pounds of delicious savory pasta in my stomach, washing it down with sparkling water. Last to finish.
We then dug into the foccaccia breads and arancini rice balls as her grandmother prepared the second course, the horse! They asked me if I wanted to eat it crude, as does habitually her grandfather—who literally spreads the raw horse meat on bread as if it were peanut butter! I kindly refused saying that I’d eat it partially cooked with Benni—one step at a time! It is hard to find horse meat, even in Italy; however, they have gone to their trusted Parmesan butcher for years who produces fine cuts of the regal beast. Bianca, the younger sister, never participates in the horse-meat meal, having given it up after she rode a horse for the first time. Drum rollllllllllll--------It was delicious!!!!
Later that evening, the itinerary was to walk around the outdoor “BoulevArt” art show of young Parmesan artists. This was a lovely event sponsored by all of the stores in the center of Parma that featured a street display of 300 artists, predominantly photographers. Taken from its flyer: “A unique event for Parma: Art shows, concerts, dance, theatrical performances, the exit from the darkness of drawers, hundreds of artistic products, fruit of young Parmesan creative minds between the ages of 14 and 35…a multitude of places in which young artists can express their art freely, also through elaboration of “en plain air” (outside) operas…” It was an open theater of art and performance lining every street—all of the stores remaining open as well--until midnight. Okay you get the idea! I was in my glory. Benni’s two friends were displaying their photography in the outdoor show.
This night was fantastic, and Parma was dressed at its best, the art show augmenting the vibrancy of the night. The life of Parma was so consuming and vivacious that I felt like it was actually inhaling and giving back breath to its nightly crowd. The city was way more than its parts; “life” was tangible and ripe to bite and experience its spectrum of flavor as if it were a juicy zangy orange or a chunk of aged Parmesan cheese. People were in droves, participating in the evening passeggiata and swarming in particular high numbers to appreciate the art and support their fellow friends and their art displays. The passeggiata can also be called, in a newly-coined term (by me), “peacocking” in its most conceited form.
I was meeting many many more Parmesan friends, and I revisited many that were at the graduation festival from the night before. We roamed through the sea of heads, and we stopped frequently to greet the many passing friends and acquaintences. In fact, we moved like snails—inch by inch—“ciao” by “ciao”! Parma, despite its many attributes, is richly packed into a rather small city, livable, hospitable. Therefore, there is a strong spirit of the collective unity and cordial recognition between the inhabitants of the town: spirit of place, home, family, friend, neighbor, comradarie, collective memory, gossip, sharing of business. One friend in particular, Giacomo, is hilarious with an animated disposition, and we hit it off from the beginning. He seemed to know everyone in the city, and I found his personable relationship with everyone very tickling and amusing—almost nostalgic for that idea or experience of “community.” However, he also explained that Parma, at times, can become “way too small” with regards to information.
He is a photographer, and we enjoyed walking around amidst all of the art displays discussing the merit of the artists and our favorite photos. There were antique markets and young street performers improvising for crowds as they sat down for outside dinner seating. I almost bought an antique Italian-Latin dictionary from 1839 for 30E, but unfortunately I couldn't justify the purchase without a paycheck. We all stopped for a coffee and gathered to go to a restaurant for dinner. We ate at the restaurant, “Trattoria del Tribunale,” and they make their pasta “in casa.” Beni and her friends were all insistent that I try a famous plate in Parma, the “Torta Fritta.”
We found the restaurant on a quiet more peaceful street away from the commotion of the center city, and we all sat at a big table near the Tribunale (the Justice court); the low lit streets were calming as groups of friends wandered off to their nightly activities and bicycles rode past with the girlfriend or child balancing or secured on the front. I just love the sight of bicycles with big baskets or people piled on one bike bumping across the cobbled stones! It fits so perfectly with the picture!
Anyways, we all had a very enjoyable, relaxing dinner, and they all advised me to try the tortelli d’erbetto—a specialty of Parma and of the restaurant. For our appetizer, they brought out the “torta fritta,” which is basically fried hollow dough (more salty than sweet), and you eat it with a selection of thinly sliced meats: prosciutto di Parma, salame, bresaola, etc. Oh My GOODNESS—it was incredible. My meal came shortly after, and I have no more words left to describe the creamy mouth-watering flavorful sensation of the pasta. I wanted to cry! Tortelli are a kind of small ravioli, and the filling was a creamy cheese, erb combination. Mamma mia, che buona!!!
After dinner, we all took a passeggiata along the streets, past the bustling city center, past the piazzas, past the churches with their belltowers hovering above us in the starry sky—ending at none other but the K2 gelateria, which provided the perfect finishing-touch for my overly-contented and spoiled stomach. We ate our gelato on the steps of a church, and we talked as Giacomo tried to hit on me. Haha. We took one final passeggiata past the hopping street of Via Farini where the masses all flocked to the many bars lining the street. There was music, parties spilling out into the middle of the street, and lots of good-looking men. Wow.
Parma certainly has a style to it, and I have to comment on the number of good-looking people I saw during my days spent in the city. They are definitely a lovely breed, and my eyes were slightly spinning in circles to view all the suave men with sweaters dashed across their shoulders, dark brooding eyes or light features nicely contrasted—some seemingly aloof to their beauty, others clearly conceited “players”, and maybe a few were gay. Who knows! My ignorant guess to describe my initial reaction to these people aside from the water in Parma, would be the mix of French blood that exists there due to the historical control of the city. Many have the lovely combination of light eyes and dark hair-good genes.
I went to sleep with a stomachache due to my excessive ingestion of food during the day, and at one point I thought I would throw up. Luckily, I was determined not to do that and to let digestion work its slow course from the daily smorgasbord.
The next day we woke up and went to Forte dei Marmi, a popular Tuscan vacation spot. Benni’s family owns a house there, and it is a rather chic summer tourist city. It was lovely, and the weather was fantastic!! Benni, her sister and I rode around in a convertible with the top down, they showed me the city, and I relaxed on the beach as the large mountains sat in lounge chairs in the background with margheritas. We joined her family for lunch, and they are incredibly warm and genuine people. I ate small gniocchis with salmon---we ate for 4 hours under a shaded umbrella next to the beach. I felt very much at peace looking at the sparkling ocean. Benni, her sister Bianca and I drove home with the radio, and that night we returned to Milan.
Summary: I think that I gained about 10 pounds. I also met about 200 Parmesan people. I've never eaten such amazing food in all of my FLIPPING life!!! I also ate the creamiest ice cream I've ever tried. My first trip to Parma was absolutely enjoyable, unforgettable, and I hope to return soon. Advice of the day: When life hands you a chunk of fine Parmesan aged cheese—eat it, eat all of it, and soak it in. Hell, use it as soap if you please.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Passeggiatas and Decisions Made.
Italian Fact of the Day:
What is a "passeggiata"?
Literally a "passeggiata" is translated into "a walk or stroll". I will mention "passeggiatas" frequently in my blogs because it is not only a word, but it is a way of life here in Italy. I can not even count the number of passeggiatas that I've taken in all parts of this country, and it is a habitual activity that is practically impossible to accomplish in its full ritualistic form in the United States. The streets have been constructed with the currents of Italian footprints, always converging in piazzas and zones of commercial or public activity.
In fact the streets outside my window are swinging with Jazz music and buzzing with the noises of a thousand chattering Italians as they relax sipping cocktails for an aperitivo along the Naviglio waterway. Some even raise their voices in song! The bars and restaurants set up huge tents in the street during the warmer months, and they go all out with claiming their street space to compose elaborate arrangements of tables, chairs, and lounges for their prospective nightly crowds-finishing touches are added with candles. As aperitivo hour approaches (7:00), they make sure to leave an area of the street open for the crowds that will pave the passeggiata runway for the evening.
The runway is important, and you know that you are making a statement when you walk through the crowds. Walking alone is not advisable passeggiata behavior, and if you walk alone, at least pretend that you are headed somewhere fabulous! I hope that you have put thought into your attire for the evening! Every night the streets are filled with life and a flurry of commotion, music drifting from the various locales, while wine and cocktails tune up the tastebuds for the night's joyride. The aroma of Italian cooking permeates the air as sizzling pizzas, aperitivo selections, and restaurant dishes are placed in front of the people lounging for a night-long affair. On popular evenings, you are lucky to battle the advancing army of parading people, battling for your piece of street to tread as aimlessly as you please!
The routes are undetermined and spontaneous--you can choose a new street, alley or bridge at any given moment! It adds to the excitement of the undestinational walk--or fashionable meandering if you will. Couples strolling hand in hand, kisses seized mid-step, and that one bad boyfriend that checks you out as his girlfriend is clinging to his arm. Groups of singles flocking in packs, and teenagers scurry around armed with cellphones, fashion, and sarcasm. The men perch themselves along this nightly runway, calling out to those "lucky" ladies or just staring enough to make them blush. The mature couples walk arm in arm-the woman dressed in light evening dress and her hubby in suave pair of colored pants, a seamless shirt, and a colored sweater tied casually around his neck--picked for you today out of the Ralph Lauren (insert Italian trendy casual designer) catalogue!
The passaggiata does not have to be an evening activity, and it is usually a meandering stroll that ends with piazzas, restaurants, bars, stores, supermarkets, a gelateria, or any other destination. It is a way of life, it is a series of encounters, it is a scenic tour, it is a social event, it is a peaceful unwind, it is a strutting show, it is a current of people, it is hand-in-hand-kiss me over the bridge, it is the breeze in your face, it is the flavor of your gelato, it is the color of your lips-the light in his eyes, it is the laughter in the air, it is undemanding, it is the freedom without agenda, it is the joy of life.
Aside from my fact of the day:
I spent the whole day with Matteo, and he was waiting for me in piazza del Duomo. It is fantastic when he immediately dips me to give me a big kiss, and I wear my red lipstick solely for that instant. We had a lovely day spent together, and as always, it began with a coffee shared together near the Duomo. His first question was, "Well, Cara, have you made your bid decision--will you tell me?"
I had told him yesterday that I decided on my current life situation/job search here in Italy, but I didn't want to tell him until the end of the week. Seeing as I gave the confirmation phone calls and emails this morning, it would only be natural that I announce my news about my imminent future. Will she be heading State-side in December, or will she remain in Italy was the boiled down question. After much preoccupation and soul-searching, she has dug deep and found an answer!!! Drum roll please.... (as no one reads my blog, I imagine that there is much built-up suspense.)
I have decided to take the job teaching art and art history in Milan, and this means that my butt will sign a contract keeping me in Italy until at least June!! I accept this job with the hopes of gaining experience, a stable monthly salary, and the chance to try to continue with artistic endeavors in Italy--painting, finding an internship, and/or creating murals.
When I was struggling with this decision with respect to my life goals, I took a time out to evaluate my different opportunities, which lead me to create a "Priorities" list. On my "priorities" page, I listed all of the most important components of my life--places, people, goals, ,interests, skills--at the bottom of the page, and the idea was to list their importance in numerical order at the top. I found this exercise to be completely futile and frustrating. There was no way that I could ever decide on the direction of my life based on my ranking of priorities! In effect, I have decided that priorities are situational and time-based, and sometimes it is not the right moment to be hammering directly at your main goal when you could be addressing other issues or interests that fall in place. You could be collecting bits and pieces that will slowly build a foundation for your future endeavors. When I speak about priorities it means evaluating what is the experience you want to have at a certain point in your life. Just because you choose to be far away doesn't mean you don't care to be close to your family and friends--it just means you want a different experience. HOwever, it is important to note that you determine your own happiness, no matter where that might be.
I could delve into my reasoning and careful thought-processes, but I have saved those treats only for those privy ears of my family--God bless their souls! It suffices to say that I've chosen to continue on my Italian adventure, a road that is as windy as those that curve up the Tuscan hills--one that only has more promise for new episodes and intrigue along my "passeggiata". We will see what this new "teaching" chapter will blow my way!
Matteo and I went to an art show of a famous Italian political satirist, Forattini, and it was incredibly interesting. We ate a pizza and lounged in the park for the rest of the day. It was lovely and relaxing.
Tomorrow I pack to go to Parma with my girlfriend. It should be a fabulous weekend!
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Friendship n Faith--never underestimated!
Anyways, I had a very low-key day today. I have decided to look at my "big decisions" (earthquake tremor) with a more pleasant light. I now look at them as different opportunities, between which I can choose. Moreover, I also know that making one decision over the next isn't the end of the world. I think I've made my decision, but I will make the announcement at the end of the week; I tend to be capricious.
