Lacking tube socks and short shorts only because of shoddy weather, I entered Tourist Mode full-swing this week: It’s la Settimana della Cultura! This is a fantastic idea . . . Well done, Italy! (USA, Buffalo: Grab a notebook.) To promote tourism by tourists in non-tourist season, and to promote tourism by “locals,” the Italian Ministry of Culture sponsors a Culture Week every spring. Not only are all museums free, but there are all kinds of special events, shows, movies, lectures, and “extraordinary openings” of, say, your local Medieval palace. Wanting to take full advantage, and lured by the promise of show about Chocolate (I do study Alimentation . . . ) I spent a full day today in Modena. (Incidentally, I recently learned that the Italian word for "tube socks" is "tubolari." Excellent word.)
- There was a cool exhibit of 1850s photographs from Rome; I feel like I have a kind of special connection with Rome (maybe everyone ever enchanted by Rome does?), and it’s amazing how much the photos, from a hundred and fifty years ago, of a city I lived in for a month, made me feel “at home.”
- I stumbled into a public library and found a map from when the world was still flat. And a couple of beautiful thousand-year-old illuminated books. Doesn’t it sound crazy that you can “stumble upon” these things?
- And then there was the chocolate show. It wasn’t chocolate, per se. It was chocolate represented in little advertisement cards from the last hundred, two hundred years. There have been some pretty cool ads through the years . . .
But here’s the interesting possibility of the day. Modena was the seat of the Italian branch of the d’Este dynasty, which had plenty of other top dogs scattered across Europe. When I got into Ashe family history a few years ago, I remember reading a theory that the origins of the Ashe name came from French d’Este immigrants fleeing . . . something. I can’t remember, exactly: it’s jumbled against the theory of a Spanish shipwreck off the coast of Kerry (though I think was more of an ambitious explanation for being the stereotypical “Black Irish”) and the rather more probable suggestion that it had something to do with an ash tree (though, in fact, the Irish word for an ash of the tree type is fuinseog). In any case, this idea of the French d’Este connection, having hibernated in the dormant-neuron compartment of my brain for the last ten years, was re-awakened upon seeing the d’Este portraits in Modena. My first thought: That’s an Ashe forehead! Not that we have a monopoly on the “extraordinarily tall forehead plus pronounced widow’s peak” style, but, you have to admit, it is pretty distinctive. And, what do you know?! Check out these two d’Este foreheads.
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I think it's conclusive. I'm writing immediately to claim my inheritance.
 I had a fantastic, and fantastically unique, Easter. Italian friends from the Camino de Santiago got together: Elisa from Trieste, Matteo and Maurizio from Vicenza, and Giovanni from near Livorno. Giovanni lives in a “house with a view,” if ever there was one, in the mountain-forest overlooking the Ligurian Sea, and he played host. But he didn’t just host us: it was a full house, and full of characters! Giovanni, in fact, is a theater instructor, and lives in the forest with three of his students. They all invited friends, from all parts of Italy, and there were about 20 of us in total. And, thanks to lousy weather outside, all 20 of us spent just about all weekend in the kitchen. Some of the guys even slept there! And it was awesome. Walter from Napoli was the Chef-in-Charge, and cooked up – oh yeah, I’ve already told you how much I love it! – an octopus that Marco (also from Napoli) brought with him. Three of the theater people put on a show for us, and I especially liked Marco #2 (who played a horse). Guillaume from France regaled the masses with tricks he learned in Circus School (really), such as walking on glass and juggling fire. Bociccio played the mandolin, Luca sang Lucio Dalla, and I laughed a lot. Buona Pasqua a tutti voi! Happy Easter, everyone!
