Friday Fix – Diego on Knits and Wrap Skirts

I’m in New York City now, which means I’m not in Italy, which means I have no fresh Old

America – It’s What’s For Lunch

This just happened. Ohhhhh, mama. America – I love us.

Heading home for the holidays soon. Pinterest is slowly teaching me how to dress. Also have a new ha

 

Friday Fix – Diego on Knits and Wrap Skirts

December 2, 2011 in The Odd Siblings

I’m in New York City now, which means I’m not in Italy, which means I have no fresh Old Man Antonio fix for you this fine Friday, but I can, however, offer you Diego’s latest critiques of my clothes.

“Been busy knitting, I see.”

“So I see what you’ve done here is take a jacket and wrap it around your ass. No, it’s nice, really. It’s very hip. You look like a hipster. Good work.”

But on the other hand, he does approve of this:

“This is nice. It’s not bad. It fits you well. I bet you’re the only person wearing a white coat in New York City. Did you get this in Italy? It’s nice.”

Baby steps, my friends. Baby steps.

America – It’s What’s For Lunch

November 30, 2011 in Ex-Patriate Games, Oishii, spazarific

This just happened.

Ohhhhh, mama.

America – I love us.

November 21, 2011 in spazarific, The Odd Siblings

Heading home for the holidays soon. Pinterest is slowly teaching me how to dress. Also have a new hat. Will Diego approve? Time will only tell.

Ten Italian Songs You Would Love if You Knew They Existed

November 18, 2011 in dialect, Italia, spazarific

You silly Italians with your love of English-language songs even though you have no idea what they mean! You crack me up. I love you. You make me warm inside, even as I chuckle sardonically each time I hear a DJ attempt to translate a song title – half the time, you dorks are wrong. I also laugh when you claim that everything in Italy is better and that nothing America makes is any good – which is why your favorite movies come from Hollywood, your sneakers are Nike, and Nirvana is your favorite band. But I digress.

I’m fascinated by the pervasiveness of English-language music around the world. How did we get the monopoly on far-reaching tunes? Why aren’t English speakers more open to embracing music from other cultures? It’s not as though other countries don’t produce amazing music – yet, at music stores back home, “World Music” is usually banished to a single lonely shelf.

I can’t enjoy a song if I don’t understand the words is a common argument. Certainly, there’s something to be said for being able to “get” all facets of a song: every once in a while, my Italian friends will ask me to translate a song for them and in the 60s and 70s, many chart-topping American songs were covered by Italian singers to make them more accessible to Italian audiences. But – and feel free to argue with me if I’m wrong – in the end, it’s the beat that makes the music, so usually, it goes like this:

My friends: I’m honey, honey, honey, honey.

Me: What the hell are you singing?

My friends: I’m honey?

Me: It’s “I’m horny”, not “I’m honey.”

My friends: Oh. I’m horny, horny, horny, horny.

Me: Do you even know what that means?

My friends: No.

Me: Do you want to know?

My friends: I guess. Sure. Whatever.

You can protest all you want, but I don’t believe for a second that if you heard a fantastic song in another language that you wouldn’t love it. To test my theory, I present you with Ten Italian Songs You Would Love if You Knew They Existed. The older songs are songs my parents raised me on and the more recent ones are songs I’ve come into contact with since I’ve been living in this crazy boot.

The reason you will love these songs is because I love them and you and I – we always agree.

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Friday Fix – Old Man Antonio on Going Out

November 11, 2011 in Old Man Antonio, spazarific

I’m in Vienna and hungover but it’s Friday and I promised you (or mainly myself) to pop out an Old Man Antonio fix on this holiest of days so:

OLD MAN ANTONIO: Liv, I’m going now.

ME: Great.

OLD MAN ANTONIO: I’m tired. I’m going straight to bed.

ME: No partying tonight?

OLD MAN ANTONIO: Hah! Where? This town is dead.

MAFALDA: I’m going to the Penelope Club.

OLD MAN ANTONIO: To do what?!

MAFALDA: Drink, dance.

OLD MAN ANTONIO: But you’re old like me. Why the fuck do you want to do that?

MAFALDA: It’s fun. I may be old but I’m not dead. I can still go out and enjoy myself. The Penelope Club is nice.

OLD MAN ANTONIO: You mean The Prostate Club.