In this moment, I would like to first refer to my friend, KT's blog. KT is my girlfriend who is working in Vienna, and we have landed ourselves in similar European situations:
http://ktintheclouds.blogspot.com/2009/09/on-flipping-out-and-having-strong-lady.html
First: Her perfect reference to "Jerry MaGuire" is priceless considering our current and concurrent anxiety attacks over our life decisions. We are both intelligent post-graduates throwing caution to the wind--trying to live out our dreams and follow creative pathways, art and writing. In effect, we are also postponing our official entrance into possibly more practical opportunities and phases of our life.
I can't tell you how much I identify with Katie's uncertainty and flip-out sessions-- (please refer to my crazily introspective "poem" below for justification). It is very easily to doubt yourself and your intentions when it seems like you could be "wasting time." When you take two girls who are accustomed to achieving success within the different "brackets" of the ladder towards "professionalism"--what happens when they throw themselves out of the system of measurement? KT and I have now found ourselves in a different respective ponds with our nicely packaged toolkits floating on the surface of the lake. I believe there is a bird pooping on mine. It could just be that we, like Jerry Maguire, have taken our fish and left the F'ing building!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=onRbNsxRBVQ
KT then goes on to discuss the support of her girlfriend from home, who wrote her a thoughtful email listing all of the reasons why she is still fabulous, and why she should calm down and enjoy the ride. I also found this very pertinent to my situation in that I have also found my support and encouragement from those people that mean the most to me at home, during this time of indecision and self-doubt.
I really do think that my mother, my sister, and my closest friends will all become saints by supporting me when I am in crisis. I write or call with "emergency" life situations, and they all unselfishly help me sort out my thoughts, giving me their best advice. At the end of the day, it is not their advice that is most important--it is the fact that they are there, unconditionally, showing their love and support for my happiness. Every single friend that I have talked to this week has told me, "Do what makes you happy!" In the end, only I can do the soul searching-only I can decide what is best for me--but these wonderful, fabulous people in my life keep up my spirit to continue with my own road.
My mom is my number one woman, and she deserves the medal of honor! She loves me enough to be my sounding board when necessary!
My best girlfriends from Pittsburgh and college and I have recently picked up the ball again with sending group-emails, vowing to stay in touch every week despite our busy and chaotic schedules. I guess you could say that we have rediscovered our importance, especially because we are all passing through periods of decision, transition, or loneliness--most all of us far away from our families and one another. We have all scattered since our college days, and no one can replace those true-blue friendships ever-present in our lives.
Here is a quick glimpse of the fabulous ladies in my life. Emily is in Connecticut (recently transferred from NYC), working finance for ESPN and living with her boyfriend. Jenn is working in her supply-chain job for the steel company in the Burgh, excited about her new beau. Fan is studying at Pitt medschool with her boyfriend, stressed over the truck-loads of information. Kim's single and selling real estate near Arlington. Alison and Sue are living together in a cute blue house in Arlington--Alison working in insurance with a lovely boyfriend, and Sue is an accountant thinking about her next move. Lacy, recently transferred from Memphis, is working for Unilever in New York while her boyfriend attends dental school. My sister is student-teaching 5th grade this semester at Penn State. You could say that I live the furthest away! They will all be attending the Penn State vs. Ohio State football game together, and you can't imagine how much I want to be there!! In any case, I miss them and their friendships dearly, and I do long for our reunion often when I'm over here hopping around different Italian friend circles. I miss "us" very much--and in a way, I miss me--the me that I am when I am with them. Sigh.
At the end of the day, I will have to agree with KT and say that I am blessed. I talk a lot about the importance of finding this silly personal road in life, but I realize that the road isn't what is most important, if at all. The people that help you find that road through their faith and love in you are the workers behind the scenes-chopping down the trees to help you see clearly. Those best friends don't give you direction, but they give you love to find the way. Faith is a beautiful thing.
With regard to my current life decisions--I wrote in my first paragraph that I am looking at my choices more as opportunities instead of feared mis-steps. My friends are always right!
In this moment, I would like to first refer to my friend, KT's blog. KT is my girlfriend who is working in Vienna, and we have landed ourselves in similar European situations:
http://ktintheclouds.blogspot.com/2009/09/on-flipping-out-and-having-strong-lady.html
First: Her perfect reference to "Jerry MaGuire" is priceless considering our current and concurrent anxiety attacks over our life decisions. We are both intelligent post-graduates throwing caution to the wind--trying to live out our dreams and follow creative pathways, art and writing. In effect, we are also postponing our official entrance into possibly more practical opportunities and phases of our life.
I can't tell you how much I identify with Katie's uncertainty and flip-out sessions-- (please refer to my crazily introspective "poem" below for justification). It is very easily to doubt yourself and your intentions when it seems like you could be "wasting time." When you take two girls who are accustomed to achieving success within the different "brackets" of the ladder towards "professionalism"--what happens when they throw themselves out of the system of measurement? KT and I have now found ourselves in a different respective ponds with our nicely packaged toolkits floating on the surface of the lake. I believe there is a bird pooping on mine. It could just be that we, like Jerry Maguire, have taken our fish and left the F'ing building!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=onRbNsxRBVQ
KT then goes on to discuss the support of her girlfriend from home, who wrote her a thoughtful email listing all of the reasons why she is still fabulous, and why she should calm down and enjoy the ride. I also found this very pertinent to my situation in that I have also found my support and encouragement from those people that mean the most to me at home, during this time of indecision and self-doubt.
I really do think that my mother, my sister, and my closest friends will all become saints by supporting me when I am in crisis. I write or call with "emergency" life situations, and they all unselfishly help me sort out my thoughts, giving me their best advice. At the end of the day, it is not their advice that is most important--it is the fact that they are there, unconditionally, showing their love and support for my happiness. Every single friend that I have talked to this week has told me, "Do what makes you happy!" In the end, only I can do the soul searching-only I can decide what is best for me--but these wonderful, fabulous people in my life keep up my spirit to continue with my own road.
My mom is my number one woman, and she deserves the medal of honor! She loves me enough to be my sounding board when necessary!
My best girlfriends from Pittsburgh and college and I have recently picked up the ball again with sending group-emails, vowing to stay in touch every week despite our busy and chaotic schedules. I guess you could say that we have rediscovered our importance, especially because we are all passing through periods of decision, transition, or loneliness--most all of us far away from our families and one another. We have all scattered since our college days, and no one can replace those true-blue friendships ever-present in our lives.
Here is a quick glimpse of the fabulous ladies in my life. Emily is in Connecticut (recently transferred from NYC), working finance for ESPN and living with her boyfriend. Jenn is working in her supply-chain job for the steel company in the Burgh, excited about her new beau. Fan is studying at Pitt medschool with her boyfriend, stressed over the truck-loads of information. Kim's single and selling real estate near Arlington. Alison and Sue are living together in a cute blue house in Arlington--Alison working in insurance with a lovely boyfriend, and Sue is an accountant thinking about her next move. Lacy, recently transferred from Memphis, is working for Unilever in New York while her boyfriend attends dental school. My sister is student-teaching 5th grade this semester at Penn State. You could say that I live the furthest away! They will all be attending the Penn State vs. Ohio State football game together, and you can't imagine how much I want to be there!! In any case, I miss them and their friendships dearly, and I do long for our reunion often when I'm over here hopping around different Italian friend circles. I miss "us" very much--and in a way, I miss me--the me that I am when I am with them. Sigh.
At the end of the day, I will have to agree with KT and say that I am blessed. I talk a lot about the importance of finding this silly personal road in life, but I realize that the road isn't what is most important, if at all. The people that help you find that road through their faith and love in you are the workers behind the scenes-chopping down the trees to help you see clearly. Those best friends don't give you direction, but they give you love to find the way. Faith is a beautiful thing.
With regard to my current life decisions--I wrote in my first paragraph that I am looking at my choices more as opportunities instead of feared mis-steps. My friends are always right!
Italian Fact of the Day Begins...
Italian fact of the day:
Why do most Italians ride scooters?
1. Their cities and the country in general are more crowded--parking is always a hassle and traffic is a complete mess, especially in big cities like Milan. It is more convenient to have a small motor-bike that can weave in and out of the cars and find parking in small spaces.
2. Considering the fact that many roads in Italian cities, especially those in smaller towns, can be very small, narrow, and/or steep depending on the terrain. These areas have amassed their topography over uncountable centuries, and their roads tend to be more convoluted and tangled, intersecting, weaving, and bumping into piazzas. Of course I am not discounting city-planning in the least, which is always impressive and present in every city---an urban scheme that charts the path of human activity and community interaction. Have you ever seen a map of Milan? It looks kind of like a spider web in that there are larger circles, called le circonvallazioni, that ring the traffic in, out and around the city. Scooters are conducive for any road type or route.
3. They are not allowed to get their drivers license until they are 18 years old. However, they are permitted to drive motor-scooters at the age of 14. Therefore, teenagers are raised on two wheels before they earn their right of passage.
4. It is soooo fun to ride a scooter around the city, zipping by monuments and feeling the air rush against you! I love watching people of ever age hop onto their motorini! From teenagers: dressed in the latest fashion, with their high top shoes and conformist brands, styled hair-dos under helmets, flying to their next encounter---to the working class: women flipping their hair and pressing the gas with high heels, men with flying suit tails flapping in the breeze weaving through morning traffic, picking up their children after school and securing them in the bike---to the older people: still hanging in with the high blood-pressure traffic maneuvers and ready as every to make absurd high-flying gestures at the crazy driving comportment of the fellow motorists--that absurd driving etiquette which is innately Italian.
5. Its just Italian!
Okay, I have decided to include the "Italian fact of the day" section, and I hope that you enjoy these glimpses into the culture!! Let me know of any questions you might have!
Well, I guess you can say that I had a much more light-hearted day today. Did you know that Dan Brown's new book, "The Lost Symbol"is selling like wildfire? I am sure that many of you have started reading it. In fact, it may come as a surprise to you that I have not read one of Dan Brown's books. I had meant to start reading the "Da Vinci Code" but I never got around to it. I also never watched one of the films, and my only motivation to consider seeing "Angels and Demons" was to see all of the filming done in Rome. I am not one for following book crazes, and don't even ask me about "Harry Potter" because I have hoisted a readers strike against that book rage long ago! I came across a very humorous website that I thought you would all enjoy--It lists Dan Brown's 20 worst sentences from his books,and it asks if his unpopularity with the critics is justified:
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/books/booknews/6194031/The-Lost-Symbol-and-The-Da-Vinci-Code-author-Dan-Browns-20-worst-sentences.html
I was laughing outloud.
Aside from thoroughly cleaning my "room"---I call it my room but it is still technically missing a wall, haha---I also took care of a lot of little matters, went on a long run along the Naviglio, and I cooked a fabulous pasta dinner. I love cooking, and when I feel more stable here in Milan, I will be much more creative with dishes. At the moment, I can't afford to buy tons of groceries.
I had a fun conversation with Matteo tonight. He is really sweet,and we had a huge misunderstanding over the world, "zucca" or "pumpkin." It was fairly hilarious, and I am now committed to 1. Cooking a full fledged Thanksgiving dinner in Italy after I described the traditional meal to him. Italians have no idea how delicious and ceremonial Thanksgiving dinner is! Also--he has NEVER EATED A COOKED TURKEY!!!!!!!!!!
2. Baking him a Pumpkin pie because he has never tried it. He never thought you could cook with pumpkin before his visit to Parma, which is was what started the whole conversation. I am going to Parma this weekend with my friend, Benedetta. Matteo is adorable, and when I say complicated sentences correctly, he promises me kisses; hopefully they will all be delivered as promised for this Thursday evening when he comes to see me.
Tomorrow is: G20 Summit in Pittsburgh where the city is literally shutting down for the convention and protests.
Tomorrow is: Mark's birthday.
I must go to bed--I might read a book or start a film before passing out. Tomorrow will be a busy day.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Life decisions...Mamma Mia!
September 21, 2009
Cara plays philosopher for the evening while reflecting about life choices on a bridge--she goes overboard. I bet this will freak you out-but I'm honest about my thoughts! haha:
Where can a future be found?
Where can it be built?
How do you choose a way?
When the divergence is so great.
What is wasting time?
What is the uselessness of veering?
What is straight? What is sure?
What is a wrong choice?
What is repercussion?
What is interest, what is passion?
What is applicable, what is lacking?
What is pointless activity?
Why do we deem “no purpose”?
Productivity vs. recreation…
What is the separation?
What is place, what is priority?
The importance of your steps.
When is it giving up?
The wrong timing.
Bowing out, bowing in.
Did I leave before the show?
Popcorn, soda, anticipation.
Stage fright or wrong theater.
What are my goals, in what order?
What does it matter?
Chance, opportunity, indigence.
Inspiration, luck, indulgence.
