michellanea

New blog

2010-05-03T22:40:00.004+01:00

I am still here (in Italy and on planet Earth!), though I haven't updated this blog in a while. I have started a new blog project, which is called Viva la Pappa. Check it out here: http://vivalapappa.wordpress.com/

It's still in the early phases, but I'd love any feedback!

Clarification

2009-12-13T10:06:00.007+01:00

Thanks for the nice comments on my last post, though I think I was perhaps a bit inarticulate (majorly sleep deprived as my 23-month-old STILL wakes up many times a night....) making it seem as if I were saying that many bloggers have "sold out" and wondering if I should as well. Quite frankly, my confusion about what to do with this blog is less about them and more about me, though I have marveled recently at how professional many blogs have become and how many bloggers have moved in one direction or another (food blogging, mommy blogging, maintaining a travel guide, etc.). Over the years, my interests have shifted a bit, and I've often wondered if I shouldn't perhaps focus on one particular topic as well.

When I started the blog, I was not the happiest expat in Italy as I'd just lost my full-time job in very shady (very only-in-Italy) circumstances, and I felt that all the work I'd put into being here had been for naught. My earliest posts reflected that frustration, and then a stressful pregnancy here didn't help the situation. But now I'm at a different point in my life, and it's very possible that a year from now, I won't even be living in Italy.

The major point of my last post was that when I started the blog, I felt like posting was part of one long exchange with other expats or Italy lovers. I made some great friends and met many interesting people. Even people I've never met in person feel like great "virtual" friends to me. Now it seems like the conversation has gotten more one-sided. I get a lot of short emails, such as "I'm Australian and moving to Milan. What's life like there?" or "Know any good hospitals for giving birth near Como?" I always write back with detailed responses and most of the time, I don't even get a "thank you" in response.

I'm also feeling the need to be a little less "exposed" on the Internet now that I have a child. And now that I have a child, I'm out and about less and doing fewer things that are blog-worthy. In any case, a combination of factors has led me to question why I'm blogging, what I'd like to "offer" readers/the world, what I'd like to get out of it myself and how to make it happen in the limited time I have for personal projects. Tutto qui!

Innovate or....?

2009-12-11T12:49:00.011+01:00

I did some thinking in the
mountains this past weekend...

A few years ago when I was covering the luxury goods industry, I went to a conference at a famous Italian business school. The conference had a badly translated title - something like "Innovate or be Exterminated." It was meant to be a wake-up call for those Italian companies that sold luxury accessories which hadn't yet realized that China and India were moving into the market with a vengeance. Experts warned that these two countries were full of young, motivated and creative workers churning out designer bags and jewels (the real deal - not fakes) that were almost as good as those for which Italy's artisans are famous.

The idea of all this was to nudge the industry out of its complacency and let it be known that the glory days of the 1980s and 1990s - where a family company made up of papà (boss), mamma (secretary) and figlio (communications director) was the norm - were over. Where the average Italian luxury goods company had three employees (see above), the average Chinese or Indian company had something like 3,000. The experts went on to say that in Italy hiring was done within families whereas hiring was done in China and India based on who the right person for the job was. At the end, Italian executives filed out ashen-faced and too anxious to get festive at the post-conference cocktail hour.

I've been thinking about that "innovate or be exterminated" theme lately as it pertains to my blog. I've always seen this blog as kind of a public Web journal about my life in Italy, and I enjoyed the interaction with other bloggers who were more or less doing the same. In the last few years, the landscape has changed and suddenly I feel like one of the few who hasn't "innovated." I've never done book reviews, guest posts, advertorials, product plugs or the like. There is absolutely nothing wrong with any of the above (for some people, their blogs are platforms for businesses they run, so it is absolutely understandable that they'd go that route) as long as bloggers give full disclosure. Nonetheless, suddenly I feel like I'm sitting at a long Italian lunch table yammering on about myself while everyone else is making business deals on their Blackberries. That leaves me feeling slightly uncomfortable.

Lately whenever I think about posting, I hesitate because I think "Oh, writing about that would be so 2006." Or if I see or do something cool, I just tweet it. Why write 300 words on that interesting art exhibit I saw when I can just tweet the link? Today, many expat blogs are slicker, more professional, more targeted, more focused and much less personal. So that is where I'm at right now. I'm thinking of ways I could innovate (or even start a new blog - I have a few ideas) while still being myself and not giving so much away that I feel like that girl - you know, the loquacious one at the lunch table who had too much vino rosso.

P.S. The fact that the publishing industry (as I've always known it) is dying does nothing to make me feel confident about a future where one can make a living writing. Career change suggestions?

Buon appetito - or not

2009-11-25T15:39:00.007+01:00

I'm sorry to return to blogging with such a lame little post here, but I've been quite busy with - among other things - the bureaucracy required for our move next year. I won't bore you with how I've spent weekends doing back taxes and tracking down and shifting documents among Naples, Rome, New York City and Montgomery County, Ohio in what I've endearingly termed "the paper chase." I'll soon be back with regular posts but, in the meantime, I leave you with some recent Italian food craziness.

This commercial cracks me up every time I see it. It features one of the chefs for Italy's national soccer team proposing "pane e Nutella" as the cornerstone of a healthy breakfast. Looks like they've got quite the gourmet operation there to feed Italy's campioni del mondo (world champions) yet they can't even whip up a proper breakfast?

Now I'll admit that I'm not a big fan of the highly processed hazelnut spread (the gourmet kinds with interesting flavors, such as chili pepper and ginger are another story, however), so you won't find me slathering it on bread in the mornings. But it seems that gazillions of Italian schoolchildren head off for a busy day of studies fueled on by the stuff. I'd hate to be the teacher in charge when they all start to come down from the collective sugar high.

Let me get this straight: we are meant to start the day with junk food and then (per the recommendation of one of the Italian government ministers) skip lunch altogether. I guess one is supposed to get by until dinner on caffè then?

"I'd leave Milan only to go to heaven..."

2009-11-06T13:23:00.010+01:00

"...and even from there I'd probably miss my house on the Navigli." (The Navigli are Milan's canals - yes, Milan has canals!). Words of famous Milanese poetess Alda Merini who passed away this week at age 78. She struggled with mental illness throughout her life, and I actually got to know her work when I saw her read at a benefit concert held in the garden of the mental hospital where she was once a patient. Unfortunately, much of her work has not been translated into English but I found this description of her: "Charmingly perverse, cynically joyful, lustfully feminist, and bawdily philosophical...she remains one of Italy's best kept secrets." Below a YouTube video where you can hear (in Italian) one of her poems and then hear her speaking. It begins "I'm crazy, crazy, crazy...with love for you."

Here's an excerpt of one of her poems in English from the book "Unpaid Ballads:"

Don't give me long songs and don't say
that I am frigid
nor that I carry baskets of dense silence
on my fragile shoulders.
Don't say that I'm dreaming again of the wind,
don't say telltale words of love
or of reassurance.

My white mill

2009-10-28T13:12:00.007+01:00

It's been an unusually warm and sunny week for late October, so yesterday I rushed to get my son to the park after I finished work and before the sun went down. My son is almost two and lately it seems he's usually the youngest kid at the park (despite the warm temperatures many Italian mothers don't think their small children should play outside this time of year as they fear they could potentially catch a draft, but that's another story), but that's OK with him because he loves observing and chasing after the older kids. Yesterday a group of four- and five-year-olds were making up dirty ditties using the tag line of a popular commercial. I tried to move my son to another side of the park when I saw that he understood what they were saying and started laughing at their use of bad words. I'll only be able to "protect" him and keep him innocent for so much longer. Sigh.

Anyway, the funny thing is they were referencing a "Mulino Bianco" commercial, which almost always feature beautiful, happy and wholesome families. Mulino Bianco, which means "white mill," is a Barilla brand for cookies, bread and pastries and the commercials always show happy people in beautiful homes and fade out to a shot of the rustic white mill. When you want to say that someone is perfect, you'll say "He/she/that family is straight out of a Mulino Bianco commercial." The latest campaign is "Nel mulino che vorrei..." ("In the mill I want..."), and it is a way for the company to ask its customers for feedback on what they'd like to see from their products. Yesterday, these little boys at the park were saying things, such as "In the mill I want...there'd be shit in the toilet" or "In the mill I want...there'd be a big fat ass."

Crazy and ridiculous as it may sound, the park potty mouths got me to thinking about what it is we think we are going to find in leaving Italy. Will we find our perfect white mill elsewhere? I don't know, but we've decided to give it a try next summer. We are no longer losing sleep over where we will go. That decision has been made. Now we are losing sleep over what we will do there and if we will be able to find jobs. My in-laws think we've gone off the deep end. Who leaves a place where you have work, own an apartment and have family nearby to help with your child to move somewhere where you have none of the above? Maybe we have gone off the deep end, but I keep telling my husband's family "If we don't try, we'll never know!" I'm still looking for my white mill. Have you found yours?

I promised threatened to write about it

2009-10-15T12:26:00.005+01:00

As many of you know, I've written a book (let's call it a "manuscript" since it's not yet been published and it sounds less pretentious that way) on my insane pregnancy with Italian publich health care. I haven't written in a while about how the publishing process is going because, having ruled out self-publishing, I've been busy behind the scenes trying to find an agent or a "traditional" publisher. The good news is that I've received really positive feedback. The bad news is that it's a tough, tough market out there, and as it stands now, I have no agent or publisher. Nonetheless, I'm not giving up, and though I've moved on to book two (the news coming out of the publishing industry these days just can't seem to deter me or dampen my enthusiasm for the printed word!), I would really like to find an agent or publisher to champion this project and help me get it published. Many people in the industry have told me to get the manuscript excerpted to create some "buzz" behind it since it's such a timely topic. And so that leads me to link you to "Under the Milanese Bureaucracy," which offers a little taste of the book, in Guernica mag. Obviously, it's hard to reduce a 72,000-word manuscript to just a few thousand words, so this truly is only a small part of the story. I hope one day to publish it in full.

File this under "things I fear about moving back to the U.S."

2009-10-14T14:15:00.007+01:00

I know this guy from the blog Fancy Fast Food is trying to be ironic, but the video below pretty much sums up a lot of what is wrong with eating in the U.S. today ("It doesn't taste good and isn't healthy for you, but it's gimmicky so eat up!"). With all the time he spends on trying to deconstruct and make fast food more "fancy," this guy could make a real meal from fresh ingredients. I mean, c'mon. A Wendy's Frosty used to make mole sauce? Jack in the (Bento) Box?

Watch him do his "magic" on fast food on Nightline below.

Brunch Milanese style

2009-10-12T10:58:00.010+01:00

Brunch in the courtyard on an unusually warm October Sunday at Ristorante Quattrocento

A couple of my food no no's include eating Italian food in the U.S. any place with a drive-thru window (truth be told, I rarely eat Italian food in the U.S. as I'm too busy gorging myself on American and ethnic foods) and going out for what they call "brunch" in Italy. When I moved here ten years ago, brunch started becoming a fad, and I ran out to try the brunch buffets published in the local expat newspaper only to be disappointed at the abundance of Italian foods and lack of real American brunch-type foods. Also I remember at one particular brunch place, Nescafé had paid these breasty bimbos in low-cut tops and short skirts to go around to the tables and try to get you to drink a Nescafé instead of a real Italian caffé. Talk about an appetite killer (perhaps less so for the men).

The fact that I'm a vegetarian made going for brunch here also kind of pointless as the few American-style food items offered were inevitably meaty, such as bacon or a prosciutto omelette. I moved here from a funky neighborhood in Brooklyn where tofu scramble and seitan were as common on a menu as any "normal" brunch foods, and there was always something for everybody. The point is that I tried several brunch places many years ago in Milan and then got tired of paying 20-25 Euros for a buffet that offered nothing for me beyond pasta al pomodoro and perhaps a green salad. For that kind of money, I at least wanted to see some home fries and a pitiful excuse for a bagel or other American breakfast bread! Over the years even more restaurants have begun to offer brunch, and I've been told by expats that the authenticity level of some places has improved. But my early experiences turned me off. Whenever I felt like brunch, I just made it at home.

This summer when my husband's beloved nonna died, Sunday lunch lost its luster for his family. Because we've found it sad to sit at the lunch table and see nonna's empty chair (not to mention how much we miss her cooking - that woman died taking some recipes with her that we haven't been able to recreate!), we've begun to occasionally go out to lunch or brunch on Sundays. I recently found a place I really like for its atmosphere and for how kid-friendly it is, even if the brunch is not all that authentic. But my son loves playing in the courtyard of this restaurant (a renovated 15th-century guesthouse) with all of the other kids, and for that, I'll pay for an overpriced buffet that doesn't offer me much. These are the sacrifices you make as a mother. For 25 Euros, you get access to a hot-and-cold buffet (mainly Italian foods, such as insalata caprese, a selection of cold cuts, Milanese veal cutlet or some kind of baked fish) as well as your choice of a main course. Main courses include different pastas, risottos, hamburger and french fries and sometimes different omelettes. Kids under five eat free.

Just as a strange aside, we've been to this place twice and each time we've seen various Italian VIPs from television with their children. I guess it's a trendy place to go. It's called Ristorante Quattrocento (more specific brunch info on their MySpace page here) and though it looks like a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, it is right in Milan. It looks like it could be a very romantic place for dinner as well though I've never been there at night.

Hard to believe this is in the center of Milan

My son's plate of pasta al pomodoro, grilled chicken breast (not fried strips - yeah!) and french fries

An "O Foods" recipe

2009-09-26T10:58:00.010+01:00

I've mentioned before that I don't "do" the recipe thing on my blog. It's not that I don't love to cook. I do. It's that I rarely have time to write things down and my photographic skills are, uh, lacking. But this is for a great cause so I couldn't not be involved.

Michelle from Bleeding Espresso and Sara from Ms. Adventures in Italy explain why they began the O Foods event:

"We started the O Foods tradition in honor of our friend, award-winning pastry chef Gina DePalma, author of Dolce Italiano: Desserts from the Babbo Kitchen; Gina has been fighting ovarian cancer for the past year and a half, and in addition to physically battling the disease, she has also started the Cowgirl Cure Foundation to raise awareness and money for research as well.

As a special treat, this year Gina will also be picking the grand prize winner of the O Foods Contest! And speaking of prizes, check them out–signed copies of Gina’s book, Mario Batali’s Molto Italiano, and Joseph Bastianich’s Vino Italiano.

Molto cool, no?

Speaking of the contest, just like last year, you can participate either by submitting a recipe or by simply posting the announcement below. Our goal is to spread information about ovarian cancer and its symptoms to as many people as possible, so feel free to tweet, post on Facebook, or whatever you have to do to help us make enough noise to stop this silent killer."

For full contest rules, click on either of the links above to go to Michelle's or Sara's site.

Here is my contribution to the contest. Buon appetito!

Spelt salad with pomegranate and fennel

This is one of my favorite fall/winter salads for lunch that incorporates three ingredients that in Italian all end in "o": farrO (spelt), melogranO (pomegranate) and finocchiO (fennel). It's seasonal, it's easy and it's yummy.

You'll need:
Spelt (I usually cook 80-100 grams/3.5 oz per person)
The seeds from one medium-sized pomegranate
1 large or 2 small fennel bulbs with the fennel cut into strips
1 garlic clove minced (optional)
A squeeze of lemon juice
Extra-virgin olive oil
Salt
Parsley
Parmesan for shaving

First you'll cook the spelt in salted water. Depending on the type of spelt you buy, you'll need to cook it for anything from 20 minutes to 50 minutes. This aint couscous so it'll take some time to cook! Follow package directions. Drain and let the spelt cool.

In the meantime, de-seed (if that's a word!) the pomegranate and cut the fennel into strips. They don't need to be as small as matchsticks (good luck doing that with curved and uncooperative fennel bulbs) but you also don't want them to be too large either so as to make eating the salad difficult. Once the spelt has cooled, mix in the pomegranate seeds, the fennel sticks and the minced garlic. I free pour everything so I can't tell you how much olive oil to use so I'll say to use enough to coat the salad but not overwhelm it. Add a squeeze of lemon and adjust salt to taste (qb, as they say in Italian - "quanto basta" - or as much as you need!). Add in some chopped parsley. Before serving the salad, shave the parmesan over the top. If you prefer, you could also add feta cheese instead of parmesan but I'd put that in before dressing the salad. The salad can be refrigerated but I suggest taking it out at least an hour before serving so that it is served at room temperature.

Just an added note, sometimes I find I have way too many pomegranate seeds. They seem to sell them supersized up in these parts. I will usually keep and add the seeds to a vinaigrette (I make all my own salad dressings since store-bought options here are limited, and I find it's much healthier that way, anyway) to make something more interesting. I've had lots of compliments on my interesting salad dressings and pomegranate seeds are one of my secret weapons!

Pros/Cons

2009-09-22T13:04:00.007+01:00

Summer 2010 is still a while away but we are continuing to talk daily about whether we are going to move to the U.S. or not. We've made no further progress on the where/how front. Every day I see and experience things that make me lean one way or the other. It's a continuous seesaw-ing of emotions.
The other day at the supermarket I stocked up on these little 37.5 cl bottles of wine. They are half the size of a normal bottle of wine and the perfect size for two people if each of you just wants a glass of wine at dinner. I hate opening a big bottle when I know that I only want a glass. These little bottles were 2 and 3 Euros each. If we move to the U.S. we will really miss good, reasonably priced wine. And produce. Don't get me started on the produce in most American supermarkets (at least on the East Coast). Wherever we move, I'll have to grow my own, find a good farmer's market or join some kind of food coop. And pack my kid's lunch for fear of him eating nachos or corndogs at school as opposed to the excellent school lunches offered here.

The day after I went to the supermarket, I had to go to a meeting in Milan but in an area not well served by public transportation (I would have had to take the subway to a tram to a bus...) so I took my car. Not even a kilometer from my house, I hit the dreaded Tangenziale Est ring road to take me into the city. Bumper-to-bumper traffic, smog and honking horns is perhaps the worst way to start one's day and is exactly what I want to get away from. I sat in that traffic just shaking my head and thinking "How long until we can get out of here?"

For Sardinia lovers

2009-09-17T09:24:00.003+01:00

I've been to Sardinia twice, both times in the early years of my Italian life. In fact, I think I went there for vacation the first two years I lived in Italy. This meant that my Italian was still a work-in-progress and that a lot went over my head. I'd really like to go back and experience it now. In those two trips, we traveled almost the entire island, and it's a beautiful place. Sardinians themselves (and they will tell you this) are closed people. They refer to Italy as "the continent" and you definitely get the idea that they see Sardinia as a land unto itself. Fair enough. The place has been conquered so many times over the centuries, they have a right to be a bit wary of outsiders. In any case, I thought this video from the No Reservations show was pretty cool. It shows how pane carasau (a typical Sardinian bread, which to me is a bit more like a cracker) is made.

There's also this video, the first part of Anthony Bourdain's trip to Sardinia with his family (his wife is Italian):

Coincidentally, Lidl is hosting Sardinia Week starting today and among the delicacies on offer is pane carasau. I used to think Lidl was a weird discount place frequented by gypsies and pensioners (I mean in my neighborhood it is), but a German friend took me there to buy German brown bread and converted me to the ways of Lidl shopping. Now I go on Thursdays to see what's new. Every once in a while they have American Week, and I pick up a bagel or some cranberries.

Lost in (and outside) America

2009-09-15T00:29:00.004+01:00

I don't know what is scarier: My dream of a house with a porch or that I was on the This Old House website (the source of the above photo)...

I haven't been this confused since freshman year of college when I had to declare my major, and that wasn't even that big a decision. I mean, I sucked at math and science so I knew my choices were communications, journalism, literature or Spanish. I liked all of those subjects, and in the end managed to combine them (well, with less of an emphasis on literature than I would have liked) into a hybrid major. But now I'm faced with a real adult decision. A decision that will affect not just my life but that of my husband and child. Should I drag my husband and son away from what they know for a new life in the U.S.? This is something we've been discussing for quite a while, and we had tentatively decided to make the move next summer.

The trip we took last month was a scouting trip to visit friends, family and various Money's Top 100 Places to Live towns on the East Coast. I was sure that after three weeks in the U.S., our plan for next year would begin to take shape. I was sure that in talking with people and putting feelers out in eight states, we'd form some clear ideas on where we were going to live and what we were going to do there. Obviously, in this economy, I wasn't expecting a job offer, but I hoped that if I looked hard enough, I'd find opportunity or inspiration somewhere. Unfortunately, we've returned to Italy more confused than before.

