Adesso Scrivo

Pinata Series #1

2008-01-28T12:05:00.000-08:00

DoEAT was up to it again this past week, this time being provided with a gallery space at Sesto Senso in Bologna, Italy for the first in a series of Pinata's that we are planning to construct and then have others destroy. Camilo and Shannon were able to come over to join us in the process. Here are a few shots from the time that they were here.

More to come, including a video at some point in the near future.

Sorry for my absense from the blog. Have been busy since arriving from the holidays. Work, work, work...

looking back.

2007-12-31T13:10:00.000-08:00

the working holiday is over.
boBo is here and now begins our few days together in the place where we met in the first place.
as we do our merry making here, i wanted to post some of the pictures from the last year to recall the better associations of this whirlwind of a life.

new name (part one)

2007-12-22T12:43:00.000-08:00

perhaps i am being a bit obsessive right now. call me crazy (read my last post, i just did), but there is this slight feeling of insignificance that is overwhelming me at the moment with regard to my name.

jason moore. there, i said it. everyone i know knows my name. and probably has varying images or notions of what that names connotes. what i have not been completely conscious of, however, is how ubiquitous it is in this ever-web shrinking cosmos around us.

it started an hour ago. i added a friend's link to my blog and had to google her in order to remind myself of the proper spelling of her last name. after typing in what i thought to be the appropriate surname, i successfully came up with her link. there it was: the very first of the first on the first page on google. (i've done this before with niamh, and found some interesting links to doeat...another story).

out of curiosity, i proceeded to do it with my own name. yes, the name comes up. but nothing relating to me does. not in the first 20 pages! i don't know about afterwards. i halted the search out of discouragement.

am i being egotistical? what is there, in the cliched expression (okay, go ahead and use it!), in a name anyway?

probably nothing. but i'm bored. and i want to do something about it.

my ex-roommate changed his name once. around the same time, i thought about doing the same. but it seemed like a bit of work. maybe too much to do with my short attention span. or maybe i didn't want to come off like i was mimicking him.

i guess i simply don't like it. never mind the associations it has with the family. there is too much anger and self-pity in that realm to even waste energy on anymore.

it won't change me. probably people i know will not even use it. but i do believe that i am going to look into it.

da firenze a roma

2007-12-20T22:48:00.000-08:00

why is it that breathing sometimes can be a chore, a laborious task that seems to invest more energy that what is really desired to give. i felt this way both the night before hitting the pillow as i headed out of florence, though restlessly awake, and again the next morning as boBo graciously offered me a ride to the station.

when i travel, i like to break up the itinerary as legs of one giant monster leading to an eventual head. i use the word like rather liberally here. i think i would rather not think about it at all, but my OCD/ADD impulses come into play and it at least makes me feel safe knowing that i look at things in this manner.

part one of my journey: getting out of the house. my train was not until ten minutes to eight when i would be taking a eurostar to rome. of course, i had to wake up at six although we are literally a ten-minute walk from the station (and that's if i am full of luggage and tired).

in the end, we made it past the first leg (to the car) and ventured onto the second portion: the ride to the train station. yes, i could have walked. it would have been faster. but then again, i would not be seeing boBo for an entire month and i thought that the last few minutes together would be better spent together. but then i realized that we were in a car in the centre of florence.

anyone who is familiar with this city knows that it is impossible to get anywhere merely by driving in a straight line. the highly strict navigational course forces you to leave the city on the other end only to take another busy road to get back to where you were before. such was the case the morning of my departure.

and this led to my forced breathing.

i did not want to freak out with the assumed fact that i would be missing my train and all of the implications such a fiasco would ensue. instead i tried to think that i would make it, dammit! the traffic getting heavier and the minutes ticking away fluidly, the breathing increased in depth and speed.

if i would have walked, i would have been there by now.
we should have left earlier, i knew we should have left earlier.
is a taxi such a bad idea at a time like this???

such were the rapid thoughts passing through despite efforts to control my mind. sometimes these patterns of thinking, however, become too strong to stop and then they merely run rampant.

there were no long goodbyes as i scurried out of the car, and with my extra-large bags in hand (and on back), i breathed one last sigh as i entered the station and found that i had five minutes yet before i was scheduled to depart.

i should trust him more. me, i'm just crazy.

flight's eve. continued.

2007-12-20T10:27:00.000-08:00

we began the evening at No. 28, an all-white restaurant that boasts of a pretty stellar wine list as well as an all-fish aperitivo. the clean lines and minimalistic approach to the ambiance made me enjoy the place despite it tendency towards water-derived delicacies.

after a nice bottle of sicilian white, sveva, native to rome, brought david and i to a very tiny osteria in the middle of trastevere where the selection is at a minimum and so is the english. but the woman who runs the place is apparently always present and serves her special dishes significantly of roman origin. despite being in one of the most touristic areas of rome, sveva said that she is not interested in catering to the tourist with americanizing everything, including her speech. what she does want is for the customers to enjoy her modest surroundings and exquisite yet simple cuisine. although we arrived early at 21:30 with the place appearing to be so tucked away that not a roman soul knew it existed, by the time that we left, the placed was packed.

indeed, there is nothing quite like being in a town with a person that truly knows what to do and where to go. so much is missed if one consistently follows tour groups and travel guides. perhaps it isn't always possible to know the natives, but it helps.

despite the delicious fare and more-than-accommodating company which included a driven tour of the exact procession i would need to take the following morning in order to catch the bus to the train station, i woke up before my set alarm with a sudden fear of the oncoming day. so many what ifs were clouding my head. and at 5:00 AM, not a recommended way to awaken.

flashes of recent news reportage of crazy violent crimes surrounding the rome area convinced me that upon trekking to the bus stop at such an early hour, i would certainly be jumped by a barrage of hooligans or moroccans.

i did look into my wallet upon getting ready to go and had a bit more comfort that the available funds in euro was embarrassingly low, but in that particular moment, it seemed a form of comfort for my erratic and ridiculous behavior. at least by waking up early, i was able to spend the few moments calming myself down before departure. all of this energy and stress.

for what? certainly there is nothing wrong with being aware of the surroundings and being cautious...but i had a moment of conviction that the crime upon my body and my wallet had already happened, before even leaving the apartment.

sitting in the airport lounge in the not so comfortable metallic chairs included at gate C24 facing an ostensibly bright samsung refrigerator billboard, i wondered what all of the tension was about.

fear of flying? that's the least of my concerns. fear of leaving bobo? well, i would miss him. but we would see each other in exactly a month.

after much thought on the subject, it was the vast cavernous fear of the unknown that was (and still is) concerning me.

lately it seems that i have been doing a lot of walking in the dark, not really knowing where i am going or what is going to come up from behind the next curve. it is exhilarating and terrifying on consecutive levels. perhaps this is the state of life. when it becomes predictable either it is time to die or at least make change happen.

a friend once said that change is necessary for growth. and sometimes that growth involves stretching in places that aren't that comfortable. and i am feeling those growing pains as i finish typing this line.

flight's eve. part one.