Confidence and faith
To what end?
Act now.
Acting.
To act.
Fear of the act.
Torn in directions.
Decision.
Place, time, moment.
Insert: happiness
Much to do-
Much to wonder.
I'm crazy!! This is what came out of my “life” brainstorm tonight. I stopped to reflect on the way home from a “job interview” here in Milan to become a part-time babysitter. I decided to buy an ice cream cone and meditate about my life’s direction, where I am going, and what passion would have more sense for me to follow—what do I really want to accomplish, and what circumstance would facilitate this road. It all comes down to one main question: Is Italy the best place for me now or am I stalling on the commode? For the right reasons, that is…because Italy is a fabulously alluring commode if I do say so myself.
I started out making a really well-organized and pragmatic list—complete with pluses and minuses. I had a list of my job possibilities and a list of the USofA versus Italy. In the end, I thought about it hard, and I created an absurd “poem.” It is so productive and fitting considering my situation, right? Yeah.
My friend, and co-dreamer, KT, who is now living in Vienna sent me a message today. She asked if I wanted to spin on a mountain in Switzerland in December. Of course this takes my idea of pragmatism right out of the door, and it makes me not want to return to the US in December, spiting some kind of force to “do something with my life.” Maybe my act of resisting is only hurting my main passion in life, which is art and painting, or maybe I am being too hasty? Maybe my yearning to create art is holding me back from other creative and adventurous impulses, or maybe I have serious issues! Maybe I have ADD—give this girl some meds! But no antihistamines please.
I have been absent due to the fact that I’ve had no computer connection these few days, and I have been slightly preoccupied thinking about what direction I want to take with my life. I could stay in Italy until June, thereby prolonging my stay and most likely a stable platform to create art or a career in the US. However, leaving prematurely in Italy might land me with fewer art connections and experiences here on the boot. There is always the possibility of returning!
I have the option to teach art and art history to middle/high school students three days a week, thereby giving me the plausible opportunity to search for an internship or paint, or make murals until June in Italy. Taking this opportunity would mean I would remain in Italy, but the career-enhancing opportunities are always hypothetical hopes. Becoming an art teacher to anyone but university students has never been a path I wanted to pursue as a young artistic career. Hmmm. Therefore, I would be doing precarious work until December? Hmmm. The Italian school to which I am enrolled is definitely not worth continuing—the education and certificate are not meeting my expectations.
Ohh don’t worry, this is only 1/5th of my thoughts—I will spare you the rest.
Anyways, I collected my thoughts along the big naviglio waterway, eating a gelato and pondering about "the next steps" of my life. I find that the commotion of the Naviglio helps me think as all the noises level out to a low background hum. Choruses of conversation, laughter, one laugh that sputters like a low machine-gun dadadadadadada....dadadadadada.....dadadadadada with cricket intervals, clink, clink-clinks of glasses, far away traffic horns and ambulance sirens, flashing car lights dashing by---it puts me at ease. The life of the Naviglio is so vibrant and buzzing, and it is lovely to be the bystander sitting on the bridge watching the chorus in action. Quiet libraries make me anxious, and I usually have the urge to pee when it is too quiet. I try to make sound because the solitude distracts me!
Last night I went to the Milan Film festival to watch a the winner of the "lungometraggio," or "long films." It was a Japanese film that made me want to jump out of my skull it was so painfully stagnant in its slow-rhythm, black and white, still camera, lifeless, minimal composition. It was about Japanese teens that close themselves in their rooms for years because they are scared to function in the real world, like it lost its meaning for them. I dont know--in the end everyone thought that it was very artistic and well made, and on that fact I guess I can't argue. However, a few said, "You know that actually happens in Japan?" I respond: I would imagine that it happens all over the world--people or teenagers that shut themselves out of the functioning world. But hell, what do I know--maybe this is a Japanese teenager phenomenon. In any case, a 2-hour movie about it might have better been served in 1 hour. I was going crazy. You want those teenagers to leave their rooms?--show them this film!!! When we got outside, the monotonous intensity of the film was contrasted by a zany Brasilian band singing lively and folky songs in Portugese. That is the end of my story.
Cara plays philosopher for the evening while reflecting about life choices on a bridge--she goes overboard. I bet this will freak you out-but I'm honest about my thoughts! haha:
Where can a future be found?
Where can it be built?
How do you choose a way?
When the divergence is so great.
What is wasting time?
What is the uselessness of veering?
What is straight? What is sure?
What is a wrong choice?
What is repercussion?
What is interest, what is passion?
What is applicable, what is lacking?
What is pointless activity?
Why do we deem “no purpose”?
Productivity vs. recreation…
What is the separation?
What is place, what is priority?
The importance of your steps.
When is it giving up?
The wrong timing.
Bowing out, bowing in.
Did I leave before the show?
Popcorn, soda, anticipation.
Stage fright or wrong theater.
What are my goals, in what order?
What does it matter?
Chance, opportunity, indigence.
Inspiration, luck, indulgence.
Confidence and faith
To what end?
Act now.
Acting.
To act.
Fear of the act.
Torn in directions.
Decision.
Place, time, moment.
Insert: happiness
Much to do-
Much to wonder.
I'm crazy!! This is what came out of my “life” brainstorm tonight. I stopped to reflect on the way home from a “job interview” here in Milan to become a part-time babysitter. I decided to buy an ice cream cone and meditate about my life’s direction, where I am going, and what passion would have more sense for me to follow—what do I really want to accomplish, and what circumstance would facilitate this road. It all comes down to one main question: Is Italy the best place for me now or am I stalling on the commode? For the right reasons, that is…because Italy is a fabulously alluring commode if I do say so myself.
I started out making a really well-organized and pragmatic list—complete with pluses and minuses. I had a list of my job possibilities and a list of the USofA versus Italy. In the end, I thought about it hard, and I created an absurd “poem.” It is so productive and fitting considering my situation, right? Yeah.
My friend, and co-dreamer, KT, who is now living in Vienna sent me a message today. She asked if I wanted to spin on a mountain in Switzerland in December. Of course this takes my idea of pragmatism right out of the door, and it makes me not want to return to the US in December, spiting some kind of force to “do something with my life.” Maybe my act of resisting is only hurting my main passion in life, which is art and painting, or maybe I am being too hasty? Maybe my yearning to create art is holding me back from other creative and adventurous impulses, or maybe I have serious issues! Maybe I have ADD—give this girl some meds! But no antihistamines please.
I have been absent due to the fact that I’ve had no computer connection these few days, and I have been slightly preoccupied thinking about what direction I want to take with my life. I could stay in Italy until June, thereby prolonging my stay and most likely a stable platform to create art or a career in the US. However, leaving prematurely in Italy might land me with fewer art connections and experiences here on the boot. There is always the possibility of returning!
I have the option to teach art and art history to middle/high school students three days a week, thereby giving me the plausible opportunity to search for an internship or paint, or make murals until June in Italy. Taking this opportunity would mean I would remain in Italy, but the career-enhancing opportunities are always hypothetical hopes. Becoming an art teacher to anyone but university students has never been a path I wanted to pursue as a young artistic career. Hmmm. Therefore, I would be doing precarious work until December? Hmmm. The Italian school to which I am enrolled is definitely not worth continuing—the education and certificate are not meeting my expectations.
Ohh don’t worry, this is only 1/5th of my thoughts—I will spare you the rest.
Anyways, I collected my thoughts along the big naviglio waterway, eating a gelato and pondering about "the next steps" of my life. I find that the commotion of the Naviglio helps me think as all the noises level out to a low background hum. Choruses of conversation, laughter, one laugh that sputters like a low machine-gun dadadadadadada....dadadadadada.....dadadadadada with cricket intervals, clink, clink-clinks of glasses, far away traffic horns and ambulance sirens, flashing car lights dashing by---it puts me at ease. The life of the Naviglio is so vibrant and buzzing, and it is lovely to be the bystander sitting on the bridge watching the chorus in action. Quiet libraries make me anxious, and I usually have the urge to pee when it is too quiet. I try to make sound because the solitude distracts me!
Last night I went to the Milan Film festival to watch a the winner of the "lungometraggio," or "long films." It was a Japanese film that made me want to jump out of my skull it was so painfully stagnant in its slow-rhythm, black and white, still camera, lifeless, minimal composition. It was about Japanese teens that close themselves in their rooms for years because they are scared to function in the real world, like it lost its meaning for them. I dont know--in the end everyone thought that it was very artistic and well made, and on that fact I guess I can't argue. However, a few said, "You know that actually happens in Japan?" I respond: I would imagine that it happens all over the world--people or teenagers that shut themselves out of the functioning world. But hell, what do I know--maybe this is a Japanese teenager phenomenon. In any case, a 2-hour movie about it might have better been served in 1 hour. I was going crazy. You want those teenagers to leave their rooms?--show them this film!!! When we got outside, the monotonous intensity of the film was contrasted by a zany Brasilian band singing lively and folky songs in Portugese. That is the end of my story.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Mosquitos, Meds, and life goin' nowhere.
Friday September 18th, 2009
I am eating a delicious late lunch that I have prepared for myself, and I am very frustrated as to the fact that I have no internet. I am not surprised to discover how dependent I have become with my computer—email, online information, online newspapers, translations, bank accounts, etc. By far, I am mostly agitated that I have no convenient means of calling my family, and I’m agitated for this reason.
I have just come home from a job interview, and I had lots of things that I would have liked to discuss with my mom, dad, siblings, or best friend; however communication is never easy considering the time zones and our dependence and allegiance to the internet for our contact. Oh well, I guess I will have to be patient to talk with them later.
It is mid-day, and I am practically falling asleep. I made a mistake in going to the Pharmacy because they gave me an antihistamine to combat my many mosquito bites, and I took it during the day. Obviously you are supposed to take one in the morning, but my reaction to these medications is never favorable for clear thinking or productivity. I feel like a zombie, and I could lay my head down on this table and sleep. Grrr! You might ask why I am in need of this medication?
Well, I currently have 32 mosquito bites on my face and neck because those damn bugs ate the hell out of me the other night when I was sleeping. I tossed and turned for two nights in a row because I heard them flying by my head, and I had repellant spray rubbed all over my body—at one fitful sleepy moment, I sprayed the crap all over my face so as to protect myself and allow a more peaceful sleep. To no avail. The second night, I covered my body from head to foot in long sweatpants, a fleece, and socks; the outcome was worse than then expected because they only bit up my face and my hands even though I buried my face in my pillow for half the night. It was a nightmare, and I was completely paranoid. My roommates leave the windows open, (and in turn I close them) and we live near a water canal, which explains for their predominance in this area. Yesterday, I looked like I had chicken pox, and my one shy and timid classmate looked at my face with a smirk and asked what happened! Haha. Therefore, last night I went all out with precaution. I lit a “zampirone” which is a slow burning spiral that emits smoke to repel them, and I placed one near my bed and the other on my desk. Normally they are meant for outside your windows instead of indoors because they emit a rather unpleasant smell, but I was desperate! I also covered from head to foot, including wrapping a scarf over my face and neck in talibanish-fashion. I slept without the mosquitos last night, but I was very uncomfortable to say the least. Therefore, I succeeded in deterring the augmentation of my “skin disease.” Lets hope they fade soon!
Yesterday Matteo came to Milan to spend the day with me, despite the fact that I had to go to school and take a test at 2 pm. He first insisted that we go directly to see my murals, after a coffee of course! We met at the Duomo, and it was great to see him! I truly do enjoy his company, and I was pleased to be able to show him what I did in the hospital. We arrived, and he was very complimentary of my work; however, given his absent knowledge about art, I am not sure that he can fully appreciate what I did. It was only slightly disappointing. Vice versa, I cannot fully appreciate the craft and style of his writing, so I guess we’re even. At least he shows an interest in my art—and a great interest in my well-being. Afterwards, I took him to the fabulous gelateria near the hospital before turning back to my part of town to take a university test.
As we were on the tram running towards my apartment, I realized how much I liked Matteo’s company-how much I liked him. I laughed, and in a moment of surprised satisfaction that I was falling for him, I flashed him a genuine smile telling him—“Tu mi piacci.” “I like you”—giggle, giggle. As I looked beyond our momentary flirtation to Milan passing by the tram windows—still glimmering with affection--, my eye caught a sticker stamped on a passing pole that read, “I love Mark.” I am not kidding you—it’s the honest to God truth. I was stupefied over the coincidence. I got over it, and I went on enjoying our day together.
