Arrivederci BKLYN

2012-01-28T16:35:00.001+05:00

Facebook Experiment

Hey handful of people we know really well, our awesome regular readers, and cool people we don't know from all over the world, we would like to ask you a favor. Just as an experiment can you push the facebook "like" button for the blog so we can see what it does to readership?

So let me at least do a Kathy Griffin and give you something to smile about. I am loopy with happiness that F passed the theory part of his driver's license test not because I really care that much about the car but just because he had taken the thing to heart so much by this point. I had prepared how to say in Italian that John Kennedy Jr. took more than three times to pass the bar exam just in case things went the other way. Plus it was encouraging or really irritating depending what mood we're in that T passed the practice exam even though she has not studied the rules of the road and has never driven a car. Lasciamo perdere -- or in Brooklynese -- Fugghedaboudit.

The profile of someone who passed the Italian driver's license test.

This had been a hazy week of sleep deprived wackiness. I was in the back of the apartment while F was in the front when the first earthquake hit. My chandelier was shaking and the bed, but the thing I really noticed was that my heart was beating in my lower spine. I called F over and he said that I was just delirious from lack of sleep. Sciocco.

This is T sitting around doing nothing for three hours as a volunteer tutor for a class that did not take place and then listening to her principal give a speech. Now that is an Afterschool program con i fiocchi!

I was at Happy Gym for the second earthquake and my boss and I ran to different doorways, but mine turned out to not be a real doorway so I ran quickly to where she was and had a minute of panic that the glass storefront would crack into pieces, but it didn't. Earlier in the day I had gotten a call from a head teacher who told me she had to catch a train blah blah blah and asked me to fill in for her. I agreed despite everything because the staff meeting is coming up in March where apparently it will be up to the other teachers whether I get a better time slot or not. After my first of what would turn out to be three classes on three hours of sleep, I had the bright idea to volunteer to help out with the kid's class because it seemed more pleasant that being crushed in with the parents in the hallway for the hour between classes.

However, it turned out that instead of doing choreography with the big girls they wanted me to help the head teacher with the tiny girls --tiny girls who can still correct my grammatical mistakes. But tiny girls nonetheless. And since tiny girls tend to love me and also building musical fairy houses I quickly was super popular amongst the little critters who took turns running out to cry to their mommas, to go to the bathroom, to misplace their water bottles and to lunge themselves at my legs. My favorite was this plump, gorgeous doll of ballerina who had a little baby voice which towards the end of class inexplicably turned into a smoker's rasp. She peered up at me from between my feet and she said to me: Che fatica! Guarda come sono sudata!/ What an exhausting experience. Look how sweaty I am! and then wiped her little palms all over my face and declared me to be even sweatier than she. I love adults.

In my newfound zeal for not refusing any invitations to do anything with anyone who could possibly turn out to be fun or a good friend I did not cancel my dinner date with Fede. Halfway through dinner who did I see before my eyes but the head teacher from Happy Gym! Scandal! Wasn't she supposed to be on a train?! Fede told me I should casually say goodbye to her after we paid and were walking out, but it turned out that the teacher and I were exchanging quick glances in a mirror so she was actually seated behind me. Fede says she saw her duck and cover her face as we were exiting. Of course I am way too scrupulous to ever use this information against her should need be. . . Just kidding! Hi friends.

After dinner we went to a popular bar in front of an important church where everybody takes their cigarettes and drinks to defile and be raucous and bad. There we met my friend Serena and Fede's bartender friend also named Serena who is actually a kindergarten teacher who needs extra income. Her job is also to sweep up in front of the church. She was happy as a clam this night because she has great prowess for instructing tiny people, but is a total flop at rolling cigarettes and she had found a tobacco box that has a silk lining and rolls them for you. You put the poison in the crack and when you shut the lid it spits out the cigarette, in this case, into the cobblestoned street below faster than that scene in Pretty Woman where Julia Roberts pulls her finger out of a ring box.

P.S. It is a good thing that we can't use the car because the gas attendants are also on strike. Just sayin' . . .

Arrivederci, Brooklyn! We like you, do you like us?

2012-01-28T03:48:00.000+05:00

Che bella giornata

Some days are ordinary, some are bad, but today is a special day, a red letter day, a crazily fantastic day, un giorno magnifico! Let us count the ways.

It's Fabio's birthday! Though he would never have let on if we hadn't used some of our sneaky NY spy action to find out...