2007-12-13T10:18:00.000-08:00

the sleep was sound considering what little i actually got. i found myself lying comfortably under duvets with overstuffed pillows on the couch of sveva and david's cozy flat in trastevere.

apart from the obvious that i needed my sleep due to the extensive travelling that i had in store for me to head to america, my yawns began to multiply after envisioning all that i had done the day before. this would include especially what transpired after david and i left his office.

with luggage tightly secured, we boarded yet another underground so as to meet sveva in a more convenient place. taxi drivers roma unite. apparently the traffic was even more of a mess than usual since the taxi drivers decided not only to go on strike but also to block some streets yesterday evening. yes, indeed, one of a series of "strikes" comes upon the city and country revolving around transportation. they are always on a friday and only happen between the hours of 9:00 and 17:00. good for the businessman. better for the employees in the transportation sector. bad for the shopper and housewife.

non vedo l'ora

2007-11-24T04:09:00.000-08:00

i am persistently pinching my skin. i get to go to the states in less than a week. where, indeed, have the last year and four months gone?

...stalling...

2007-11-23T04:34:00.000-08:00

yesterday was a significant day.

never mind that it was the final day of this job that has felt more and more like stalling than like working. after a plethora of anti-climactic salutations, my overstuffed bags and i took the first taxi to the parma train station and as i moved procession-style along the fog engulfed landscape of emilia-romagna, i tried desperately to know how i could spend as much time as i did in a place and feel absolutely nothing upon departing.

but wipe my hands i have done and immediately embarked on the continuation of the day of importance - the 22nd of November. bobo and leah picked me up from the station and once we managed to distance ourselves from the frenetically crazed traffic of florence, happily i got in touch with the prospects of being guests of leah's parents at the villa that they manage in the florentine countryside for thanksgiving dinner. we pulled our car into the driveway of the agriturismo that doubles as a site for volunteers who come to the villa and devote their time to assisting with various tasks that need to be done, including the harvesting of olives. i met volunteers last night from all over europe and the states as well. leah began to give us a tour of the house which dates back to approximately the 1600's. her father finished the walkabout as leah went to say goodnight to the 20+ belorussian orphans that are currently spending their annual month-long visit to the place.

after the excessiveness that is only natural to the festivities, the warmth of the car and bobo's hand in mine made me have some comfort inside.

happy anniversary, he said lightly. and that was, indeed, the most important signification of the day. our third thanksgiving together. i hope for many more.

odds and ends.

2007-11-11T07:08:00.000-08:00

creeping past the one year mark as of August, last week i celebrated my second Halloween in the land that tends to brush that Americanized paganism aside for a much more appreciated holy pagan rite: the All Saint's Day of November first.

regardless of which ghosts one chooses to venerate, the better aspect to being here rather than in the States is that they take the time off work to properly do their worshiping. and since the first was on a Thursday, they have what is called Il Ponte, or "The Bridge" which translates to Taking-Off-The-Friday-That-Follows-The-Holiday.

we decided to spend the long weekend with bobo's folks in the mountains. the crisp air was good for the lungs, the excessive amounts of food were beneficial for my appetite and sitting around the dinner table observing the interactions between bobo and his family were excellent for my listening skills. of course, my nerves tended to get in the way of actually producing much of an intelligible sentence in response to anything they said, which brought me down on more than one occasion during the four days that we were together.

but the upsides were too numerous to relish in self-pity. we were able to slip away for a savory dinner that involved just the two of us at Mildas , a renovated convent close to Pinzolo. then the following day we treated ourselves to what is quickly becoming a mountainous habit: the day spa. after four hours of alternating between a Turkish bath, sauna, jacuzzi and Kniepp, any tensions of my seeming performance anxiety vanished.

last night we were over at paola's house for what federica called polenta night. paola is this lovely friend that we have known almost the entire time we have lived in Florence, but did not become close until we were able to be with her and her family in Ventotene. since then, we have been going to her house on occasion and enjoying some amazing meals and gracious friendship. last evening was no exception. as we waited for federica and sara to arrive bringing the remainder of the dinner, we sat around and smoked cigarettes as well as enjoyed a bottle of Nosiola and contemplated the prospects of starting a fire. the overwhelming verdict was a resounding yes.

wanting to feel like i was contributing, as i tend to not be of much help in the kitchen (something i want to improve this coming year...), i volunteered the job of constructing the fire. upon lighting it up, the others arrived and we began preparing what would turn out to be a glutton fest of extraordinary proportions. federica brought the stew of ribs and liver sausage in this delicate red sauce, sara began to make her three-cheese fondue, paola already had the white beans with rosemary, onions and red chili prepared and we spent the remainder of the preparation time, along with the help of everyone else who would offer, constantly stirring the homemade polenta. it was, in a word, exquisite.

My New Job.

2007-10-29T10:53:00.000-07:00

it all began after a blissful voyage to the island of ventotene. being aound bobo non-stop as well as surrounded by other florentines (as well as lovely italians from rome and charismatic chris), i arrived in florence with a refreshed outlook on the city and prospects of living there again. yet, despite the enjoyment had, the voice inside was nagging me that this would soon come to an end and parma awaited with open arms. a hearty welcome that i was not necessarily looking forward to embracing.

so i curiously endeavored to look for another route to stay in the city of constant rebirth. my search did not take very long.

upon browsing the craigslist florence ads, i stumbled across a post asking for teachers interested in working in film in florence. though i thought it to be a long shot, i promptly sent my CV to the address and went about my business of re-discovering the city that i had left so many months prior.

not too long afterwards, a reply came from the director of the film school asking for more information and if we could meet.

wow. one meeting led to another which has blossomed into a weekly rendezvous with the director that has evolved into a job.

beginning in january, i will be able to fix myself in florence permanently with a film teaching position at a local film school. the new renaissance florence film school, to be exact.

the test was to provide an eight-week syllabus outlining in detail what i would teach if i were the main instructor of the school. an intense two-week process of writing successfully landed me the position. since then, it has been a lot of tweaking, which is not finished yet...but it's coming along.

i want to thank everyone for their encouraging words and suggestions. i am very excited and anxious, but it feels like the right thing to be doing now. times like these are when you feel blessed. thanks again.