I took my test, and I got a 29 out of 30, which I thought was completely deserving of a perfect score. I, in fact, don’t give a damn about that school so I wasn’t going to get fussy about one point on a test. However, in principle, I thought it was absurd and unjust not to give us full credit after many many hours of organization and labor on the project. I used my hospital murals as my project for my only visual art course offered during the semester, and I orally presented my exam with my friend Massimigliano who created the graphic panels to accompany my work. The only plausible reason for detracting one point would be because it was a more commercialized, less personal project or body of work. Those two “artsy professors” can go take a hike and get lost in their absorbed worlds. To add to my complete dislike of the course, the school structure, and the annoying exam set-up (oral exams that last all the live long day), I also just wanted to escape to spend time with Matteo. It was nice to see many of my classmates, but I am not really close with any of them due to my part-time status and the fact that I am not your typical art girl type. In fact, my favorite classmates are my friends from Iraq. I’m an odd ball in many ways, but I find it hard to find good friends, in any sector.
Grrrr. Stop. I have no skills, and I hate the fact that I want to be an artist. I don’t know what I want any more. I give up. I found a job opportunity to teach art in a middle school/ art history teacher in a high school here-stable job, speaking English, decent pay. But, it has nothing to do really with my ambitions, so does it have any effing sense other than the fact that it is an opportunity and it is in Italy. Not really. Anything sounds good when you are on your last dollar, as I am. It takes either a crazy or wise person to turn down opportunities that seem to be heaven sent. And I was so excited and relieved earlier…..I hate me!
I am eating a delicious late lunch that I have prepared for myself, and I am very frustrated as to the fact that I have no internet. I am not surprised to discover how dependent I have become with my computer—email, online information, online newspapers, translations, bank accounts, etc. By far, I am mostly agitated that I have no convenient means of calling my family, and I’m agitated for this reason.
I have just come home from a job interview, and I had lots of things that I would have liked to discuss with my mom, dad, siblings, or best friend; however communication is never easy considering the time zones and our dependence and allegiance to the internet for our contact. Oh well, I guess I will have to be patient to talk with them later.
It is mid-day, and I am practically falling asleep. I made a mistake in going to the Pharmacy because they gave me an antihistamine to combat my many mosquito bites, and I took it during the day. Obviously you are supposed to take one in the morning, but my reaction to these medications is never favorable for clear thinking or productivity. I feel like a zombie, and I could lay my head down on this table and sleep. Grrr! You might ask why I am in need of this medication?
Well, I currently have 32 mosquito bites on my face and neck because those damn bugs ate the hell out of me the other night when I was sleeping. I tossed and turned for two nights in a row because I heard them flying by my head, and I had repellant spray rubbed all over my body—at one fitful sleepy moment, I sprayed the crap all over my face so as to protect myself and allow a more peaceful sleep. To no avail. The second night, I covered my body from head to foot in long sweatpants, a fleece, and socks; the outcome was worse than then expected because they only bit up my face and my hands even though I buried my face in my pillow for half the night. It was a nightmare, and I was completely paranoid. My roommates leave the windows open, (and in turn I close them) and we live near a water canal, which explains for their predominance in this area. Yesterday, I looked like I had chicken pox, and my one shy and timid classmate looked at my face with a smirk and asked what happened! Haha. Therefore, last night I went all out with precaution. I lit a “zampirone” which is a slow burning spiral that emits smoke to repel them, and I placed one near my bed and the other on my desk. Normally they are meant for outside your windows instead of indoors because they emit a rather unpleasant smell, but I was desperate! I also covered from head to foot, including wrapping a scarf over my face and neck in talibanish-fashion. I slept without the mosquitos last night, but I was very uncomfortable to say the least. Therefore, I succeeded in deterring the augmentation of my “skin disease.” Lets hope they fade soon!
Yesterday Matteo came to Milan to spend the day with me, despite the fact that I had to go to school and take a test at 2 pm. He first insisted that we go directly to see my murals, after a coffee of course! We met at the Duomo, and it was great to see him! I truly do enjoy his company, and I was pleased to be able to show him what I did in the hospital. We arrived, and he was very complimentary of my work; however, given his absent knowledge about art, I am not sure that he can fully appreciate what I did. It was only slightly disappointing. Vice versa, I cannot fully appreciate the craft and style of his writing, so I guess we’re even. At least he shows an interest in my art—and a great interest in my well-being. Afterwards, I took him to the fabulous gelateria near the hospital before turning back to my part of town to take a university test.
As we were on the tram running towards my apartment, I realized how much I liked Matteo’s company-how much I liked him. I laughed, and in a moment of surprised satisfaction that I was falling for him, I flashed him a genuine smile telling him—“Tu mi piacci.” “I like you”—giggle, giggle. As I looked beyond our momentary flirtation to Milan passing by the tram windows—still glimmering with affection--, my eye caught a sticker stamped on a passing pole that read, “I love Mark.” I am not kidding you—it’s the honest to God truth. I was stupefied over the coincidence. I got over it, and I went on enjoying our day together.
I took my test, and I got a 29 out of 30, which I thought was completely deserving of a perfect score. I, in fact, don’t give a damn about that school so I wasn’t going to get fussy about one point on a test. However, in principle, I thought it was absurd and unjust not to give us full credit after many many hours of organization and labor on the project. I used my hospital murals as my project for my only visual art course offered during the semester, and I orally presented my exam with my friend Massimigliano who created the graphic panels to accompany my work. The only plausible reason for detracting one point would be because it was a more commercialized, less personal project or body of work. Those two “artsy professors” can go take a hike and get lost in their absorbed worlds. To add to my complete dislike of the course, the school structure, and the annoying exam set-up (oral exams that last all the live long day), I also just wanted to escape to spend time with Matteo. It was nice to see many of my classmates, but I am not really close with any of them due to my part-time status and the fact that I am not your typical art girl type. In fact, my favorite classmates are my friends from Iraq. I’m an odd ball in many ways, but I find it hard to find good friends, in any sector.
Grrrr. Stop. I have no skills, and I hate the fact that I want to be an artist. I don’t know what I want any more. I give up. I found a job opportunity to teach art in a middle school/ art history teacher in a high school here-stable job, speaking English, decent pay. But, it has nothing to do really with my ambitions, so does it have any effing sense other than the fact that it is an opportunity and it is in Italy. Not really. Anything sounds good when you are on your last dollar, as I am. It takes either a crazy or wise person to turn down opportunities that seem to be heaven sent. And I was so excited and relieved earlier…..I hate me!
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Sono un Farabutto--I am a Trickster!!
I would love to talk about "Farabuttis" tonight, and I think you will all find it extremely amusing when I give you the scoop on this Farabutto. First of all, the word, "Farabutto," in Italian means "trickster." Now I would like to give you a quick update and summary about the current situation surrounding the Italian Prime Minister, Berlusconi, before bringing the explanation to a full circle.
Berlusconi has been waging an on-going battle versus all forms of Italian media, particularly its Newspapers--"La Repubblica" to be exact, because they have demanded liberty of the press! Why is this newspaper outraged over their freedom to free speech and journalism? Well, Berlusconi has recently denounced this newspaper and taken them to court over their investigations and questions regarding his conduct of his personal affairs and his gross conflicts of interest--particularly those pertaining to his mass media holdings and intimidation tactics to silence opposition. He is embroiled in a sex scandal that heated up after his wife filed for divorce, and he has become the laughing-stock of democratic heads of state on the world stage. Many Italians,including all of my friends, show outrage and mortification with the reality of the political situation in their country as Italy is rated close to 60th place in the world for free access to information;in addition, this is not even touching the Prime minister's complicated and corrupt history of evading serious criminal charges dealing with the illegal gestation of his gross empire of assets, bribes, corruption,his collusion with dubious mafia figures, ect. In the end, if you are really interested in the long Berlusconi history and his ascent to power, I would advise you all to read, "The Sack of Rome" by Alexander Stille. This book will only get your toes wet in the complicated web of Italian politics, but you'll at least have some Berlu-background.
To cut this short, It is necessary to say that three Judges have started an Appeal to which over 360,000 people have currently signed, including Nobel Prize winners, famous actors-like the beloved Roberto Benigni, filmmakers, writers, activists, and many many citizens. Below is the Apeal if you want to read it:
To give those interested viewers with a better understanding of the current scandle, here is a video of the late and breaking news in English:
Okay--Now you have a little background base so that I can to return to my discussion of "Farabutti." The other day, Berlusconi declared "Siamo circondati da troppi farabutti nella politica, nella stampa, e nella televisione."--"We are surrounded by too many tricksters in politics, in the newspapers, and in television." Berlusconi is widely popular for his bloopers and gaffes--his outright slandering of the opposition comes without regret from the Prime Minister, but his blatant denial of censorship or self-restraint makes him rightful game. In fact, during the election of 2006, he is famed to have called all citizens voting for the opposition, "Coglioni" or "Dickheads." In response to this outrageous slander, those voting against Berlusconi all wore T-shirts declaring their pride to be a "dickhead." I was actually present in Rome for one particular left party Rally in 2006, and I giddily bought a T-shirt saying "Sono un coglione." or "I am a dickhead." Therefore, recalling that time, those revolting against Berlusconi's newest acts of absurd injustice have all gathered together to once again display their pride in being "tricksters" or "Farabutti." In this spirit, many have sent their photos to "La Reppubica" online to show their support. These pictures are hilarious!
http://www.repubblica.it/2006/05/gallerie/politica/farabutti-foto-lettori-15/1.html
Berlu's blatant refusal to not be held accountable or even respond to applicable questions of presidential investigations is a screaming example of the deadly grip the man has over his information. His answer to all questions and accusations always entails: 1.Blaming the communists for everything 2.Denying accusations without response 3. Name-calling 4. and citing polls of popularity that don't exist.
Italian politics is so intriguing and flipping fascinating because it is creatively tangled in such a tight and complicated knot that anyone could get lost. Everything constructed and nurtured by Italians hands and psychi is an overly complex invention with 8,000,000 gadgets (too many to make sense), screws that are falling loose, rusted with old problems, and interior organs that are slightly dysfunctional--possibly filled with spaghetti. You add history to this organism, and it becomes a Frankenstein that grows with a unique life of its own--a true and odd plant that could only grow to its full potential on Italian soil. I guess that this soil grows tomatoes as well as it does most every other system here.
I was originally going to dedicate this blog to how much Umbrellas fail human existence--therefore making us all painfully aware of nature's dominance over humankind; however, I was laughing so hard over the Farabutti photos that I thought I would add a political briefing to my blog. Your little lesson on Italian politics--an interesting discussion on democracy in the hands of a very colorful man, to say the least. I hope you find it interesting.
I would like to randomly say that last night I barely slept because I was under attack by a mosquito. It is utterly stupid to write in a blog, but I really was hiding and suffocating myself under the covers--trying to duck and shield, clapping in the dark to try in some way to kill it. "Buzzzz" "Buzzz"--that piercing hum that fluttered in my ears as I was sleeping and going crazy; it was traumatic, and I heard it all night. At one point, I took action and rubbed Mosquito spray all over my face. To no avail. I woke up with bites all over my neck and two on my cheek--that Bastard!
You wouldn't believe it but another mosquito just tried descending on me, slowly and silently; I of course didn't manage to kill it, but I did spend 10 minutes killing his "friend" in the bathroom. What a horrible bug--terrible species.
I had job interviews today, and I trampled all around Milan today in the pouring down rain. I was on the bus, and I got a kick out of all the Italian workers flying on their motor scooters with their suits, weaving through the traffic. What a country!
Berlusconi has been waging an on-going battle versus all forms of Italian media, particularly its Newspapers--"La Repubblica" to be exact, because they have demanded liberty of the press! Why is this newspaper outraged over their freedom to free speech and journalism? Well, Berlusconi has recently denounced this newspaper and taken them to court over their investigations and questions regarding his conduct of his personal affairs and his gross conflicts of interest--particularly those pertaining to his mass media holdings and intimidation tactics to silence opposition. He is embroiled in a sex scandal that heated up after his wife filed for divorce, and he has become the laughing-stock of democratic heads of state on the world stage. Many Italians,including all of my friends, show outrage and mortification with the reality of the political situation in their country as Italy is rated close to 60th place in the world for free access to information;in addition, this is not even touching the Prime minister's complicated and corrupt history of evading serious criminal charges dealing with the illegal gestation of his gross empire of assets, bribes, corruption,his collusion with dubious mafia figures, ect. In the end, if you are really interested in the long Berlusconi history and his ascent to power, I would advise you all to read, "The Sack of Rome" by Alexander Stille. This book will only get your toes wet in the complicated web of Italian politics, but you'll at least have some Berlu-background.