Last night I had a glass of wine with an ex-pat German who asked me, "But how do you speak Italian so well?" First I laughed and laughed because of how far there is still to go, but then I just was grateful to Fabio, because his friendship includes, as a very small part, fifteen or so minutes of endlessly patient conversation every day at pickup time. I (F) wanted to get him a copy of Mangia, Prega, Ama, but instead we found him a rice paper photo album and a candle with some dancing Indian gods on the sides.

Count number two--K got another gym job! This time at one of the snooty fancy palestre where the reception staff all smoke and guzzle shots of coffee from the vending machine, while the widescreen TVs cycle through the various cameras tucked in every nook and cranny of the place.

After calling the risponsabile several times, we decided to just show up, which worked in one of those inexplainable ways that things sometimes require in Italy. Other than a little illustrative "stretching" casually outside the office window, all it took was dropping the words "New York," "hip-hop," and "Shakira," and a quick viewing of a Tracy Anderson on her iPhone and K was hired on the spot and her class will have a launch party in a few weeks--ideally with a velvet rope. Or at least using the NYC-style turnstyle that keeps out the riff-raff.

Then of course we had a terremoto / earthquake that shook the region and more pertinently canceled school tomorrow when T was going to have two verifica / tests. So T celebrated by making perhaps the best French onion soup I've ever had complete with slices of baguette and a melted mound of Pecarino on top.

Plus also finally I have passed my teoria exam for the driver's license. After ten months of study and two prior frustrating failures, it came down to the last 22 seconds where at the last moment I correctly went with the gut feeling that a sign was consigliata rather than obbligatoria. Now I get to pick up my foglio rosa / pink paper (learner's permit) next Tuesday and then after a month I can give the practical exam a try, but it's probably a given that I shouldn't count on thirty-one years of driving experience alone to pass!

2012-01-25T02:00:00.004+05:00

A bad song choice

Four days with no sleep and the most annoying cough ever, the last two of which necessitated my resorting to sleeping pills, so is it any wonder that I forgot how to speak Italian today? It has been almost impossible to keep teaching through the exhaustion. Tonight in class we did a cardio number to Jai Ho from Slumdog Millionaire that was Bollywood style and a latin dance number to Rodrigo y Gabriela. I made a playlist that had some Italian songs on it because my class loved the upbeat numbers I chose last week. However, I made the mistake of choosing some pretty ballads which caused much moaning and groaning of disapproval along with dark comments about how I was trying to depress them to death. They didn't seem that sad to me. Of course I have never really listened closely to the words to either one of these songs, so what do I know? Only one student who always wears a scarf to exercise and usually comes in unhappy and leaves in a better mood, threw her arms open and grabbed a pretend microphone to sing along. That was a moment.

Just as I was getting ready to leave for work, we got a buzz at the door. I am so tired that I just buzzed whoever it was in, and instead of being the postina, it was the person who takes the census. His name was Massimilliano and he was the most helpful anyone could ever be. He sat down at the kitchen table and talked us through every question and response -- even the weird ones about how many toilets we have, and how long it takes us to walk to work, and if we have a parking spot in the city. In the end, I invited him to dinner and gave him our phone number. He thought I was a super weird stalker even though F was right next to me, but I couldn't help myself. This guy could fill out all of our crazy forms and documents forever more. Is it too much to hope that he loves New Yorkers or that he is dying to try F's cooking?

In my haze of tiredness, I gave in the invitations to my next Metamorfosi class party to Happy gym a month early and that was enough to have my nice and kind boss look at me like I have two heads. Oy.

Number of copies of Eat, Pray, Love/Mangia, Prega, Ama by Elizabeth Gilbert that I have given away since I got here: at least 14.

2012-01-22T00:58:00.000+05:00

Scema

A scema is basically an idiot. And I was scema when I described the part about meeting with my friend the erborista's guru guy because it turns out that he helped her through a really hard time and they have been friends for twenty years. With my luck he really is super tight with Jesus and Buddha and Krishna and all of the omnipresent sources of love and I have been making fun of him in my blog out of my sheer badness and superficiality. Occasionally my NY sense of paranoia comes into play when I confront the Lucchese defensive poker mask faces and I think the worst of people or think that they think the worst of me without really having any proof one way or the other.

Here is a random picture of our friend Fabio who lives in a convent and has a rainbow on his face.