My Turn.

2007-10-25T08:41:00.000-07:00

One event seems to strangely transmute into yet another plethora of them. All good though, which is a relief.

1. I got a new job teaching film at a private school located in Florence. Which essentially means: NO MORE COMMUTING!!!!! More on that later...

2. I'm going back to San Diego (finally) for an entire month. Yee haw. Bought my ticket already. Thankfully, boBo will be there too, though a bit later than me.

As promised, I did show Niamh's pictures first. Now, it's my turn...

Dov'è Harry's Bar???

2007-10-13T07:11:00.000-07:00

well, niamh's trip has gone. two weeks she has been gone already. maybe it is three. i can't say how much the trip was a blast or her presence being here was beneficial and a pleasure. as with most things in life, it was too short.

instead of being boring with meticulous details to the itemized list of events that took over our two weeks together, i thought the pictures would suffice. there are some videos posted on the right-hand side panel, if you feel like some movement.

a side note, the pictures derive from both niamh and myself, so i will be a gentleman and let ladies go first.

spoon plays a minute through paper tiger
i see a harvest in the future
i feel a sway
head
torso
head torso
tap tap tap tap
tap tap tap tap
tap tap tap tap
so alright

Niamh Scott (2007)

...In With The New

2007-09-08T10:08:00.000-07:00

it is almost 7:00 in the evening here. as of late, this time slot has become a significant ring of the bell tower as i have given up smoking before this time. in an ideal world, i am only allowing myself to smoke for two hours thereafter. but then again, it is never really the world that we want it to be.

the procession moves right along. the vacation is definitely finished. the residual markings of a lackadaisical mind frame meandering about beaches, salty waves or even the back streets of the tuscan capital have but diminished to the now certified routine of daily trains and the weekend jaunt to bobo's apartment: away from the daunting heaviness of the north.

but alas, the second love of my life and my muse will be here in week. there is a god. although i heard that she missed her flight and had to leave the next day, i am sure she will have recuperated from any loss by the time she makes it down here. it has been over a year since i have seen niamh. and it is indeed time.

Ventotene 03: Wild As The Wind

2007-08-28T01:18:00.000-07:00

ventotene is situated off the coast of italy between rome and naples. it is placed amongst more well known and larger isles such as PONZA, ISCHIA, and CAPRI. as the island is relatively small (approximately 3 km long and 800 m wide), walking from one end to the other does not take an eternity but nonetheless not bad exercise as everything seems to be on an incline regardless of where you need to go.

at least that was my impression.

we headed out from the port city of formia, and about two hours of smoking and trying to talk to chris in italian as a primer for him (and for me), we arrived with bags upon bags and bottles of wine brought from tuscany to the open arms of the island and federica awaiting us. for about a week ahead of time, she had been sending us text messages such as -6, -5, therefore prompting not only our anticipatory clock but enthused to know that we had at least one person who was eagerly hoping to see us.

in italian, the word for WIND is VENTO and the verb TENERE means TO HOLD, TO OWN. however, since the island is not too far away from naples, the verb is pronounced differently. third person singular would normally place the verb as TIENE, but a napolitan would say TENE. therefore, the name of the island, according to the napolitan dialect would literally mean THE WIND OWNS or THE WIND HOLDS. although this is a bit rough, i would have to concur that after ten days of experiencing some rather bone-chilling breezy nights, the wind certainly has a hold on the island.

one thing i will recall with absolute fondness were the nights, nestled outside of federica's house in the country watching the plethora of stars shining above us, looking out for falling stars and trying to stay warm with good wine and a blanket.

federica said, one evening as the sun was setting upon the house a purplish-pink hue that seemed to transport us into a mystical landscape or an impressionistic frame of mind, remember this, jason. in the cold and rainy months to come, you will have this memory to keep you warm. indeed.

Ventotene 02: Moments Preserved

2007-08-27T07:34:00.000-07:00

ever since returning from the island, i have had the luxury of hanging out quite extensively with bobo in his new flat in florence. third floor of a three-story walk-up, it is conveniently situated in between the duomo and the david which makes for varying walking stints throughout the area not only more enjoyable, but the excuses for needing to pop out of the place for banalities seems to have increased as well.

apart from the mob tourism status that one seemingly gets used to, there really cannot be much to complain about, though i do have the tendency to do so even with this awareness and appreciation.

upon entering the new pad last week, i have been trying not to think about the upcoming return to bologna/parma, both of which seem rather dark and grim at the moment. what a few months ago (circa january) seemed like a burden of a city especially with no job and lack of a sugar daddy, florence now appears to be teeming with life and opportunities, hidden spots i would probably never have seen, or at least noticed before. the good news is i will be frequenting the city by the arno every week from thursday evening on. what i am hoping for is a permanent transfer. we will see what happens in the future.

still, with all of the splendour that surrounds us, yesterday we decided to embark into the countryside to a small lake outside of tavarnelle val di pesa between florence and siena. swarms of horseflies aside, the area was beyond picturesque. the rolling hills with rows upon endless rows of grapes and olives. the sun setting producing varying shadows from the trees and vines making an imprint of splendorous beauty upon my mind.

apart from the penetrating heat this spring and summer to which i am not a huge fan, i cannot say enough of the beautiful places and people i have come into contact with as of late. i was relating this to bobo last night over a beer and the free vegetarian buffet at pop cafe last night. how it is so easy to be experiencing something and not really know how grand it really is until it is over. maybe that is why people (present company included) are so obsessed with the photograph or moving image. a reminder of what is lost or left behind, a secondary glance at what was there along with all of the memories (usually shaded brightly in the mind's eye despite the actual experience and its tendency to not be so poetic). we both concurred the wonder of being at ventotene and how tranquil and refreshing it really was.

of course, we are already deciding on our next venture. soon the island will be but a sound-byte, an image looked at probably rarely as more and more images are added into the photo library by upcoming situations, sights seen and occasions experienced. i am not sure about this but it almost seems that some sort of happiness is wanting to be obtained by the endless pursuit of a goal, whether it be a vacation, a new car or those pair of camper's i keep looking at in the window. maybe the moment of true happiness is when one is able to take in the moment without reflection of the past or anxiety of the future and just be there. with no regrets that the perfect shot had not been had.