To cut this short, It is necessary to say that three Judges have started an Appeal to which over 360,000 people have currently signed, including Nobel Prize winners, famous actors-like the beloved Roberto Benigni, filmmakers, writers, activists, and many many citizens. Below is the Apeal if you want to read it:
"APPEAL BY THREE JURISTS
Appeal by three Jurists
The libel action against “Repubblica” is the last in a long list of attacks against this daily which can only be seen as attempts at silencing the free press, at benumbing public opinion, at removing us from the international information scene and ultimately at making our Country the exception to the rule of Democracy.
The questions addressed to our Prime Minister are real questions that have prompted people’s interest not only in Italy but also in the media across the world. If they are considered to be “rhetorical” questions that suggest answers that displease the person to whom they are addressed, then there is only one and very easy way of responding: the reaction should certainly not be that of silencing the people who ask those questions.
The response instead is that of intimidating those who exercise the right and duty of “seeking, receiving and imparting information and ideas through any media and regardless of frontiers”, as stated in the 1948 Universal Declaration of Human Rights approved by the Assembly of Nations when memory was still very much alive of the way information degenerated into propaganda under the illiberal and antidemocratic regimes of the 20th century.
What is astonishing and worrying is that not only are these initiatives not unanimously stigmatized, but they are not even reported by the media, and that furthermore there are jurists who are even willing to give them legal form, utterly dismissing the harm this will cause to the very seriousness and credibility of the Law."
To give those interested viewers with a better understanding of the current scandle, here is a video of the late and breaking news in English:
Okay--Now you have a little background base so that I can to return to my discussion of "Farabutti." The other day, Berlusconi declared "Siamo circondati da troppi farabutti nella politica, nella stampa, e nella televisione."--"We are surrounded by too many tricksters in politics, in the newspapers, and in television." Berlusconi is widely popular for his bloopers and gaffes--his outright slandering of the opposition comes without regret from the Prime Minister, but his blatant denial of censorship or self-restraint makes him rightful game. In fact, during the election of 2006, he is famed to have called all citizens voting for the opposition, "Coglioni" or "Dickheads." In response to this outrageous slander, those voting against Berlusconi all wore T-shirts declaring their pride to be a "dickhead." I was actually present in Rome for one particular left party Rally in 2006, and I giddily bought a T-shirt saying "Sono un coglione." or "I am a dickhead." Therefore, recalling that time, those revolting against Berlusconi's newest acts of absurd injustice have all gathered together to once again display their pride in being "tricksters" or "Farabutti." In this spirit, many have sent their photos to "La Reppubica" online to show their support. These pictures are hilarious!
http://www.repubblica.it/2006/05/gallerie/politica/farabutti-foto-lettori-15/1.html
Berlu's blatant refusal to not be held accountable or even respond to applicable questions of presidential investigations is a screaming example of the deadly grip the man has over his information. His answer to all questions and accusations always entails: 1.Blaming the communists for everything 2.Denying accusations without response 3. Name-calling 4. and citing polls of popularity that don't exist.
Italian politics is so intriguing and flipping fascinating because it is creatively tangled in such a tight and complicated knot that anyone could get lost. Everything constructed and nurtured by Italians hands and psychi is an overly complex invention with 8,000,000 gadgets (too many to make sense), screws that are falling loose, rusted with old problems, and interior organs that are slightly dysfunctional--possibly filled with spaghetti. You add history to this organism, and it becomes a Frankenstein that grows with a unique life of its own--a true and odd plant that could only grow to its full potential on Italian soil. I guess that this soil grows tomatoes as well as it does most every other system here.
I was originally going to dedicate this blog to how much Umbrellas fail human existence--therefore making us all painfully aware of nature's dominance over humankind; however, I was laughing so hard over the Farabutti photos that I thought I would add a political briefing to my blog. Your little lesson on Italian politics--an interesting discussion on democracy in the hands of a very colorful man, to say the least. I hope you find it interesting.
I would like to randomly say that last night I barely slept because I was under attack by a mosquito. It is utterly stupid to write in a blog, but I really was hiding and suffocating myself under the covers--trying to duck and shield, clapping in the dark to try in some way to kill it. "Buzzzz" "Buzzz"--that piercing hum that fluttered in my ears as I was sleeping and going crazy; it was traumatic, and I heard it all night. At one point, I took action and rubbed Mosquito spray all over my face. To no avail. I woke up with bites all over my neck and two on my cheek--that Bastard!
You wouldn't believe it but another mosquito just tried descending on me, slowly and silently; I of course didn't manage to kill it, but I did spend 10 minutes killing his "friend" in the bathroom. What a horrible bug--terrible species.
I had job interviews today, and I trampled all around Milan today in the pouring down rain. I was on the bus, and I got a kick out of all the Italian workers flying on their motor scooters with their suits, weaving through the traffic. What a country!
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Proud girl from da Burgh!
Sept 15th, 2009
Goog Morning,
Well, first of all I just wanted to share with you all that my city, Pittsburgh, was featured in an article in "Corriere della Sera," one of the most important newspapers in Italy, coming from its seat in Milan. My friend told me about it, and I was excited that the Italians took time to talk about my city! It writes,"Pittsburgh: City of the future, Icon of the post-industrial passage from steel to the center of consciousness." Obviously this article centers around the fact that Obama chose to hold the G20 Convention in Pittsburgh, and I translated the article and wrote it below for your viewing pleasure. I was tickled to read them talk so highly of my city, describing in brilliant adjectives the striking first view of the 3-River city as you exit the Fort Pitt Tunnels.
I have never doubted the beauty of my city, nor its potential for growth as it has been rated by the Economist to be the most livable city in the United States. It is a growing city center that is investing in projects to rein in capital to increase the development and appeal of the downtown area, the surrounding neighborhoods and commercial developments, and the many attractions it offers. The small and shining city center rising with its reflections cast on the confluence of the three rivers provides a center of life to Allegheny and Westmoreland counties, and it is called the “City of Bridges” (720 to be exact). In my opinion, Pittsburgh is structured like Chicago—not nearly to a great extent—but in the fact that there is a small yet grand city center that is then hugged tightly by many characteristic and cultural neighborhoods, towns, and beautifully developed suburbs. Did you know about the development of its “Green Architecture”?--including the beautiful convention center that was one of the first giant green buildings in the world. Pittsburgh has always been underestimated, and in this aspect, we have the potential to rise past the expectations of those who do not know better. The City of Steel has changed its face to shine like it has been newly polished, and it would be surprising to look at the cost of living compared to cities such as Philadelphia—you would be surprised. One of the aspects that I am most proud of about Pittsburgh, is the diverse cultural heritage that has constructed the city from its inception—from the Native Americans to the immigrants of stronger ages, from all parts of the world. Therefore, I am proud of my city, I’m proud to be a Pittsburgh girl, I can speak Pittsburghese if I wanted to, I cheer for the Steelers, and I hope this city will be hospitable for the G20 convention.
As for my life today? A cold rainy front has moved over Milan, and I have to recommence my search for work. It is a very frustrating task, and I have to buckle down and do a bilateral attack: online approach and asking around the city in person. It should be a very mellow day, but I will have to buy a few groceries today despite the fact that I am down barely having any money in my checking account. Could I write that off as being so terrifying that I find it funny?
Here is the Article:
Pittsburgh:
città del futuro
Icona del passaggio post-industriale: dalla siderurgia a centro di conoscenza
"City of the Future: I con of the post-industiral passage from steel to the center of consciousness."
"The juice of the story is all in a laugh; what escaped the reporters of the White House when they discovered from the speaker, Robert Gibbs, that the president had chosen Pittsburgh as the new seat of the G20, September 24th. After Beijing, Berlin and London…the top brass of the industrial powers and of the emerging economies meeting in Pittsburgh? Possible—they will have asked themselves, that Obama is referring precisely to that city in Pennsylvania that was, rest in peace, the world capital of steel and that then with the collapse of heavy industry in the early eighties, it became a symbol of the end of the world, mother of all the ghost cities, metropolitan rusty pieces of junk for the first in the Rost Belt? Provocation for provocation, then why not choose Detroit? And they continued giggling. Then Gibbs froze the reporters in the building, yet ill-tuned to the visionary brilliance of the president: “Pittsburgh is an extraordinary American history, it is the city of the future.”
In fact, after less than a half an hour riding anonymous and rainy street from the airport, qhen you exit from the Fort Pitt Tunnel and you find yourself passing, in one second, from the gray nothing and void of the tunnel to being face to face with downtown Pittsburgh, placed there like a prow glittering in the middle of three rivers, a Manhattan of shining pastel colors—in short, when you are faced with this love at first sight—it is mathematic that you ask yourself with mouths open, but how did they keep concealed a thing so beautiful? What secret do these people keep? Just across the bridge I called, Tony Buba, an former steelworker , son of minors and today a legendary director from the 70s that has never stopped filming documentaries of Braddock, his working-class neighborhood. “Here you couldn’t see anything, the lights were lit even in the daytime, the smoke from the blast furnaces obscured everything, the rivers were black and putrid, said Tony. “Then the factories closed their gates, the city stopped, the fog began to gradually lift, and slowly the sun appeared. At that time, the people discovered to live in a wonderful city, decided that it needed to be reborn. And here we are, with the Economist that declares Pittsburgh even the most livable city in America. I am cooking a pike I caught this morning, go ahead.”
Don’t let yourselves be deceived by words: “Pitts” 310 thousand inhabitants, is still called the “Steel City’, here is still established the engineering union, the United Steelworkers union, like its counterpart, UsSteel corporation; and it goes without saying the glorious football team is that of the Steelers. Now this is the city of 35 colleges and universities—Carnegie Mellon and the University of Pittsburgh the pride and joy—of nanotechnology, biotechnology, hub driven by the hospital UPMC, one of the largest healthcare provides in the world, leader in transplants, which employs 50 thousand people with a turnover of 5.6 billian euro ( and in fact the Steel tower, the biggest skyscraper, has become the UPMC tower). The wall street journal has decided to call it “Roboburgh” choosing robotics as the distinctive mark of Pittsburghese excellence (3oo spin-offs of from the academic filled of information technology with wholly private funds). How did this happen? “20 years ago, while the steel industry disappeared causing a devastating social disaster, the grand capital, the families of Carnegie, Frick, Mellon and Heinz did not escape with the loot, “ recounts Luke Ravenstahl, 29 years old, the youngest mayor in America. “But they continued to finance the universities and the cultural funds. Therefore, it triggered a virtuous process that enabled researchers to work on winning projects that have low federal funds, funds that have attracted researchers and other private capital. Paul C. Wood, vice president of UPMC explains the diversity and therefore the personality nerve to Pittsburgh: "This is not about chasing the ball, but look to get where you think the ball will come. Does not live by the day, focusing on the bubble of the moment, but thinking about the next generation and investing without seeking public assistance. In short, the mindset is still that working, even though there are hardly any workers. "
Unlike the rest of the country, the price of homes increases, there is a boom in….the unemployment has halted at 5 percent, and the rebranding of the city as the best place in America for families and young professionals (newsweek) has brought, only this year, 4,000 under-30 graduates to repopulate the 89 neighborhoods situated on the hills and along the rivers of Pittsburgh. Obama could not have choosen the Steel city, the city that was to have died, but instead he enjoys its Rennaissance."
Goog Morning,
Well, first of all I just wanted to share with you all that my city, Pittsburgh, was featured in an article in "Corriere della Sera," one of the most important newspapers in Italy, coming from its seat in Milan. My friend told me about it, and I was excited that the Italians took time to talk about my city! It writes,"Pittsburgh: City of the future, Icon of the post-industrial passage from steel to the center of consciousness." Obviously this article centers around the fact that Obama chose to hold the G20 Convention in Pittsburgh, and I translated the article and wrote it below for your viewing pleasure. I was tickled to read them talk so highly of my city, describing in brilliant adjectives the striking first view of the 3-River city as you exit the Fort Pitt Tunnels.
I have never doubted the beauty of my city, nor its potential for growth as it has been rated by the Economist to be the most livable city in the United States. It is a growing city center that is investing in projects to rein in capital to increase the development and appeal of the downtown area, the surrounding neighborhoods and commercial developments, and the many attractions it offers. The small and shining city center rising with its reflections cast on the confluence of the three rivers provides a center of life to Allegheny and Westmoreland counties, and it is called the “City of Bridges” (720 to be exact). In my opinion, Pittsburgh is structured like Chicago—not nearly to a great extent—but in the fact that there is a small yet grand city center that is then hugged tightly by many characteristic and cultural neighborhoods, towns, and beautifully developed suburbs. Did you know about the development of its “Green Architecture”?--including the beautiful convention center that was one of the first giant green buildings in the world. Pittsburgh has always been underestimated, and in this aspect, we have the potential to rise past the expectations of those who do not know better. The City of Steel has changed its face to shine like it has been newly polished, and it would be surprising to look at the cost of living compared to cities such as Philadelphia—you would be surprised. One of the aspects that I am most proud of about Pittsburgh, is the diverse cultural heritage that has constructed the city from its inception—from the Native Americans to the immigrants of stronger ages, from all parts of the world. Therefore, I am proud of my city, I’m proud to be a Pittsburgh girl, I can speak Pittsburghese if I wanted to, I cheer for the Steelers, and I hope this city will be hospitable for the G20 convention.