Anyway, I believe her a hundred percent that he was trying to help me and that probably I didn't really get the full gist of a lot of what he said. So I officially apologize for being scema. In fact, my erborista told me that I should take care of myself by going to take a walk in nature. And, going for Lucchese directness, I told her that she should know better than anyone that the last thing a depressed person wants to do is taking a f--king/fottuta walk in nature. Then she reminded me that I had encouraged her to do just that and, despite being full of reluctance, she did it. So anyway that was basically me being loved by some really Italian people and me loving them back. Scema.

P.S. Isn't it the most Italian thing ever that here people say Ti Voglio Bene or I want you well instead of I love you most of the time? T goes by just the initials nowadays as all the young people do: T.V.B. I can't help thinking if you don't love someone anymore in Italy does that mean you don't want them well anymore because that's kind of deep.

2012-01-21T20:55:00.000+05:00

Photos from Carlo's birthday party

Sorry I forgot to put these in last week.

This is me deciding which desserts to pretend to eat and which to hand off to F to eat on the sly. I like dessert more than most, but we had a heavy lunch and they have a rather serious clean plate rule.

Nonno gave us a movie about marriage by the director of Divorce Italian Style.

Gorgeous photo of Nonna

2012-01-21T20:36:00.003+05:00

The Girl Band

Oh all you lovely American dudes & dudettes. I think I pretty much knew about 14 people in Park Slope. So who are the 73 of you that keep reading about our humble adventures here in Italia? Wild times. Unmask yourselves, push the followers button, or send us comments so I know who the heck you are and how you are doing.

Anyway, it was so nice today to come home after pushing my tired behind to a two hour boot camp at Happy Gym with nine students and curl up with my home team of F & T to watch the American Idol auditions. Last night I went for pizza with Giusy (nicknamed the cultural director of Lucca because she is always taking in a concert, a talk or cultural event) and Serena ( the doctor of radiology whose neck always needs massaging during my stretch class). We had such an amazingly great time. You could not have more good will (or better thin crusts) at one table if you tried. In my own little way I'm scooping up girls and coming up with a group. This week I had a delightful coffee with Bianca who is also a Metamorfosi student. I thought she was a party organizer or event planner, but now I gather that she is a community organizer of whom I asked some rather bizarre, random questions about parties. And I also hung out with Federica who you will recall is rather like the welder girl in Flashdance except that she is a restoration specialist who hangs from ladders and always has a stiff shoulder and an idea about how we could possibly get into trouble, which I love. Too bad we don't all play instruments or I could finally be in a girl band. Or maybe I'll be in a non-musical girl band. I'll play the silent drums or like the invisible tambourine or I'll be the lead mute singer. A bilingual lead mute singer, you've got to love it.

It all depends on

how much sleep you get . . .

There were some shy ladies in my boot camp today. I had to bribe them to come again next month by offering them another metamorfosi party at my house. Get the oven started, F. I smell gorgonzola bread, baby. That will be the week after our giant Indian cenone in honor of Valentine's Day.

Catching up with the Italian People magazine . . .

Italian paper products are not super soft and my nose is rather unpleased. So if any of the 73 of you are in a generous mood, feel free to send us some Charmin or just a lot of People magazines. There is an Italian version called Gente, but it's also a bit rougher around the edges.

2012-01-20T01:57:00.003+05:00

It's never too late, people.

Three things:

1. I have decided to make friends with a handful of my students, all of whom are a decade younger than me and are not married and do not have children. I love my friends who are in my same boat, but I want to take advantage of Federica's being best friends with a bartender near my house, and listening to them go on and on about what boys they like, all the while knowing I don't have to sweat these issues anymore, and the the fact that they will make me go out dancing for the whole night . . . you know . . . before it's too late. And yes, I did the bagno turco/sauna after work again and it made me insanely happy what with all the gratuitous nudity and pore cleansing.

F's yummy homemade chinese dumplings.

2. I may be out of the loop by now, but from what I remember gyms in America don't have everyone gathered around the espresso machine in the lobby chugging caffeine before they exercise. Is it just an Italian thing? I swear I don't remember.

This is from the long walk home after work.