What we are looking for specifically is a better life that we don't believe we can find here in Italy. Yes, it'd be fantastic to move to Tuscany or Umbria, but what would we do there? The types of jobs we are qualified for are typically found in and around cities. So an escape to "la campagna" in Italy just doesn't seem like a practical option. I don't see us opening an agriturismo or growing grapes at this point in our lives. Those sound like romantic things to do. Perhaps when we are retired. Though my husband is Italian, he would be regarded with just as much suspicion as I would were we to move to some random small town in another region of Italy. In any case, we'd like to move somewhere with a bit of diversity, not a closed community of people who've known each other for decades where it would take us years to integrate.

What I thought we could find in the U.S. was perhaps some kind of college town that wasn't a cookie-cutter suburb, that still had a "Main Street" where one could walk or bike around and the same cultural options you'd find in a city but without the downsides of a big city (we are looking to escape the smog here in Milan as it is seriously affecting my health and, I fear, that of my son). We'd also like to work more "normal" hours in order to have time for our family. Since my husband and I both work for ourselves, it means we are always "on call," always stressed and always working long hours. The Milanese life we lead is not conducive to a decent family life. In a country lauded for its fantastic maternity leave with hired women able to stay home up to three years, I got no paid maternity leave. In a country where hired employees get the standard five days off for the slightest sniffle, my husband can't even take half a sick day. We work for ourselves in part to escape the BS of working in a company here, but often it just doesn't seem worth it.

Did we see some beautiful places in America? Yes, we most certainly did. Did we see some nice towns where we could perhaps have a better life? Yes, but none of them met all of our requirements (access to good jobs, diverse, little or no suburban sprawl, good schools, culture, etc). Perhaps we are being too picky. I just want a little house with a porch (my husband keeps saying "But nobody actually sits on those porches - they are all inside in the air conditioning!") and a yard, good jobs where we work normal hours that allow us to have time together as a family and good schools (preferably where nutjobs with automatic weapons don't come in occasionally and shoot everybody up) for my son. And all this in a place where we can walk or bike to shops, know our neighbors and create some kind of community. We also want to be a mere six-hour time difference and a direct flight away from Milan (which is why we've ruled out points west of the Mississippi - no sunny California for us) so that the nonni always have easy access. I'm looking for frickin' utopia, aren't I?

I still haven't seen Rock City

2009-09-14T12:43:00.007+01:00

Photo taken from Brent and MariLynn on Flickr

I never intended to go on any kind of blogging hiatus in August. We were gone three weeks on a visit to the U.S. (eight states and almost 3,000 miles) in a scouting trip of places we may potentially like to live if we go through with a move to the U.S. in summer 2010. I fully planned on writing about my observations of America as we scrutinized it not as tourists passing through (or, in my case, as a burrito-starved expat stocking up on ethnic foods and Ziploc baggies on my once yearly pilgrimage) but as an Italian-American family looking for a better way of life. America is a weird place right now, and I have lots to say. But somehow I never had the time to jot my thoughts down in blog form (the demise of my little point-and-shoot camera at the beginning of our trip contributed to my unexpected silence). We've been back since last week, and between jet lag, H1N1 scares and bronchitis, it's taken me this long to even contemplate posting.

When I was growing up, we'd drive down I-75 every year on our way to visit my grandparents in Florida. Every year around Chattanooga, Tennessee, we'd begin seeing the signs and painted barns advertising "Rock City. See Seven States." My brother and I always begged our parents to stop, but they never did. "Sit back and relax," my mom would always say, which was momspeak for "Shut up. We won't be stopping." I couldn't even imagine what Rock City was or how one could see seven states from one place, so I was hellbent on seeing it on this trip. Unfortunately, as we passed Rock City about ten days ago, it was pouring rain and we were already suffering from the first signs of illness (not H1N1 as it turns out) as our trip wound to a close. Can you really see seven states from Rock City? I still don't know. Are we moving to the U.S. next year? I still don't know.

Above left, Lover's Leap at Rock City. Taken from Baywatch 75 on Flickr

No country for (very) young men

2009-07-28T08:57:00.013+01:00

That's not exactly true. Italy is extremely child-friendly in some ways, but I'm finding that it's woefully not in others. Children in Italy are welcome just about everywhere - restaurants, evening weddings (I know this as we personally had Italian guests mention in passing a week before our wedding that they'd be bringing their five grandkids to the evening reception; unfortunately for us, the kids' pasta-al-pomodoro menu cost the same per person as the adult menu so we spent an additional 400 Euros on children we'd never met and technically didn't even invite...) and parties. However, this apparent love for children doesn't translate into services or infrastructure (high chairs, changing stations or sidewalks with ramps that allow you to get a stroller up and down with ease) that make it easy to take a child out and about. The other day I was struggling to get the stroller past a car parked on the narrow sidewalk on the main drag of our town when the driver rolled down his window to give my son a little smile and a wave. Moving his car so I wouldn't have to get down off the sidewalk and brave oncoming traffic with an 18-month-old in a stroller didn't occur to him, apparently...

"Guaranteed fun for all children" was the promise of this magic and puppet show in the main piazza of the beach town in Tuscany where we have a summer apartment. Too bad it begins at 9:30 p.m.!

My latest confusion has to do with the opening hours and times for things that are meant to be for kids. Italian kids apparently follow no routine and have no official bedtime. This makes attempting to raise a child who does follow a routine and has a bedtime almost impossible. I should say that my son HAD a routine and HAD a bedtime, and when we followed the routine and the bedtime, life was much easier for us as a family and my son was much more well rested. He's not one of those mellow fall-asleep-on-the-go kids (please don't try to give me pointers on how I can make him fall asleep in a stroller. Won't.Work.With.My.Kid. If your kid slept in loud restaurants, in the cinema or wherever else, it has little to do with your parenting skills - you got lucky!). If he doesn't sleep at home in his bed, there's hell to pay. Thus I like to keep him on even a loose schedule.

There's a huge carnival near our apartment at the beach with a "Festa dei Bambini from age 0 to 14" every night. Oddly it's closed ALL day every day and opens at 8:30 p.m.

But Italy is not working with us. For one thing, my son is entering that stage where he's got little "amici" and so we now have social activities to take into consideration. Dinner is usually around 9 p.m. even when children are involved and that makes a 9 p.m. bedtime impossible to stick to. We also spend a lot of time with extended family and nobody else has a bedtime for their children, so it means that if I try to keep my son on his routine, we are the "odd ones out." And I get a lot of flak.

Anyway, this brings me to a few things that left me perplexed this past weekend while we were at the beach. My son will be spending almost a week there with his nonni while we are in Milan finishing up work before leaving for the U.S. on Aug. 15. The good thing about where we go to the beach in Tuscany is that there are quite a few activities for children. The bad thing is that they all start right around the time I usually put him to bed! I have a feeling my in-laws (who don't tend to follow my routines) will have one cranky toddler on their hands, and we will pay dearly for it as well when we come to collect him. I'm trying not to stress out about it...

Here's another thing. In talking with my American friends, they put their kids to bed around 7 p.m. (maybe it's just Italian city living but I don't know anyone who is home from work at that hour...). That allows them to have some "adult time" at night after the kids are in bed. In Italy it seems the kids are always up and running wild. Don't Italian parents need a little time at night to eat dinner with their spouses, read a book, watch a movie or check their email? As much as Italy is supposedly so "family-oriented" I find the long work day and late dinner time does not make for quality family time. At 10 p.m. I'm usually exhausted and just beginning to clean up from dinner when all I'd like to do is have a few minutes to talk to my husband or relax with a book. Often my son is still up at that hour and in addition to trying to load the dishwasher, I have to try to get him to climb down off of it, bathed and into his pajamas. Does anyone else have these same problems or am I doing something wrong? Sorry for the long, rambling (and probably boring) domestic-themed confessional post, but I feel like I'm failing somewhere.

Misc.

2009-07-15T12:49:00.009+01:00

Things that have happened this week:

1) Someone asked if she could call my son Dylan "Danilo" as she wasn't a fan of "those trendy foreign names." Perhaps she forgot that the name was not foreign to me. The local priest also complained about my son's name as there is no saint associated with it. One of the many reasons we didn't baptize...

2) I went for a dermatological visit at a hospital in the center of Milan. I had bloody pus-oozing red dots on the bottom of one of my feet and could not for the life of me figure out what it was. It took me more than two weeks to get an appointment and I was told I was lucky to get in as it was a cancellation (the original appointment given to me was for September). I was told to go to pavilion one when I arrived at the hospital. When I got there, I noted that the pavilions were not numbered but color coded. I popped into "giallo" (yellow) and began walking aimlessly along the corridors. I spotted a room where people were taking numbers and went in there figuring that must be where I had to check in. I walked in and took a number and began to watch the digital board where numbers were flashing, but I had no idea where to go when my number was called. I asked another waiting patient and she told that when my number was called, I'd have to go to another room down the hall to pay for the visit. My number was finally called, I went and paid my 22 Euros for the visit and then was told to go to the ambulatorio in pavilion "rosso" (red). The ambulatorio had a waiting area with actual chairs (nice touch!) and led to a long hall with about 20 numbered visiting rooms. I gave my receipt proving payment to the woman behind the glass and she told me she'd call me when the doctor was ready to see me. Within 15 minutes she called my last name and said "Examining room nine!" I went to door nine and stood outside until the doctor opened it and motioned me in. He was not at all friendly, responded to my questions with one-word answers and was extremely dry. As dry as that patch on my foot. I have a pesky form of eczema! Ouchy. I just have to wonder, however, if they couldn't cut out a bunch of those (bloody, pus-oozing) steps and have allowed me to reserve and pay for the visit by phone (online would be a bit much to ask, I guess) and just have me go straight to room nine in the ambulatorio of the red pavilion at 2:45 p.m. on Tuesday July 14?

3) I began the process for getting Italian citizenship for myself and the Green Card for my husband (our plans for "immigration" are a topic for another day, but that is what is on tap for mid-2010 - excited, exhilarated, nervous and nauseated).

If you were following me on Twitter, you'd know all of this except the part about my blood oozing pus and blood. I really know how to win followers and influence people!

On strike today/Oggi sciopero

2009-07-14T08:36:00.008+01:00

Today I am striking against the proposed Alfano decree, which, in simple terms, would place limits on freedom of speech on the Internet in Italy (thus the above photos of bloggers wearing gags). More information here.

Giving credit where it is due

2009-07-07T10:02:00.004+01:00

I've written a lot about my horrible pregnancy experience with Italian public healthcare (I have so much to say on the topic, I've written a book about it), but what I haven't written much about is the excellent hospice care I've seen given to the terminally ill. My husband's uncle died of lung cancer in October 2007 and at the end, he had nurses and doctors visiting him at home almost daily. This was a free service provided by the state. My husband's grandmother (our beloved nonna) died this past weekend of pancreatic cancer. In her final weeks when she was suffering so much, the same excellent doctors and nurses visited her almost daily and were on call whenever she needed anything. I can't say enough about these professionals who come out night and day to ease the suffering of the dying. I have no idea what these people get paid, but I doubt it is anything exceptional and I imagine they do this work because they truly want to help people.

One of the last pictures of my son with his great-grandmother, his precious nonnina

When thinking outside the box isn't necessary

2009-06-26T10:15:00.007+01:00

Yesterday, I went to pay the bollo for my new car. I wasn't exactly sure what the bollo was, but I dutifully stood and line and paid my 148 Euros for the year. Apparently, it's a yearly ownership tax. Does that exist in other parts of the world as well or is this one of those government money-grubbing Italianate? I wouldn't know as I have NEVER owned a car of before. Ever. In my entire life. And I got my license a couple of decades ago. Here's a lame shot of my car taken with my camera phone.

An Italian-made beaut!

After I paid the bollo, I came outside to find this person parked behind me in a most unusual manner seeing as though he had more than enough space to park normally.

Creative or cretino?

Avoidance

2009-06-19T10:19:00.007+01:00

I think I'm having the same problem Linda over at Milanese Masala is having. I don't know if it is the heat or the mosquitoes (what is the point of having three balconies, I ask myself, if one must stay shut in the house as soon as the tramonto falls), but I just can't be bothered to write about all of the political scandals going on with Berlusconi. If you haven't been following it, the Jon Stewart video below should get you up to speed.

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart

Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c

Silvio Berlusconi's Affair

thedailyshow.com

Daily Show
Full Episodes

Political Humor

Jason Jones in Iran

The night of the big European parliamentary elections, instead of staying glued in front of the TV watching the returns, we went out for an after-dinner drink at one of my favorite places in Monza. Monza could be to Milan what Brooklyn is to Manhattan (this analogy would sort of hold up if Brooklynites were preppier, drove Mini Coopers and drank Campari aperatifs), but while Brooklyn is often seen as the scrappy working-class/immigrant/hipster underdog to Manhattan's glitz, I find Monza nicer, more civilized and certainly more livable than the smoggy city. And guess what? It's got its own Duomo, thank you very much. The night of the elections we sat outside at Tearose Café in front of the Duomo in Monza and drank spumante.

Duomo di Monza by night

A biscotto and some fruit with my spumante!

Tearose also serves tea (duh!), cakes and has a Sunday brunch, though I've never sampled any of the above

Pay close attention

2009-06-11T10:45:00.006+01:00

I get A LOT of emails from people around the world asking how they too can move to Italy. I often find it strange as I'm not exactly the most "rah rah" Italy blogger, but I answer all the emails nonetheless and usually give my honest opinion. One thing I think a lot of potential expats fail to understand about living well in Italy is that unless you are independently wealthy, it can require a lot of family support. Or I should say "famiglia" support. I just wrote about this recently.

In any case, My mom sometimes saves American television shows on her Slingbox for me to watch over the Web. I don't have time to watch everything she saves (how do Americans with all of their Tivos and Slingboxes and Netflix have so much time to watch TV and movies, by the way?), but I did recently watch an episode of a show called House Hunters International about a 26-year-old Italian man looking for his first apartment in Rome. A link to a preview of the episode is here. An American watching this show from abroad fantasizing about living in Rome, might be tempted to look at the suggestive shots of the Colosseum and the Trevi Fountain and not pay much attention to the details of how much it actually costs to live in Rome and how this 26-year-old pharmacy student was going to afford it.

As someone who has lived in Italy for almost a decade now, here's what I took from the episode:
Jacopo, a 26-year-old pharmacy student, mentions that he is very lucky to be able to buy an apartment at age 26 because of financial support from his PARENTS. This was not mentioned but I would venture to guess that his father is also a pharmacist and when Jacopo finishes his studies he is going to go work in the family pharmacy. If you've ever visited Italy, you may have noticed that there are not CVS, Rite-Aid or Boots chain drugstores on every corner. Italian pharmacies are regulated by the government and you have to have a special license to open one. The government dictates the number of pharmacies that can be open in a certain area and their respective store hours. Needless to say, jobs for pharmacists are hard to come by unless you already have an "in" somewhere. As pharmacies are basically a monopoly (yes, that's why over-the-counter meds are ridiculously expensive here...), the pharmacists themselves make quite a good living for Italian standards. So our friend Jacopo is able to buy an apartment - and we can assume get a job - because of his family.

The apartments Jacopo was looking at were about thirty minutes from the city center by public transportation and cost anywhere from 400,00 to 600,000 Euros. That's more than $500,000 U.S. And at least two of the apartments were major fixer-uppers. I had to laugh when Jacopo was standing on a tiny terrace overlooking a busy street with a few trees on it and pointed out the "nice view" and how it'd be great to sit out there and drink wine with friends. If you live in or around an Italian city, you will understand why seeing a couple of trees from your tiny balcony (also the home to your washing machine and drying rack - perfect as makeshift side tables for situating your wine glass on!) constitutes a "nice view."

So when I receive emails such as "I'm an American pharmacist thinking of moving to Italy. Can you give me some tips on how it could be done?" often the only thing I can think of is "Have any family in Italy?"

Giada (and her jackass of a mother) on board

2009-05-28T12:25:00.007+01:00

Ma ti pare?/Does this seem normal to you?

So I was tooling around Milan the other day and while stopped at a light, I was shocked to see an unrestrained toddler about the same age as my son poke her head up between the seats of the car in front of me and give me a nice snaggle-toothed grin. I quickly grabbed my phone and took a picture (above - I was half tempted to not blur the license plate so that I could shame this woman for all the world to see, but at the last minute I chickened out), which doesn't do justice to the fact that I could see this kid so well that I could tell you how many molars she had coming in. What you also can't see in the photo is that stuck to the lower left-hand corner of the back window is one of those safety stickers that says "Giada a bordo." Nice job on the personalized sticker, mamma. Now put your kid in a damn car seat next time. Fortunately this does not seem to be a common occurrence in Milan (I've heard tell that as you go further south in Italy, car seats are less popular) and seeing a child this small not in a car seat is a rare sight.

While we are on the mamma subject, anyone else going to MomCamp in Milan on June 13? I'll be there!

P.S. Just for the record, my child was not in the car while I was grabbing for my phone to take the above picture and I typically only use my cell phone in the car in hands-free mode!

What living in Italy should be all about

2009-05-14T13:54:00.005+01:00

Two summers ago, I was pregnant and queasy. Last summer, I was a sleep-deprived neomamma glued to the couch in a vomit-stained tracksuit breastfeeding every 90 minutes and watching dubbed episodes of Jon and Kate Plus 8 (I technically could have opted to watch it in English, but half the time the remote control was on the other side of the room and I had a 10-kilo baby clamped to my breast). I have decided that this is my summer to chill and enjoy what summer in Italy can be all about. I am hellbent on getting out of the house even if it means traveling with a tantrumy (but incredibly cute) toddler who still doesn't want to sleep through the night.

Two weekends ago, we went to the beach:

My son on the beach in Tuscany

Changing cabins with Apuane Alps in the background

Then last weekend, we went to Lake Garda for a wedding:

Street view of Lazise on Lake Garda

Thermal pools in Cola'

Headed up to a winery in Cola' to taste wine

Ragazzi, if my summer continues like this with travels and gorgeous weather (facciamo le corna!), I may not have anything to offer to those who come here looking for snark!

How about some pasta with your bread loaf?

2009-04-28T09:29:00.014+01:00

As I rush to get my "bikini body" ready for its potential unveiling this weekend, I've actually been trying to cut back on hazardous carb combinations (if I eat pasta or rice, no side of bread, for example). And, believe me, that's a sacrifice. I like my bread and have to walk on the other side of the street as the bakery to avoid temptation. That means that Domino's new Bread Bowl Pastas (pictured below) would be a definite no-no for me. Weren't the fast-food chains supposed to be cooking up healthier offerings? Wisely, Domino's has not included any information on these ~~abominations~~ unfortunate gastronomic pairings in the site's nutrition section. Pasta served in an edible bread bowl (especially pastas, such as three-cheese macaroni and chicken alfredo - as my husband says "Only Americans would name a pasta dish after a person..." He has a point: "Fettucine Fred" doesn't really have the same ring to it; the addition of chicken to a pasta dish is just as puzzling to Italians who consider pasta a primo and meat a secondo) would never fly in Italy. Though never say never. They did open a mall right around the corner from my house, and Italians seem to have gotten a taste for mall food.

Update: Josie from the blog Yum Yucky contacted Domino's for nutritional information and was sent these PDFs. It's a little difficult to interpret as they separate the pasta info from the bread bowl info, but it seems as if you are looking at at least a 1,500-calorie meal with 50 grams of fat!

Self-promotion alert!

2009-04-27T09:17:00.009+01:00

I'm interviewed today on the German blog Ombelico.de. The link is here. André is a mega Jovanotti fan (thus the name of his blog, which references a Jovanotti song) and Italy lover who typically writes in German. My interview is in English. Despite my German roots, I don't speak a word of the language so sorry/scusami tanto André.

In any case, the interview features a picture of my son and I at Castello Sforzesco (soon to be known as Casa Beckham if Posh gets her way), which I've also included above. My son was still very small as evidenced by the fact that I was wearing a maternity top and was no longer pregnant. That top has since been put away, thank you very much! As has that rickety hand-me-down stroller, which was way too big for my son at the time. People continuously stopped me on the street to tell me he didn't have proper head support, and I thought they were going to call Child Protective Services. I used it just the one time because our massive running stroller didn't fit in the trunk and I needed to go into the center of the city for an appointment! Got it?