As for my life today? A cold rainy front has moved over Milan, and I have to recommence my search for work. It is a very frustrating task, and I have to buckle down and do a bilateral attack: online approach and asking around the city in person. It should be a very mellow day, but I will have to buy a few groceries today despite the fact that I am down barely having any money in my checking account. Could I write that off as being so terrifying that I find it funny?
Here is the Article:
Pittsburgh:
città del futuro
Icona del passaggio post-industriale: dalla siderurgia a centro di conoscenza
"City of the Future: I con of the post-industiral passage from steel to the center of consciousness."
"The juice of the story is all in a laugh; what escaped the reporters of the White House when they discovered from the speaker, Robert Gibbs, that the president had chosen Pittsburgh as the new seat of the G20, September 24th. After Beijing, Berlin and London…the top brass of the industrial powers and of the emerging economies meeting in Pittsburgh? Possible—they will have asked themselves, that Obama is referring precisely to that city in Pennsylvania that was, rest in peace, the world capital of steel and that then with the collapse of heavy industry in the early eighties, it became a symbol of the end of the world, mother of all the ghost cities, metropolitan rusty pieces of junk for the first in the Rost Belt? Provocation for provocation, then why not choose Detroit? And they continued giggling. Then Gibbs froze the reporters in the building, yet ill-tuned to the visionary brilliance of the president: “Pittsburgh is an extraordinary American history, it is the city of the future.”
In fact, after less than a half an hour riding anonymous and rainy street from the airport, qhen you exit from the Fort Pitt Tunnel and you find yourself passing, in one second, from the gray nothing and void of the tunnel to being face to face with downtown Pittsburgh, placed there like a prow glittering in the middle of three rivers, a Manhattan of shining pastel colors—in short, when you are faced with this love at first sight—it is mathematic that you ask yourself with mouths open, but how did they keep concealed a thing so beautiful? What secret do these people keep? Just across the bridge I called, Tony Buba, an former steelworker , son of minors and today a legendary director from the 70s that has never stopped filming documentaries of Braddock, his working-class neighborhood. “Here you couldn’t see anything, the lights were lit even in the daytime, the smoke from the blast furnaces obscured everything, the rivers were black and putrid, said Tony. “Then the factories closed their gates, the city stopped, the fog began to gradually lift, and slowly the sun appeared. At that time, the people discovered to live in a wonderful city, decided that it needed to be reborn. And here we are, with the Economist that declares Pittsburgh even the most livable city in America. I am cooking a pike I caught this morning, go ahead.”
Don’t let yourselves be deceived by words: “Pitts” 310 thousand inhabitants, is still called the “Steel City’, here is still established the engineering union, the United Steelworkers union, like its counterpart, UsSteel corporation; and it goes without saying the glorious football team is that of the Steelers. Now this is the city of 35 colleges and universities—Carnegie Mellon and the University of Pittsburgh the pride and joy—of nanotechnology, biotechnology, hub driven by the hospital UPMC, one of the largest healthcare provides in the world, leader in transplants, which employs 50 thousand people with a turnover of 5.6 billian euro ( and in fact the Steel tower, the biggest skyscraper, has become the UPMC tower). The wall street journal has decided to call it “Roboburgh” choosing robotics as the distinctive mark of Pittsburghese excellence (3oo spin-offs of from the academic filled of information technology with wholly private funds). How did this happen? “20 years ago, while the steel industry disappeared causing a devastating social disaster, the grand capital, the families of Carnegie, Frick, Mellon and Heinz did not escape with the loot, “ recounts Luke Ravenstahl, 29 years old, the youngest mayor in America. “But they continued to finance the universities and the cultural funds. Therefore, it triggered a virtuous process that enabled researchers to work on winning projects that have low federal funds, funds that have attracted researchers and other private capital. Paul C. Wood, vice president of UPMC explains the diversity and therefore the personality nerve to Pittsburgh: "This is not about chasing the ball, but look to get where you think the ball will come. Does not live by the day, focusing on the bubble of the moment, but thinking about the next generation and investing without seeking public assistance. In short, the mindset is still that working, even though there are hardly any workers. "
Unlike the rest of the country, the price of homes increases, there is a boom in….the unemployment has halted at 5 percent, and the rebranding of the city as the best place in America for families and young professionals (newsweek) has brought, only this year, 4,000 under-30 graduates to repopulate the 89 neighborhoods situated on the hills and along the rivers of Pittsburgh. Obama could not have choosen the Steel city, the city that was to have died, but instead he enjoys its Rennaissance."
Monday, September 14, 2009
Moving on with Matteo...
Sept 14th, 2009
It has been bothering me lately the fact that I am really starting to like Matteo while I still have feelings towards Mark. I thought that it was only right to inform Mark about the fact that I am practically in a new relationship: the first relationship since that with Mark that I have actually been stimulated by all facets of our interaction—I really like Matteo, and real and true blue attraction for me is nearly impossible to find. I require a great level of mutual respect and intrigue—among an insanely long list of things.
Aside form my insanely long list, I have six qualities that I deem absolutely pertinent: 1. Passion 2. Sense of adventure/spontaneity 3. Genuinely good/moral/humble 4. Lively personality 5. Respect 6. Intelligence and cultural sensitivity—good exchange. If I had to throw in a 7th, I would want that he likes physical activity or sports so we can run together or something. I know, simple things can be impossible to find in nice quantities. I might be crazy—but I will say that lists don’t matter much when there is respect, intrigue, and the X-factor. The X-factor is key, and it is very difficult to achieve—for me that is.
Anyways, I talked to Mark for a long time last night. Mark and I have never re-found a place for solid footing, and in my opinion a possible reunion with him should come with natural timing. Until then, it has no sense for me to continue thinking about him when I should have new experiences—especially considering the fact that it is rare that I find these sentiments.
Of course it was awkward and almost absurd discussing it with him, but it was only right that he knew. He encouraged me to date Matteo, even though that was probably very hard for him to say. Cutting out most all of our long conversation, he said at the end: “All I was really saying was that you set the bar very high for me and I don't think ...out of your own self respect..it should ever be lowered for anybody...ok enough of that!” He also told me that I am always in his heart. OMG—he always encourages me to never lower my levels of self respect because he doesn’t think that other guys can understand my worth. I don’t know. Mark will always occupy a place of my heart, and he is incredibly dear--but now is not the time or the place for him, and we both realize this. It could be that we are not meant to be, but I will not worry about that. I want to enjoy the moment!
Okay, I do not want to bring this rather heavy conversation back into my blogs—it is more interesting to talk more about my life here instead of old flames and internal feelings. For now, I am really happy spending time and having experiences with Matteo!
From now on-much more present conversations, and I will plug in some good Italian revelations soon. This blog is missing many of my “first impressions” and “explanations” about Italy that are present in my earlier blogs—I’ll throw some in soon!
It has been bothering me lately the fact that I am really starting to like Matteo while I still have feelings towards Mark. I thought that it was only right to inform Mark about the fact that I am practically in a new relationship: the first relationship since that with Mark that I have actually been stimulated by all facets of our interaction—I really like Matteo, and real and true blue attraction for me is nearly impossible to find. I require a great level of mutual respect and intrigue—among an insanely long list of things.
Aside form my insanely long list, I have six qualities that I deem absolutely pertinent: 1. Passion 2. Sense of adventure/spontaneity 3. Genuinely good/moral/humble 4. Lively personality 5. Respect 6. Intelligence and cultural sensitivity—good exchange. If I had to throw in a 7th, I would want that he likes physical activity or sports so we can run together or something. I know, simple things can be impossible to find in nice quantities. I might be crazy—but I will say that lists don’t matter much when there is respect, intrigue, and the X-factor. The X-factor is key, and it is very difficult to achieve—for me that is.
Anyways, I talked to Mark for a long time last night. Mark and I have never re-found a place for solid footing, and in my opinion a possible reunion with him should come with natural timing. Until then, it has no sense for me to continue thinking about him when I should have new experiences—especially considering the fact that it is rare that I find these sentiments.
Of course it was awkward and almost absurd discussing it with him, but it was only right that he knew. He encouraged me to date Matteo, even though that was probably very hard for him to say. Cutting out most all of our long conversation, he said at the end: “All I was really saying was that you set the bar very high for me and I don't think ...out of your own self respect..it should ever be lowered for anybody...ok enough of that!” He also told me that I am always in his heart. OMG—he always encourages me to never lower my levels of self respect because he doesn’t think that other guys can understand my worth. I don’t know. Mark will always occupy a place of my heart, and he is incredibly dear--but now is not the time or the place for him, and we both realize this. It could be that we are not meant to be, but I will not worry about that. I want to enjoy the moment!
Okay, I do not want to bring this rather heavy conversation back into my blogs—it is more interesting to talk more about my life here instead of old flames and internal feelings. For now, I am really happy spending time and having experiences with Matteo!
From now on-much more present conversations, and I will plug in some good Italian revelations soon. This blog is missing many of my “first impressions” and “explanations” about Italy that are present in my earlier blogs—I’ll throw some in soon!
New Boyfriend? Humiliation.
September 13, 2009
Just for your information—Matteo could maybe be considered my “boyfriend.” I am very timid to give it a label. We spent a day last weekend in Genova together—he gave me the grand tour because he has lived, studied, and worked there these past few years. It is a lovely port city, and it is famous for its international boat shows every year. Historically, Genova was also one of the main cities to ship Italian immigrants to America, and in fact, my great grandfather came to American leaving from Genova. The great pier is lined with millions of boats and incredible yachts that we took turns choosing our favorites. I personally would prefer to have a boat rather than a house later in my life. He took me to eat the famous focaccia Genovese—an amazing pizza with cheese in its flakey crust, he toured me around the city, I took tons of photos (him humoring me and enjoying my habit), and we watched the sunset while sitting on the pier, listening to opera music from a nearby stage. It was very romantic, and we finished the night with an aperitivo—a northern Italian tradition of huge buffets that accompany your order of a drink in various competing bars. We had a lively debate about different topics, and I managed to hold my own even in Italian. As we drove towards Milan, he played some of his favorite music from U2. I thought it was cute that he had memorized all of the words in English—as he looked at me singing and smiling, very handsome. I was terrified that the words reminded me of Mark.
You wouldn’t believe what happened yesterday night. Well, I went out with Matteo of course, but you won’t believe what happened—tragically funny I would say. More tragic than funny, in reality. Anyways, the night started off great—always with kisses. Haha. However, he brought me a really interesting book to read by a famous Italian journalist, Marco Travaglio. Matteo has got me into reading the Reppublica newspaper, which at the moment, is currently waging a war against the government or prime minister for freedom of the press, attacking him in the current prostitute scandal, and continuing to expose his many conflicts of interest. That is beside the point, my little aspiring journalist was very nice in bringing me this book, even though it will prove to be a very challenging read. We then went out on a passagiata to find a good aperitivo restaurant. We bypassed all the locales along the Naviglio waterways, and we made our way up to Porta Ticinese, which is another section of town with hopping outdoor nightlife. I took him to a rather popular aperitivo bar, and we ordered a bottle of wine, Nero D’Avola—delicious from Sicily!
Well, we had a great time together, and we always get involved in complicated conversational topics, which I love. He is a very interesting boy, and he is a good listener especially due to the fact that my Italian is not very articulate in the realms of high-minded subjects—I always search for more complicated verbs, adjectives, and expressions. Anyways, we ended up at another cool bar that exists in the courtyard of a building; it is always hopping, and I love that it comes as a surprise to newcomers existing in the courtyard. We decided to drink a long island because in my opinion, the bar tender with the dreadlocks makes really great long island cocktails. FIRST MISTAKE OF THE NIGHT.
To skip ahead of good conversation and exchanges of kisses and googley eyes under the courtyard’s twinkling lights, I will say that we indeed stopped at another bar on the way home. I remember dragging him in the direction of another favorite bar along an alley. We had a beer. MISTAKE NUMBER TWO.