*** The BRACELET photo series above was taken by fellow Ventotene vacationer and film director and producer Federica Di Giacomo ***

Ventotene 01: Erroneous

2007-08-23T04:31:00.000-07:00

first of all, i need to apologize for anyone who may have slightly been interested in the blog and noticed that indeed it has not received a post by me in quite some time. i can attribute most of the blame on the vacation that has been a frenetic whirlwind of thoughts, experiences and certainly time. besides the fact that i decided to leave the little PowerBook at home and even take a vacation from the iridescence of the 12 inches of screen that seem in some ways to be my only view of the world for a large portion of any given day.

of course, that was before we left for ventotene.

i do not have the desire to bore the reader nor do i have the exactitude at any given moment to sit down and describe verbatim what transpired into a chronicle that will take the average ADD reader (present company included) a relatively voluminous amount of time and patience. therefore, bite-size is my mantra right now. besides...it keeps 'em coming back.

what i want to describe today is the initial feeling...the emotional release of being let from a certain prison-like state to emancipation from the labors that have been constricting me to parma for the better portion of the year. at last, as my final student left the room, i could not decently handle the overwhelming sense of ease that was gripping me. frankly, it was almost too much. elation soon turned to exhaustion.

the weather was more intense than now. not as rainy or cold. in fact the exact opposite. no rain for months and the sun peering down with almost shocking intensity. i recall sitting in on the train from parma to bologna resembling a glob of jelly.

i met bobo later that evening and we began to pack for the week excursion. chris was heading down the next day and i wanted to get things in order before he arrived. place was clean. suitable clothes were arranged and placed into the bags that we allotted ourselves to have. the trip to southern italy would consist not only of the two of us plus chris, but we had agreed to pick up moira as well in florence on our journey down to the boat in order to get onto the island.

saturday arrived. it felt more natural and energizing than anytime before to be able to sleep until midday. chris was not to arrive into bologna until that evening, so we spent the day doing last minute shopping and packing. stopping at IKEA for lunch (gotta love the meatballs), our search was primarily for an umbrella. being the slight queen that i am (okay, at least i admit it), i made it rather clear to bobo for the second year in a row (last year.corsica.yet another island.is this becoming a habit?) that in no way was i desiring to linger extensively underneath the sun. i am perfectly content with my white skin. there is no desire to bake it for a longer period of time than what is necessary. of course, this opinion is shared by only a small portion of the population. mainly goths. and italians are into many things but rarely that.

upon locating all the things needed to make us more content on the island to which we had no conception of what would make us content in the first place, the only thing left to do was wait for chris to show up. the plan was that we would pick him up and head to florence. rest a few hours and drive to the port in order to make the 11:00 A.M. boat.

that is when we received the text message from chris. Howdy. Flight is half an hour late landing, so we'll be leaving late. I imagine they will try to have a quick turn around, but you may want to check arrival time closer to the time...:(

initially, it was not an issue. bobo was going to take a rest because he was to drive quite a long way. two hours to florence. another five or six to our portal destination before parking the car and transitioning to foot for the next week or so.

i finally went online to check flight arrivals into bologna airport. the strange thing was that i could not find chris' flight on the list. that is when the elated vacation mood rather instantly downsized to anxiety and yet another tension amongst us.

bobo told me to check the flight information that chris had given to me several weeks before. at first, i did not want to do this as i was certain that i had understood that this was the correct airport. but, after re-examining the flights again, i had no choice but to open my email. and sure enough, it was there. it had been there for some time. the flight was ryan air. it was flying into "bologna", according to ryan air. but really, it was flying into forli', about two hours away...in the wrong direction.

let us just say that the next conversation was not exactly pleasant. i am the first to admit that it was my fault. i assumed the wrong information and because of that we drove a much further distance and bobo was not able to sleep at all. after we picked chris up, the tension left. like it normally does. upon loading all of our baggage onto the ferry to ventotene, he slept like a baby.

thresholds.

2007-08-03T15:19:00.000-07:00

i am sitting in my teaching lab/makeshift office contemplating a few matters of dire and of utmost concern at the present moment.

first of all, the recurring yelps being produced from my stomach, insisting that i be fed soon. i have said it before and will say it again, i don't think i will ever be able to get used to the italian colazione, or breakfast. a coffee and a croissant (brioche/cornetto) just doesn't cut it for my bigger-is-better american morning appetite. i tend to find myself dwelling on this fasting period for the minutes that tick away and endeavor to listen to my students using (or not using) the correct verb tense when really all i can think about is the glorious hour that is about to be upon me now: lunchtime. eating at barilla cannot really be criticized on any kind of level.

the other point of departure in my mental state is that indeed, this is my last day of work for an entire month. naturally this week has paced along more like the tortoise than the hare. how exactly is it possible for the mind to extend a mere seven days into seemingly thirty? monday appears to be a fortnight ago with very little of a recollection for any words said or tasks accomplished.

on a side note, i did just finish THE LINE OF BEAUTY, a lovely little gift from chris when he visited last time from london. i can tell a book is exceptional (at least for me) when i finish and i have separation anxiety for some days afterwards. it's like saying bye to someone that you have recently met but find some sort of connection with. it's intense and beautiful, refreshing and new. but within a few days the novelty of loss tends to fade and then it's on to the next.

and finally, the trip. we head off on sunday to ventotene, an island that even most italians aren't familiar with. federica and tomaso are already there. she has said that it is surprisingly uncrowded. we'll see about that.

chris has decided to join us on the trip. it will be good to be with him for awhile. strange how you move so close to a friend and still aren't really able to see much of them. can't complain really though. since i've been here, the visits have upped a bit...4 times since i moved to italy.

which brings me to my last thought of the day. that of time. on the first, i officially celebrated a year of being exiled from the land of surf and mexican food. strange. i can still recall my goodbyes with niamh, still completely drunk and eyes pouring buckets from some instant and unexpected reservoir of emotion. but it was niamh i was saying bye to. i probably would do the same again today.