Below the video for Jovanotti's L'ombelico del mondo ("Belly Button/Center of the World" - Another of those song titles that sounds better in Italian):

News from one of the smoggiest cities in the world on Earth Day

2009-04-22T13:54:00.010+01:00

Gisele recently told Italian Glamour that she likes Milan but the smog makes her allergies go crazy. Victoria Beckham is said to be looking for a second house (in case you haven't heard, she wants Castello Sforzesco as the family's primary residence if her husband comes here to play full-time for the team Milan) in the mountains outside the city because she fears the effects the pollution will have on her children. And here I sit less than a kilometer from Milan's tangenziale ring road breathing in the PM10 and who-knows-what-else. If you live somewhere more in touch with the Earth than I do, give the Earth a bacio for me today.

As per my post the other day about Tetra Pak, I finally found out where and how it can be recycled. You can check to see if your comune in Italy recycles it here. Oddly, almost every town around mine does recycle Tetra Pak, but mine does not. Here's hoping they get on that soon!

L'Era Glaciale

2009-04-21T09:32:00.005+01:00

A few Friday evenings ago, I went to a taping of L'Era Glaciale, which is an interview show on RAI hosted by Daria Bignardi. I wrote about Daria Bignardi a while ago when she hosted Le Invasioni Barbariche.

On her new show, Bignardi does what she does best, which is conduct one-on-one interviews with an eclectic mix of people. I admire her hard-hitting journalistic chops. The night I went, she interviewed the comic actress Teresa Mannino, the singer Giorgia, politician Dario Franceschini (during the interview with Franceschini, they panned into the audience and captured me laughing at a Berlusconi joke; you can see me below at minute 2:17 - I'm in the second row, wearing a cornflower blue top, have blonde hair and my face is partially obscured by the shadowy set) and the writer and tattoo artist Nicolai Lilin.

The best interview was with Teresa Mannino, an actress and comedian I didn't know much about. She's Sicilian but lives in Milan, and makes a lot of funny observations. I couldn't find the interview on YouTube, but it can be seen on the official L'Era Glaciale site here.

Obsessions and packaging

2009-04-20T14:22:00.013+01:00

I find the packaging of some things here in Italy odd. As I go about my daily business, I run into numerous examples of why-do-they-do-that? packaging, but only two come to mind at the moment. Take soy milk (pictured above in cappuccino flavor), for example. It often comes in these Tetrapak containers that require you to cut off a corner, which in the scheme of things is not that big a problem. But then the soy milk dribbles in your fridge after each use and the package is never fully "closed." And it bothers me that the milk then flows through a hole opened by scissors kept in a cluttered kitchen drawer. There are many things here that are sold in packages that once opened can't really be closed. My mother-in-law used to close things up with Scotch tape until I began bringing Chip Clips back from the U.S. in bulk. I grew up in the 1970s where Tupperware was the name of the game in suburban kitchens featuring wild patterned wallpaper and appliances in shades of orange, green and brown. I appreciate my food items being properly sealed.

Then there are those Pastiglie Leone candies (photo above taken from Candy Blog where you can link for an actual review), which are beautifully - if not functionally - packaged. Outside the box is wrapped in paper, which is a nice touch. It reminds me of the more traditional pharmacies here where they go the extra mile and wrap your things in special apothecary paper. The problem is that once the paper is off, the box never stays fully closed, meaning that the little candy dots fall into all of the folds and crevices of my oversized bag. And with what these babies cost, I certainly don't throw them away just because they fell out of their box and into my pen case. Doesn't make much sense that I get skeeved out by milk that may have touched my tainted scissors but will eat candies with pen marks on them...

P.S. I realize that after my last post, this is a bit of "aria fritta" ("fried air" as they say in Italian - "fluff" as we might say in English), but it was on my mind after digging a million cinnamon dots out of the bottom of my bag.

National day of mourning in Italy

2009-04-10T13:45:00.004+01:00

As a mother, seeing photos like this today on Corriere.it made my blood run cold. The white caskets contains a child. There were 289 caskets too many on display in Abruzzo today at the state funeral for victims of Sunday night's earthquake, but seeing the white ones was really heart-wrenching. I feel Italian in spirit today, and I'd love to be able to do more for those who remain than send two-euro SMS contributions. Restate in pace carissimi...

Rome is beautiful but...

2009-04-01T09:10:00.007+01:00

Ara Pacis Museum - we kept passing and could not figure out what it was. Photo by maxgiani

The Milanese have a funny way of looking at Rome. They tend to qualify all statements with "E' bella Roma ma..." (Rome is beautiful, but...). I think Romans tend to say that Milan is ugly and foggy. No qualification at all.

Examples of things the Milanese say when visiting la Città Eterna:

1) E' bella Roma ma...it's too hilly.

2) E' bella Roma ma...it's too chaotic. And not "controlled chaos" like in Milan.

3) E' bella Roma ma...Romans themselves are a bit gruff and rough around the edges.

4) E' bella Roma ma...they don't know how to take care of the city.

5) E' bella Roma ma...I could never live here.

I don't agree with most of the above, but I do find the whole Milan-Rome competitiveness thing funny. I love Rome, but I don't think I would want to live there and can't really put my finger on why. Maybe it's one of those places I enjoy visiting so much that I think that living there would ruin it for me. Know what I mean?

3:45 p.m. on a Thursday

2009-03-31T09:58:00.006+01:00

Just back from a glorious weekend in Rome (which I will write more about later) and am not in a particularly controversial (I first wrote "instigatorial," and then checked myself when I realized it wasn't actually a word - sounds good though, no?) mood. But I just wanted to post this photo I took with my camera phone last Thursday. See the people standing in line outside the gates of what appears to be a storefront? What do you think they are waiting for? The bakery to open? Discounted zucchini at the vegetable lady's? The horse-meat butcher to come back from lunch? (My town does have a horse-meat butcher, but if this were the horse-meat butcher's you'd see the distinctive horse-head symbol outside, of course!)

This, my friends, is my primary care physician's office. She has no phone. No office hours are posted outside as you can see. You must be "in the know" to stay up on her ever changing schedule. She doesn't take appointments. It's first come, first served - well, except for the line cutters ("I just have to ask the doctor ONE little question - it'll only take a minute...") of which there are many. On Thursdays, the doctor is available from 4 p.m. to 7 p.m. As you can see, last Thursday at 3:45 p.m., at least ten people were waiting. That's 15 minutes before she even lifts the gates and allows the stampeding masses in. Even if you just need a prescription or a referral, you have to talk to her in person as she has no secretary.

The above is the downside. The upside is that a) she's a very good, conscientious doctor and b) visits are free. I'm usually frustrated and boiling with rage during the wait and have to turn off my phone so I won't text bile-filled missives to everyone I know. But then I almost always leave contented and satisfied after I've actually seen her. Unless she sends me in ten other places to get various tests done, in which case, I leave happy to have seen her but annoyed that I have to do the health-care-system scavenger hunt in the bowels of the public hospitals. With all of the horror stories I've heard lately about U.S. health care, I can't fall back on the "But in the U.S...." argument here. There is no moral superiority to be had.

Is it too much to ask that health care be available to all (as I believe it should be in a civilized society) and fairly well organized as well? I'm not asking for cushy chairs and complimentary cappuccinos in the waiting rooms. Being able to make an appointment or ask a question by telephone would be a huge improvement over the current "system." This was my biggest frustration in pregnancy. Don't tell me to change doctors. The other ones in my area work the same way and mine is considered by all to be the best doctor around.

Si danno da fare!

2009-03-23T12:18:00.004+01:00

A few years ago, I went on a job interview (during the whole hellish phase after I lost my job - that was the period in which I began this blog and a huge part of the reason so many of my posts were so ~~bitter and angry~~, uh, fiery), and the woman interviewing me began by saying "I called your former boss. She said you are una che si da' da fare." I'm not sure what a great exact translation of that would be, but I took it to mean that my ex-boss had said that I was "somebody who got things done." I never knew that was how she saw me, but I took it as a huge compliment. I am attracted to (as the title of this post says) "people who get things done."

I was thinking about this this morning in the shower. Actually, I was thinking about Charlie down on the Amalfi Coast and her soaps. You see, I've been waiting for the bar of finocchio e limone soap to crumble into slivers so that I can try my new bar of caffe vaniglia. I don't know what the secret ingredient is in Charlie's soaps, but so far, they don't seem to crumble into a million unusable pieces not even big enough to wash your elbow. Charlie is turning lemons - literally - into sturdy and yummy smelling soaps.

Other expats I've linked to before include Ms. Adventures in Italy (she's here in the foggy/smoggy city with me) who has more ideas than there are domain names. Actually, maybe there isn't enough time in the day seeing that she has a demanding full-time job in addition to her many Web activities. In fact, her new venture is called When I Have Time and has tips and tricks for bridging the gap "between meek and geek." Michelle of Bleeding Espresso is not only a lawyer by training but has fashioned herself into a content maven. She is indefatigable in her output from the hills of Calabria. She's hosting Freelance Writing Week on her blog.

I've known Caroline since college. We then went on to live together during the lean New York years (when the only condiment we could afford on our bagel was a free mustard packet and when "going out" required making cheap cocktails at home beforehand with Popov vodka so as to avoid buying drinks at the bar; attribute the vodka thing to me as I can't speak for Caroline, obviously!). Not only is she a harried new mamma like I am, she's a public-relations and marketing guru. I mean, her cat is on Twitter (and not just as a novelty - he's actually raising money to help other cats), and she got him mentioned in The New York Times.

Then I have a whole gaggle of friends who despite everything going on in the world have decided to leave fairly "safe" jobs and comfortable lives to head blindly into the unknown. Bravi! You'd think that with the economic meltdown, many people would be laying low just waiting for things to pass. Here's to getting things done!

P.S. Nobody paid me or asked me to mention or link to any of the above. That said, I am soon going to outline my "policy" (odd that one need have a policy for her blog, but in this day and age...) on who and what gets covered here. I've begun to receive a lot of highly professional and polished requests for coverage ("I'll send you this book if you review it and give away ten copies," etc.), and I want to make it clear what kinds of things I feel comfortable doing and what kinds of things I don't feel comfortable doing. Tutto qui!

I am right, am I not?

2009-03-20T09:17:00.005+01:00

Conversation with my husband as I zip through Milan's periferia in my small black Italian car:

Him: Whoa! You almost hit the guy on the motorbike.

Me: Well, of course I almost hit him. He pulled out in front of me! I'm driving the correct speed limit and he's driving almost double that. And had the audacity to cut me off. I was in the right.

Him: But you should have slowed down. It's not about right or wrong.

Me: It is about right or wrong. I was right and I had the right of way.

Him: Would it have been right to kill him?

Me: Cazzi suoi (that's his own damn problem). Maybe he had a death wish.

Him: It's about common sense...

Me: Of which the motorbiker obviously had none.

My husband goes silent. A silence that says "There's no way I'm going to win this one with her so it's better if I just shut up."

The next day as I drive along the same road, I'm alone. On the morning radio show they are talking about how the pope has recently said it isn't right to have sex before marriage. One of the hosts of the radio show (an American woman) says something like "Right or wrong? Who is it that makes the rules on what is right or wrong?"

Damn straight!, I think.

Signs that your pediatrician's office is not child-proofed...

2009-03-16T13:19:00.005+01:00

Well, one big, glaring sign that says something along the lines of "Do not allow children to go to the bathroom unattended so as not to play with the boiler flame and loose electrical wires..." Now the pediatrician's office should get props for actually having a bathroom (my primary care doctor's office does not have one), but in the thirteen months we've been going to this pediatrician, this problem with the boiler and loose wires has not been resolved. And I have a feeling it's not going to be resolved. The last time I was there, I wanted to take a picture of the sign with my camera phone, but there were others in the waiting room, so I refrained. Hmm, maybe they could throw in some oily rags and a lighter just for more potentially explosive fun for the kiddies (yes, that was sarcastic).

Here are a few other interesting tidbits about my state pediatrician:

1) She is not available for emergencies or if my child is actually ill. We see her for scheduled check-ups only, and if my child is actually sick, we have to call a private pediatrician (who charges from 100 Euros on up) or go to the emergency room. Going to the emergency room with a sick child is a nightmare as there are not really any children's hospitals in Milan. I think there is maybe one, and it is on the other side of town.

2) She answers her phone for questions or making appointments only from 8 a.m. to 10 a.m. in the morning, and her phone is always busy. She has no voice mail, so if you don't get through in that two-hour window, you are out of luck.

3) She has no receptionist or secretary and we sit on lawn furniture in the waiting area. OK, pointing out that we sit on lawn furniture was a bit snobbish of me, and I know that having separate entrances (for the sick kids and for the healthy kids) and all-natural, organic toys to play with like in the good old U.S.A. would be asking too much. But, I mean, lawn furniture in Italy's design capital? There are at least 25 stores in the general vicinity selling discount chairs (including a store called "House of 10,000 Discount Chairs," which I pass on my way to the pediatrician's office).

4) In reference to my son's lingering cough, she once said "Oh, don't worry about that. All the kids in Milan have it. It's just the smog." What a relief!

5) I once got in touch with her (yes, after repeatedly dialing seven million times between 8 a.m. and 10 a.m. as if it were 1989, and I was trying to win concert tickets from WROK FM) because I suspected that my two-month-old had pink eye. I told her I was unsure (as I'm not a trained doctor) and she told me to take him to the pharmacy and see if they thought it was pink eye. And then she mentioned some (prescription) eye drops I could buy if, in fact, it was pink eye. I realized then and there that she was not the person to call if my son was actually sick.

And, amici miei, that's 'free' state health care for children where I live! The check-ups, at least, are free. As are visits to the emergency room. But we avoid those as much as possible and pay out of pocket for a private doctor when my son is actually sick.

Mamma stuff

2009-03-10T16:27:00.006+01:00

I've been thinking a lot about the commercial below from a few years back. It's a car commercial targeted to the stiletto-wearing Italian version of the soccer mom, and the idea is that "To be a mamma today, you've got to be as tough as a warrior."

I remember seeing it and thinking "Huh, cute..." and going on my merry childless way. I was perhaps on my way to the gym, to take a nap, to buy a plane ticket to some European capital or to do some other completely selfish activity that is no longer a possibility. Fast forward a few years. I now have a kid. I'm still not in the market for an SUV, but now I absolutely "get" what the commercial's about. (Note to self: when you find yourself reflecting on FIAT car ads from a few years back, it might be time to get out a bit more).

All this is a preamble to say that I've gathered quite a bit of information on being pregnant and being a foreign mamma here. While I'd like to share it, I realize this blog is not the proper forum, so I'm investigating constructive ways to get that information out there. I have written a book on my pregnancy experience, but I'm still in the querying-agents stage, so publication of that does not seem imminent at this point. I'm considering starting another blog or even some kind of "network" where we foreign mothers can exchange this information. If you are from here, there are so many things that are obvious or that you know because your mother, sister, aunt, cousin told you about them. If you are not from here, it can be really confusing. Anyway, I'm still fleshing all this out and will keep you posted. In the meantime, here are a random collection of mamma links:

Consultorio Familiare - a list of consultori in all of the regions of Italy. A GREAT resource for pregnant women, breastfeeding questions, couple's counseling and much more
Epidural Blog - blog covering the fight to make the epidural "guaranteed and free" in Italy (if you live in Italy, make sure to sign the petition!)
Italia Kids - a resource guide for international families in Italy
Nati per Leggere - this is a great initiative in the Italian libraries to promote reading to infants and small children

Could it be a mirage?

2009-03-04T13:57:00.010+01:00

My husband just called to tell me he ordered a bagel sandwich in the Autogrill. Yes, a bagel. I am obsessed with bagels to the point where I make my own because I miss them so much. "Real" breakfast and brunch is probably the food category I miss the most from the U.S. Aside from ethnic food, I mean.

I can't find any information on the new Autogrill bagel panino on the Web but my husband tells me that the sandwich comes with prosciutto and arugula, which means it will never touch my vegetarian lips. The make-your-own sandwich concept is foreign to Italy and people here don't seem to mind that most bars and cafes serve panini ready-made. That the panini sit wilting in the window from the early morning hours bothers me greatly. I know people who walk around with sandwich ingredients and condiments in their bags just to jazz up the otherwise plain (often just ham and cheese on dry bread) panino. I actually know someone who goes around with sliced red onion, mayonnaise packets and iceberg lettuce in her bag...

My husband's verdict on the Autogrill bagel? Better than the ones they sell at California Bakery (which is good for some things, such as American-style baked goods, but I can't stomach what they call a "bagel;" and if you go do keep in mind that a small sliver of cheesecake or a muffin doesn't come cheap) here in Milan but not as good as the ones we make. Our recipe here!

Anyone remember the commercial below from the 1990s? Hee hee. I call my son "the pizza bagel" as he's half Italian and half New-Yorker-by-way-of-Ohio. I'm not sure what the Ohio ingredient would be on that bagel combination. Perhaps Miracle Whip? Gross. "When pizza's on a bagel, you can eat pizza anytime!" Truer words were never spoken (or sung in a jingle, if you will)...

Optical illusion?

2009-02-25T10:10:00.007+01:00

My husband had this picture on his computer desktop. At first glance, I thought it was a Photoshopped rendering of Milan's canals (yes, Milan has canals) mashed up with some Swiss village. But it's actually a picture of Milan taken on an incredibly windy day. Wind is kryptonite to the Milanese as they are unaccustomed to it. Like scurrying Prada-clad cockroaches, they seek cover in their Mini Coopers and minimalist mansard-roof apartments. But I like wind especially because it means the smog gets blown away. In fact, in this picture, you can not only see the top of the spires of the Duomo and the golden Madonnina but the Alps (or perhaps these would be pre-Alps) rising majestically over the notoriously windless city. A rare site indeed.

Being frugal is the new bella vita

2009-02-22T21:25:00.002+01:00

So a faithful blog reader reminded me of the actual cheapo wine commercial I was looking for a few days ago. It wasn't Tavernello but Ronco San Crispino and as Emmina pointed out, the part at where the man is down in his rustic cantina (are there cured meats hanging in the background or is it just my imagination?) full of Tetrapak containers of wine is classic.

Is drinking bad wine the new cheap chic thing to do in the current economy? Like learning to sew or resoling your shoes instead of buying new ones? Boh...

What's Cooking

2009-02-19T13:54:00.008+01:00

Actually, not much cooking around here literally and figuratively. I always said that this wouldn't be a recipe blog not so much because I have anything against recipe blogs (I don't!) but because I rarely cook from recipes myself and if I had to sit down and figure out measurements, translate them from standard to metric (or vice versa), cooking would be less a pleasure for me and more a chore. Not to mention that I'm not much of a photographer. The point is that I love to cook, but I've never really advertised it on my blog.

Cooking used to be my way to relax at the end of the day but with a 13-month-old trying to climb up on the range, it is most certainly not relaxing anymore. And the end of the day is a rush to get my piccolino fed, bathed, read to (that seems like such an awkward verb but is there a better way to say it?) and in bed that by the time I'm done, I'd just as soon eat a frozen pizza or one of those shake-em-up salads.

In other news, I just finished a proposal for my book and it was an eye-opening experience. I hadn't thought about it much before but a book really is a product much as a can of stewed tomatoes is and when you write a proposal, you've got to present it that way. You've got to compare it to other "popular products" and write things like "It's Eat, Pray, Love meets Down Came the Rain" and then rip those bestsellers apart and explain while yours will outsell them.

Speaking of smart packaging, anyone see those Tavernello commercials (below)? Tavernello is a cheap table wine in a box (I buy it to cook with - it's good for risotto; but if I'm going to go cheap, I'll chip in another Euro or two and get an actual bottle of wine) but the latest commercials feature a group of enology students studying the Tavernello phenomenon. At the end of the commercial, they are all sitting around a table over a meal and the professor has to tell them to "slow down on the wine." The subtext: Tavernello is so delicious that even sophisticated enology students with their discerning palates can't help binge on it. I guess they are trying to go for a more upmarket demographic. The current one (based on those I see buying Tavernello at the supermarket) seems to be old drunks on a tight budget.

Gastronomic Racism

2009-02-05T15:21:00.002+01:00

The big uproar in Italy lately over what is being called gastronomic racism got me to thinking that aside from pizza, we almost never, ever go out for Italian food. Why? Well, for one thing I'm vegetarian and I can cook pretty much any vegetarian dish I'd get in an Italian restaurant at home. I'm not boasting but how hard is it to make pasta al pomodoro or bruschette? What makes Italian food so good is that it is so simple and uses seasonal ingredients. Haute cuisine it is not. But that's OK. I'm not a big connoisseur of haute cuisine. When we go out, we like to eat things that would be more complex to make at home - say curries with 47 difficult-to-find ingredients or sushi (for my husband, udon and veggies for me). So we ONLY go out for ethnic food. The fact that some Italian cities are banning (or are proposing to ban) the opening of any new ethnic restaurants makes me sad.