I have to say that I am slightly ashamed at my poor life choices last night. Being a Penn State graduate, I should have a little more drinking common sense than to skip from red wine, to strong long islands, and finishing with blond beer!! There is no explanation. I had not drunken more than a glass of wine for maybe months, and I think this rendered me stupid with a false friend of invincibility. On top of drinking too much, I also got food poisoning from the restaurant. Well, Matteo will recount to you the rest of the night, as he did for me.
This sentence will give the rest of the night away: I have never thrown up due to drinking alcohol. I swear.
It was nearly 3am, and he was obviously crashing at my place. His presence was both my salvation and a personal embarrassing tragedy. I can only imagine how attractive I was when I woke up an hour later, vomiting on myself, my covers, and sadly a portion of his leg!!!!! NOOOOOOO!!! Apparently I was very stubborn with him when he asked that I take off my vomited t-shirt. “NOO!” I cried, and I flopped my head down on the table. I was also speaking to him in English, which also wasn’t helping the situation. Anyways, I woke up three hours later to discover the wreckage--all of the covers off of my bed—me with different clothes, with an incredibly sick sensation, lying in bed.
I get up to survey the scene and go to the bathroom—he looks at me, and I storm, “Matteo, what the hell happened here!?” HA—haha-haaaaaaaaaaaaaa--ahhhhhhh. Wow, I put two and two together, and I wanted to die. I asked him to not give me all the details of my sickening spectacle, but he did with a comforting amount of humor and kind reassurance. Che vergogna!! How embarrassing!!! I wanted to crawl into a hole!
Well, we had a lovely evening. I will never be so stupid as to make the same decisions again, lets hope!! However, the biggest problem of the night was my food poisoning. It rendered me violently sick last night combined with the drink mix, and I have been sick all day today—allll day, barely holding my food down. I never have trouble holding food down—ever!!--even when I have fevers!!! I always eat, dammit!
Just for your information, Matteo was very sweet with me, and he took good care of me when I was ill. The next morning, we laughed about the night, and we went to my favorite breakfast place where they serve an “American breakfast.” I could barely walk there, but I needed a long American coffee---if you can imagine the arduous treck with him supporting me, you would think I was heading to a holy destination! I ordered a breakfast sandwich with scrambled eggs!! It was delicious, but the eggs were not satisfactory. In fact, it all tasted the same, which could have just been my sick little stomach depriving me of flavor. Who knows! Matteo got apple pie and an Italian coffee, and I paid as a part of my recompense for the nightly episode.
I really like him, and I think the feeling is mutual. He was so tender with me, and I really appreciate how he took care of me. He sent me a text message when he got home saying: “ Ciao Cara, I am at home…every time that we are together it is really difficult for me to say goodbye. Don’t worry about last night, the night was really wonderful and the only thing that I feel bad about is that you were not feeling well. I send you a kiss and a big hug.” Aw how sweet. I guess my little Italian was not deterred by my throw up, and he made that apparent before his departure—whew. We are hanging out this Thursday night, I believe. Two art shows—one of a political illustrator, Giorgio Forattini, and the other is of famous photojournalists. I also want to bring him to see my hospital murals. What a lovely romantic evening!
Just for your information—Matteo could maybe be considered my “boyfriend.” I am very timid to give it a label. We spent a day last weekend in Genova together—he gave me the grand tour because he has lived, studied, and worked there these past few years. It is a lovely port city, and it is famous for its international boat shows every year. Historically, Genova was also one of the main cities to ship Italian immigrants to America, and in fact, my great grandfather came to American leaving from Genova. The great pier is lined with millions of boats and incredible yachts that we took turns choosing our favorites. I personally would prefer to have a boat rather than a house later in my life. He took me to eat the famous focaccia Genovese—an amazing pizza with cheese in its flakey crust, he toured me around the city, I took tons of photos (him humoring me and enjoying my habit), and we watched the sunset while sitting on the pier, listening to opera music from a nearby stage. It was very romantic, and we finished the night with an aperitivo—a northern Italian tradition of huge buffets that accompany your order of a drink in various competing bars. We had a lively debate about different topics, and I managed to hold my own even in Italian. As we drove towards Milan, he played some of his favorite music from U2. I thought it was cute that he had memorized all of the words in English—as he looked at me singing and smiling, very handsome. I was terrified that the words reminded me of Mark.
You wouldn’t believe what happened yesterday night. Well, I went out with Matteo of course, but you won’t believe what happened—tragically funny I would say. More tragic than funny, in reality. Anyways, the night started off great—always with kisses. Haha. However, he brought me a really interesting book to read by a famous Italian journalist, Marco Travaglio. Matteo has got me into reading the Reppublica newspaper, which at the moment, is currently waging a war against the government or prime minister for freedom of the press, attacking him in the current prostitute scandal, and continuing to expose his many conflicts of interest. That is beside the point, my little aspiring journalist was very nice in bringing me this book, even though it will prove to be a very challenging read. We then went out on a passagiata to find a good aperitivo restaurant. We bypassed all the locales along the Naviglio waterways, and we made our way up to Porta Ticinese, which is another section of town with hopping outdoor nightlife. I took him to a rather popular aperitivo bar, and we ordered a bottle of wine, Nero D’Avola—delicious from Sicily!
Well, we had a great time together, and we always get involved in complicated conversational topics, which I love. He is a very interesting boy, and he is a good listener especially due to the fact that my Italian is not very articulate in the realms of high-minded subjects—I always search for more complicated verbs, adjectives, and expressions. Anyways, we ended up at another cool bar that exists in the courtyard of a building; it is always hopping, and I love that it comes as a surprise to newcomers existing in the courtyard. We decided to drink a long island because in my opinion, the bar tender with the dreadlocks makes really great long island cocktails. FIRST MISTAKE OF THE NIGHT.
To skip ahead of good conversation and exchanges of kisses and googley eyes under the courtyard’s twinkling lights, I will say that we indeed stopped at another bar on the way home. I remember dragging him in the direction of another favorite bar along an alley. We had a beer. MISTAKE NUMBER TWO.
I have to say that I am slightly ashamed at my poor life choices last night. Being a Penn State graduate, I should have a little more drinking common sense than to skip from red wine, to strong long islands, and finishing with blond beer!! There is no explanation. I had not drunken more than a glass of wine for maybe months, and I think this rendered me stupid with a false friend of invincibility. On top of drinking too much, I also got food poisoning from the restaurant. Well, Matteo will recount to you the rest of the night, as he did for me.
This sentence will give the rest of the night away: I have never thrown up due to drinking alcohol. I swear.
It was nearly 3am, and he was obviously crashing at my place. His presence was both my salvation and a personal embarrassing tragedy. I can only imagine how attractive I was when I woke up an hour later, vomiting on myself, my covers, and sadly a portion of his leg!!!!! NOOOOOOO!!! Apparently I was very stubborn with him when he asked that I take off my vomited t-shirt. “NOO!” I cried, and I flopped my head down on the table. I was also speaking to him in English, which also wasn’t helping the situation. Anyways, I woke up three hours later to discover the wreckage--all of the covers off of my bed—me with different clothes, with an incredibly sick sensation, lying in bed.
I get up to survey the scene and go to the bathroom—he looks at me, and I storm, “Matteo, what the hell happened here!?” HA—haha-haaaaaaaaaaaaaa--ahhhhhhh. Wow, I put two and two together, and I wanted to die. I asked him to not give me all the details of my sickening spectacle, but he did with a comforting amount of humor and kind reassurance. Che vergogna!! How embarrassing!!! I wanted to crawl into a hole!
Well, we had a lovely evening. I will never be so stupid as to make the same decisions again, lets hope!! However, the biggest problem of the night was my food poisoning. It rendered me violently sick last night combined with the drink mix, and I have been sick all day today—allll day, barely holding my food down. I never have trouble holding food down—ever!!--even when I have fevers!!! I always eat, dammit!
Just for your information, Matteo was very sweet with me, and he took good care of me when I was ill. The next morning, we laughed about the night, and we went to my favorite breakfast place where they serve an “American breakfast.” I could barely walk there, but I needed a long American coffee---if you can imagine the arduous treck with him supporting me, you would think I was heading to a holy destination! I ordered a breakfast sandwich with scrambled eggs!! It was delicious, but the eggs were not satisfactory. In fact, it all tasted the same, which could have just been my sick little stomach depriving me of flavor. Who knows! Matteo got apple pie and an Italian coffee, and I paid as a part of my recompense for the nightly episode.
I really like him, and I think the feeling is mutual. He was so tender with me, and I really appreciate how he took care of me. He sent me a text message when he got home saying: “ Ciao Cara, I am at home…every time that we are together it is really difficult for me to say goodbye. Don’t worry about last night, the night was really wonderful and the only thing that I feel bad about is that you were not feeling well. I send you a kiss and a big hug.” Aw how sweet. I guess my little Italian was not deterred by my throw up, and he made that apparent before his departure—whew. We are hanging out this Thursday night, I believe. Two art shows—one of a political illustrator, Giorgio Forattini, and the other is of famous photojournalists. I also want to bring him to see my hospital murals. What a lovely romantic evening!
Hospital Murals Completed!!
September 12th, 2009
I slept until 11:30 today, completely content that I finally finished the murals in the hallway of the children’s hospital. The reason for my absence this week has been solely due to the fact that I was slaving away painting my ass off for hours upon hours each day. I told Giorgio and the head doctor that I would finish painting in the hallway on Friday (11th). In order to achieve this goal, I remained in the hospital on Friday from 9am until 10:30pm painting with a short lunch break in the cafeteria-I was going crazy in the later hours, with my eyes playing tricks on me and legs suffering from the pain of standing and climbing ladders. Mamma mia, I was determined to finish.
There were two girls that work as clowns in the hospital, and they came to visit me before they started their shift. I remember them both from when we first met before my summer departure in the US. They are really sweet, and they are my age studying at Sacro Cuore, the Catholic university in Milan. They are really sweet, and they asked if I would want to get a gelato with them after their shift. I initially turned them down because I knew how much work I had to get done, but I decided that I could use a break for a treat to keep me going strong. The only thing I worried about was that I would begin talking crazy due to my long day and longer week of staring at walls, making a weird first impression. In the end, I actually rebounded into the real world with relative facility, and we had a really nice conversation as we walked to the gelato store.
By the way, I discovered this gelato place the other day as I was walking toward the bus stop to take me home. It is called, “Il Massimo”, or the best, and I would have to agree with their claimed name. It is fantastic in every sense of the word, and I am excited that I now have the Italian taste buds to distinguish the quality of gelato. I give this my top rating of most all gelato that I’ve eaten since my arrival in Italy. Anyways, I was very pleased that we were heading toward this fabulous gelateria. In the end, it was a necessary and very pleasant break from painting, and the girls were super sweet. We exchanged numbers, and we decided to meet up at some point soon for an aperitivo in the city. New friends and ice cream! Throw in a balloon and there’s nothing better in Mr. Rogers neighborhood.
I went back to work, and I was painting without sketches, improvising, while talking on the phone with Matteo and Riccardo(calling from Brussels), slowly losing sanity. Both boys showed concern for my well-being as I was working like a madwomen, but I think that they know by now that they can’t change my stubborn mind when it is made up. I waged a war against the walls, and in the end I won.
You will notice that I take challenges very seriously, and when I decide to do something, I raise my flag and sound the battle drums against my newfound obstacle, determined to overcome it. You can be sure that this image, usually one of a Joan of Arc figure, pops into my head every time I decide there is a struggle or a goal. This is very humorous if you can visualize the vibrant imagery that comes with the different phases of my little ‘battles’. Last night, the men charged and overtook the castle, and I rode my weary steed, the tram 29/30, home an hour to then fall into pieces—satisfied pieces.
I failed to mention my victory dance I did in the hallway, down the steps, and away from the hospital—little spasms of “Yeahhhhhhhhh!” “Who’s the man, that’s right!”
Today is my day to completely relax and heal most parts of my body. I had to take motrin last night in the middle of the night for my legs because I couldn’t sleep. I am meeting my friend Pietro in Parco Sempione, the biggest park in the city that can be found behind the Palazo Sforzesco. Later, I am excited for my rather dashing Matteo to come to Milan. We are going to go to dinner and spend the evening together—a celebration for his first article being published and the completion of my murals—14meters worth of murals.
I slept until 11:30 today, completely content that I finally finished the murals in the hallway of the children’s hospital. The reason for my absence this week has been solely due to the fact that I was slaving away painting my ass off for hours upon hours each day. I told Giorgio and the head doctor that I would finish painting in the hallway on Friday (11th). In order to achieve this goal, I remained in the hospital on Friday from 9am until 10:30pm painting with a short lunch break in the cafeteria-I was going crazy in the later hours, with my eyes playing tricks on me and legs suffering from the pain of standing and climbing ladders. Mamma mia, I was determined to finish.