3. According to my new friends, these are slang things you can say in Lucca without getting in trouble: che minchione guadi? (che cazzo guardi? is more vulgar, but they both mean what the heck are you lookin' at?) or bischerotto and grullo and they also seem like they mean something more perverse, but hereabouts they mean something like blockhead. I took Fede to see if she wanted to meet a young guy I know just to figure out her type and she took one look at him and told me based on how he held his hands that he seemed to her to be bischerotto and she wasn't interested. You can also say instead of scialla which is more of a southern thang, stai manzo and it means no problem, take it easy, stay cool.

2012-01-18T01:45:00.000+05:00

Meditating & saunas: better than just sweating & watching tv?

This is a photo of two people walking a bunny on a leash. And that is just the beginning of this post . . .

Well, yesterday I met with my friend the erborista's guru guy. He looks like a grayer and less handsome Andrea Boccelli and he talks with his eyes closed. She finds me looking not as well as I used to and wants to repay me for when I went with her to the hospital that time. It is lovely to see her feeling better, if not revved up by five hundred percent and speaking at the speed of light and full of ideas, several of which involve me in some deep and time consuming way. Anyway, she was so insistent that I meet with him that I agreed.

She walked us to the big Edison bookstore and then left me there. He asked me one or two questions and put his hands over my wrist. He led me through a kind of meditation which was extra difficult as the cashier who hates me was watching on from afar and I felt a bit silly with my eyes closed, repeating the words "immeasurable joy," over and over again in Italian. Although I will say that it is hard to be too depressed whilst you repeat the words "immeasurable joy" over and over again in Italian no matter who the heck is watching you. I will also say that it is kind of humbling to give a hoot who is watching you while you experience inner light and learn about the omnipresence of God and feel the divinity within you. But I'm talented like that. Eeek.

So the whole time we were sitting at the table in the bookstore, I kept praying that he would not tell me that my teacher is corrupt and that he should be my teacher because that is the message he gave me in the first fourteen seconds after meeting me six months ago. I was hoping that after reading my aura he would have something different to offer me. But nope, he basically was stuck on that groove of the record. He also shivered uncontrollably at odd intervals and giggled to himself about things. So that was Monday.

Oh and also on Monday morning I substitute taught for Amanda and between her sixteen people and my two people, I had eighteen people which was the most fun I have ever had at Happy gym since the beginning of time. Metamorfosi class freaked them out a bit, and then people had questions about stuff afterwards and I forgot to advertise my intensivo/ boot camp on Saturday for which there are only six people signed up. Sigh.

Today after my private session with Alessia, who is doing tricks even I can't do with the chair and steps and all kinds of madness I dream up for her, and my regular class, I finally let down my guard and my sweats and went into the sauna/bagno turko with Federica. We were in our towels and this weird guy who has been asking a friend of hers about her came in to hit on her but we eventually got rid of him, and it was the most relaxing thing ever and I can't believe I waited this long to try it.

2012-01-15T01:35:00.000+05:00

Party people

Despite popular opinion, I am not so sneaky as to have a party at my house for my LIFE gym clients of Metamorfosi on the same day that I have my two hour intensive class just because I wanted a big turn out. In fact, I turned it over to the class and asked when they wanted to have the party and this is the day that made the most sense.

However, if I had been so furba/sneaky to choose this day on purpose, the whole thing would have backfired. As it was, only seven folks showed up to the class, which was disappointing compared to the 20 that showed up in November. Funnily enough only four of the people who took the class also came to the party, but eight others skipped class to get their hair done and bake cakes and came to the party all super pimpante (an Italian word which might mean lively or might just mean pimped out, but I like it and I'm too tired to wikipedia so let's keep it in).

It was the most rockin' all Italian party we've had yet, to be honest.

Everyone was very sweet. F did a fabulous job with the bread and fixings and people just gobbled up the food. Aside from the usual reluctance to serve yourself or be seated everyone seemed cheery, relaxed and happy. I would seriously want any one of them as real honest to goodness good friends beyond being just students and I hope that we get to be even more united as a group as time goes on.

2012-01-11T18:20:00.002+05:00

Moving Along

This week T got a 9 out of 10 on her history test and everyone else ended up copying her English homework which made her star of the week.

F made veggie meatballs and pasta and got a real Italian family to eat it.

Grated zucchini

Zucchini sauteed with onions and bread crumbs to be later mixed with egg.

This is what they look like when they're done.

The finished product!

Real Italian Family. Reading is Fundamental.