When I first moved to Italy, ethnic restaurants seemed to be in the early, most rudimentary stages - Chinese restaurants serving highly Italianized "Chinese" cuisine in pizzerias complete with wood paneling and red-and-white checkered tablecloths. In the last few years, the ethnic food has (in my opinion) gotten better. One of our favorite places to go is called Nu. It's actually a "two-sided" restaurant. If you go left off the courtyard, you enter the Asian fusion restaurant. Taking the door to the right off the courtyard is the sushi restaurant. The food is good, reasonably priced (the sushi isn't so cheap but when is sushi cheap?) and the atmosphere is really Zen and interesting. It's a little off the beaten path (about a five-to-ten-minute walk from the Udine station off the Green Line of the subway) but it's worth it.

Hungry for dessert? Today is World Nutella Day! Unfortunately, I don't have any recipes to offer as I don't have time to cook and experiment lately (unless you count making applesauce for my one-year-old, which is not really cooking for pleasure) but it looks like many other bloggers have offered some fantastic recipes. Buon appetito (I'd say that in various "ethnic" foreign languages if I knew how)!

Kim's Video is heading to Sicily?!

2009-02-02T09:02:00.002+01:00

This is crazy. The collection of the famous video store on St. Mark's Place in the East Village is now headed to some far-flung town in Sicily. Mayor Vittorio Sgarbi (who knew he was mayor of Salemi, Sicily? He's also the guy - OK, one of those guys - who is always getting in fights on Italian talk shows about political and cultural issues) promises that the videos will be used to project a neverending film festival in the town.

A little tip for those who (like me) may have been living under a rock for the last year

2009-01-31T11:50:00.004+01:00

I spent almost an entire day running around the center of Milan for the first time in over a year. I had a couple of doctor's appointments in the center and needed to use a gift certificate that was going to expire at the La Rinascente department store (I spent everything but 55 cents and they issued me another gift certificate for that amount instead of just giving me the monetine out of the cash register - kind of silly, no?) so I took a much needed "mental health day." The good news is that the last of the scaffolding has finally come down from Milan's famous Duomo so anyone planning a trip to the foggy city best do it before they decide to begin new renovations!

As I was walking around the city, I noticed that a few of the places I used to frequent for quick veggie paninis or salads for lunch were no longer open, so I was unsure where I was going to eat. I really didn't want a big sit-down lunch alone in a ristorante complete with cloth tablecloths and multiple forks and glasses. I've long lamented Milan's lack of a real sandwich places where sandwiches are made to order and not sitting sadly wilting in the window already made up and lacking in much pizazz (not to mention that it's difficult to find a vegetarian - or God forbid, vegan - sandwich). So I just wanted to mention that on the 7th floor of La Rinascente, they have an organic veggie cafe place called JuiceBar. If you live in Milan, I'm sure you already know about the renovation of La Rinascente and the new 7th floor area with various cafes, restaurants and gourmet food items. But, like I said, I haven't been getting out much. In any case, at JuiceBar I got pumpkin leek soup. And they do sandwiches and salads made to order. Revolutionary!

Filastrocche and fairy tales

2009-01-23T09:13:00.005+01:00

When my son was born, an Italian friend gave me a book by Gianni Rodari to read to him when he got a bit older. Out of curiosity I began reading it on my own and couldn't put it down. Gianni Rodari is a master. He was a journalist, writer and grammarian who was most famous for his works for children. He wrote - among other things - poems, fairytales, "filastrocche" (nonsensical nursery rhymes) and short stories. He reminds me a bit of Shel Silverstein. I was a huge fan of "Where the Sidewalk Ends" as a kid.

And I just found out that there is a literary park for children in Rodari's hometown of Omegna on Lake Orta called Il Parco della Fantasia. I definitely want to take my son when it warms up even though at just over one, I don't think I'll be enrolling him in any of kids' writing workshops just yet. But we can have a picnic in the "Garden of The Cakes in the Sky," which is named for one of Rodari's most famous stories.

I had a hard time finding any of his poems in English, though I found the following, which is cute but I don't think does justice to the best of his works.

Where are the fairy tales?
There is one in every thing:
in wood, in a table,
a rose, a piece of string.
The story has been in there
for a long time, quite unspoken:
it is a sleeping beauty
and it needs to be awoken.
But if a prince, or poet,
does not come along to kiss it
a child somewhere awaiting it
will very sorely miss it.

If you can read Italian, I highly recommend "I cinque libri," which includes five of his most famous books and has illustrations by Bruno Munari, who is another of my favorites.

The book pictured above is "Fairy Tales on the Telephone," which is one of my favorites. It's about a traveling salesman who is always on the road all over Italy but must call home each night with a new fairy tale to tell his daughter before she goes to bed.

Cibo Matto

2009-01-21T21:04:00.003+01:00

I read Valerie's post about cafeteria food in Italian schools and cafeteria food in American schools and it just confirmed one of the major fears I have about moving back to the U.S. before our son is school-aged. I love the way he is learning to eat here, and I love that Italian kids tend to eat more or less like Italian adults. There is no idea that there are strictly "children's foods" (which in the U.S. are usually heavily fried junk foods) and "adult foods."

I hope Valerie doesn't mind but I'm going to steal a piece of her entry. She points out the following as some of the samplings of a recent Italian elementary school lunch menu in her area:

"1) Pasta con melanzane (with eggplant); Robiola or Stracchino cheese; Bread; Steamed carrots; Fresh seasonal fruits

2) Minestrone with mixed beans; Stuffed Zucchini (with lean meat, baked); fresh bread; Fresh seasonal fruit; Fiordilatte gelato

3) Spaghetti with white fish; Baked Sole; Spinach with a drizzle of olive oil; fresh bread; Banana.

4) Pasta e Fagioli; Frittata; Beet Greens with a drizzle of olive oil; fresh bread; Fresh Pears"

I also stole her idea and went and took a look at the school lunch menu online for my elementary school back in Ohio. Here's what kids in suburban Ohio are eating this month:

Popcorn chicken, chicken nuggets and dip, sloppy joes, double stuffed pizza, corn dogs, tacos, turkey sub sandwiches, cinnamon glazed french toast...and the list of schifezze goes on. It reads more like the menu at a fast food place or greasy spoon than like a list of foods kids should be being served at school. Granted, many American elementary school kids wouldn't eat pasta with eggplant or minestrone with beans. They expect to be served "kid foods" so the schools probably feel like that's what they have to offer to get kids to eat. But that's just sad.

*Cibo Matto was a band in New York in the mid-1990s. Anyone remember them?

Just some things I've been pondering...

2009-01-09T10:29:00.005+01:00

Recently I’ve had the opportunity to get back in touch with people I haven’t heard from in years (a long-winded way of saying I’ve joined Facebook) and often old classmates are amazed and excited to hear I live in Italy, imaging scrawny little Michelle from 7th-grade English class today sipping espressos leisurely in sunny piazzas and buying lots of designer shoes on via Montenapoleone. Readers of this blog will know that’s not what my life is about. Don’t worry - this is not a rant or a whinge session. I promise.

All of this has got me to thinking about one of the questions I hear most often from friends back home, which is, “If Italian salaries are so low, why are Italians so well dressed and how can they afford to have nice cars and go out to restaurants?” This is especially true in Milan – Milan (the center, that is) feels very rich. And you see people driving and parking incredibly expensive cars in narrow cobblestoned streets that are not expensive-car friendly. I am no economist but I have formulated a theory as to how Italians can live so relatively well on so little.

The simplified explanation is that relative economic wellbeing in Italy is thanks to the famiglia. Let’s take a sample family that I think is reprsentative of many of the families I know here: A newly married couple in post-WWII Italy inherited a small apartment in Milan from a grandmother who died. They had two children, a boy and a girl. Over the years the couple saved and saved their modest incomes (and didn’t have a mortgage as they had inherited their apartment), putting aside money for seaside vacations every year and even buying a small apartment in the same building as an investment. The children lived at home until marriage. When the daughter got married, she was given as a wedding gift the small investment apartment and she moved into that with her husband. When the son got married, he too was “sistemato” (this means being set up, usually with a home or a job) by his new wife’s family with an apartment. The daughter and the son lived as modestly as their parents in small apartments with their respective families, saving their money and only buying the things they had money for and never using credit. They dressed well, ate well and vacationed each year as this was the Italian way but they didn’t have a lot of superfluous material “things” in their lives weighing them down. Like their parents, they had received their furnishings as wedding gifts and they never felt the need to buy anything new. The daughter and the son went on to have children and this would be the generation of twentysomethings and thirtysomethings today in Italy.

The lives of this generation are different in that though they too may be “sistemati” with inherited apartments, the job-for-life mentality of their parents’ and grandparents’ generation no longer exists and the work situation is much more precarious. Nonetheless, push still has not come to shove in that while “young people” (28-year-olds are still referred to as “giovani” here) earn very little, they are able to use that as their disposable income because their basic needs are covered since they either still live at home or don’t have rent expenses. They know where their next meal is coming from – mamma – and they are fine with that.

In the U.S. we tend to leave home young, move to a different city and set up our own “household,” which is an expensive undertaking. All of those pots, pans, extension cords and fans add up. Living in a divey apartment with several friends, existing on noodles with MSG-laden flavor packets and just trying to scrape by is a rite of passage (or it was when I finished high school). The idea was that you left home and lived well below the means of your parents as you were just starting out and it was time for you to prove whether you could “sink or swim.” There wasn’t the idea that you left home when you were already “set up.” Your fate was based on the economy at large, not necessarily on how much money your parents had in the bank (granted, many young Americans do rely on their parents financially but others can’t or are too proud because they want to “do it on their own.”)

I see the merits of both ways, and I am not advocating one and slamming the other. The Italian way is definitely less wasteful – Italians typically take up only the space they need, buy the things they need (with some designer extravagances, of course) and stay local. But it can also be stifling. You are born and die in the same town or city, often moving only within the same building. Your circle of friends include those you’ve known since childhood. You find a job not necessarily in the field that most interests you but in what is available in your birth city. If that means working in a factory when you’ve got a law degree, so be it. The American way is more “exciting” (at least for me) but if I think of all of the crap I accumulated and threw away in 20+ moves over the years, it was not all that practical economically or environmentally speaking. I met a lot of interesting people, had amazing experiences and tried to make the most of career opportunities. But I was also away from my family and some of my closest friends for all of those years. Again, pros and cons.

Recently an Italian friend asked me if Cristiano and I were thinking of having other kids but then she stopped herself in mid-sentence and said "Well, probably not. I mean, you've only got one family here and not two to help you out..." The idea was that we could only have two children if we had both families here to help us since Italian society (with its lack of affordable daycare options and services for children) doesn't do you any favors. Perhaps if my in-laws had given us an apartment (they didn't but they are incredibly generous people with what they have) and my mother was here buying my groceries and cooking my meals, I'd be on via Montenapoleone buying designer shoes.

I’m going a bit off course but getting back to the economic aspect, I think in Italy, it is the family that serves as a buffer from whatever problems are going on in the global economy. That has worked for the previous generations but I’m not sure how long it is going to work for this or future generations.

La Befana vien di notte

2009-01-07T10:57:00.002+01:00

La Befana came the other night while we were sleeping. She left us all candy in our stockings. The Epiphany was one of my due dates (some calculations said Jan. 6, others said Jan. 7) last year, and I was truly glad when the day came and went and my piccolino was not born on a children's holiday featuring an old witch (the pagan holiday, that is - not talking about the Epiphany; it gets confusing when you are neither pagan nor Catholic but celebrate various versions of the holidays). His birthday may have been overshadowed by the stockings and candy. And the ugly hag.

Here's my Befana stocking

Why did I get (candy) coal in my stocking? Is it because I am back to waking up every hour?

Cranky casalinga/mamma/multi-tasking working woman's mood in photos

2008-12-12T13:59:00.000+01:00

New drying rack, we love you for the way you accomodate many wet garments without taking up much space but how many pairs of jeans can you reasonably be expected to hold?
Old drying rack, you serve us well in the summer months when the sun beats down on your metal slats but what to do with you when there's frost on the pumpkin and on the clothes pins?
Radiator, you are kind of lame when it comes to heating the house but you dry baby jeans in about 24 hours so we appreciate you for what it is you do...

Ray-Port

2008-12-05T10:30:00.003+01:00

Before I moved to Italy, I had my single-girl-in-Brooklyn Sunday night routine. I'd slowly slip back into work-week mode folding laundry and making a big pot of soup while watching or listening to 60 Minutes. I am no longer single. I am no longer in Brooklyn. But Sunday nights are still dedicated to folding laundry, making soup and doing all of the boring administrative things one needs to do to make Mondays less hellish. But, of course, there is no 60 Minutes. I now get my investigative-journalism fix with the show Report (pronounced in the Italian as "Ray-Port") on Rai Tre. This is perhaps one of two or three shows that is worth watching on Rai. This past Sunday the show was focused on super pesticides and organic foods. For me the most interesting part was about a pilot project in the schools in Rome to serve only organic foods. You hear so many negative things about the schools here these days (and the rest of the "ray-port" linking pesticide use to cancer was so disturbing) that I was pleasantly surprised to see how dedicated they are to doing something good for the nation's children - while trying to keep growing healthcare costs down in the process. Here's a snippet.

If on a snowy morning...

2008-11-24T08:03:00.001+01:00

If on the first snowy morning of the season, you've never awoken to a sleep-suited 10-month-one-week-and-six-day-old creature in your bed dancing, swaying, clapping and "da da da"-ing, then I highly recommend it. If that creature then gives you a snaggly baby-toothed grin, opens his arms wide and calls out "ma ma," then that's perfection. And if your husband made bagels the night before, then that's extra incentive to get up.

Mea culpa

2008-11-12T13:50:00.002+01:00

First, let me apologize to anyone who contacted me based on my previous post and to whom I have not responded. I've had a pretty crazy few weeks work-wise and with trying to move my computer over (regress, I should say) from Windows Vista to Windows XP. I'm not usually one to complain about Microsoft for the hell of it, but Windows Vista really sucks, and there's just no other way to say it. If I'm not crashing every hour, I'm being logged off of the Internet or random "new-and-improved" applications that I don't even want or need pop up uninvited to entice me to try out features I don't want or need. Then when I try to close these programs I never opened or asked for, everything freezes. All of this is to say that if you wrote to me and I didn't respond back, please accept my apologies. I pride myself on being prompt in responding but with these computer problems I've had lately, it's been difficult. My project is moving forward in a different direction than originally planned and, at this point, I don't need any more help. But I will keep everyone up to date. A presto!

Cercasi Editor/Proofreader

2008-10-15T15:11:00.002+01:00

I just posted this on Expats so I may as well post it here as well. I've made no secret about the fact that I'm working on a "big project" (more details to come later). For this project, I am going to need an editor/proofreader. Here is the "want ad" I have been placing around:

"I am looking for a professional editor/proofreader for a large project to be finished by the end of the year. By 'professional,' I mean someone with experience as an editor or proofreader, preferably in the book publishing industry. I have done some random editing and proofreading but I would not feel comfortable calling myself a professional proofreader/editor as really I'm more of a journalist. Please respond to me at the web address listed off my blog with a summary of your experience and rates. I'd prefer to work with someone in Italy (this is for a project in English, however, so native English speakers only) but am open. Really, I'm looking for someone with a good eye and a nice sharp red pen in the hopes of developing a nice working relationship."

Sad realization

2008-10-11T09:38:00.000+01:00

I subscribe to a lot of blogs. I don’t always have time to comment or do more than skim, but I try to read all of the blogs that interest me as often as possible. In reading blogs, I’ve come to a very sad realization, which is that there are a lot of great writers out there. And I mean people who not only write well but who have REAL professions as well that have nothing to do with writing. Why does this make me sad? Because writing is how I make a living and I’ve got no other real skills going for me. Yes, I’m a halfway decent cook (I mean, I’d like to think on par with if not better than, say, Rachael Ray – whom I can't stand, by the way) but I have absolutely no desire to turn that into a profession.

I also teach English on the side and I really do try to give my all to my students. I understand that English lessons aren’t cheap and I don’t BS the hour away with idle conversation just to fill the time like I know many “teachers” do. I try to understand exactly what the student needs, spend a lot of time planning my lessons and even will go out and buy specific books on my own dime if I think it will help me better serve that student. So I get at least an A- for effort but, again, I’m not professionally trained to be a teacher and as much as I enjoy it, I don’t want to make that my life’s work. All I’ve ever wanted to do was write.

In reading various blogs, I often find myself thinking “Damn, this person can write AND is an (insert profession here) too!” I’m a pretty practical person, know my strengths and weaknesses and am not usually jealous of others. But it does make me sad to think that I’m just a one-trick pony. And am not even the best at what I do! Granted, this is my dorky little blog where I enjoy oversharing (not really a word you Strunk & White types with the red pen at the ready) about my life. It is not my Ulysses and not necessarily the best representation of me as a writer. Half the time I don’t even spell check, which irks the journalist in me. But I think of this as “just my blog,” representing me warts and all. I mean, in person I probably make such linguistic faux pas as “gotta” and “wanna.” My blog is kind of the equivalent of having a one-sided conversation with me where you can’t get a word in edgewise.

If I started spell checking and revising drafts, it’d start to feel too much like work and I just want my blog to be fun for me and for others. I don't even have ads on this site and I've noticed some of my blogging companions seem to really be making bank - if we can still use that expression in these current times to mean "earning money" - with their blogs. So I'm not any good at marketing either! So the question remains: Is this all I’ve got? I’m working on something now that I keep getting stuck on because I think “I can’t put this out there. This isn’t my Ulysses!” But even James Joyce flaked around teaching English, editing other writer’s work and even trying various get-rich-quick schemes before writing his masterpiece. But he didn’t have the blogosphere to contend with when comparing his writing to that of others. Uffa!

On pizza!

2008-10-10T09:06:00.006+01:00

I have a confession to make. I live in Italy and until recently I did not like the pizza. On Sunday nights (what I like to call "mamma's night off" when it seems the whole country eats pizza) when friends would say "Let's meet for a pizza!" I'd grudgingly go along.

I grew up in the suburbs and on pan pizza at Pizza Hut (I know, I know - the shame) so my idea of pizza was three parts dough and one part heavily spiced tomato sauce and lots of toppings. Though never pineapple, OK? When I moved to New York, I'd always get a Sicilian slice, which is a nice big bready, crusty hunk of pizza. I lived in New York seven years and I occasionally say "on line" instead of "in line" when referring to queuing up but I just never could bring myself to call a pizza "a pie" and never really ordered that big floppy, cheesy frisbee that many NYC pizzerias sell. So I'm a bit of a reverse pizza snob seeing as though my pizza palate is admittedly not refined having spent my childhood consuming the chain-restaurant stuff and dipping my crust in marinara or garlic sauce. I've heard tell that in the Midwest some people even make "pizza" with those refrigerated Crescent rolls and Miracle Whip mayonnaise instead of tomato sauce though, fortunately, we never sank to those levels in my family. We don't do the jello-and-marshmallow salad either, just for the record.

The first time I had pizza in Milan I was utterly disappointed. The crust was thinner and blander than an unsalted Saltine, the sauce seemed like tomato paste straight out of the can and the vegetables were not freshly cut but dripping with oil having come straight out of the jar. Let's just say that I've had hospital food that is more flavorful than Milanese pizza. Granted, I don't eat cheese and I know that quality mozzarella could make all the difference. Maybe if I ate cheese, I'd be a thin-crust-pizza convert. So I've basically spent eight years avoiding going out for pizza. And the thing that sucks is that pizza is one of the few things that they deliver at home (though the only pizzeria that delivers in my neighborhood - called something like "Speedy Pizza" - takes a couple of hours to bring you your order...) where I live. In those early months of Dylan's life when making dinner was the last thing on my mind, having something delivered would have been really convenient. But I just dislike pizza so much here that I never considered it.

My no-pizza policy ended about a week ago. We discovered a pizzeria that is a cheap yet quaint hole-in-the-wall and makes real Neapolitan pizza, which "non c'entra niente" with that bland Milanese pizza. It satisfies my need for a bready, chewy crust without being obnoxiously thick. The tomato sauce is fresh as are the vegetables and other ingredients. My dining companions attested to the authenticity of the mozzarella. Insomma, it's everything pizza should be. I don't want to publish the address on my blog because really this is a find. We had found another Neapolitan pizzeria a while back that sadly has become a tourist trap and no longer serves the authentic stuff. But if you live in Milan or are going to be in the area, you can e-mail me and I'll give you the address. That is, if I deem you pizza-worthy!