Part of my "duty" as a Rotary Ambassadorial Scholar is to give presentations to people here in Italy - primary the Rotary Clubs, but maybe schools and other groups, too. The idea is to share a bit about where we come from and thus promote international understanding and goodwill. I think it's all pretty cool: I like the objective, I like that I get to be a part of it, and - you know it - I like giving presentations. Anyway, I was searching for a Buffalo logo, and I came across the "Talkin' Proud" Buffalo from the 1970s. My real discovery, though, was the associated jingle. I had no idea there was a jingle. I mean, I'd heard the "Talkin' Proud, Talkin' Proud" bit . . . but this is a full-up jingle. Maybe even more than a jingle. It's pretty impressive for its . . . its . . . kitschyness? Can that word be applied to a sound element? Check it out for yourself at Forgotten Buffalo. Since I didn't arrive on the Buffalo scene until 1980, I missed out on this firsthand . . . if you're in the same boat . . . ah, go on - give it a listen!
I really like Bologna. There’s so much going on! In fact, I have a few weeks off right now, and I don’t even really want to go anywhere! I’ve done a couple of cool things lately – and, naturally, a few have turned into veritable “Only Me” stories. Seriously, I don’t know if I attract these kinds of events, or if I create them, or what. In any case, I’m glad they happen while I’m around; I get a lot of entertainment mileage out of them. This Sunday was the “Sagra del Raviolo Dolce,” The Festival of the Sweet Ravioli, in “nearby” Casalfiumanese. “Nearby,” however, understates the 30-kilometer distance from Bologna. I had written to the tourist office in Casalfiumanese saying, basically, “I don’t have a car. How do I get there?” They told me to take a train or bus to Imola, and then hop on local bus #44 to Casalfiumanese. Seemed easy enough – but, if you’re a regular reader of this blog (are there any??), you’re learning, along with me, to distrust any intuition that says “easy enough.” (I’m trying to come up with an aphorism for SEEMS . . . along the lines of You Know What Happens When You ASSUME . . . but the thing is, you don’t have any blessed idea of what will happen when something in Italy “seems easy enough”!!!) In any case, despite such distrust, I took the train to Imola, went to catch bus #44 to Casalfiumanese, and – surprise! – it actually doesn’t run on Sunday. The day of the festival. Small detail. So I turned to the nice man in the Train Station Information Window. His solution was simple:
- “Oh. Sorry. You can’t go to Casalfiumanese today. It’s Sunday.”
But I decided that I could, in fact, go to Casalfiumanese on a Sunday. I walked a thousand kilometers on the Camino de Santiago, didn’t I?! What’s ten or fifteen more to Casalfiumanese? And, what the heck? I have only a little daypack with me. Why don’t I run there? So, yep, to pull a favorite Greg Ashe term out of my hip pocket, I Hoaked it to the Casal. Where another adventure awaited me: The launching of sweet ravioli from the town’s clocktowers! Yeah, you bet, it was fantastic. The Counts of the Ravioli (there were several) mounted the three towers of the main plaza and launched two tons of sweet ravioli to the crowds below. Insane! I literally got walloped on the head by an airborne ravioli, launched from the tower behind me, while I was grasping in the air for flying ravioli inbound from the tower in front of me. Of course, there was also a competitive element to the event: a plaza full of ravioli-obsessed Italians to reckon with. I think this gave me a genuine sense of achievement: I came home with FOUR sweet ravioli. Ah, coming home. I’d had enough of that running shite. Did I tell you it rained and winded on me on the way there? So, going home, I did one of my favorite create-your-own-adventure picks: hitching. Great fun, as usual. Met a couple from Puglia, who took me to see a baby shark in a café aquarium. Classic.
Yesterday I went to a lecture on market and environmental analysis in Uzbekistan. I think it’s cool that there are events like this in Bologna, that they happen all the time, and that people actually go to them. And not just any people: interesting people. At this lecture, for example, a fight almost broke out: It was exciting! And very Italian. This old guy from Napoli just wanted to talk, so he managed to start a polemic about the Trash Problem in Napoli, waving his hands (and his cane) and looking just charming the entire time. This provoked the entire room to break into argument and shouting. Whooooo! Who knew Uzbekistan could be so entertaining!?
Today I checked out the Museum of the Risorgimento in the morning and stumbled across the Carducci library, which has all kinds of old books. Is it ever cool. It would be awesome to study in a place like that. And guess what? You can! Anyone can go in and request to look at one of these old books. And – this is another point-winner for Bologna – all the museums are free. A super policy, if you ask me. Especially since the euro now costs $1.56.
