Sunday, April 19, 2015

Eccoci/Here's where we're at --
I promised that I would tell you about our adventures moving to Tuscany. I never promised you it would be glamorous. So here's where we are.

Yesterday I got the long awaited text message/sms from Valentina, our new downstairs neighbor, saying that there apparently no more bugs downstairs in her apartment. I couldn't celebrate for long because last night the new bar opened downstairs in our courtyard and it was pandemonium.

 The music was so loud that at eleven o'clock F went down to complain because there is no way that that number of decibels is legal in the city. My floors were vibrating. They had been vibrating to some extent all day because we are still getting little shakes from the earthquake in Puglia yesterday. They lowered the volume slightly, but the hammering bass continued until midnight. I know I risk sounding OLD, but you have to understand that this is just the beginning and that this is going to go on every week from Thursday to Saturday. And they have terrible Pitbull-ish like taste in Zumba-esque crappy music. We won't know, of course, whether the new windows will solve the problem until the special glass that Signor Paoletti ordered arrives. The only way to combat the ever encroaching migraine was for me to blast Joni Mitchell, Liz Phair, and Lauryn Hill. Meanwhile, F and I worked on an art project for one of the walls and awaited the phone call from T that she was ready to get picked up from a party outside the city.
T and Natasha getting picked up.

Here are the noisy bastards:


Here is the art project:

Here's what I was doing:

Here's how they are making Italian singers Emma and Elisa compete to see whose team goes first on Amici. It is a 91/2 Weeks style, blindfolded, food tasting competition with Luca Argentero. It was sexy until he made Emma eat cooked brains. He is one of those special cases of male Italian beauty in which his horrible personality, as I've said before, actually completely cancels out his sex appeal.



Oh for lord's sake!

In other words, Italy will have a female Prime Minister or President of the Republic in about a century from now, and even then, only if a plague wipes out the entire male population first.

If you have watched more than one season of Amici, you know that Sabrina Ferillo has some weird energy with Luca Argentero. It is very jealous and stalker-like. Here she is smiling now that Emma has to eat brains. Before this moment she looked fairly irritated that she didn't get to wear the blindfold.
The things I will do for 22 euro . . .

In other news, some official someone at my English school took me aside to prepare me for the fact that my new four-hour class on Wednesday mornings with young trade apprentices is obligatory and that the nineteen year olds in it are bound to be less than enthusiastic and compliant. In fact, he disclosed that many of them dropped out in middle school. He was worried that I (an ex socialworker for the homeless) couldn't handle myself. I told him that his time would be better served making sure they could handle me. I have a certain amount of swag out in public. I generally make it home before I get into the full ugly cry. And that, my friends, is how I found out that I am going to have at least a dozen youth or yoots, as Danny Devito would say, who this guy with black Donald Trump hair said can't even be trusted to have more than one bathroom break because they will, at the very least, never come back. It's shaping up to be a wonderful week.

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