I got a text message from a friend who takes my class at LIFE gym that she heard two other students talking about me in the locker room and that I should call her immediately. I still am not sure if I understood their complaint about my stretching technique or time management or a combination of those two things. I was just relieved that it was a benign comment and that they weren't talking about the giant pimple I have had on my nose all week. Unable to ever reach my nutritional specialist, I have made some rather large mis-steps in my herbal remedy taking which, in turn, have left a toll on my skin.

I still don't understand sales time here. But, when I announced in class that it seemed to me that all of the good stuff disappears after the first day, but then you feel you should continue to spend even when you really have no money left just cause everything is reduced by 70%, the class replied sarcastically: "Welcome to Italia."

That's me in black in the front there.

People continue to speak Italian to me as though I understand what they were saying. So brave on their part! After going to the trouble to find out where the tone/cardio class I was substitute teaching was 45 minutes long in total or two 45 minute classes back to back, I made a combination of errors that were rather spectacular when viewed as a whole. I did some cardio in the first 45 minutes in case that was it for the night. (Spoiler alert: It was not.) Then I started out the door and bumped into some folks who seemed to expect me to teach more cardio. I sent them back to the front desk to ask for me and they said that it seemed that it was either me or Elisa who had to teach it but Elisa wasn't there. I taught for 30 minutes but then Elisa walked in, looking mad. I started to stretch the class out to stall for time while taking nervous looks over at Elisa, who was aggressively throwing CDs around with her back to me. I asked her if she wanted to take over and started to apologize when she told me that I had better go back to my class since we had ten more minutes to go. Then I had to convince those now relaxed and cooled down people to jump up and down for ten more minutes, but they weren't having it so we did some cardio on the mats. Yeah, I'm not sure if that is physically possible either. And then they left and F came to pick me up. He asked me in English why I ended up teaching a double and I answered in Italian in front of all my co-workers -- all three of whom were busy pretending to all silently stare at a piece of paper-- that I couldn't understand Italian for sh*t.

I had one male student which forced me not to wiggle my hips or flutter my wrists overly much.

We are still working on figuring out what to do about the damage our parked car sustained in November. I had to call the witness to the damage again to ask him to write a statement for us. Luckily, he is saved in my phone as casa rosa or pink house since I can't remember if his name is Alessandro or not. He has been very helpful so we are going to give him a bottle of wine tonight when we pick up the letter.

Full Moon on the way home. It figures.

2012-01-08T00:33:00.001+05:00

Game faces on!

I SALDI

There are two best times to shop in Italy and those are January and June when, by law, it is finally sales time. You haven't shopped until you've hurdled over a baby carriage, ducked under the coats of a couple of elderly lady friends in fur, and pulled a muscle in your shoulder to get to the hanger with your name on it just before a high heeled, well-coiffed adversary wearing glittery sunglasses could get her D&G red talons on it.

That glistening effect is known as shopping glow.

Desperate Shophives: a new show idea?

Not your ordinary trek to the mall.

Today we were escorted by our friends Adonella and Carlo. Adonella has a doctorate in shopping and Carlo is just a plain old doctor. I have been begging her for months to take me with her when the sales hit. We went to the Outlets at Barberino del Muggello where the usually low prices are slashed in half. It is bizarre to drive for 50 minutes to almost reach Firenze but you get off the highway and don't see anything until you enter a village of 200 stores with cute facades and a landscape of real walking bridges and little streams that look more like the set of Desperate Housewives than the very real Italy.

I am in awe of your vast sale knowledge.

Carlo actually hates shopping. But he is a smooth driver!

The police were signaling that all of the cars had to detour so all of us shoppers had to walk through the mud and thistles for a good while to reach the village from the parking lot. T about lost her mind a portata di mano di Prada, Missoni, Guess, and Masssimo Rebecchi. We ate crappy mall store pizza, and it was the first bad tasting thing I've eaten in over a year here. Adonella has a take no prisoner's approach, but back in Lucca I finally got the last pair of studded leather converse that I have had my eye on for about eight months and it was extremely satisfying. Now we have to wait another six months for materialistic, frenzied drunken acquiring of stuff. And that is probably just as well.