Summary Point: Bologna is an awesome, awesome city, and I am really, really happy to be here.
This is fantastic . . . "Straight from the headlines": "Palermo: He doesn't fit in the cell; they'll have to set him free. Too fat to enter the bathroom of his cell, and accused of belonging to a [Mafia] clan allied with Salvatore and Sandro Lo Piccolo [ironically: "the Little"]. For this reason, Salvatore Ferranti, 36 years years old and 463 pounds, will be remanded to house arrest. The decision was reached after an odyssey around all the Italian prisons: none had doors big enough to let Ferranti pass through." I don't even think it needs a comment. And yet - naturally - I have one: Have you ever noticed that Mobsters are necessarily obese? Just for fun, I Googled "Mafia," and on the first page of images, I found this champ:  It's not "the guy" in question - in fact, I think this arse belongs to a New Yorker - but nonetheless I'm certain it merits a place on this blog. Healthy Mediterranean Diet, anyone?
Honestly, can anyone imagine a better program? I spent this afternoon working on a presentation on herbal-based medicine, and this evening I went on a research project. By this I mean, specifically, that I went to a wine tasting. The Association of Montepulciano Wine Producers (or something like that) was having their 2008 Preview at a swanky hotel here in Bologna. I attended. For the sake of alimentary research, naturally. My primary notes: 1. Vin santo rocks. 2. Studying the History and Culture of Alimentation rocks. That about sums it up. If you’re wondering, though, I did actually treat it as a research project. I had a great time chatting it up with the wine producers. We talked about the presence of flavors such as cherry and blackberry, the oak barrels, how long the wine ages, the various grapes, and wine that is very “approachable” (What that means remains a mystery for me: If it's not approachable, how do you approach it?) Also the cheese was good. And I have to go right now, because the pot on my stove is overflowing. On another alimentation note, I have discovered that boiling orange peels makes an awesome herbal tea. (Which is not actually a tea, as I have been corrected many times by Europeans, who prefer to call such non-tea teas “infusions.” But I continue to call them teas, probably because I’m testarda, stubborn.)
I went for another run today, and had another “cultural insight.” I have a lot of “cultural insights” during my runs. I know you’ve been awaiting my commentary on this one, though, and for precisely that reason, I’d been trying my best to avoid it. But I can wait no longer . . . Live from Bologna . . . Italian Fashion! I preface these observations by declaring that, if there’s one person on the planet who should not be making any observations at all about fashion, it’s me. (But I will comment nonetheless.) There is clearly a marked difference between Italians and Americans regarding what it takes to look good, and, probably more importantly, wanting to look good in the first place. But the difference between Italians and me is . . . well, I’m not sure it even qualifies as a difference. It’s more like a different topic altogether. As a starter, we’ll review the two principal Italian uniforms, and the regulation regarding their use: Men and boys: Must wear jeans of reasonable tightness. Winter coat is of utmost importance and hence governed more strictly than other accessories. It must be white, brown, or black, and must be down or imitation down. The compartments containing the down must be horizontally segmented, and the jacket should be reasonably “puffy.” It should have a hood, a faux belt, and – this is very important – a furry collar. Shoes should be trendy. Cap should be of the 1930s newsboy style. Large sunglasses (“facial” style) recommended. Women and girls: Tight jeans for the casual look and short skirt for the classy look. Nice shirt. Obligatory scarf, ideally one of extraordinary length and complicated-issimo wrapping. Winter coat, similar to that worn by men, should be white, brown, or black, and must be down or imitation down. Compartments again must be horizontally segmented and should be reasonably “puffy.” The hood, faux belt, and furry collar obligatory for men are optional for women, but the woman’s coat must be thigh-or knee- length. The accessory of highest importance for women is footwear, and leather boots, preferably knee-high, are obligatory. Tall, skinny heels are best, but shorter heels may be considered marginally acceptable. Hats are best avoided, but, if worn, should be the feminine version of the 1930s newsboy style. Small, pointy, trendy eyeglasses are recommended, even in cases of outstanding vision, and large sunglasses (“facial” style) are, for women, obligatory. Rules for use: All Italians between the ages of 18 and 65 must dress