Brilliant!

2008-10-08T12:25:00.002+01:00

Last night Le Iene (a satire news-type show that takes on everything from Italian politics to Italian culture) had a great feature where they sent one of their female correspondents to stand in the streets of Rome dressed like the various "showgirls" on TV. Obviously, she was mistaken for a prostitute and within minutes, men were pulling up saying things, such as "How much? and "Can I just touch your tits?" She would innocently respond things, such as, "Oh, I'm just waiting for my boyfriend to go to the cinema. You must be mistaken." The typical response from the men was "You go to the cinema DRESSED LIKE THAT?" and she'd say "This is how women dress on TV. What's the problem?" She was even stopped several times by the Carabinieri and received a 200-Euro fine. Below is the video. Even if you don't understand Italian, it's quite funny to see her walking around Rome dressed like that and just points out how ridiculous most of the women on Italian TV look. I like the part where the Carabiniere asks her "Do you think that's a normal way to dress?" and she says "Women dressed like this have entered your home and millions of Italian homes many times via the TV..."

A (lose-lose) victory

2008-09-30T11:44:00.003+01:00

Yesterday I went to the post office to send a package to a friend in Sicily. I wanted to send it three-day air. So, of course, the postal worker woman suggested that if I wanted it to get there in three days that I use one-day air. Huh?

"One-day air takes three days while three-day air takes five days," she said.

The victory? This explanation didn't even phase me! What it means is that eight years here (well and the whole pregnancy debacle) has numbed me to all sorts of illogical logic. I paid for three days but it will take five days. My friend is expecting the package on Wednesday and she could get it as late as Friday. So it's something of a lose-lose situation but a victory all the same. Got it? Well, speaking of "lose," let's hope Poste Italiane doesn't do just that with the package!

So much to say but not right now

2008-09-21T11:40:00.005+01:00

For a while I didn't write because there was really nothing much new to say. I was doing the newborn/no sleeping/breastfeeding thing and that didn't merit too many posts. In the last few months, I've been working on my offline life, and I've begun a new project that I'm pretty excited about. But it's too early to talk about it.

Overall, things are good. My baby is "all grown up" - I mean he crawls, stands and doesn't like to be held anymore. At eight months, all he is interested in is exploring his environment and doesn't seem to have much use for us. And for this we are sad. We hope that once he figures out that putting his fingers in the (now baby-proofed) electric sockets and pulling on the curtains is not all that exciting, he will return to us for the occasional cuddle. As it is now, he doesn't want to sit still for a second and especially not on anybody's lap.

I just wanted to say that I'm still here but as I'm a notorious "oversharer," it's best if I keep my mouth shut for now until I figure out exactly where this new project of mine is going to take me. With that, I leave you with a photo of the latest product to hit Italian pharmacies. At first I thought it was dark chocolate-covered aspirin but, no, it's dark chocolate tablets with vitamins C and A. Every time I go in my local pharmacy I'm tempted to buy this product as it is conveniently placed next to the cash register but I still haven't figured out what purpose it serves. If I need a dark chocolate fix, I won't be heading for the pharmacy to get it. But that's just me.

Identity crisis

2008-07-02T18:24:00.002+01:00

Who am I? Who will I be? How will I live and which things will I prefer? Peanut butter or pasta? Coffee or caffè? A bagel or la michetta? Dinner at 6 p.m. or dinner at 9 p.m.? Out of the house at 18 or out of the house at 28+? Football or soccer? English or Italiano? Grandmas who kick a soccer ball around with me or nonne who dote on me and ply me with lasagna? Hugs or double kisses?

Signs you've been away from home far too long...

2008-06-24T10:56:00.005+01:00

You are willing to accept bad, preservative-filled substitutes. I saw that this German discount chain here was advertising "America Week" complete with bagels, peanut butter and something called a "Rib Burger" sold in the freezer section. I bypassed the freezer section and the Rib Burger and headed straight for the bagels and peanut butter, which are actually imported from Germany. The brand-name is some funky fictitious creation meant to sound American - "McEnnedy" (I can just see the German marketing gurus sitting around the conference room table deciding on that one "McDonald's is popular in America and that Kennedy family seems to be pretty famous..."). The peanut butter looks a little greenish in color. My real American peanut butter ran out during the long, final wintery days of pregnancy. I haven't tasted my loot yet but I'll report back on the authenticity factor. I'll be tasting the originals in a month. Yeah!

Strange and interesting combinations

2008-06-19T12:55:00.005+01:00

Well the sun finally came out after the "spring that never was" so that merits a post. We've literally had rain for months now. I spent most of the spring glued to the couch breastfeeding, so I guess it didn't make much difference to me. But now I'm ready to get out there again so the sun is a welcome sign.

This week I saw two things that struck me as odd. Not necessarily bad but odd. We all know I have a particular dislike for those drinkable yogurts. I know that many an Italian is loading up on the drinkable yogurt right now in preparation for the summer holidays (there are yogurts that help your skin tan faster and people drink them before going to places, such as Mexico, as a preventative measure against potential gastrointestinal problems) but I have just never been able to choke one down. Well I just saw an ad for an ice cream bar that once you bite into it becomes...don't make me say it. Yep, the ice cream bar is filled with drinkable yogurt-y goodness. As if it weren't bad enough that there's an entire aisle of them at the grocery store. Now my ice cream bar could have chocolate sprinkles and lactobacillus as main ingredients. I haven't been able to find it online but once I do, I'll post a pic.

Then I saw a video for the latest Fabri Fibra (Italian rapper) song called "In Italia," which is kind of a lament against everything wrong with Italy today. And it features Gianna Nannini. Another strange combination. Not bad, just kind of strange. It'd be like Eminem and Melissa Etheridge teaming up for a duet. Who knows? It could work. Below the video from YouTube. The chorus goes, "There are things nobody will tell you. There are things nobody will give you. You were born and died here. You were born and died here. Born in the country of half truths..." Well it's catchier (and rhymes) in Italian.

Paesino

2008-06-10T15:20:00.008+01:00

I keep thinking to myself that I'll update the ole blog when things "stabilize" or "get back to normal." I'm barely five months into this parenthood project and it has become apparent that I should prepare myself for a new reality (one that doesn't include sleep - didn't they say the kid should start sleeping through the night by 12 weeks? Mine still wakes up several times a night. That is, when he goes to bed...). Anyway, this is a post to say that I'm still here. Tired and still figuring this out day by day but feeling more confident as time goes by.

In any case, since I moved to Italy, I've always lived in a paesino of 9,000 people on the outskirts of Milan. Strangely, I never utilized my town as a small town. I never drank a coffee or did aperativo at the bar in the main piazza, I never bought my newspaper from the local giornalaio, I never entered the local church (I am not Catholic but still I could have at least popped in to see if there were any cool frescoes or anything...), I rarely mailed anything from the tiny post office branch here. You get the picture. I did, however, briefly work out at the local gym. For the most part, this was the place I slept at night (aaaah, sleep) while by day I was always either in Milan, on public transportation or fighting the traffic in or out of the city. Even when I began to work from home, I rarely left the house because I was just too busy.

Right after my son was born and while taking a brief break from work, I realized that I needed to get out of the house or I was going to go nuts. It was January and bitterly cold outside but I was climbing the walls in the house with a colicky baby. So I bundled us both up, put him in his stroller and began using my little paesino as a real little town. And, you know what, it 'aint a quiant village nestled in the Tuscan hills but I'm beginning to like it. I still don't want to live here forever but I do like the feeling of walking out my gate and hearing "Buondì" ("Buongiorno" in Milanese) and of knowing all of the people in the little shops who are all on a first-name basis with Dylan and I. I walk by the local elementary school and the mamme, teachers and other little kids seem to know us somehow. The other day a signora stopped me to say "I heard your son has some sleep issues and cries a lot at night, so let me give you some tips..." I cut her off to ask how in the world she knew my son had sleep issues and she said, "Well your upstairs neighbors were telling the butcher how your son keeps them up nights and I overheard, so like I was saying..." OK, the small town thing could get old but it's fine for me for now. Honestly, this is one of the things that saved my sanity in those first overwhelming, isolating months.

Hold the dioxin please

2008-03-28T13:58:00.000+01:00

There's a man who comes up from the south and sells yummy delicacies out of the back of his van and parks in a piazza not far from my house. He's not always there but when he is, I always make a point of lining up behind his van with the hungry Milanese and buying things like melanzane sott'olio (kind of like these that Ms. Adventures makes but his are sliced into very thin strips) that you just can't get fresh around here if you don't make them at home yourself. He has lots of yummy vegan-friendly things, as well as cheeses and salamis. I have always assumed he was from Puglia, which is why I call him "Pugliese man." He's very outgoing and simpatico in a way that the Milanese aren't, and we always look forward to seeing his telltale white van and bantering back and forth with him while he wraps up our purchases. When he doesn't have change, he slices off a hunk of parmesan cheese to give instead. Last weekend I saw the white van from afar but we noticed the line wasn't as long as it usually is. As we got nearer the van, I said to Cristiano "Hey, the side of his van says Naples. I didn't know he was from Naples..." I was no longer hungry for eggplant and Cristiano was no longer hungry for his favorite cheese. What with all of the talk about dioxin in Neapolitan products, we are avoiding them. Sad but true. I also saw on the news that hotel and restaurant reservations are way down in Naples as people don't want to vacation or eat al fresco surrounded by trash. In talking with friends from Naples, we've been told that the trash crisis is not affecting every square inch of the city but it seems tourists don't want to take their chances. And as much as we feel like alarmists (as Cristiano says "There was probably dioxin in there all along and we just didn't think about it before..."), we don't want to take our chances either...

There goes that crusty exterior...

2008-03-26T17:09:00.003+01:00

I've been quite critical of the unusually strong mamma-figlio bond here, yet I found myself tearing up as Dylan got his first vaccinations this morning. It was my job to distract him from the task at hand, and I just felt so guilty. As the nurse came at him with the first of two needles, he looked deep into my eyes and gave me a big smile (see below). Next thing you know he'll be 35, living at home, I'll be ironing his socks and bringing him caffè in bed!

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So much to think about...

2008-03-09T15:35:00.004+01:00

My mom was just here for a week. She is starting to really put the pressure on for me to come home. Well, to come back to the U.S. with my husband and her new grandchild. Actually she began lightly pressuring me a few years ago when she began strategically placing the want ads around every time I came home for a visit but she's stepped up her efforts. This visit she said something like "They've had you for eight years. Now it's our turn!" I meant to ask who "they" are. I don't think the Italians as a population really care if I stay or not. If they did, someone would have surely offered me a fantastic job by now. I plan on starting to work from home again at the end of this month but I have no idea how it is going to work. As it is, this whole motherhood thing is more than a full-time job and while some of Cristiano's relatives have offered to babysit, none of them is available 40+ hours a week. I am also not ready to leave him with someone else for that amount of time. He's still piccolino! I do feel like if we went back to the U.S., there'd be much more opportunity for me and especially to work more flexible hours with decent pay. But Cristiano's work is here and he can't leave right now. He has a family-owned company with seven employees. Damn, it's hard.

I have 20 minutes to spare so here goes...

2008-02-17T13:58:00.013+01:00

I've thought about writing over the last few weeks and then thought better of it. All I'd do is talk about how much time I was spending breastfeeding (every ninety minutes to two hours like clockwork!) and how little time I was spending sleeping. Pretty cliched stuff. Perhaps the observation about motherhood that has been the most shocking to me is how selflessness doesn't come naturally all the time. Pre-child I fancied myself a very non-selfish person and I now realize that I spent the last thirty odd years doing pretty much exactly what I wanted to do (or, OK, at least the last twenty odd years) and now I exist merely to serve this little (very adorable, I might add) being. Granted, the love one has for her child makes her want to be selfless. But it aint always easy.

Take last night for instance. Dylan woke up to breastfeed at 1 a.m., 2:30 a.m., 4 a.m. and 5:30 a.m. And he's not a light-snacker-and-right-back-to-sleep guy. He eats for thirty minutes or so and then, of course, it takes me a while to get back to sleep despite being as exhausted as I am. So last night I basically didn't sleep at all. By 4 a.m. when I heard the telltale whines of hunger coming from the direction of his crib and I looked at the clock to see that I'd basically slept maybe 20 minutes, I just did NOT want to get up. More than anything else, I wanted to put a pillow over my head, pretend I didn't hear him crying and get some sleep. And to smash the alarm clock against the wall. But I didn't. I got up, gently picked up my child and whispered sweetly to him, reassuring him that sustenance was on its way. In my mind I was thinking "Next week we are starting formula. I hear it's cheaper over the border in Switzerland or if you buy it on the Internet from Austria..." but I think that once a week and I have yet to make a run for Switzerland or cruise Austrian baby formula websites. Anyway, maybe it has more to do with sleep deprivation than selflessness. At this point, I can't really think straight.

Another observation that makes me sad but has nothing to do with anything: I'm really behind technologically. I don't even have voicemail on my Italian cell phone. Of course, if I did have voicemail, nobody in Italy would leave me messages because it's just not popular here. And that's why I don't have it. But the rare times American friends or family call me on my Italian cell phone, they all moan and complain about the fact that I don't have voicemail. OK, the voicemail on the Italian cell phone is not really even the problem. But I have various visitors on the way from the U.S. They ask me things, such as "Do you have a slingbox?" Um, no. I had no idea what that even was but apparently it's a device that will allow you to watch American TV from your home cable box in real time via the Internet. While I was never an early adopter per se, I was always pretty up on the latest technologies and gadgets. Now I'm one of those people who gets off the plane in the U.S. and upon seeing everyone with their iPhones and Blackberries feels like the most backward, least hip person ever.

What has become of me? Anyway, I hope to be back blogging sooner rather than later!

Overwhelmed

2008-01-30T19:52:00.000+01:00

Today Cristiano's aunt took the baby to her house around the corner for a couple of hours, and I "went back to work" from home. It was so nice to dedicate myself to something I actually know how to do. Something that does not leave me in tears wondering if I'm somehow making grave errors that will scar another human being forever. Everything I've done in the last few decades has prepared me for the work I did today. Almost nothing I've done in the last few decades has prepared me to be someone's mother. I need to relax. I need to calm down and not allow my first (exhausted) thought in the morning be whether another sleepless night lay ahead of me 16, 18 or 20 hours later. It's just sleep, right?

Grazie mille!

2008-01-19T22:41:00.000+01:00

I have received so many kind comments and emails over the last week, and I really have not had time to respond to everyone personally. I'm very touched by the outpouring of congratulations but I'm a bit overwhelmed by the demands of baby. Dylan sleeps all day and is up most of the night. It's really frustrating. Last night I was up with him from midnight to 7 a.m. and he wanted to feed every hour. I'm still recovering from my C-section, and am incredibly weak as it is. We are trying to keep him awake more in the day but one-week-old babies don't have many hobbies and don't respond much to distraction. If anyone has any suggestions... Below I provide a video...It's late at night, he's awake but his father in the background is trying to get some sleep. Thanks again, everybody!

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He's here!!!!

2008-01-15T18:49:00.000+01:00

Quick facts:
Dylan Francesco
Born Jan. 11, 2008, at 12:04 p.m. via Caesarean section (due to "posterior presentation," or in other words, his head got stuck and wouldn't come out despite several hours of pushing!) after 16 hours of labor
8.25 pounds
22 inches
And, yes, he does look more like mom than dad! ;)

I've never been more boring in my entire life

2008-01-08T10:38:00.000+01:00

Sorry if this seems to be a one-theme blog lately. People who are past their due dates don't tend to be out doing exciting things in the dead of winter that make for scintillating tales. Even if a girl feels great physically carrying around a post-term baby, there's the logistics of having to schlep the bag and the medical records (the Trapper has been invaluable!) around with you "just in case."

Did I mention that if you want parmesan on your pasta in the hospital you need to bring it with you? Can you imagine having a chunk of parmesan and a grater in your bag along with your diapers, nipple cream and disposable underwear? Actually, I can't because I hate parmesan so I'm also hoping my roommates in the hospital don't have any smelly cheeses in their bags either. I have, however, packed salt, pepper, sugar, a tea cup (no tea or coffee cup and you don't get any when they come around serving it), plastic cutlery and paper napkins per the request of the hospital. I guess I don't pay enough in taxes for them to provide me with condiments!

Yet - and despite all the talk of this being "Italy's winter of discontent" what with the major trash crisis in Naples, low salaries, inflation, all of the job precariousness, the old people who can't make ends meet with their pensions and even a recent study proclaiming that Italian students are smarter than their teachers - they are considering giving a raise to the deputati in the Camera dei Deputati. That's sheer madness! The politicians here are already the highest paid in Europe with salaries that are at least five times that of the average Italian. Not to mention all of the benefits they have for a total of something like 15,000 Euros a month.

I remember when I lived briefly in Washington D.C. doing a summer internship, I met a lot of politicians and political types, and I remember the jokes they used to make about "government salaries" and how they'd make much more were they to work in the private sector. Here apparently it's the opposite. And here's a staggering fact if you take into account the size of Italy versus the size of the U.S.: The House of Representatives in the U.S. has 435 members while the U.S. Senate has 100 members; In Italy, there are 315 members of the Senate and 630 members of the Camera dei Deputati!

People who feel big and puffy and unwieldy and have a cough tend to stay at home reading and watching too much TV, which is the situation in which I find myself. Watching Prime Minister Prodi comment on the trash crisis makes me ask myself "Why is he on the ski slopes saying things, such as 'It's a real shame' and not THERE in Naples?" An American politician would be there at least just to "look good" for the photo op. Prodi should be in Naples for the camera crews wearing a hard hat, a trashproof slicker and rubber boots while wading through the mounds of rubbish with a massive shovel in hand, making some hardcore promises (even if they are hollow). What's wrong with these politicians? Are they are so secure in their positions, they feel they can ask for raises while doing absolutely nothing to resolve the country's problems? Mah! That really makes me angry. I'd say I hope anger induces labor but, much as I want to meet baby, I'm increasingly more scared as the days drag on and everything learned in my prenatal class becomes a distant memory!

Tick tock, tick tock

2008-01-02T11:13:00.001+01:00

My due date is still a few days away but somehow it seems as if this should have all been "over" by now. Meaning, I should be home from the hospital with baby already. Baby, however, is still happily bopping around in utero. There is nothing to indicate he will make an early appearance.

The holiday period was mostly quiet. I spent the majority of it battling first a bad cold, then the flu, then a nasty ear infection. After a month, I still have a horrible hacking cough, which unfortunately, has plagued me for most of the winters I've been in Milan. What does the doctor say? "You have a cough and so does everybody else. Get used to it - it's the pollution." Today begins the first day of the Ecopass automobilists are required to buy to enter Milan, but I read in the newspaper that while the air in the city may improve, it will only get worse for those of us who live outside. Sigh.

On December 26, the aunt who hosted Christmas this year (not the same aunt who just lost her husband in October, thank God) had a stroke, leaving her paralyzed on her left side. She's only 60, incredibly active and generally seemed to be in good health, so this came out of the blue. Cristiano has been going to the hospital every day, though I've been staying home because I may have germs myself and should not be exposed to others' microbi. Coincidentally, the aunt's son is in his last year of studies to be a physical therapist, and we are hoping that with his help, she will be able to make a full recovery. Last year was not a good year for Cristiano's zii so let's hope 2008 is better for them and for everybody.

It's bitterly cold outside, they are calling for snow over the next few days, I have a cough, am big and unwieldy and can't do much of anything, so I continue to sit here and wait...

Bag packed

2007-12-21T09:45:00.000+01:00

Everyone I know seems to either have left town or be on his or her way out. I too have just packed my bag, but I'm not going anywhere. My bag contains diapers (both adult and baby sizes), toilet paper, towels, nipple cream and disposable underwear, among many other things, per the list of items the hospital has asked me to bring. I feared that with so many people I know leaving town and with it being Christmas (my eighth in Italy!) time and being nine months pregnant and far away from my family, I would go in crisi. But I'm OK. There's been a lot of stress with finishing up final visits (a two-hour wait just for an EKG at the hospital and I got testy with the technician because she expected me to strip down to the waist in what was basically a public antecamera with no door where my full-frontal toplessness - not to mention my oversized stomach and linea negra - would have been visible to the entire waiting room; I'm not a prude but I'm also a human being and not a slab of meat) and trying to complete all of the bureaucracy for the conservation of the cord blood. I would get frustrated at the fact that public offices and ministries in Rome are open from 9:30 a.m. to 1:30 p.m. and that their phones are either always busy or ring off the hook, but I can't be bothered. I've entered into "the zone" and I can't let anything get to me right now. I'm not going anywhere but a new adventure is about to begin, and all I want to do is focus on the joy of that.