2012-01-06T18:51:00.000+05:00

Visions of Sugarplums & Plum-bers

Today is the holiday to celebrate the Feast of the Epiphany or La Festa dell'Epifania in Italy. The kids went out to see la Befana who is believed to have been a great housekeeper and who sheltered the three magi, but then did not accept their invitation to go visit baby Jesus. She regretted her decision and went to search him out on her own, but is still searching to this day and on her way she enters every chimney and leaves candy for good little girls and boys in their stockings. (And lumps of coal for girls who refuse to wear sleeves even on the coldest days. Allegedly...) In Lucca she swoops down into a piazza through the air, but this being Italy, she didn't come when the posters said she was going to come and decided to swoop in an hour early. It would have been more Italian if she had come late, but in this case it was equally frustrating.

In other news, our ridiculously handsome plumber came by. Don't look at me like that. Even F said that with his mane of golden curls our plumber reminds him of when Monica on my favorite telefilmTutti Pazzi per Amore falls in love with Giampaolo (our plumber's last name is Giampaoli) and has visions of their romantic connection through the ages. Plus he is starting to like us. As a family I mean. He bonded with F about how T and I fight like angry cats about her summer wardrobe being worn instead of winter clothes in January and how impossible it is to pass the Italian driver's license test. He did all of the work in one day even though the next day was a holiday and even though it involved getting "parts" from his truck which is usually code for I'm leaving now and you'll never see me again, suckers! but in Italian. This is how it looked when Monica had the visions: (start the first video at 5:38)

2012-01-04T14:29:00.000+05:00

Guests for the night

We used to get a good number of fruit flies in Brooklyn, but the other day I noticed one after another after another of these flies with little antenae or tentacle things that they were rubbing together like a bad guy in a comedic film. I freaked out. Well, after what we went through with the fleas last Christmas you can hardly blame me. So F and I went through every bag, box, and jar of food and found nothing. Nothing behind the dishwashwer. And then one dropped on my computer screen from the light above where there was a whole party going on. We steamed the walls and the light fixtures with a steam machine and did some investigatory work to find out that these creeps live in Lucca just like we do. They were just wanting some of our heat and light. It's a seasonal thing, I guess. We turned off the heaters in the front of the apartment. I had creepy crawly nightmares all night and got zero sleep, but then had to teach a long double. Luckily we had done a fabulous job so that by the time I got home with Alessia, my private client, and her incredibly beautiful family for dinner everything was spotless and perfect. I had two glasses of wine to cancel out the two cups of coffee I had had earlier and ended up sleeping better than I have in weeks. Alessia is the most together 22 year old I have ever met and, arguably, that there ever was on this planet, so I hope she forgives me for having to share the paragraph with insects, but there was really no getting out of it.

Alessia wants to friend T on FB because T is a genius internet explorer.

Cutest family ever!

In other news, we are frantically negotiating with homeexchange.com members to do a trade for the summer in Europe and out of the blue we got an offer to go live on a beautiful houseboat in Amsterdam. The dates are tricky since we are also trying to coordinate with another couple who have a huge, stunning apartment in Paris. The Amsterdam couple have two young girls and they have pre-bought their airtickets since she works for an airport or airline. To make things work with us they would have to spend three nights in a hostel and even the hostels in Lucca are kind of expensive so I don't know. It is a very weird process and in the end we would have to breakup with four other people whose apartments we were courting. I'll let you know if we get any closure. I'm a sucker for the word houseboat. Since clearly I am super unfriendly to bugs and am not a big swimmer or outdoor sport sailing type person you may well wonder what the heck I would do on a houseboat in Amsterdam, but I am thinking I would mostly hide from mosquitoes, hold on to F's arm hair in the kayak, and blog a lot. Hmmmn.

p. s. We still do a rockin' cheese fondue on New Year's Day.

and for dessert . . . .MELTY CHOCOLATE!

2012-01-01T19:17:00.000+05:00

Auguri!

is the sound your stomach makes after too much cheesy vegetable pie . . .

Today is quiet family movie day because last night we stuffed ourselves with the heaviest vegetarian food on planet earth at Paola's mother's house and we literally cannot move.

It was a very lovely night. After dinner we went down the road to Paola's so the girls could watch the fireworks from her terrace. Funny that on the television at midnight instead of Time Square and the ball dropping there are a pack of old men perverts wearing pink sparkly smoking jackets and white fur coats and girls half their ages wearing almost nothing. They are joined by the Gypsy Kings (no, they're not dead) and a giant panettone christmas cake that is at least 12 feet high. The girls stuff their fake blown up lips with that white flour and sugar concoction while doing the twist to a weird arrangement of Stevie Wonders' Superstitious. We're not in Park Slope, folks. And that is followed by the year 2011's most sexy people which is straight up pornography in the form of black and white photos and bizarre scraps of video. It is very family oriented. Woohoo.