according the general Wardrobe Fashion Law. (Dispensations are allowable for health or age-related problems, and individual requests should be directed to the Bishop.) In the event of a violation, the Italian’s (fashionable) electronic ankle bracelet will activate upon crossing the apartment threshold, and the user should return to his or her wardrobe to remedy the violation. Upon returning to conformance with the regulation wardrobe, he or she may then leave home with no further imposition of penalties. In the event of wardrobe negligence carried into the public sphere, however, the penalty will be social ostracization, imposed on a scale escalating in accordance with the frequency and severity of the violation. These really are the rules, and the penalties (as you can see) are stiff. I’m not kidding. (I’m searching for the governing legal document on the internet right now.) Some people have gotten so used to the rules that they begin to follow them before the age of 18 and continue to follow them after earning the age-related automatic dispensation at age 65. For example, today I saw a woman who – “I am not making this up” – was at least 85. Check that, at least 85 but really most likely edging into her mid-nineties. You know what she was wearing? Knee-lenght skirt; regulation “puffy” coat with faux belt; four-inch heels; fashionable fishnet stockings; and – this is the winner – the Italian signature, “trendy” eyeglasses. Awesome. Anyway, this is the insight I had on my run today: I realized why all Italian runners wear a uniform. It’s not just because they belong to a team, as I’d thought before (though it remains entirely possible that they belong to the team just to get the uniform.) It’s that there’s an important exemption to the Wardrobe Uniform Law (as described above). Here it is: Athletic Exemption: IF the user is leaving home to participate in an activity that has as its express and sole objective fitness, the user may exempt him- or herself temporarily from the general Wardrobe Uniform Law. However, he or she must then abide by “Rules of Dress for Athletic Activity” (see below), must return home within two hours and immediately return to compliance with the general Wardrobe Uniform Law, and must not combine the outing directed toward fitness with any other activity. (For example, this specifically prohibits stopping at the supermarket after running or even walking fast.) The (fashionable) lectronic ankle bracelet will be disactivated only pending compliance with the “Rules of Dress for Athletic Activity.” “Rules of Dress for Athletic Activity”: The rule applies identically to both men and women. Users must dress in clothing that unmistakably identifies the purpose of their outing as athletic. The clear preference is given to Spandex pants and zip-up spandex shirts, both of which should be brightly colored and imitate, as closely as possible, the sponsored uniforms of professional cyclists. (Though helmets, of course, should be avoided.) It is permissible to add a single piece of non-spandex gear to the athletic wardrobe, as long as (1) it is manufactured from another expressly “athletic” material, such as Goretex, and (2) it contains a reflective stripe. (The ideal piece, therefore, is obviously a Goretex, wind-resistant vest with a reflective stripe.) Note that this rule is applicable whether used by semi-professional athletes or by overweight old men out for a stroll: The important thing is that the user alert everyone that he is doing an athletic activity and hence merits exemption from the general Wardrobe Uniform Law! To illustrate the danger of less than full compliance, consider this cautionary example: wearing loose-fitting pants or a hooded sweatshirt is ambiguous and hence could be confused for non-athletic, unfashionable clothing; hence such clothing, and clothing that is similarly ambiguous, should be at all times avoided. That’s what I figured out today. It makes a lot more sense, now that I know about the national law. And I’d thought that everyone just bought into appearances a little too much! Did I tell you, though, that I inadvertently acquired two pieces of fashionable clothing?! Yeah, it shocked me, too. At the flea market, I bought (1) a pair of jeans that fit me, for two euro; and (2) a winter coat for five euro. This was because I had only two pairs of pants and a spring jacket (thanks to my Camino weight frugality), and it was snowing. Turns out that the pants are Tommy Hilfiger, and the coat is very nearly compliant with the official coat regulated by the general Wardrobe Uniform Law. If anyone is concerned, however, you can take a deep breath and relax: I have no trendy eyeglasses and continue to wear my hiking-running shoes (which have now walked about a zillion kilometers), holes and all. And I kind of like the looks of the running shoes. They’re red.