*ALL PHOTOS GRACIOUSLY PROVIDED BY OUR TALENTED NY FRIEND CARLOS GARCIA TAKEN DURING HIS TRIP TO BOTH FLORENCE & BOLOGNA*

Le Cinque Terre, il pesto e la luce

2007-07-10T11:51:00.000-07:00

Not to sound redundant, but it was yet another blisteringly muggy day at my job when I received a shout from my boy.

Stepping out of The Hut, the nickname we call our teaching facitily in Parma, I drank yet another shot of machine-produced espresso-sludge and gladly answered the incoming whilst waiting for my 20-minute tardy student (tsk.tsk.tsk).

Guess what? B. sounded teasingly excited. Before uttering my mono-syllabic retort (which I will not bother writing the italic code for since it is, well, a bit banal), he continued.

How would you like to go to Cinque Terre this weekend?

My first thought was that of excitement. Going to the sea, visiting yet another locality that I had not been able to take in yet. I hesitated with this initial response. You see, as of late, we have been doing a lot of travelling back and forth to Florence, etc. Not that any of it is bad. I can think of a few many things that could be worse than skipping about the Italian countryside on a minute's notice. But then the overly reasonable daddy instinct clouded the acqua blue sky as I knew that in less than a month we will be heading to yet another undiscovered (at least to us) land for vacation. Ventotene.

I would love to. But we need to be saving for our August holiday. I heard the rather boring words spill forth from my mouth and wondered what happened to the idyllic jet setting image I always have had about myself. About us and this whole idea of living abroad. Don't you think we should chill until then? Similar to vomiting, once the nonsense began, it automatically issued forth beyond control. Alas, the eternal question: Why does everything have to center around money? Because, sadly, it does to some degree.

Federica is going with her job and she has an extra hotel room that is already paid for. We'll drive there and essentially only have to pay for food. Suddenly, the sun began to shine again and I had to put on my newly acquired Ray Bans. (I can't help it, they're all the Italian rage now!)

The news undoubtedly made the day seem to go by faster. And I tended to speak about the shiny new plans to my students, who all suggested different things to see and, more importantly, taste. The general consensus was to go for the pesto. Not knowing the Liguria region, where Cinque Terre is located, is the home to that savory sauce, I knew that this was going to be even more heavenly than initially imagined.

We rose on Saturday to a cloudless day simply becokning us to excitedly move about in order to leave Bologna as soon as possible. Bologna definately has some wonderful attributes. However, being amongst the streets in the dead of heat with no water to retreat to is not one of them. Therefore, like so many other Italians, we followed the autostrada to the coast. Thankfully we seemed to avoid the notion of traffic jamming that I hear about so often from others that tend to take the same trusted highway jaunts.

Before heading to our newly acquired scott free room, we were meeting Federica and Moyra (as well as Tomaso, Fede's son) in Lerici, a small port town not too far from the famous 5 terraces. We decided to focus on the water and some much needed beach time before the sun indeed went away. As it was, we did not make it to the area until after 1 p.m. There was talk of doing Cinque Terre on Saturday, but the time to start such a venture should be done in the morning, as it typically is an all day excursion.

In lieu of this unknown information, we decided to stay in the Lerici area, more specifically to visit Palmaria, a small island in the Bay of the Poets , where Lord Byron, amongst others, were said to have hung out. Not the most condusive beach to lazily meander about, being mostly large rocks and choked full of people, we did manage to find a spot so that everyone could take a dip. At that point in the day, having sacrificed any semblance of a breakfast, I was more interested in finding food and a beer. Though small, the island was able to satisfy my needs.

We left the main coast of Lerici by a very small, yet sturdy, fishing boat that Fede managed to locate, though the exact details are still a bit hazy. A nice but quiet man agreed to take us not only to Palmaria but also to Portovenere , a small port town that opened up to the sea and that is the main connection point to the Cinque Terre. After the visit, Portovenere was undoubtedly my favorite place that we saw during the brief two day tour.

Nestled on a large rock with a church (naturally) being the main point of reference facing the sea, the narrow and steep streets of the village were, admittedly toursity, yet had a charm that was pleasant. And did I mention the pesto? First experience was one of the best! This time it was on yet another Ligurian speciality: foccaccia. I was beginning to really like Liguria. How could it know to put two of my favorite things together. Did I mention this was heaven?

Upon our return to Lerici, we made reservations for dinner at a nearby eatery, per the recommendation of our boat driver's wife/girlfriend. Now I am thinking that the boatman and her were some sort of advertisement for this soon-to-be-realized disappointment of an experience.

First of all, there were six of us, including Tomaso. Off the bat, I think that the waiters did not like the large group scenario. Though that probably was not true as we stepped from the lazy darkened streets of the Lerici coastline and into a dining impression that resembled something more like the MCL cafeteria that I would accompany my grandmother to in Muncie rather than a costly dinner by the bay. Okay, we were suckered into the tourist trap. The dinner tables were indeed narrowly situated beside one another. A relatively small outdoor terrace seemed to be able to accomodate at least 200 eager guidebook-reading afficianados. Apart from the "intimate" seating arrangements, though it being 9:30 in the evening, all of us regretted that we hadn't brought our sunglasses to this event. Above (almost) every table, shimmered a light fixture that must have seconded for a heat lamp but did nothing for the already lacking ambience.

The next day, after surviving temporary paralysis due to over exposure to the sun was beautiful...Enjoy the pictures.

Distractions.

2007-07-05T11:33:00.000-07:00

He was firmly caressing the plastic gadget for some time now since he had entered the long bus from the wrong entrance in the centre of town. Fortunately, he thought, at least he was able to find a seat though it inevitably had to be facing in the opposite direction. Still, it was a seat. No semi-soft ones today though. That was a shame.

He glanced around. Well, more like peered behind his covered appendage snugly wrapped around his upper face and slightly pinching his earlobes. It is okay though. Staring with anonymity. That is what everyone else is doing too. Or so he guessed. All the times people are staring at you while taking public transport, facing you in the opposite seat. Again with the opposite seat inclusion. What were the transport architects thinking? Is it an accepted belief that by placing half of the passengers in a backwards moving velocity that it ensures larger capacity seating? Or are these so-called experts more advised in the ways of Sade?