Friday Fix – Old Man Antonio on Successful Marriages

November 4, 2011 in Old Man Antonio

OLD MAN ANTONIO: All men cheat on their wives.

ME: Is that so.

OLD MAN ANTONIO: Yes. In fact, there is only one woman a man will never cheat on.

ME: Really.

OLD MAN ANTONIO: Yes. A pumitrozzola.

ME: A what now?

OLD MAN ANTONIO: A pumitrozzola. It’s a portmanteau. PU – puttana*- MI – mignotta*  - TRO – troia* – ZZO – zzoccola* – LA – latrina*. A woman who is a pumitrozzola will never get cheated on.

*whore, whore, whore, whore, whore

ME: So men should marry whores?

OLD MAN ANTONIO: That’s not what I’m saying.

ME: That’s exactly what you’re saying.

Five Myths About Italy

November 2, 2011 in Uncategorized

A few months ago, I was interviewed by Blog Expat for their Expat Interviews feature; a lovely time was had by all. Answering the questions made me reflect deeply on my years living abroad – how did I get here (Ryan Air)? What advice would I give other expats (stock up on Jell-O)? But the question I had the toughest time answering was: What is the biggest myth about your adopted country? Now that was a real head-scratcher; a real Sophie’s Choice of a question. In the end, I went with perhaps the largest myth I encounter: Italy is paradise; nothing bad ever happens there; it’s beautiful delicious dreamland; how dare you complain about anything if you live there? Right… if you’re just on vacation and don’t have to deal with bills, work, garbage build-up, and the giant, unreliable pain in the ass that is the Italian public system.

Italy, you KILL me.

But I digress. While I greatly enjoyed getting that off my chest, I soon realized that I was still unfulfilled. Had I really done enough? This ring. This watch. There are more Italian myths I want to bust for you. Here. Take my hand. Take a breath. And prepare to get your cultural preconceptions rocked.

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Crostate Exam

October 26, 2011 in Uncategorized

So I have the gang over for dinner one night because my parents are in town and want to meet the people they’ve been hearing so much about. My parents We make a lot of nice things to eat. A fonduta of young Pecorino, hazelnuts, thyme, and honey. Guacamole and frijoles negros. Eggplant parmigiana. Arroz a la Valenciana. I also do a banana bread because it’s my mission to educate my deprived Italian friends on the wonders of American baked goods. Piercarlo simply can’t imagine bread made of bananas, and neither can the rest so it’s what those ignorant mofos are getting for dessert. But then, as the dinner hour grows near, I soften up and decide to pick up a crostata on the way home from the office. Because I’m having a memory issue these days, I scribble the word on the back of my hand. Laugh all you want, but it’s the only thing that’s keeping me fed and clothed. Notepads and phone alarms are useless in the face of this recent memory lapse. When I write things I need to remember on my hand, the word winks up at me as I type, and gets further lodged into my brain when others ask: What’s that on your hand? And it works; after an afternoon of typing and listening to Old Man Antonio rant, I remember to drop by the bakery.

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Keeper of the Castle: A Play in One Act

October 22, 2011 in spazarific

CAST OF CHARACTERS

LIV: Writer. American. Early 30s. Breathtakingly gorgeous.

OLD MAN ANTONIO: Pensioner. Early 60s. Italian. Haunts the bar where Liv goes to write. Scatters outrageous, unsolicited advice like so much birdseed.

MARCO: Policeman. Italian. Mid-40s. MARCO was once one of LIV’s interview subjects for an article she was planning to write.

FRANCESCO: MARCO’s friend. Italian. Also mid-40s.

DOMENICO: The owner of Bar Girasole. Italian. Mid-40s.

MASSIMO: Barrista. Italian. Early 20s. Jacked, handsome, painfully shy.

GENOEFFA and CINZIA: Local girls. Italian. Early 20s. In heat.

SETTING

Bar Girasole, where LIV goes to write and OLD MAN ANTONIO apparently spends every hour of his retirement. Modern day. Culonia, Italy. LIV is sitting at her usual table, working on Chapter 28 of her novel and drinking a strawberry-flavored hot chocolate. OLD MAN ANTONIO enters the bar.

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Homemade

October 20, 2011 in spazarific

You guys, look what my friends give me:

That’s apple cake and prune crostata from Maria, mandarins and pickled eggplants from Flora, and pesto and currant jam from Pierluigi’s mom.

I love these people.