P.S. I wanted to add that not EVERYONE I know is leaving. If I know you and you are here in Milan, I wasn't saying you don't count (though we are probably busy with our respective family/holiday obligations and won't see each other much anyway - Uffa!). But I do seem to know of an inordinate number of people leaving for exotic and far-off locales this year. Divertitevi!

Holiday observation

2007-12-13T11:21:00.001+01:00

As if things weren't "exciting" enough around here health-wise what with my six days of convalescence with the killer cold and flu, I tripped over my computer chair this morning, landing first on my knees and then on my right shoulder and finally somehow on my back. I was in so much pain (thought my shoulder had come out of socket) that at first I didn't even think about whether I had landed on my stomach. I've since been obsessing about it all morning, wondering if somehow my stomach took some abuse in the fall. Seeing as though I have two visibly scraped knees and ended up on my back, I really don't see how that could be possible. I have a call in to my doctor. Let's see what she tells me...In the meantime, I'll distract myself with a blog post.

Our tree is a mix of my childhood ornaments and generic holiday balls. As our family collects more ornaments, the balls will go away.

One thing I find odd here is that despite Italy being so family-oriented and so fixated on doing things "all together," there is no culture (or at least in these parts) of making a big deal of trimming the tree or of even personalizing the tree. The Christmas tree seems to be but a decorative element under which to stash smartly wrapped gifts. That I know of, families don't tend to gather around the tree with hot chocolate and trim it together, taking out treasured ornaments and discussing them one by one. It seems that here, mamma makes fast work of sweeping and mopping a corner of the living room and then throwing up the tree by herself. Ornaments are generic - colored balls in holiday hues or big red ribbons - and serve as mere adornments with no sentimental value attached.

An ornament I painted as a very small child. No, the photo isn't blurry. I was never good at arts and crafts.

I didn't grow up with The Waltons or anything, but I do remember the trimming of the tree as being a special occasion. We even had hot chocolate and some years strung popcorn and cranberries. My brother and I each had a box of ornaments that we'd been collecting over the years - things we'd made at school, special ornaments given to us by family members, mementoes picked up on vacation - and we'd take them out and do the whole "Remember the time...?" thing. This is a tradition I've started with Cristiano, and a couple of years ago, I brought over my box of ornaments (carry-on on the plane just to be safe) so that we could have somewhat of a personalized tree here. We've also begun to collect our own "family" ornaments.

One of the few ornaments Cristiano and I have together. A memento of a trip we took a few summers ago.

Being American, I'm so used to repeatedly hearing the phrases "You just don't have the history..." or "You just don't have the tradition..." that I took a small amount of pleasure this weekend in correcting Cristiano on his tree trimming skills (hello, the lights go on before the ornaments!) with "You just don't have the tradition of doing this." Score one for those traditionless Americans! Plus, we do festive family holiday cards!

Speaking of Christmas, the priest is coming to the house to bless it tonight. I just got the notice in the mail with a little envelope in case I want to give a donation to the church. I usually answer the door and say right away "Buonasera. Prego, prego but I should tell you that I'm not Catholic and my husband is not very devout..." and he typically nods and blesses the house anyway. And I typically give him money anyway. Hey, after eight years, I do have some traditions here!

Product plug

2007-12-10T17:40:00.000+01:00

Despite this past weekend being a big holiday weekend here and despite all of my fantastic plans for visiting the various Christmas markets (which have all since ended, sigh...), I spent this past weekend on my death bed with a horrible flu/cold/fever combination. I've been really sick since Thursday night. Being nine months pregnant, there's not a lot I can take to combat this evil. I've rested a lot but actually slept very little because I feel like one big uncomfortable congested and feverish lump. What I wouldn't give to just whip out the TheraFlu brought back from trips to the U.S. and allow myself the pleasure of one night of drugged slumber. Cristiano went to the pharmacy to get me cough drops and was told I couldn't even take those! I've been gargling salt water and drinking hot lemon water for days with lame results.

Around noon today, I remembered that upon staying in a hotel at the Terme di Sirmione, we were given some "Acqua di Sirmione" (bad literal translation from the Italian - they call mucous "catarrh," for example - but I provide the link nonetheless) from the thermal springs as a departing gift, so I dug it out from under the bathroom sink. Sirmione is a beautiful walled town about an hour from here that is famous for its healing waters. It is probably my favorite quick escape from Milan. I remembered that the Acqua di Sirmione could be inhaled or put into the aerosol nebulizer machine that every Italian home seems to have here. Well, at least everyone in Milan (with the smog being such as it is; I have friends who inhale salt water in the nebulizer daily before heading out into traffic on their motorbikes just for good measure...) seems to have one on hand. Anyway, a few squirts of this magical sulfur water in each nostril and I feel human again! If you have access to an Italian pharmacy and are looking for an all-natural cold and nasal congestion remedy, I highly recommend it. My throat even feels better. It'll set you back about 10 Euros, but you get six mini bottles of the water. Well worth it, in my book, for some much-needed relief. It can be used for babies as well, so I'll be stocking up...

A year in the life

2007-12-05T08:25:00.000+01:00

I was going to reflect on my year of blogging, but I'm not really sure if that would be of much interest to anyone. I will say that in reading others' blogs, I've been really impressed with how they've added interactive elements, gone out of their way to drum up reader participation and even begun to use their blogs to make money. I've never really done any of those things because I didn't want to stray from my original intent, which was just to have a place where I could write exactly what I thought without being censored or influenced by anyone. I've been writing professionally for almost 15 years now, and I had gotten very tired of always having to answer to someone else. I really just wanted to be able to write in a very stream-of-consciousness way without thinking too much about it and without an editor. I never really set out to get so personal, to tackle so many "controversial" topics or to make this a place where I rail against things I don't like in Italy.

But the beginning of this blog coincided with what was to be a turning-point year for me in the old Belpaese. I lost my job. I began working from home. I got pregnant. Lo zio died. It was a year in which I stopped saying "I'm fine here" and started thinking that I wouldn't mind moving home in the not-too-distant future, even if it will mean major reverse culture shock. This was my life and thus this is what I ended up discussing on my blog whether it was of interest to anyone else or not. I come from the "write what you know" school, and it would have been very difficult for me to put all of those things out of my mind to write up a biscotti recipe or something. Which isn't to say I don't like biscotti or recipes. I do, and I enjoy reading about those things on other people's blogs. But that's just not what I set out to do here in this particular forum, and I stubbornly didn't want to follow anyone else's model. I've been writing for others for too long, and I wanted to write for myself even if I was discussing the most mundane topics of my everyday life here.

A few weeks ago my in-laws asked to see my blog, and I told them I'd prefer they didn't read it! Actually, they don't know English, so they wouldn't get too far anyway, but the thing is that the topics I tackle on my blog, I rarely talk about in my "real life" here. Most of my time is spent with Italians, and while I never mask my true feelings about living here, I also don't go out of my way to air my grievances either. That just gets obnoxious. Most Italians know what the problems are in their country, and they don't need some foreigner telling them "how it is." When asked for my opinion, I don’t hesitate to give it. But there are certain topics I wouldn’t bring up on my own. Well, except here, on my blog.

What would Walt say?

2007-12-04T21:03:00.000+01:00

A few weeks ago I had to take a streptococcus test at the hospital. While the results were ready this past Friday, I have not had the time to make a special trip to the hospital to go pick them up. Here the only way to get results for your medical exams is to go in person and wait in line for them. Today I had my prenatal class at the hospital so I "popped by" (or I thought it would only be a matter of "popping by") after class to get my exam results. There were three windows open for picking up test results, but after taking my number, I realized I had 60 people ahead of me! I marveled at the fact that there were three full-time employees (the windows are open from 8:30 a.m. to 5:30 p.m.) being paid to give out test results all day long. In the U.S., I took tests directly in my doctor's office and she always called me personally to give me the results when they were in. I understand that a large proportion of the Italian population is elderly and does not use the Internet, but there just has to be a better way. Perhaps a code system whereby you call in, give your secret number and get your results. Or, yes, even a secure Internet-based system for those with access.

I noticed people with canes and people in wheelchairs all waiting impatiently just to pick up an X-ray or a little slip of paper. The fact that one has to make a special trip to the hospital, pay to park and walk, hobble or be wheeled the 15 minutes to the inner depths of the place just to pick up test results strikes me as being ridiculously inefficient. But my whole pregnancy has been like this, and I go through this weekly and would have never found it blog-worthy had I not later talked to a friend in the U.S. whose wife is a nurse.

While talking about our impressions of how the U.S. presidential campaign is going so far and, specifically, how we think the health-care issue is being tackled, he mentioned that his wife's boss is requiring her to read The Disney Way for work! I give you the book-jacket description: "In this book, you'll learn how to: Give every member of your organization the chance to dream, and tap into the creativity those dreams embody; Treat your customers like guests; Build long-term relationships with key suppliers and partners; Dare to take calculated risks in order to bring innovative ideas to fruition; Align long-term vision with short-term execution. And more. No fairy dust. No magic wands. No wishing on a star. Just sound, effective management principles that stem from Walt Disney's values, vision, and philosophy." While I think it is absurd that nurses and doctors would be required to read such a hokey marketing bestseller in order to offer better "customer service," the contrast with what I see here where the words "efficiency" or even "bedside manner" are all but inexistent was just too much.

Un traguardo

2007-11-30T09:56:00.001+01:00

Hey, it's my one-year blogiversary! I do have a lot of thoughts on that, but today I don't have much time for reflection as I have a crazy busy day. I just thought it was worth mentioning. This time last year, I was whining about traffic and transportation strikes. Fortunately, today I am working from home as it is another venerdì nero full of strikes. I will be here all cozy with my tisane, my iTunes radio and my translations.

That's what that was all about

2007-11-29T14:32:00.001+01:00

Baby's first big-ticket-item gift from mom and dad. Nothing like umbilical-cord and stem-cell storage to say "ti vogliamo bene!" I love the futuristic packaging (the pic is a bit dark but everything is a blinding silver). I feel like I just received an express shipment of astronaut ice cream direct from the space shuttle. The stem-cell bank in Lugano is this glass-enclosed C.SI.-style lab inside a hospital. An incredibly silent and efficient public hospital with gleaming waxed floors and expensive looking artwork on the walls. I had forgotten what it was like to walk into a hospital and not see lines and lines of confused ("Is this where we are supposed to be - door 348 in hallway Y of sector Q? Boh?") people standing in endless corridors full of numbered doors. I had forgotten what it was like to use a bathroom in a hospital and not have to hold my nose with one hand while at the same time holding the door with the other.

Now, in order to be able to put this kit into action, I have oh-so-many hoops to jump through on the Italian bureaucracy front. Did we have any doubt? I have to have a "counseling session" with the Health Ministry whereby I sign a document (that then has to be stamped by a ridiculous number of people and agencies - really, this is going to require so much running around at nine months pregnant and at the height of Christmas season) saying I am "aware of what I'm doing." Meaning, morally. In Italy, they do allow for the collection of the umbilical cord and the stem cells, but it can't be stored here. Thus, the space-age ice packs and metallic storage system that will be collected within 24 hours of the birth by the efficient Swiss courier. We had considered using an American service, but it's even more bureaucratic when you get into this kind of "precious cargo" being shipped across the ocean. And there could be some red tape in accessing it from here should the need arise. It came down to England or Switzerland, and we decided Lugano was the most practical solution. It's all very weird if you think about it, isn't it?

We made it back over the border with no problems. Neither the Pontifical Swiss Guards nor the PapaMobile were hot on our trail!

Heading for the border

2007-11-28T15:26:00.001+01:00

Tomorrow morning, Cristiano and I are heading over the border into Lugano, Switzerland, to deal with something that is perfectly legal around the world but is not legal in Italy. Hmm, what could it be? All I'll say is that it is nothing untoward and does not involve anonymous bank accounts (or drugs; I think I remember seeing lots of head shops selling hemp and marijuana-related products in Lugano - you know, those places that have the massive red, yellow and green leaf symbol in the window?) or ambiguous money transactions. Having health care issues fresh on the brain, I now realize that even though we'll only be in Switzerland for a couple of hours, we are not covered by Italian state health care while we are there. And if I go into premature labor? I guess I'll have to "suck it up" and give birth in some swank Swiss clinic. Maybe they'll even have chocolates on the pillows...and a big bill in Francs to match the luxury upon discharge. Yikes, I shouldn't even joke about it. Back tomorrow afternoon. And my conscience will be clean. Squeaky.

Neither here nor there. No perfect system.

2007-11-27T10:17:00.000+01:00

I finally watched Sicko this past weekend. I usually agree with Michael Moore’s overriding theme but seeing as though he's neither a documentarian nor a journalist, I find his films to be a bit heavy handed for my taste. I agree with the fact that a civilized society should offer universal health care to its citizens and the fact that we don’t have it in the U.S. is an embarrassment. And I also think it is obvious that the insurance companies and pharmaceutical companies are for-profit businesses whose aim is not to ensure the health of their “customers” but to make as much money as possible while keeping costs down. If that means killing people, so be it. Personally, I always had great health care through my insurance in the U.S. and never had any major claims denied, but right before I left the country, I noticed that the companies seemed to be getting greedier and greedier and care seemed to be getting worse.

The only negative situation I had in the U.S. involved having blood tests done through my doctor. Right before leaving for Italy, I was working for an Internet start-up and the insurance offered by the company was fine but was definitely not the best I had had. At one point, I had some blood tests done at my doctor’s office, which was a pretty routine thing as my doctor ordered blood tests on almost every office visit. What was different was that this particular time I got a bill at home for $800 for the blood tests and a note from the doctor’s office saying that my insurance company had denied payment. Upon calling the insurance company, I was informed that my doctor had sent my blood to the lab it always used in a New York hospital as opposed to the insurance company’s own special lab “in the beautiful state of Washington.” Seeing as though I had never thought about where my blood went before and nobody had informed me that the blood had to be sent to Washington, the insurance company agreed to pay the $800 but I was told that from then on out, my blood would have to go to their lab.

A few days later, I received a wallet-sized card in the mail from my insurance company containing a little printed spiel I was supposed to recite to my doctor (as if I were not a patient but one of the company’s marketing representatives!) the next time he ordered blood tests. It read something like, “Dear doctor. I’m sure you understand the importance of testing. That’s why X lab in the beautiful state of Washington is the choice for you…” The next time I went to the doctor, I showed it to him and we had a good laugh about it. He was not happy about sending my blood 3,000 miles away “to the middle of nowhere to a lab I don’t even know” but said he would tell the nurse to do it. Unfortunately, the nurse did NOT do it and my blood once again went to the usual lab. Understandably with all of the patients that come through the doctor’s office with various insurance plans, how can the nurses keep track of whose blood goes where? Again, I received a bill in the mail. I fought it with the insurance company saying, “Look, I told the doctor where to send the blood but I was not with the nurse when she FedEx-ed it out so I can’t be held responsible for her mistake.” It took months of going back and forth with my insurance company and billing in my doctor’s office (and I even received threatening phone calls from some collection service saying “This could affect your credit for life! You better hope you don’t need to buy a house or a car!”) but I finally resolved the issue without paying.

I would love to say that I came to Italy and lived happily ever after with “free” state health care, but I’ve had wildly mixed experiences. I agree with the Italian system on principle (access for everyone) but the overly bureaucratic infrastructure and set-up are horrible, leaving patients to feel lost and confused. That's not to mention the almost total lack of any kind of human element or bedside manner. And it is NOT free. Not only do I pay a ton in taxes, my yearly health care costs are greater in Italy than they ever were in the U.S.

And this is where I began to have problems with Sicko. There’s a scene in the film where Michael Moore sits down to dinner with a group of American expats in Paris and they rave on and on about the great French health care system, all of the vacation time and the free university, etc. Unfortunately, Michael Moore does not delve into the flipside of all that. Aside from all of the taxes one must pay to sustain this type of system, a system where employers are forced by law to give their employees extremely generous benefits (in the film one French cancer survivor tells of how he asks for a doctor’s note so he can take three months off to relax in the south of France even though he could have technically gone back to work) makes for employers who are wary of actually hiring people and turn to low-paid freelance workers to whom they legally don’t have to pay benefits. This is what has happened in Italy, and unfortunately, so many hired employees abuse the system (including the many women who get a doctor’s note so they can spend their entire pregnancies at home paid a full salary even when they aren’t technically sick, thus creating a chilling effect whereby no company wants to hire a woman of childbearing age) that companies will do anything to avoid having employees on the payroll to whom they must pay benefits.

Also, university is not free in Italy though it does cost much less than in the U.S. But new college grads here struggle to find jobs and when they do find work, it is usually in the form of an unpaid “internships” that last for years on end, forcing them to live at home with their parents well into their 30s. And as for paid vacation when you are doing one of these “internships” or working freelance? There is none. I have no direct experience in France, but at least in Italy, it is not this utopia of “free” health care, “free” university and endless vacation time (I, for one, pay out of pocket for my health care, have no paid maternity leave and no paid vacation time) for the masses. Taxes are very high, salaries are very low and finding work is a struggle. The protections and generous benefits are there for some (typically those who are older or have older contracts written before Italian companies discovered “internships” and “freelance work,” which are concepts used here not to offer opportunities or flexibility to employees like in the U.S. but merely to further financial gain) but definitely not for all.

You can make pizza on an American gas grill

2007-11-25T18:50:00.000+01:00

Friday afternoon I had a doctor's appointment where I was told to watch my weight. I've gained more than 25 pounds - the baby himself, according to the latest estimates, accounts for about five pounds of that. Unfazed, I proceeded to go straight to a friend's house for a real American Thanksgiving feast*. Yesterday, I tried to reign it in but we had Thanksgiving leftovers (including desserts) in the fridge and I picked at those. Then today Cristiano decided to make pizza on his new American gas grill.

"Doughboys" dressing the pizzas

Cristiano got into the whole grill thing this past August while at my mom's house in the U.S. There's not a big barbecue culture in Italy (actually, there's pretty much none at all) so when we came back to Italy and set out to find a gas grill, we not surprisingly didn't find much. Everything we found seemed to be cheaply made and exorbitantly priced. Recently I saw an ad on ExpatTalk for a real American gas grill being sold by a family moving back to the U.S. so we jumped on it. Last weekend we drove down to Liguria to pick it up and this past week (despite it being November), Cristiano has been out on the terrace grilling away, sore throat and sniffles be damned. Today he decided to make pizza and calzones with friends. I'm in my unapologetic lazy phase, so I threw together a pinzimonio vegetable tray and pretty much sat and waited for my pizza to be served. I have to say that pizza on the grill comes out much better than pizza in the oven and cooks in half the time. Tonight, vegetable broth.

Cleanup. No leftovers.

*More detailed pics from Thanksgiving here

Dolce far niente?

2007-11-21T18:09:00.000+01:00

Um, I don't feel like doing anything. Is that bad? I've accepted the fact that I'm getting too big and awkward to be much use to anybody and am slowly moving into human incubator mode. My fantasies of being an active pregnant woman on the Stairmaster at 8 months all went out the window back in July (well, and then with various follow-up visits to the emergency room that I never documented on this blog). I'm working from home up to Christmas, but I really don't feel like doing that. My back hurts and I have to take frequent breaks from the computer. Plus, my once pretty decent spelling (first runner up in the spelling bee several times throughout elementary school!) has gotten atrocious. I am on strict orders to not bend over or stay on my feet too long, so if something falls on the floor, it stays there. I'm looking at a renegade penne pasta noodle right now on the floorboard next to the oven, and it's all I can do to not crawl over there and get it. I fear for the baby's intellectual development what with all of the crap TV I've taken in on Sky lately. So much for listening to lots of Mozart. I read so much for work that reading, which has always been one of my great passions, has also lost some of its attraction. If I do reach for something to read off the bedside table, it's most likely pregnancy related and I'm also over that. Perhaps I could just hibernate for the next six-and-a-half weeks?

Fog, laundry, lepers and Bruno Munari

2007-11-14T18:09:00.000+01:00

I bought the baby his first Italian-language book the other day. It's called Nella Nebbia di Milano (In the fog of Milan - the kid will be one half Milanese, so I figured it was only appropriate) and it's by Bruno Munari. Munari not only wrote and illustrated beautiful books for children (and adults), he was an artist and designer who was especially interested in the graphic arts. In fact, his books always utilize interesting overlay effects with different kinds of paper.