I've been a technology fan for quite some time (with the exception of TV, which I continue to boycott, though now not by choice: my landlord refuses to fix it). But I made an awesome discovery today: Google Scholar. If you haven't made a trip to the " Google Extras" page, I recommend a visit. Last year I got hooked on Google Desktop for finding "stuff" that I'd buried away in long-lost folders of my desktop, and now - wow! - I'm becoming a huge fan of Google Scholar and Google Books. They're awesome. You can find full-text articles from authoritative but obscure journals - and full-text versions of some recent books. Man, am I ever a fan of Google. Let's hope Google doesn't have any major ethics problems in the next twenty years - because they just about control the world of information. If Google were to blackball someone, some country, some ideology - I think that person, place, or idea would, for all practical purposes, cease to exist. I guess that's kind of what Google does in China, right? I'd like to think that "the West" has a kind of tradition of inquiry and innovation that would prevent something like that from controlling the "informational patrimony." But I know it doesn't: Has anyone yet seen dead soldiers on TV?
A wise, messy Swiss man once gave me a great piece of advice: Wherever you go, even if you don't know the language, you should read the local newspaper. If you want to get a feel for what's on the mind of Italians, here you go, "straight from the headlines," from Bologna to the USA, here's a summary of what's in the Bologna newspaper these days: - Walter Veltroni vs. Silvio Berlusconi. Elections coming up in April. Did you guys know that the Italian government "collapsed" recently? Yep. If you didn't know, you should go to the internet and try to follow this story. Man, is it ever complicated. I'm still trying to wrap my brain around it. It goes something like this: There's a (one of many) scandal with some politican being connected to the Mafia. That guy (Mastella) withdraws from the majority alliance. (He's forced to step down to avoid further controversy). That makes the majority alliance (and Prime Minister Prodi) lose the majority. That makes the government collapse. That leads to a big controversy about what to do now: Elections? Appoint a temporary government? Change the electoral law and then have elections? Anyway, they're having elections in April, and Veltroni and Berlusconi are on the campaign trail. In fact, Veltroni is coming to Bologna on Thursday night, and, just for kicks, I'm going to go see him. - The bodies of two disappeared boys are discovered in a well. We, the curious public, get to follow every moment of police investigation and family agony. - The "carovita" - literally, the expensive life. The high cost of living. Prices are constantly on the rise, and everyone's favorite hobby is complaining about it. One on hand, they are entirely justified. When they introduced the euro about a decade ago, the euro was worth about two thousand lire. So, the number part of everyone's salary was halved: If you made 40,000,000 lire before, you made 20,000 euro after. But! In a marketing trick that wasn't so tricky but stuck nonetheless, all the prices remained the same: A loaf of bread that cost two thousand lire before cost . . . two euro after! So for all practical purposes, everything doubled in price instantaneously and people lost half their buy buying power. And it continues to get more expensive. (And, I will add, for an American abroad, it continues to get even more expensive.) On the other hand, they don't seem to be dealing with the problem particularly effectively on an individual level. For example, another "I am not making this up" observation, this is actually a headline I read recently: "High Prices Change the Buying Habits of Italian Consumers: Less Pasta and Vegetables, More Chicken and Eggs." I thought it was just a misleading headline - maybe they were substituting, say, beans for pasta, and they were substituting chicken for, say, beef. Or something like that. But no: They actually interviewed people who substantiated that they are actually making these types of decisions. That is: Because pasta got lots more expensive than it was yesterday, people aren't eating so much of it; but because chicken isn't so much more expensive than it was yesterday, they're eating more chicken instead of the pasta. Let's review: One serving of pasta for one person: about 15 cents (instead of what, ten cents yesterday?). One serving of chicken for one person: 1 euro (instead of 95 cents yesterday?) That reminds me of a saying I heard once about the lottery: "The lotto? It's really just a tax for people who are bad at math." - The San Remo Italian Music Festival (" Volare" . . . oh oh) is a bust this year! - The debate over abortion. Law 192, which legalized and regulates abortion, and Ru486, the pharmocologic abortion, are hot topics, expecially given the election. It's an interesting climate: The Pope, the Church, and "the Catholics" (that is, the politicians allied with the Church) are obviously against abortion and talk a lot about it. On the other hand, I haven't heard anyone in the "general public" who's against abortion, they're all against "those crazy religious folks," and their favorite hobby is bashing the Pope. It's noticeably strange: The Pope gets a lot of play here, but no one (in the general public) seems to have much respect for him. - Immigrant-bashing in the "Text Messages (forget letters!) to the Editor." If there were a way to measure racism and xenofobia, South Buffalo and Italy would both be in the playoffs. They both have some features that make them strong contenders for the title: Aging populations. Lack of good employment opportunities "on the homefront." Generally homogenous communities historically. I'm not sure who else would be in the playoffs, so I'm not putting any money down on the eventual champion. But should South Buffalo and Italy face each other, Italy would definitely win.