Everyone else acts like they are sleeping. But he knew the truth. The truth in his mind. That of the voyeurism that is such a heavily guarded gem of self-indulgence. Isn't it? Even the non-shade wearers attempt to do it from time-to-time. Don't they? The slightly-crisp lady with her shopping bags. Too many for her to handle and will no doubt oblige some youngin' to fetch what she cannot manage to whisk away on her own. With her gold and silver chains wrapped around her neck. Some have miniscule dying jesus' on them. He supposed that was for a self-reminder of her belief in the myth. Or maybe just to convince and warn others of her relatively new-founded faith. Strewn lazily around her protrusion of skin like gaudy jewelry or more appropriately like amulets. The hypocritical worship monger, too, casts an eye in the direction of someone else. The stare, if felt from the corner of the eye, initially has the sense of paranoia. No, one thinks, that person is not staring. More like goggling, at me? Then the quick twitch of the head in the direction of the laser beam from the two orbs of the christ freak. And then, the retraction. Immediate like when the doctor taps your knee with that device that looks too similar to a vestige from an Indian reservation, uncontrollable. Almost like she is embarrassed or penitent for the intrusion. Guilt is a wonderful thing when it has control of others. It means that the creators just scored another point.

The honest-to-god reason for the looking about is not to see someone's tits on display, which does not take much effort to find. Or some ancient crotch spread eagle in tight red paints directly opposite that takes no effort to figure out where the years of pleasure have derived from. He wonders if the pleasure is still there or if it is forgotten about.

He wants to see how many other people are fondling their cell phones like he is. Square in shape, slick to the touch, he nervously rubs his grimy thumb in a circular motion over the face of the necessary burden. He is wishing that it would turn round. He often has these distractions. To want to be able to forcibly control and alter the nature. In this case, a plastic phone. It is probably just a nervous tick. Like the movement of the hands over the top of the ear as though pushing hair back behind it. Then realizing that there is not hair to push back. There never has been. He looks about and tries to breathe and continue the movement of the hand, now made conspicuous to himself. Like all distractions, this one is merely an attempt to avoid what is really eating at him. What is eating at him, he cannot pinpoint exactly.

Is it the weather? Or the combination of the tepid air with intervals of construction worker body odor and large breasted russians with their eccentric redolence of something that may have smelt decent at the crack of dawn but now has transcended to achieve a higher calling. And like most higher callings involves a lot of shit wading initially. Then again he asks himself why he looks at people with such derision. Like the geriatric engulfing an ice cream cone at the approaching bus stop who already has a snow tire around him. But when you are at that age, it appears like everything just goes. Is it mental, physical, both? Have they attained to some inner-peace which allows for the release of anything attractive on the outside? Is beauty emitted from the interior a trade-off for physical elephantitis? He is being vain, he knows. And he wants to stab himself for the thoughts. But again, he seems to get dissuaded from anything real to think about.

JUST SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP. FREAK. SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP. shut up.

he misses the psych days when he actually had a pillow that he was supposed to yell into. it felt okay to do. and it released something. an inner rage that seems to control and manipulate. why he cannot do it now, he is uncertain. but he is not able to do so. instead, he looks at fat people. old people. foreigners. normal people. a guy walking outside with larger tits than most women. the three of the opposite sex that had to sit in his car on the train and speak at the top of their voices to the point where he either has to excuse himself or continue to scowl at them behind his glasses and imagine stepping on their unprotected and perfectly manicured toes.

he could bang on walls. he supposed. his brother did that. but it did not seem to accomplish anything. poor guy. he was always pitied when they were kids. he still is, he thinks. as fucked up as he was. and then he begins to think about those horrific creators. generators selfishly doing what they think should be done. but then, like most, cannot possibly know what they have done and tend to wipe their hands of the outcome. especially when that result tends to not be as expected. endgames with unplanned events always make it harder, right?

he then truly does close his eyes, taking away the power of the glasses. he rubs the the newly formed oval and imagines what it would be like to be invisible. to have any power, to be there without being seen is the ultimate upper hand, he concludes. the events you could see. the conversations one could hear. the unknowing victims. it would be delicious. he comes back. the jesus lady is gone. the fumes have disappeared. no migrants seem to be in view of him any longer. he is the only one on the bus. the back of the head facing forward and nothing to see outside, for the view is white, almost misty. he looks down at his phone and he sees no signal, no indication that it is working any longer. he moves closer to the hand printed unbreakable glass of a window to try to look out from the moving vehicle, passing everything and nothing. he removes the sunglasses and squints into the haze. an object can barely be seen in the distance. it is rectangular and dark. the more he squeezes his eyes together, the clearer the image. the pushing of his sight begins to control every nerve in his body until he is completely locked, tensed into seeing this mirage. be it is not a mirage. he hears his mother's voice. a bolt of despair evaporates the tension for the moment and before him is the picture of the kissing couple, holding on to one another and to nothing at the same time.

... worms

2007-06-28T12:46:00.000-07:00

have you ever heard the sound of say, a stereo, when the frequency is mixed with that of a cell phone interception? throughout my day, when i am expecting a message from bobo, i will have my phone on during work which also requires that i have a handy portable CD player for those rather sterile listening exercises.

anyway, the sound. it has a rhythm to it. and i cannot quite get it out of my head. i bought a new dictionary the other week because i decided that i no longer wanted to be a human dictionary for my students to look up and possibly find an incorrect entry. they seem to appreciate it.

so today, upon waiting for a student that decided he would rather miss than take a test, i found myself fingering the useful, if not a bit simplistic, list of basic english words. and then i found the "new words" page. A group of lingo "which have recently appeared in the English language [that] will continue to be used in years to come while some may disappear from the language." (Cambridge Learner's Dictionary: Cambridge University Press Third Edition, xviii).

i found EARWORM (noun): a song or part of a song that you hear again and again in your head. i have to say that i have never heard this word before today. yet, i tend to suffer from it on a kind of heightened level i think. kurt zimmerer always called it "song poisoning". he would say, "fuck...i've got song poisoning again!"

getting back to the stereo/phone: it makes this noise which constantly reminds me of the beginning of B.B.D. (Bell Biv DeVoe)'s "POISON". that kinda scratchy, bad early 90's beat that was the thang at the time. but this is where it starts to get nerve wearing: the song morphs into D.J. Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince's "PARENTS JUST DON'T UNDERSTAND". i think the worm has been growing inside of me. bobo always has said that i have a worm of some kind.

okay, i've said it...maybe i should get some help. or just turn off my telephone.

velocious thoughts 01: drivin' that train...