The day after I bought the book, I found out that there's a huge Munari retrospective going on at the Rotonda della Besana, which is one of my favorite venues for seeing art shows here (I also like the new Triennale Bovisa, which is one of the few places in Milan to see contemporary art). The Rotonda is a large circular structure with a central courtyard that started out as a church and cemetery in the early 18th century. Over the years, it has been used for various other things ranging from a public place to do laundry (I'd imagine that means that women would come there with their washboards not a coin-operated situation) to an institution for lepers and others with contagious diseases.

The doctor has me on two days of strict riposo, but as soon as I'm allowed to leave the house, I want to go check it out...

On service or lack thereof

2007-11-13T11:41:00.000+01:00

Yesterday when I wrote about companies not having receptionists, I realized we didn't have one at my last workplace either. In fact, the company took up eight floors of a building. Where in the U.S. each floor probably would have had a designated receptionist, this company didn't. Not only was there nobody downstairs to tell you where to go, when you got off the elevator at your floor (provided you even knew what floor to go to), you were faced with an unmarked locked door. Visitors had to "buzz" and basically whoever was nearest the door at the time had to let the person in. Of course, nobody ever wanted to answer the door because the buzzer rang every two seconds with deliveries from FedEx and lost Pony Express guys looking for someone on another floor.

There was a general feeling of "I'm not the receptionist. Answering the door is not my job. And, furthermore, if I have to get up from my desk every two seconds, I will never get my work done." Obviously not having a receptionist is a way for the company to save money but I have to wonder how smart it is in the long run. Understaffing seems to be the name of the game here. If it's like that at large companies, one can only imagine the confusion in Italian bureaucratic offices and public hospitals (where, come to think of it, the problem is not lack of workers but often abundance of workers not doing anything useful; in a courthouse here, I once walked down a corridor where room after room contained 1) one desk with nothing on it except a bunch of ink stamps for stamping documents and 2) one worker behind each desk).

I was actually just thinking about how overstaffed places - especially shops and restaurants - are in the U.S. A couple of weeks ago we were in a pizzeria in Milan with about 12 people. The server kept leaving our table in the midst of our ordering to either go seat other people coming in or to go ring someone up at the cash register. Needless to say, it took us forever to order and we waited almost two hours for our pizzas! In the U.S., there would have been one person to seat, another person at the register and the server would have only been waiting tables. A few summers ago while pulling into a parking garage on the riverfront in Cincinnati, we noticed a smiling woman in uniform standing outside the garage waving madly. I rolled down my window thinking I needed to pay, and the woman said "No, hon, I'm just the greeter. Welcome. You pay when you leave." Now that is taking things to an extreme. While in Italy many multinational corporations have nobody to greet and direct visitors as they come in, this rinky-dink parking garage had someone on the payroll whose only job was to wave and smile at people. Bizarre.

I've also noticed that customer service in the U.S. has taken on aggressive I-will -serve-you-whether-you-like-it-or-not proportions. I know the whole free drink refill thing is pretty standard in some restaurants, but I do find it obnoxious that you are brought a full drink when you are only halfway done with the two liters of soda you already have before you. It is not only sheer waste, it puts pressure on you to finish up the first one when it may be more than you wanted to begin with. Last summer I was browsing in one of those body product shops and not only was I asked several times "Would you like a basket?" by perky basket-wielding shop workers, one particularly aggressive girl came out of nowhere with lotion and began massaging it into my hand saying "This is the latest fragrance in our hand lotion. Buy two get one free. Should I put some up by the cash register for you or in a basket?" Far from making me feel "taken care of," I was completely turned off.

The phrase I’ve begun to dread in stores in the U.S. is “Will you be paying with our card?” I was in way over my head in student-loan debt for ten years and I still occasionally wake up in a cold sweat thinking about it. This is why I have one credit card that is dutifully paid off each month. The idea of having a wallet full of credit cards literally makes me nauseous. One thing I've noticed in stores now in the U.S. is that they try to hard sell you on the credit card and won't let up when you say “no.” A typical exchange goes like this:

Person at register: If you open the STORE credit card today, you'll save twenty percent.

Me: No, thank you.

Person at register (going for the passive-aggressive approach): May I ask why you aren't interested in saving twenty percent on your purchases today?

Me: I live out of the country. I shop here maybe once a year. Thanks but no thanks.

Person at register: Where do you live? We have locations throughout North America...

Me (getting impatient): I live in Italy. There is no store near me. I have all the credit cards I need but thank you.

Person at register: Well, I was only trying to do you a favor. If you aren't interested in saving twenty percent on your purchases, that's your choice.

So, which is worse: no service, service that is a thinly veiled subliminal sales tool (i.e., give them a basket and they will feel compelled to buy) or too much service?

Random work thoughts

2007-11-12T13:42:00.000+01:00

I have never really done much copywriting, and now I understand why I don't want to. A friend of a friend of a friend was desperate to have a few things written in a timely fashion. The contact - let's call him Paolo - explained that the fashion brand he works for was about to launch several new collections and needed some press materials put together. It's really not my style of writing but I thought "What the hell. I look at press materials all day so how hard can it be?" Paolo gave me a highly conceptual overview, some very vague indications and a long list of what words and phrases NOT to use (things like "We want to convey the idea of 'handmade' but we don't want to use the word 'handmade' or any of its synonyms"). I could also not describe the collections directly. Uh, OK. He accepted one of my releases right away but was lukewarm on the rest of my drafts. I explained that he hadn't been very clear in explaining exactly what he wanted. He called in his boss - let's call her Maria - to "clarify" things. Maria proceeded to contradict most of what Paolo had said, sprinkled in a few more vague conceptual ideas and added more "don'ts" (a lot of "Try to get across that we are a family-run company that has been around for x number of generations but don't mention that we've been around for x number of generations or that it's a family-run company; make us look modern but with a rich history without saying that..."). I cranked out a few more drafts, which still received a mixed response. These people knew what they DIDN'T want but they had no idea what they wanted. I tried to explain that there is almost a formula (must provide x, y, z information so the journalist has those bases covered in his or her story) for how these things are written and referred to an entire folder full of samples I had.

They kept insisting they wanted something "different" but weren't sure how to come across as different. I was just supposed to figure that out. Well, I have very little patience for that. I don't need paint-by-numbers explanations spoonfed to me but I also can't create prose out of thin air, especially when I have no information to base my writing on. I'm used to starting with the facts or with a concrete idea or concept and going from there. I spent three Sundays working for these people and they only seemed mildly happy with one of the things I did. Nonetheless, I'm invoicing them for everything I wrote because I think it's only fair. This is part of my new "no more Mr. Nice Guy" work strategy. Let's see if I'm able to hold my ground.

Another random observation: how can large, international companies in Italy close down their switchboards at lunchtime, allowing the main phone number to ring, ring, ring off the hook? That's just ridiculous. It's bad enough that nobody has a direct phone number or voicemail and that when you call, you have to go through a receptionist (or whatever impatient and annoyed person gets stuck answering the phone - many companies don't even have receptionists!) who tell you things like, "Mr. Rossi is out. Call back after 3 p.m." They can't even bothered to jot down a message! The onus is on you to call back. I never thought I'd say it, but I miss voicemail. You call, you wait for the beep, you explain exactly what it is you need and the person calls you back with the information. If you aren't around, he or she leaves the information requested on your voicemail. Simple as that. Having to write myself post-it notes all the time or save little "reminders" in my Outlook ("Call Mr. Rossi after 3 p.m.") gets old and just wastes time. My worst-case scenario is when you call a company, Mr. Rossi is out, you ask for his email address so you can at least send your request for information and they tell you to fax it over instead. Aaaaargh - it's almost 2008! Can we throw the fax machine out the window already?! And I'm not even talking about mom-and-pop operations. I'm talking about companies with stores on Fifth Avenue in New York and thousands of employees.

More perplexed than anything

2007-11-08T18:46:00.000+01:00

I know this is well covered territory on the Italian expat blogs, so I won't make this into too much of a rant but I'm just wondering why I have to PAY customs fees to receive regular mail. I finally received my birthday envelope from my mom (sent from the U.S. on Oct. 4; pictured above, it's about ten inches by six inches and contained a "pregnancy wellness kit" with some sample sizes of creams and things) and I had to pay 13 Euros to retrieve it. It used to be that they'd occasionally charge you to receive boxes - which still doesn't make much sense to me if the items listed are gifts or used property of little declared value - but in the past, I'd always had good luck receiving padded envelopes. I can understand if you are importing iPods or big-ticket items into the country for sale, but why should I have to pay to receive a small birthday present with a declared value of fewer than $45? Do other countries charge people to receive mail from foreign countries? I send padded envelopes all the time to the U.S. and nobody has EVER had to pay to receive them. Or even boxes, for that matter. I could even live with it if there was some transparency in the process. If you ask in Poste Italiane, they can't tell you how customs fees are calculated because "it's not our job." If you ask the courier who brings the package to your door, he has no idea. I did a Web search but all I found were a bunch of people ranting on the eBay Italia forums because now all of a sudden, every padded envelope or box that comes from outside the EU seems to not only be charged these customs fees but to take much longer to arrive (because, duh, they are sitting in customs and have to go through all of the bureaucracy). After having birthday boxes and Christmas boxes opened and rifled through in the past, I've told everyone not to send me things here anymore. It just led to too much frustration and disappointment. The excitement of finally receiving that package only to realize something is missing (last year all of my Christmas gifts had been unwrapped and a few small things my mom said she had put in there were not there). But I thought the good old padded envelope was a safe bet. I guess not...More than anything, I'd just like to know if Italy is applying some law that all the other EU nations should be enforcing or if this is some furbata to shake down unsuspecting postal customers.

Gypsies

2007-11-07T16:04:00.000+01:00

When I was still working in the city every day, I used to leave my car in the subway parking lot every morning between 8 a.m. and 8:30 a.m. My car is ten years old. It is my husband’s old car and while still in his possession, it was maintained impeccably with barely a scratch on it. Since I have had it, it has become dented and scratched and is a little worse for the wear. Much of this is due to the subway parking lot (well, and me). I’ve had a couple of fender benders there and once hit a pole while trying to avoid a car that had created its own space outside the lines - grrr. The major damage is my fault but the majority of the scratches come from the gypsy kids who hang out in the parking lot begging. When I first began parking there, the kids would swarm the car and ask for coins. I never gave them anything. Little by little, my husband (who notices these things) began to ask me about little scratches on the car that seemed to have been made by a key or pen knife. My response: “Boh?” My husband gets angry when I say it but if I have to go around in a car here, I prefer to go around in one that’s a little beat up anyway. That way I don’t feel guilty about the abuse it takes during parallel parking and other difficult maneuvers on tiny streets. Driving around in an ugly car by choice is not at all a Milanese (appearance-conscious capital of the world) concept and Cristiano just shakes his head.

Anyway, I figured out the gypsy kids were scratching up my car because they all but told me they were doing it. One day I parked my car and began walking toward the subway. All was quiet and there was no sign of the pack of gypsy kids, so I thought I was safe. No such luck. They appeared out of nowhere and the ringleader kid of about 11 began asking for money as he did every day. As usual, I said no. His response was “If you give me some money, I’ll repair that big Z-shaped scratch on your car hood while you are at work.” The huge Z-as-in-Zorro scratch had appeared on the hood a few days earlier. I was nowhere near the car, so how did he know my car had a Z on it and that I was the owner of that car?

Actually, this kid was really sharp and I began to notice that he would pay close attention to your patterns and habits and comment on them. One time I was gone for a week, and when I came back, he greeted me with “Ciao Bella! Where were you last week? Did you go away for work? I hope they aren’t working you too hard!” Most of the kids just hound you relentlessly in that little heavily accented sing-song voice of theirs but this kid had mastered the Italian language and had made a point of knowing his “target market,” which is why he seemed to be more successful at getting money and food. I’d often see him with a fresh brioche or a piece of focaccia in the mornings. One day he showed up on a bike, and in fact, with his bike, he could beat you to the subway before you had time to “outrun” him and refuse him money. Anyway, I started giving him coins, and after that I no longer had fresh scratches on the car. It was extortion and I knew it, but I had sort of a weird fondness for him that I don’t have for most of the gypsies.

When I first got here, I really tried to “understand” the gypsies as a displaced peoples. I wouldn’t go out of my way to give them money, but I did feel bad for them when they’d get on the subway with their spiel about “We are a poor family from Romania. Please give us a bit of money just for milk for the baby…” Then I began seeing them doing things like jumping on the snack machines in the subway in broad daylight to shake them down for coins. Or spitting on people because they were refused money. One time I was in the supermarket looking at deodorant and a gypsy girl walked up and nonchalantly picked up a deodorant stick, applied it right there in the store to then put it back on the shelf. There’s a big gypsy camp near my house. One morning while sitting stopped in traffic on the bus I saw a pretty girl standing outside a camper van wearing tight jeans, high-heeled boots and a fashionable sweater. She went back in and a minute later, emerged wearing one of those long raggedy skirts, an ugly top and sandals with socks. She had put her long hair into loose, unkempt braids. She was obviously getting dressed “for work.” Upon closer inspection, I noticed that many of the camper vans had satellite dishes on top of them! I’ll often see the gypsies walking back to their camp with bagloads of groceries (and when they have groceries, they NEVER ask for money – they aren’t stupid). But they don’t just go to the discount supermarket on the corner. They’ll often go a little further to get to the gourmet supermarket! I’m really not sure what to make of all of this. I will never think it is right to condemn an entire population for the actions of some, but at the same time, I can’t say I have much love for the gypsies either.

Right now there’s a lot of talk about mass deportation of the gypsies (a woman was brutally raped and murdered last week in Rome by a gypsy as she walked down a dark street on her way home from the train), but what with the Italian government’s record of cracking down on anything and being consistent in its application of laws, I’m sure it’ll be short lived. As it is, this is the time of year when the gypsies leave Milan anyway for warmer places to set up camp. I always know when spring is on the way not just because of the obvious signs of nature but because I’ll be sitting on the subway reading my magazine and will suddenly be interrupted by that familiar sing-song not heard since the previous fall.

All that work for something that looks so spartan

2007-11-05T08:40:00.000+01:00

Yesterday, we put together the bassinet (which will later turn into a full-sized crib) and now the baby officially has his own room. Now all we have to do is figure out what to do with the stuff that was in that room before (we had a bed, a big wall-sized bookshelf and storage unit, my desk and my office with all relevant files and things). Pian piano, little by little, we are getting organized. I really didn't expect all of this painting and rearranging to be so much work. It was five straight weekends of home improvement, and we still aren't done. I am now working in a "temporary office" in the kitchen. I thought about keeping my office in the baby's room, but I do spend a lot of time on the phone in front of my computer and realized that that wouldn't be possible if I had a sleeping baby in the room. Or worse, a crying baby. For the first few months, his bassinet can be moved into another room but once he gets into his crib, he should be staying put in his own room. I know we are very lucky to even have a second bedroom for the baby and if I didn't work from home and need some kind of office and storage space, I'd think our apartment was the perfect size for the three of us. In any case, here are a few pictures!

Day (of the Dead) trip

2007-11-04T12:37:00.000+01:00

Thank God for the long weekend! When not working from home, I start or end my day looking at this as I try to make my way to or from the subway stop (I'd be on the side with more traffic - the parking lot/fumigation chamber):

Yes, it's as toxic as it looks, which is why I'm doing as much from home as I can these days. It's one thing to expose myself to the stress and the smog, but it's not really fair to make the baby tag along for that ride.

We spent Friday day and night in Ferrara visiting with friends. It's a really nice walled town with a medieval center that is incredbily liveable, walkable and bikeable. It's a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and if that weren't enough, it has (and this is important in my book - one of those weird Michelle standards for judging places in Italy) very little graffiti compared to most Italian cities big and small that I've visited. Below is a picture of the walls. You can walk or bike around them, and it makes for a nice nine-kilometer jaunt. We really didn't have enough time to see everything, and I really would have liked to have visited, for example, the Pinacoteca painting gallery and the Jewish cemetery. Next time. Ever seen the De Sica movie The Garden of the Finzi-Continis based on the book by Giorgio Bassini? It takes place in Ferrara in the late 1930s. To remain sane and sana (healthy), I really need to spend more time doing things like this and less time working and breathing smog.

Off to lunch to eat the cappellacci di zucca (pumpkin tortellini) that we brought back! Buon appetito.

I gave at IKEA

2007-10-29T10:59:00.000+01:00

I'm not blogging a lot lately but I literally have nothing to give. Nothing to bring to the virtual table of discourse. Or any table of discourse. I was talking on the phone to my friend back in New York the other night, and I realized I was unable to string together an intelligent sentence to describe a compelling movie I had just watched on DVD. When not working, we are spending all of our time in soul-crushing shopping centers. Or in the traffic outside of soul-crushing shopping centers. Or looking for a parking space at soul-crushing shopping centers. Or on that long escalator that gets you into soul-crushing shopping centers behind entire families out for a day of "fun" at the mall, which seems to have replaced the piazza in Italy as preferred place to congregate and do nothing. Do business at mom-and-pop shops, you say. Well, I would but their prices are twice as much, their stuff is still made in China and they typically have strict policies preventing you from returning merchandise, often even if it is damaged or broken. Time is of the essence, money is of importance and I feel compelled to go where the customer service is.

I can't tell you who won the election in Argentina (OK, I can - I saw the news this morning) but I can tell you that IKEA is open on Sunday nights and has an aperativo special before 8 p.m. - a slice of pizza, an order of french fries and a drink for € 3.80. You can also get a soft-serve ice cream cone for 50 cents. I hate the car, can go days without using it and with all of my recent mall-hopping, feel like such a sedentary suburbanite. And fat and gross. We have had no time to cook and have been eating crap out while we run around.

In any case, what we realized is that we DO have space in this apartment. We just have not made good use of it. This weekend, we ordered a bunch of furniture and will have plenty more storage space as we bought pieces that have lots of nooks and crannies (a bed that lifts up, etc.) where we can hide things. And I found my desk thingie, which is pictured above. I don't know if I will get this one as I failed to look at the price, and that could definitely be the dealbreaker, but I am heartened to know it does exist and not just in bizarre hues. If you don't hear from me, I'm probably at Customer Service at IKEA getting that one Värde handle we need for the Pax wardrobe we stayed up late assembling last night. Aiuto!

That's one way to deal with it...

2007-10-23T08:22:00.000+01:00

For some journalists, one of the perks of the job is getting free stuff. I've personally never felt comfortable taking gifts and have my own self-imposed policy of not accepting anything over 100 Euros. I used to not accept anything - even a bottle of water at a press conference - but I've loosened up a bit since I began covering fashion and beauty. I am often sent, for example, beauty products to try and those can be expensive and it's nice to be able to "test" the things you write about. This summer I was offered an all-expense-paid wellness weekend in St. Moritz for two people. It was very tempting but, at the end of the day, I knew it was not something I'd ever cover and I did not feel comfortable accepting. In Italy, some journalists seem to have no qualms about accepting gifts and trips, and some go as far as calling the various PR offices to make specific requests. It's also common practice in fashion journalism for designers to give journalists hefty discounts on clothing, which is something I've never really taken advantage of.

There are corrupt and dishonest journalists everywhere but I think the fact that, in Italy, journalists have to jump through hoops to join a prestigious "Order of Journalists," a sense of entitlement prevails that I certainly never felt as a journalist in the U.S. And in the past, I always worked for publishing companies that had pretty explicit policies on what one could and couldn't accept so I just got used to ignoring the swag factor. I can understand the temptation. Journalism pays very little and when you have things dangled out in front of you that you otherwise wouldn't be able to afford, it does make you think twice...But my policy is that it's just better not to accept and be "beholden" to anybody. A t-shirt with the company logo on it or a 10-Euro bottle of shampoo is not going to sway me one way or another so when that stuff arrives along with the press kit, I usually either keep it, dump it or pass it along to friends and family.

Anyway, that was a long-winded and sanctimonious (sorry about that!) introduction to explaining that yesterday I received a press kit for a new liqueur digestif made out of artichokes. I have no idea how I got on their mailing list as I don't cover liqueurs, but the press kit did contain a bottle of the stuff, which I promptly dispatched over to nonna who apparently has a taste for artichoke-based liqueurs.