You know another thing that bothers me? Yeah, I’m in a bothered mood right now, I’ll admit it. The average emotional age of the Italian man is fifteen. As I’ve said before, I didn’t like high schoolers when I was in high school, I try to avoid high schoolers now, and I’m certainly not a fan of adults who act like they’re in high school. Which is a fairly high percentage of Italian men. I promised to return to the story of how I’ve been confused for a prostitute more than once. Right. Upon arriving in Bologna, I put up an advertisement for a language exchange partner. I’d done the same thing in Rome and Florence with great success: I met a few great people, and really enjoyed getting to know them a s we practiced Italian and English with each other. I figured the same thing would happen in Bologna. Apparently not. Well, that’s not entirely true. I have met a bunch of great people. But, God, the others! I started to receive phone calls – the “sexy voice” phone calls. - Hello? - Ciao oooo . . . :0) ;) (Really, I could hear the emoticons.) - Ciao. (Silence.) Ciao? Si? - Yes . . . . I’m calling . . . about your ad. - For the language exchange? - Yessss . . . When can we . . . get together? - You’re interested in a language exchange? After getting a few sexy voice phone calls, I’d had it, and starting giving it to them. But two phone calls were just classic. The first one came at seven in the morning. I answered, thinking that, if someone was calling me at seven in the morning, it must be an emergency, right? Well, an emergency of sorts, I suppose . .. - Hello? - C iaoooooo ;) - Si? - Yes . . . I’d like to get to get together with you . . . (This guy got right to the point. Forget the pretense about the language exchange.) - Listen, I have no idea who you are. Could you please call back another time? (Apparently I have some semblance of politeness, and a major lack of Snappy Answerability, when I’m not yet awake.) - No, I’m really really . . . hot . . . and I want to go out now. (Panting.) Pleeeease? (By now pleading, whining, pouting.) Ickkkk! The second one started off as a typical sexy voice phone call, so I told the guy to get lost and hung up the phone. Then he sent me an MMS – a video message. My phone doesn’t play videos, and hence I’d never received a video message, but the written message from the phone company said there was a way to go on the internet and retrieve it. Curiosity got the cat. Yeah, you guessed it, it was a borderline-inappropriate picture of him, in the gym, all jacked up, half naked, with the written message: “If you change your mind and want to talk more about it, send me your photo. :) :)” God! The latest Exhibition of Immaturity is my landlord, who keeps inviting me to do things. On one hand, he’s my landlord, and he actually has been very nice, so I don’t want to pis him off. I’ve also been running with his running team (I told you: everyone here needs a team.) On the other hand, he’s a fifty-year-old Italian male who keeps touching me inappropriately. Ick! This is probably why we have sexual harassment laws in U.S. offices. Fortunately my studies are keeping me busy and my social ineptness can be amplified on command. "Really? A Sardegnan dinner? Cool. I'll have to tell my classmate, who's going to do his internship in Sardegna! He'd love it!" As on Sesame Street, but in a much different spirit, I leave you with today’s special word. Saturday has been brought to you buy the word: ICK.
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