2007-06-26T12:32:00.000-07:00

bathing in the mid-afternoon summer light, i feel swept away from moment to moment by the sheer force of the oncoming breeze. breeze is too light of a term. probably gale would do. it's okay, i think as i correct my inner-thesaurus. the brisk wind is conveniently cutting the heat that has engulfed the air. the water. the land. the now fertile land will no doubt be a whistling hollow of tumbleweed and bergman-like emotion sooner than...

...but i push that aside as the relief of finally casting off the last minute of the slave bell. putting away the supplies, the endless mountain of papers and books and sounds and wires. i head to the stop and await the first leg of my three-part daily voyage home. it is 4:30. my eyes begin to tear. perhaps it is the vapor substituted for air extracting any remaining drops of moisture holding my contacts to my pupils. am i perhaps in overjoyed awe to have completed yet another repetition of the one before? no, i think. it's not so bad anyway.

it is the no-sleep option, i conclude. it has not been for a lack of exertion. pushing the lids closed for hours, hoping that nature will do that thing of slow but assured dozing and finally crashing. twisting and turning. naked. no sheets, hardly any pillows really. a three-foot fan endlessly oscillating slightly above the mattress on the floor scheme that bobo likes to call japanese-style. yet rustling about in pools of wetness without the desired sensual explanations leads to restlessness and yes, no sleep.

maybe that will explain the overwhelming amount of angst i have felt since half-four until i reached my box so little time ago.

the bus can never be on time. time, for that matter, seems to be a very obtuse concept in general here. i will not compare one for another. i am not interested nor do i share a feeling of superiority or anything as base or vile as that. however, the desire to be home made the minutes tick by slower until they seemed to have completely fell into a long slumber of cigarette breaks and cellphone conversations. as the assigned time to board the bus had passed forty minutes prior, i gave up hope of making the hourly train on time. so i looked forward to an hour of station-people watching. which can be interesting, except when you begin to see the same people on a daily schedule. reminds me of a re-run of a spin-off that you would hope to never remember again. but for some reason it is there, like chicago's you're the inspiration or videos by tiffany when i was twelve. remember that really bad song by chicago that was one of the theme songs for karate kid 2 and you see karate kid boy and girl on some waterfront with a horse? yes, it is that bad.

...one thing i can say about the experience is that i can understand very high-pitched-quick-sounding italian over an intercom announcing train arrival and departures. call it a gift.

upon waiting, i do what i typically do nowadays that would never have happened in the states: when needing comfort, i run to a mcdonald's. yes, sometimes, it is that bad. but there is something so reassuring about it all. the velocity of service, even in italy. the confidence that what i am about to gorge on will be one hundred percent garbage. i know. and i do not care, really. it is a need. not a want. it is different, therefore acceptable. forever shall i be cast from the anti-globalist marches and waste performances. i am a european supporter of american imperialism. sorta. as i sit under the neon electricity and listen to the mcdonald's info radio/pop hit station saying something very radio-voice-effected-speech-like in italian, i notice a couple a few tables away from me. he is definitely worth looking at. i say that only because he has a shaved head. nothing more. but he is with her, so i do not really give it more of a gawk except for the occasional glance as they seem planted in their seats without trays of empty mcroyal deluxe boxes or cups of no-ice coke, hanging out in the local mickey d's, lips locked onto one another for what seems to be endless amounts of time, or at least until i scooped up the last drop of special sauce from the bottom of my container with a heavily salted fry.

subtle. i thought. but then i thought that maybe i should not be a bitch. i too like to display publicly how i feel about bobo. but then again, sometimes i wonder if it is not more for political effect since we certainly aren't in kansas anymore. i looked away tired of having these ridiculous thoughts. and then tired of always having that cranberries song pop into my head when i tell myself not to have those ridiculous thoughts. then i wonder: perhaps it is better to have ridiculous thoughts than to have a song in my head of a group i saw five times whilst living in new york. then i think: why did i waste my money when i could have seen so many other really great bands? shut up, i say in silence as i grab four fries, and dipping them in ketchup, happen to move my eyes in the lover's booth once again. the french connection is over and now it has moved on into dermatology. and suddenly i feel nauseous like i am watching something from degrassi junior high or maybe porky's or perhaps...weird science. all i could see was shaved boys fingers in pimple-popping position on her cheek, pushing his two greasy index fingers together over her white and red complexion. or maybe it was my greasy hands that i was thinking about shoving these surprisingly crispy and hot fries into my sore mouth. sore because i have successfully bit the same spot inside my mouth three days in a row. should that be telling me something? i had to excuse myself from the table. and since no one was around, i simply just got up.

stick.

2007-06-14T10:35:00.001-07:00

i don't even want to know the temperature. why is this enjoyable to people? are they crazy? what is so wrong with cold and wet? at least you can bundle. you can close windows. layer. layer. layer.

it's a i-don't-like-italy day. why is it impossible to have something run on time here? and since trains are not cheap, why does one feel like part of the tribe in some brazillian jungle train with body temperatures increasing the car to crazy digits with no air conditioning and overcrowding? i know i sound like an imperialist. this is what hot weather does to me. i get cranky.