There were two girls that work as clowns in the hospital, and they came to visit me before they started their shift. I remember them both from when we first met before my summer departure in the US. They are really sweet, and they are my age studying at Sacro Cuore, the Catholic university in Milan. They are really sweet, and they asked if I would want to get a gelato with them after their shift. I initially turned them down because I knew how much work I had to get done, but I decided that I could use a break for a treat to keep me going strong. The only thing I worried about was that I would begin talking crazy due to my long day and longer week of staring at walls, making a weird first impression. In the end, I actually rebounded into the real world with relative facility, and we had a really nice conversation as we walked to the gelato store.
By the way, I discovered this gelato place the other day as I was walking toward the bus stop to take me home. It is called, “Il Massimo”, or the best, and I would have to agree with their claimed name. It is fantastic in every sense of the word, and I am excited that I now have the Italian taste buds to distinguish the quality of gelato. I give this my top rating of most all gelato that I’ve eaten since my arrival in Italy. Anyways, I was very pleased that we were heading toward this fabulous gelateria. In the end, it was a necessary and very pleasant break from painting, and the girls were super sweet. We exchanged numbers, and we decided to meet up at some point soon for an aperitivo in the city. New friends and ice cream! Throw in a balloon and there’s nothing better in Mr. Rogers neighborhood.
I went back to work, and I was painting without sketches, improvising, while talking on the phone with Matteo and Riccardo(calling from Brussels), slowly losing sanity. Both boys showed concern for my well-being as I was working like a madwomen, but I think that they know by now that they can’t change my stubborn mind when it is made up. I waged a war against the walls, and in the end I won.
You will notice that I take challenges very seriously, and when I decide to do something, I raise my flag and sound the battle drums against my newfound obstacle, determined to overcome it. You can be sure that this image, usually one of a Joan of Arc figure, pops into my head every time I decide there is a struggle or a goal. This is very humorous if you can visualize the vibrant imagery that comes with the different phases of my little ‘battles’. Last night, the men charged and overtook the castle, and I rode my weary steed, the tram 29/30, home an hour to then fall into pieces—satisfied pieces.
I failed to mention my victory dance I did in the hallway, down the steps, and away from the hospital—little spasms of “Yeahhhhhhhhh!” “Who’s the man, that’s right!”
Today is my day to completely relax and heal most parts of my body. I had to take motrin last night in the middle of the night for my legs because I couldn’t sleep. I am meeting my friend Pietro in Parco Sempione, the biggest park in the city that can be found behind the Palazo Sforzesco. Later, I am excited for my rather dashing Matteo to come to Milan. We are going to go to dinner and spend the evening together—a celebration for his first article being published and the completion of my murals—14meters worth of murals.
Murals and more...
September 2, 2009
I was practically sleeping with the paintbrush in my hand today in the hospital. I woke up without any problem, hopped out of bed and made myself some coffee. However my energy came to a dead standstill as 11 hit. I really had to struggle to finish a respectable portion of the mural, and at one point I considered sleeping on the dirty ground. I stopped listening to Italian music, and I put on the most upbeat song I could find to urge myself to pick up the brush and paint colors everywhere.
You know, I would never have to be paid to do what I love were it not for the reality that I need to earn money. That being said, the physical toll that painting these murals for hours upon end is nearly too much for my act of goodwill towards children and the hospital to be satisfying. I found my other experience painting hospital murals more rewarding because I was able to interact with the children and see how my work was changing the atmosphere. Anyways, it is just hard to not feel like a total jackass painting on ladders with my body falling apart with ache. I am alone all day painting in a hospital, in Milan. My only interaction comes with the frequent workers, project planners, or janitors that are in charge of preparing this new wing of the hospital. Maybe I will be more content when I see the finished product, but right now I just want to freaking finish them!
I must be an idiot—I will have very little money in my checking account after I finish paying rent and my security deposit, and I have less US dollars in my American bank account. Given the continuation of the horrible exchange rate, they won’t be worth much. Wow. And here I am, painting murals for free in a hospital—more murals than I can afford to paint for free. Unbelievable. Instead I should start looking for jobs for a portion of my day. Maybe I will look early tomorrow morning before heading to the hospital. I really wish I could find a nice job. Do you think that my kind acts will hold favor with God to cut me a break? Or would God say, Cara you are foolish—you should have job searched earlier. “I did job search earlier, months ago, but my promised “job” screwed me over!” Maybe I’m trying to hard to be here, to do here—or maybe I’m missing the point—or maybe it is easier than it looks—maybe I should ask for more help—maybe I’m helpless---Maybe I should just enjoy myself and take it with a lighter outlook.
Okay…enough of that. Other than my extreme exhaustion…I am good. I just had a long day. My other roommate joined us tonight, and now we are in 4 because we have another girl that will be staying with us for a month. They went out tonight at midnight after Arianna arrived in Milan from her home in Puglia, but I was too tired. Oh well…hopefully another time. On that note, I will go to bed.
As I was writing this, Mark wrote to me and we started having a Gchat conversation. I vented a bit. At the end he said:
:Well I just wanted to say before you go…I really believe that you were given some really amazing gifts…and I think you were meant to share them in a lot of ways…and I think this could be one of them. I think it would be bad if someone with your talent spent too much time worrying about bills etc. I think God gave you those gifts to share. That is not to say it’ll always be easy for you…but I think you are doing what you were meant to do…and I couldn’t be more proud or happy when I think about you.”
Sometimes it is hard to hang out with Matteo when I know Mark is at home.
I was practically sleeping with the paintbrush in my hand today in the hospital. I woke up without any problem, hopped out of bed and made myself some coffee. However my energy came to a dead standstill as 11 hit. I really had to struggle to finish a respectable portion of the mural, and at one point I considered sleeping on the dirty ground. I stopped listening to Italian music, and I put on the most upbeat song I could find to urge myself to pick up the brush and paint colors everywhere.
You know, I would never have to be paid to do what I love were it not for the reality that I need to earn money. That being said, the physical toll that painting these murals for hours upon end is nearly too much for my act of goodwill towards children and the hospital to be satisfying. I found my other experience painting hospital murals more rewarding because I was able to interact with the children and see how my work was changing the atmosphere. Anyways, it is just hard to not feel like a total jackass painting on ladders with my body falling apart with ache. I am alone all day painting in a hospital, in Milan. My only interaction comes with the frequent workers, project planners, or janitors that are in charge of preparing this new wing of the hospital. Maybe I will be more content when I see the finished product, but right now I just want to freaking finish them!
I must be an idiot—I will have very little money in my checking account after I finish paying rent and my security deposit, and I have less US dollars in my American bank account. Given the continuation of the horrible exchange rate, they won’t be worth much. Wow. And here I am, painting murals for free in a hospital—more murals than I can afford to paint for free. Unbelievable. Instead I should start looking for jobs for a portion of my day. Maybe I will look early tomorrow morning before heading to the hospital. I really wish I could find a nice job. Do you think that my kind acts will hold favor with God to cut me a break? Or would God say, Cara you are foolish—you should have job searched earlier. “I did job search earlier, months ago, but my promised “job” screwed me over!” Maybe I’m trying to hard to be here, to do here—or maybe I’m missing the point—or maybe it is easier than it looks—maybe I should ask for more help—maybe I’m helpless---Maybe I should just enjoy myself and take it with a lighter outlook.
Okay…enough of that. Other than my extreme exhaustion…I am good. I just had a long day. My other roommate joined us tonight, and now we are in 4 because we have another girl that will be staying with us for a month. They went out tonight at midnight after Arianna arrived in Milan from her home in Puglia, but I was too tired. Oh well…hopefully another time. On that note, I will go to bed.
As I was writing this, Mark wrote to me and we started having a Gchat conversation. I vented a bit. At the end he said:
:Well I just wanted to say before you go…I really believe that you were given some really amazing gifts…and I think you were meant to share them in a lot of ways…and I think this could be one of them. I think it would be bad if someone with your talent spent too much time worrying about bills etc. I think God gave you those gifts to share. That is not to say it’ll always be easy for you…but I think you are doing what you were meant to do…and I couldn’t be more proud or happy when I think about you.”
Sometimes it is hard to hang out with Matteo when I know Mark is at home.
Housing background
I found my new apartment one week before coming back to the United States, and I was very lucky to have read an email that the secretary of my school sent to me--she knew that I was searching for housing. I had been searching for some time for a living situation suitable to my needs, and I was desperate to find something before my departure.
I had originally found a job with an American University in Milan as a resident assistant for incoming Americans--a job that I would have loved doing considering my study abroad experience and passion for playing tourguide. They would have paid for my apartment as long as I lived with American students, helping them with their transitions into the Italian lifestyle. They had decided to hire me despite me being American because they thought that I could offer a lot for the new students--understanding of their background and current situation and a decent knowledge of the city, the language, and the Italian history and culture.
Well, the sad part of the story is that three weeks after the job confirmation, the woman phoned me saying that they could not give me the job. She was very apologetic, but I was devastated. They had given me specifications of their requirements, and I had made flight changes to adhere to their instructions. I had also stopped searching for an apartment and a job for three weeks. Well I made sure to let them know the horrible situation they put me in, but I could do no more but accept their apologies. Sometimes in life, certain things are not meant to be---you have to roll with the punches, and move forward. That day, despite my sadness and feelings of extreme defeat and helplessness, I mustered the energy to read and reply to that one email--that landed me with this lovely house with great roommates. Those flight changes also worked out for the better.
I had originally found a job with an American University in Milan as a resident assistant for incoming Americans--a job that I would have loved doing considering my study abroad experience and passion for playing tourguide. They would have paid for my apartment as long as I lived with American students, helping them with their transitions into the Italian lifestyle. They had decided to hire me despite me being American because they thought that I could offer a lot for the new students--understanding of their background and current situation and a decent knowledge of the city, the language, and the Italian history and culture.
Well, the sad part of the story is that three weeks after the job confirmation, the woman phoned me saying that they could not give me the job. She was very apologetic, but I was devastated. They had given me specifications of their requirements, and I had made flight changes to adhere to their instructions. I had also stopped searching for an apartment and a job for three weeks. Well I made sure to let them know the horrible situation they put me in, but I could do no more but accept their apologies. Sometimes in life, certain things are not meant to be---you have to roll with the punches, and move forward. That day, despite my sadness and feelings of extreme defeat and helplessness, I mustered the energy to read and reply to that one email--that landed me with this lovely house with great roommates. Those flight changes also worked out for the better.
Official Residence Move.
September 1, 2009
Guess what, I have officially moved into my new apartment, and I am exhausted after a day of painting and moving the rest of my stuff from my old apt. I now live along the Naviglio water way, very close to my school and my old apartment. Let’s just say that I am practically all set up here, with the exception of my fan that I am saving for tomorrow. I have a very cute new room, and the apartment is always in the shade—a welcomed change. There is a beautiful garden courtyard, and there is a warm feeling to my new residence painted in warm ochre sunny shades—it is very homey and livable. I have a lovely balcony that is filled with growing plants and flowers, and we have a table with two tree stumps as chairs on this porch balcony. My bedroom opens out to it, and I would love to drink my coffees there in the morning. Compared to my old apartment, it barely compares to my previous “cool pad” and huge bedroom—flat screen tv, etc. I will miss it, but I am happy to be settled somewhere….here. I ate dinner with my new roommate, Carmen. She is from Argentina, and she is incredibly sweet. It is way to late to be writing, and I have a long day tomorrow. I am melancholy to leave my lovely bedroom in Piazza 24 Maggio with it’s balcony looking over the church. However, this chapter begins.
Guess what, I have officially moved into my new apartment, and I am exhausted after a day of painting and moving the rest of my stuff from my old apt. I now live along the Naviglio water way, very close to my school and my old apartment. Let’s just say that I am practically all set up here, with the exception of my fan that I am saving for tomorrow. I have a very cute new room, and the apartment is always in the shade—a welcomed change. There is a beautiful garden courtyard, and there is a warm feeling to my new residence painted in warm ochre sunny shades—it is very homey and livable. I have a lovely balcony that is filled with growing plants and flowers, and we have a table with two tree stumps as chairs on this porch balcony. My bedroom opens out to it, and I would love to drink my coffees there in the morning. Compared to my old apartment, it barely compares to my previous “cool pad” and huge bedroom—flat screen tv, etc. I will miss it, but I am happy to be settled somewhere….here. I ate dinner with my new roommate, Carmen. She is from Argentina, and she is incredibly sweet. It is way to late to be writing, and I have a long day tomorrow. I am melancholy to leave my lovely bedroom in Piazza 24 Maggio with it’s balcony looking over the church. However, this chapter begins.
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