What I found funny was the accompanying press release, which begins "A recent study says 90 percent of all Italians suffer from the stress and strain of modern life and worry about the future." It goes on to list various problems afflicting Italy right now: little hope for the future, the inability to find work and the precariousness of work contracts, expensive housing, smog, traffic...So what's the solution? Well, to get loaded on this artichoke-based liqueur, of course! The PR campaign offers this as the "antidote to the stress and strain of modern life." So much for those ad campaigns where you see a group of friends enjoying a digestif together after a nice meal out on a vine-covered terrace overlooking rolling hills. I guess what this campaign is saying is "Why fake it? We know there is no longer such a thing as 'la bella vita' so let's all just get hammered and try to forget it about it!" Man, if they tried to get away with a campaign like that in the U.S., the Mothers Against Drunk Drivers and Alcoholics Anonymous people would have such a field day...

Pickle

2007-10-20T10:08:00.000+01:00

I am living in a construction site, typing among tarps and paint cans. This is the last weekend (we hope) of painting. We are in the process of painting two walls of the baby's room a nice green color. I looked on the Sherwin Williams website (because God knows Italian paint stores don't have websites with handy online color pickers) to find the closest color to the one currently being slathered on the walls, and at Sherwin Williams, it has the unfortunate name of "Pickle." I don't like that. Actually I think the color we are using is a bit lighter and is not at all pickly. Here they just called it color N0846. Well, what can you say about painting and rearranging your house? Not much. I know I'm bored to tears with it.

Ideas anyone?

2007-10-12T07:54:00.000+01:00

Last weekend was spent dismantling the extra bedroom, which is currently my home office, to make a room for the baby. That's all fine and good except I work from home and currently have no place for my desk, computer, multi-function printer, files and large library of reference books. The space above (basically the wall between our kitchen and living room) is set to become my new office space. As you can see, there's not a lot to work with there. I have no idea how to cram a room full of stuff into this one wall, which is about five feet wide. I'm somewhat of a minimalist. I don't like a lot of crap around, so I certainly don't want my desk, post-it notes and various files and things out for the world to see. So I'm thinking I'd like to try to put everything into some kind of cabinet. The problem is that the cabinets I've seen have been butt ugly. There's one at IKEA that isn't too bad design-wise but it's got some bizarre color combination going on, namely distressed country white with bright yellow handles. Not my thing. All the other ones I've seen look very post-WWII. Great for displaying nonna's best china but also not my thing. Suggestions?

I've begun to refer to the baby as "the new roommate." At prenatal classes, they told us to be prepared to think of the baby not as your beloved son or daughter but as a stranger entering your home and disrupting your lives. You don't know his habits. You don't know his personality. His dirty dishes stay in the sink until you wash them. It is true that he's not even here yet and he has already taken over part of our closet, two of our dresser drawers and has us doing his laundry. I've had some interesting living situations in my time, so I would like to think that I'm prepared for whatever "the new roommate" will throw our way. At most, he's going to want to stay up all night and eat all the time, right?

The perfect food?

2007-10-09T16:32:00.000+01:00

I do not have cravings per se, but since I've been pregnant, my supermarket shopping habits have changed. I'm more impulsive. I see something and...I...must...have...it...in...my...cart. It's bigger than I am. Fortunately most of these urges come about for pretty healthy if somewhat bizarre things. Last week I bought a big container of radishes, cleaned them, cut them, salted them and ate the whole container in one sitting. At three in the afternoon as my mid-afternoon work break snack. This week my cart was inexplicably drawn toward cime di rapa (turnip tops). I have no idea why they are in the store now as I read online that they are typically in season around Carnevale time, which is February. I first had these bitter greens in Puglia with orecchiette pasta. Yum. Anyway, they were in the produce section so I loaded up on them thinking I'd recreate my Pugliese experience making a pasta condiment out of them with a soffrito of onions, garlic, chili pepper and olive oil (some people add anchovy but I didn't) for Cristiano and I. Last night I cleaned the cime di rapa, and threw them into the soffrito but my overflowing pan of turnip tops boiled down to such a small portion that there's no way there would have been enough to make pasta for two. So I saved them for my birthday lunch home alone today.

I had never seen turnip tops in the U.S. and in doing a bit of research online, I found out that in Italy, they used to be eaten by the poorest of the poor who couldn't afford meat as they are not only dirt cheap (in fact, they look a bit like weeds) but are a great source of protein. And calcium, Vitamin C, folate and a bunch of other stuff. Who knew?

Fiori

2007-10-08T09:07:00.001+01:00

This weekend we sat down with Cristiano's aunt and went through the many telegrams and cards received from friends and family expressing condolences for the death of Zio Loris. Cristiano's aunt and parents both have a house full of flowers, so his aunt told us to take some home. "No," said Cristiano. "Puzzano di funerale. I don't want my house smelling like his funeral."

Nonna snorted and threw up a single hand.

"Ma!" she said. "I guess if you don't take the flowers home, the funeral just never happened, right? Think it'll hurt less? Buonanotte!"

"Uomini!" she added, jabbing me in the ribs with her elbow.

We took some flowers home.

Lo Zio

2007-10-03T06:23:00.000+01:00

Zio Loris died yesterday. I got there just as the priest was about to perform last rites. He was 54 years old. When he was originally diagnosed with lung cancer, he was given six months to live. He lived six years. I truly believe he chose to die yesterday. After ten days on oxygen and morphine, yesterday he refused to use the oxygen tank. He literally said "basta." He was perfectly lucid to the very end. In the last few days, he was not even able to eat. This was torture for a man for whom a day without a huge bowl of pasta was "un giorno incompiuto" (an incomplete day). We took him out for Mexican once, and he tried everything we ordered and loved it. But at a certain point he said, "This is all good but when do these Mexicans eat their primo?" For him, the primo was pasta. He couldn't imagine a meal without his beloved first course.

He could have perhaps gone on longer as he was, but would we have wanted that? No. We are now grateful he went when and how he did - at home on a beautiful autumn day with all the windows open so he could get some "air" and with his wife by his side. As I think back over the last year and how "well" we thought he was doing despite his condition, I realize that he was deteriorating little by little, and selfishly, I don't think we wanted to see how much his quality of life was diminishing. We were just happy he was still here. Yesterday morning as he labored to catch his breath, he half jokingly told his wife that he wasn't struggling to breathe. He was struggling to die. I honestly believe that death didn't come for him yesterday. After so many years of being at the mercy of that horrible disease, he made a conscious decision and went to death willingly. He knew there was only greater suffering to come, and I think he wanted to spare himself and his family that. Goodbye caro zio.

Le Invasioni Barbariche

2007-09-28T19:35:00.000+01:00

OK, I'm done spewing bile for a while. I feel so much better for having gotten all that out of my system. Thanks blogosphere! Much less complicated than holding a baddha konasana pose while doing a kegel (yes, just got done doing my yoga DVD - that helped too). Several people have asked me what the few programs on Italian TV I watch are and how I "stay informed" here. I wanted to point out one show I watch, which should be on tonight on La 7. It's called Le Invasioni Barbariche and is hosted by Daria Bignardi.

Basically, she does one-on-one interviews with an eclectic mix of people from politicians to actors to lesser known authors or artists, and her interviews are interspersed with discussions - again with an eclectic mix of guests - on current events or hot topics. What I like about her is that she's very to the point, she doesn't mince words and she certainly does not wander out into the audience and start asking opinions (how I hate when they go in the audience and allow some signora on the street to yap on and on about her uninteresting opinion), which is rare for an Italian TV show. Not everyone loves Daria Bignardi. Yes, earlier in her career she conducted Grande Fratello (the Italian Big Brother) but that doesn't mean she's all fluff. Actually, there is no fluff on her show. From a journalistic perspective, she is able to ask the tough questions and make it look effortless, which is something I admire. I am able to ask the tough questions when I have to but I think "they" see me sweat. I'm not that cool, unfortunately.

Anyway, below is a snippet of one interview she did with designers Dolce & Gabbana. It's not her most hard-hitting interview, but I figured if I included an interview with some obscure Italian politician, not everyone would get into it. I love the set too!

Libri

2007-09-28T08:00:00.000+01:00

For my upcoming birthday, I've asked for two books. One is called Partorire Sognando and it teaches women self-hypnosis techniques so they can "dream their way through childbirth." In my fantasy sequence, my water breaks and I slowly begin to get drowsy. I then fall asleep in the car on the way to the hospital and am awoken an unspecified number of hours later to be told that I've successfully given birth to a healthy baby but I must have dreamt my way right through it. I'll let you know how that works out! Cristiano and I were watching this Italian TV show the other night that follows women through childbirth in the maternity ward at a Roman hospital and one woman was emitting the most torturous, most agonizing gravely-wounded-animal-type unbridled primal screams of pain. This was not theatrics but pure human suffering. Tears sprang to my eyes and I slowly backed away from the TV. Cristiano could only look over at me sympathetically, hand outstretched as if to say "Don't be scared. I'll be there." I backed away from him too. I can only hope the screaming banshee didn't read the book!

The other book I want to read is the non-fiction bestseller everyone is talking about called La Casta. It's a book about corruption and waste in the Italian government and I think it goes a long way in describing why there is so much dissatisfaction in this country right now. I highly recommend listening to the NPR report on the book here. I know it's going to fuel my ire, but I think I need to read it for my own edification. I'm more a verbal person than a numbers person and numbers don't always resonate with me, but the figures in this book on just how much of our taxpayer money is wasted for ridiculous things, such as - to use but a few tiny examples - free tennis lessons and chauffeur-driven, bulletproof cars for senators, are just staggering. For the first few years here, I really couldn't understand what was going on politically. What with SO MANY politicians, so many different parties and the toppling of so many governments over the years, it took me a while to get up to speed.

In a sense, ignorance was bliss. Before I was clueless and frustrated, while now I'm informed and frustrated, which only increases the bitterness factor. Paying a lot in taxes, not getting much in the way of services and not knowing where the money goes is one thing. Paying a lot in taxes, not getting a lot in the way of services and finding out that your money is being used so that Italian politicians can wine, dine, travel and enjoy a sizable pension (when you won't even have one) on your hard-earned centisimo is another. I can only hope that something changes in this country because despite what might seem like my complaining for complaining's sake, I do truly love Italy and care about its fate. Even if I leave tomorrow, Italy will always be a part of me (my husband is a product of this culture - a fantastic specimen at that, I should say - and my son will be half-Italian) and I could never just turn my back on the Belpaese.

When you were growing up, did your parents ever come sit on the edge of your bed (these conversations usually occurred after you'd done something especially bad) and say "If we are hard on you, it's just because we love you and want only the best for you. Do you understand?" while you sat there with your arms folded over your chest sniffling and nodding back meekly in shame? So here is me saying: Italy, if I'm highly critical of you, its because I love you. I want only the best for you. I think you have all the potential in the world, and I'd like to see you live up to it. Now get your shit together.

I know that ultimately it's the quality of the care that's important, but...

2007-09-27T12:41:00.000+01:00

I was reading through one of my cheesy Italian pregnancy magazines last night, and I came upon an article detailing what the "future" holds in terms of giving birth. They spoke of one day being able to have one's own private delivery room (Imagine that - being able to be in labor in a room without strangers seeing you in all of your agony?) in a "welcoming and homey" setting. They used as an example one hospital in Italy where they have supposedly done just that. I've scanned in the photos to illustrate what "luxury" means in an Italian public hospital - there's a "pink delivery room," a "blue delivery room" and "yellow delivery room." One even has an adjustable bed so you can actually change positions. Wow! There is no decoration on the walls, however, save for a picture of the Virgin Mary. Unfortunately, my hospital is not so ahead of the curve and I will not have luxuries, such as colorfully painted walls and privacy. Though I am told that my hospital is one of the only 7 percent in Italy that guarantees epidurals 24 hours a day, seven days a week (I'm going to try to go without but, if I feel I need it, I'll take it). And let me just say that my prenatal classes so far have been excellent and incredibly thorough. At least that's something!

Below is what giving birth luxury style means in Italy (keep in mind they are scans from a magazine so the quality is not the best) - they 'aint suites but they've got colorful walls...

Che culo!

2007-09-25T00:00:00.000+01:00

Italians love a good scandal, a polemica, a controversy and they are experts at dragging it out and yap, yap, yapping it to death. This is one of the reasons I don't watch Italian TV except for a select few news programs. It seems that even with some of the most serious programs, there's always a big studio audience and whenever a new topic is thrown out, the microphone is passed around to every random person so he or she can stand up and say "Ma secondo me..." (Well, in my opinion...). I'm all about hearing from the average person on the street but hearing from every casalinga, nonna or operaio is actually really boring. If people who populated studio audiences were all that interesting, they'd probably have their own TV shows - well, provided they had big tits or were relatives of someone at state-run television.

This past summer one of the big scandals topping the news for months on end involved this cheeseball owner (who, coincidentally, graduated from the same high school in the same class as Cristiano) of a paparazzi agency who had apparently been trying to blackmail actors, politicians and "showgirls" (yes, that is actually used as a job description here seeing as though they populate all of the TV shows) by threatening to publish unflattering photos or photos of them in uncompromising positions. This followed on the heels of another scandal where it was discovered that many of the "showgirls" (again, only here - or in Las Vegas - would someone actually identify herself as a "showgirl" by profession and be proud of it) seen on TV had actually gotten their jobs by sleeping with or otherwise pleasuring influential politicians and TV execs. What a shocker!

Today I read in the paper that there's a scandal brewing around the Miss Italia pageant. Apparently, some of the (male) judges think it is only right that the women be judged on their "B sides" and helpfully suggested that the women turn around at various points to allow the TV cameras to zoom in on their asses. When several female pageant organizers and politicians complained that it was a sexist suggestion, they were called "prudes." Actually, any time I, as an American, make a comment about these types of things, I'm told what a prude or puritan I am since "that's just part of your culture." A prude or a puritan I am not. I've been known to go topless on a beach, am now comfortable padding across the room nude at my gynecologist's office and generally have no issues or hang-ups as far as the human body is concerned. Nonetheless, I just don't see why every Italian TV program needs 20 half-naked "dancers" or why it requires a topless woman to sell yogurt or bathtub mildew cleaner (yes, there's a new ad out where a very attractive female scientist in a white lab coat is perfecting a new product that fights bathtub mildew. By the end of the commercial, she's left her slick C.S.I.-style lab to go get naked in the bathtub apparently as some form of empirical research - ridiculous). Anyway, I digress. Now I've never actually watched the Miss Italia pageant but I believe it lasts - for some inexplicable reason - four or five full nights. The newspaper published these helpful photos (here at left and above at right) just in case the reader wondered what a Miss Italia pageant contestant's B side consisted of.

Badly organized

2007-09-24T14:00:00.000+01:00

Update: I wrote this blog entry a few days ago and decided not to publish it because I felt I was being too negative. But after reading what Shelley wrote about her seven-year itch here in Italy, I realize I too am perhaps suffering from the same thing. Is it just me or are things getting progressively worse in Italy?

OK, I know I'm grumpy and complaining a lot lately. I'd make excuses for it, but there's really nothing I can offer by way of satisfying preface or apology. I've said it before but this little blog is sometimes the thorny tree where I hang my gripes and, unfortunately, I'm gripe-ier than usual. I hope to snap out of it soon because walking around with a black cloud over my head and a feeling of general dissatisfaction with what is going on around me in society is no fun for me either.

Friday morning I had to meet someone at the crack of dawn for a work meeting in the center of the city. We met on Corso Buenos Aires (a big long shopping boulevard and main thoroughfare here) as it was convenient to both of us. Time was of the essence so we ran in to the first bar we saw to have breakfast and discuss our business. Actually, it wasn't a bar but a "sala da the" (tea room). My companion ordered a cappuccino and I ordered a "tisana or any kind of tea without caffeine."

"Sorry," I was told. "We only have tea with caffeine."

"Well, I'm trying to avoid caffeine. Do you have any kind of green tea?" I asked thinking maybe I'd just let the bag steep a minute and then take it out before too much caffeine could poison the hot water.

"No," I was told. "No green tea."

I looked back toward the big painted letters on the window to confirm I had read that I was entering a "tea room."

When I asked what type of tea exactly they had, I was told they sold only one kind: Twining's English Breakfast. I hate bitter English Breakfast tea and, furthermore, how can a tea room not sell tisanas or caffeine-free teas?

The barista obviously saw the look on my face because she shrugged her shoulders and said "Sorry, for a tea room, we are badly organized." Uh, OK. Since when did that become an acceptable excuse? This is the same thing I keep hearing from the hospital where I'm going to give birth during my prenatal lessons - how disorganized they are!

And I got a similar lame excuse a few days before when I wanted to buy one subway ticket from the new automatic machines (I love progress - when it actually works!) they've installed in the subways. A ticket costs one Euro. I had a one-Euro coin. Easy, right? No, not exactly. The coin slot was not working and neither was the automatic bill slot thingie. What to do? The newsstand was closed so I couldn't get a ticket there. Would I really have to use my ATM card to buy one one-Euro ticket? I started to take my ATM card out and the lone public transportation employee on duty sauntered over and said "I wouldn't do that."

"Mi scusi? Wouldn't do what?" I asked.

"I wouldn't use your ATM card or a credit card. The gypsies come by every so often and somehow they've figured out a way to rig the machines and clone people's cards. They designed those machines badly," he said.

Well, thanks for the tip, buddy.

But here's what I keep asking myself: Why open a tea room if you don't actually sell tea? Why be disorganized and admit it? Why design something if you aren't going to do it properly? If you are a tea room with no tea, order some. If you are a hospital with bad organization, get organized. If your machines don't work properly, fix them. How hard is that? I'm sick of apathy. I 'm sick of nothing changing. I'm sick of shoulder shrugs and the phrase "that's just the way it is." My eternal optimist husband tells me to take all of my frustration and channel that in to changing things, but is that really possible? I've seen people try but with unsuccessful results. I'd be willing to try but is anyone else out there with me or have we all given up? This country needs to be turned completely inside out and yet another march, protest or strike is not going to accomplish anything. When I get like this, I don't feel like changing things. I feel like getting on Delta.com and booking the next flight home. Yes, home has its problems but they are (at least for me) familiar problems. Problems I can deal with. I'm starting to get to the point where I feel the old boot can hobble along without us.

P.S. Keeping with the whole negative theme, my other planned blog entry for this week was a photo entry of the (once) nice park they built in my neighborhood a mere three years ago. Unfortunately, it has been completely TRASHED. All of the benches broken and covered in graffiti. The characteristic street lamps busted out repeatedly so that not even one of them works today. The nice big sign welcoming you to the park with a history of the area and a map of all of the running and hiking trails is now so covered in graffiti, it is no longer legible. The tower they built where you can get a great view of the Alps is also covered in graffiti and someone has begun busting out the wooden stairs step by step. The metal bar they put up to prevent people on motorbikes from entering the park (the sign explaining "no motorbikes allowed" has been graffiti-ed over) has been taken down as if with a hacksaw. I will spare you that photo entry, but what is wrong with people?

Progress

2007-09-19T07:00:00.000+01:00

They are tearing up the street, putting new, improved sidewalks in and repaving everything. They are making the area near the church a cobblestoned "pedestrian zone." They are making, as my grandmother would say, "a racket" out there. But it's music to my ears. It makes me happy. With each cement-crushing blow, I hear my tax Euros at work. Each cement-crushing blow is another of my tax Euros that won't line the pocket of some idiot Italian politician who makes 15 times the average Italian salary, rides around in a town car with tinted windows on the taxpayers' centesimo, has countless perks coming out his ass, a sense of entitlement to match his inflated ego and the audacity to complain about stupid things like not having gelato in the Senate cafeteria.

The local rag reports that by 2011 or so, they will create a "health center" that will bring all of the doctors in the area together, which will alleviate the problem of not being able to get medical care if you aren't able to get in to your local doctor during the random three-hour window that he or she is available each day. Apparently, this will mean that a doctor (even if it isn't yours, per se) will be available all day. I've mentioned before that my doctor has no phone or receptionist and to get in to see her, you have to show up in person and fight your way through the ill and angry mob to her door even if all you need is a prescription refill. I found out recently that she has 4,500 patients! No wonder it takes several days for her to get back to me with my prescription refill or blood test requests, and then half the time they are filled out wrong with mistaken codes and spelling errors that make completing the most basic of health care tasks impossible. They can't open up this health center with pooled medical resources fast enough, as far as I'm concerned. Maybe you'll even be able to make an appointment or ask for a prescription refill by phone or (wishful thinking!) via the Internet. Maybe there's hope yet for that photocopier at the elementary school!