The Maddening, part one

2007-06-13T11:27:00.000-07:00

it's rather odd what you recall as a child when you're no longer in the bracket that still gets you into, well, everything for free. like the merry-go-round. perhaps that is a bad example as i don't recall going on one in my early years. but i can envision it as a kid because i did so when i wasn't. the swirling. it might have been fun, bobbing up and down, swirling around the center, going nowhere without seeming to care or think. just laughing and looking at the ones not on the ride. that would have been me, really. on the side, watching the thing in its endlessness. its pointlessness, i would shrug and roll my eyes when i was that age. or probably younger. but that's not the point.

the images, the memories that flash like a spinning something. a wiffle ball or being on that vertically pleasurable horse. seeing her every ten seconds or so in a bit of a haze. a glimpse then she's gone again. like the motion of the ride. like the people watching...a glimpse and then it's over.

perhaps that's how memory works. in momentary flashes without recall as to why. mostly by association. but maybe not. i do remember the picture hanging on the temporary walls. or i should say the walls that were always changing. or more like we were changing into other walls all the time. but that portrait, that painting was present regardless of where we parked our car. pitched our tent. grew the moss that would not grow for long.

or maybe it's even funnier to combine these individual rations of the past and create a decoupage. a collage of nonsensical maligned garbage that seems to feel comfortable and perfect, at least in the moment of thinking them. like the picture hanging on that non-descript Victorian wall.

the house was big. of course i didn't have a clue what Victorian was at that point. that that painted lady would not only breathe but seep into the skin and infect and influence. it was in the air, in the water...it was and is everywhere. the still and stagnant feeling of discontent and fear. staring at it. it looking like those rothko's i like to see when i visit the tate. big. grand in size, larger than me. but it wasn't. at least not that i can recall. but the people that stood so elegantly in the cross-hairs of the canvas. right in the middle, ready for the final shot. the moment of the kiss. the eternal kiss. her melodious dress drifting smartly down her exaggeratingly lean figure, fulfilling the perfection of the breasts that were cupped around his hand. his hand that continued to attach to her left side and grow into the mass of man that stood firmly and handsomely behind her. the one in control. the one holding her. she pressed up against him in his tails and white tuxedo tie. the kiss that would last forever.

i stood there glaring at it behind the screen of the gauze-like curtain, probably tan in color. hiding there, hearing their voices in the other room. me with my underwear on. holding. clinching. squeezing. the feeling of lack of control. no, i was not going to do it. it was dirty. it was not acceptable. the picture seemed to glare at me as my eyes closed. another passing movement. it would go away, i hoped.

another plus to being a gay couple in the centre of heterosexuality...

2007-06-08T12:47:00.000-07:00

waking up from my usual snooze aboard the hour-long commute from bologna to parma yesterday morning, i glared out of the window to notice day 5 of the deluge drenching the otherwise barren italy. i was beginning to question the story i was brainwashed with as a mere lad: that god provided the rainbow to his earthly children as an eternal promise that no longer would he allow the floods of the heavens to pour down and destroy his miraculous yet inherently evil creation.

as i made my way from the train station to the bus stop that normally is a leisurely and quick stroll, i began to wonder this particular morning what was going to be more interesting: hoping that my pants would air dry in the ice box that seconds as my teaching facility or endeavoring to explain to my 30-something students the meaning behind the cats and dogs raining from the sky.

the morning was trudging along and the coffee dispenser couldn't seem to provide enough stimulus to prevent the occasional drooping eye. i didn't have much to complain about. at least i went to bed at a reasonable hour. bobo, alternatively, had been shoving an art history book in his face and practically had completely swallowed it by the time he actually saw the pillow at 3 in the morning.

Wake me up when you leave, He instructed painfully as he snuck under the covers.

two hours passed and i did as he asked. though knowing the feeling of no sleep and high expectations of performance is only a somewhat dismal prospect leading to resentment and apathy. at least for me, that is.

his exam was at 9:00. always the optimist, he was convinced that he would do embarrassingly on it. from the week long prep including his occasional rampages of irritation and lack of sex, i kinda had a feeling that, as usual, he was full of shit. either way, i insisted to hear about his results at the soonest possibility.

a few hours later, i heard the familiar Nokia beep interrupting my lesson, informing me that i had received a SMS.

Yo! 30/30!!! is all that it said. my heart was full and couldn't wait to meet him in the centre for a night of celebration.

we had made plans the previous week to have dinner at Casa Monica, a little nook of a restaurant with a pet cat that stole the attention of all of the diners. made me think of jack.

when we entered the restaurant, a man was in the doorway and for a few minutes i imagined that there was a line to get in, so i endeavored to patiently wait our turn. at a closer look, i noticed the familiar flowers that were bunched in his hand and his attentive watch to the patrons of the restaurant. unlike in the states, businesses don't seem to mind if solicitors pass through their shops or restaurants and offer people various goods. one of the most popular, especially on an evening in a romantically-prone atmosphere, were lilies, daisies and the usual rose.

i often wonder where their warehouse is located that provides for the endless bunches as well as how successful they are in providing enough sales to have a "lucrative" evening.

but what has often bewildered me even more is the ingrained machismo-homophobia that is as natural as the loving heteros at the next table. not once has the older pakistani meandered to a table that consisted only of bobo and myself. if we have a girl with us, certainly the wilted rose is shamelessly pushed onto us, sometimes a few times within an hour. at our restaurant experience of the other night, i noticed that the man was even approaching tables entirely of the female sex.

what i didn't feel, however, was any sort of outrage...a demand of equal consumer opportunities. though not surprised, it did just remind me that laws can change or not change. but sometimes i question if minds can do the same. on the other hand, i guess it is just one less thing that i have to wave my hand away in this market of dying flowers and fake fendi's that is as part of the country as the food and monuments that cause so many to flock here.

sorry, that blog has been disconnected...

2007-06-06T07:40:00.000-07:00

it's half-way through the year. a time to relinquish the old, dirty, grimy mess of a blog that was tinted with sadness and angst and move on to another possibly dirtier, messier and angrier message. but perhaps with love and flowers and birds chirping in the oppressive summer air filling our shallow breathing lungs.

i blame the death of odessa for my excuse to not write anymore. i also blame the fact that i have become a bit of a cog in the unending works of english teaching these days. more to come...

i guess if the truth must be spoken, another reason for not getting to the writing is the fact that as i see the simulated white sheet glaring blankly in return, i often cease up. not that i don't think i can write. well, there's that too. i'm lazy, i think. or perhaps i'm using that as an excuse.

no more excuses. this is my life. this is what i want to do. so i why not start right now.

i believe all photos were taken over my birthday weekend at bobo's place in the dolomites, specifically pinzolo. so, yeah, they're a bit dated. but who cares?

the time is going by. italy feels like a strange extension of myself now. although a bit foreign still. i'm beginning to get the lingo down. though speaking is another beast all together, but it's coming along. 10 months in the boot. and 2.5 years for the two of us.

the day is good, i think today. the weather is perfect: rainy. the mood is refreshing and light. i feel like conquering something. maybe that's why i'm on here now. i hope it lasts. how does one force himself out of the bog and look what is going on now rather than what has occurred? i don't know. i want to find out though.