For dessert-cones filled with chocolate and whipped cream. . . seriously.

The good news is that I have become the Italian hallmark of texting good holiday wishes.

2011-12-31T03:19:00.001+05:00

Festa Tempesta - (just 'cause it rhymes)

A lovely dinner with delle mie amiche/girls this evening! A bucket list what I always wanted kind of a night, despite having misjudged the paper plate/potato chip/sandwich situation because everyone arrived very elegantly decked out. Luckily Melissa brought fancy antipasti of melt in your mouth hot peppers stuffed with deliciousness and topped with breadcrumbs. I thought if I wore jeans and didn't make fusses about things (like washing dishes) people would feel more relaxed and have more fun. However, I tend to always be early and overdress for things so my precendents preceded me. There was a panic moments before the guests arrived as is usual around here, but I have to thank my daughter for having convinced me to go ahead and celebrate and for having made all the phone calls for me. Also F gets many a thank you for having prepared all of the sandwich fixings.

Just randomly, I also want to acknowledge that when T starts a sentence with siccome, which is very Italian of her, I feel like I would pretty much say yes to almost anything she wants, but sssh don't tell her.

We brought out some old photos after dinner because the ladies wanted to see what F used to look like with long hair. Dinner conversation touched on exotic cuisines and spices, shopping the sales, and different customs in various regions of Italy. I opened presents in front of people because that is what I usually see at Italian parties and it was peter-pan-I-can-fly level of fun for me. It stems from having received seven mugs on my ninth birthday, and I'd be lying if I said it didn't heal my old wounds retroactively.

2011-12-30T18:49:00.001+05:00

What did you say?

Our electrician Mauri wears a red coat and actually does speak in Italian muppet language. We were so happy that he gave us a door buzzer -- the kind that lets people in from outside so that we don't have to run down the steep stone stairs for every visitor -- that we didn't even mind the fact that he discovered our stove's spark plugs could blow the place sky high at any moment since they were supposed to be replaced in 2007. He recommends we turn the gas off when we sleep. Also he fixed the clicking burner by removing it. I love him, but let's face it, his electrician's certificate is red and furry.

Today I had a play date with Sofia. She is four. Occasionally she chooses not to enunciate and to add -ina to every Italian word thus making it smaller and cuter than it was originally. She is super cute-ina. She chose me to be her Special Adult Person, or SAP, in Lucca. Today we made a pink princess cake, rode on the carousel, drank hot chocolate with pink marshmellows, did her nails and makeup which included stickers, sparkles, and using lip stain in unusual places, bought six small horses and then went on a treasure hunt. We got two extra rides on the carousel because Sofia is betwitching and casts spells on everyone to make her give her stuff and obey her every command. She is a keeper, I tell you.

2011-12-30T01:50:00.000+05:00

Allegedly

I have no idea how this got on my plate . . .

There are a lot of myths floating around out there. One is that I turned 42 this week. Okay, that much is true. T and F spoiled me with presents and yummy delights including cupcakes filled with lemoncurd and covered in salted caramel and whipped cream. Another myth is that people sleep at night. I seem to have heart palpitations, nightmares, and weird panic attacks but not so much sleep so I am not sure about that one. This has made exercising constantly just slightly more of a challenge. Which is why I was in bed when I knew that Mauri the electrician was stopping by. I'll explain later, but he never actually fixes anything so I couldn't really motivate to get out of pajamas for him when F is just as good at pointing and nodding as I am.

When you turn 42 you can have popcorn for dinner too.

All good pastry chefs wear curlers in their hair. Duh!

Oh and I have been wanting to tell you that my private client Alessia has lost five and a half chilos and two dress sizes in just three weeks of working with me. She hasn't changed her diet at all and has a weakness for potato chips, but she does do an hour of hard work with me before taking the group lesson twice a week. She is so much fun to work with and I enjoy her personality so much. I have invited her and her whole family to dinner next week. Her mom Isabella is really sweet and she also takes class with us and her brother works out with a guy trainer. He is allegedly 17 years old, but his manners are so delightful that I suspect foul play.

Today another one of my student's asked me to meet her because she wanted to tell me about this health drink she sells which made of Mangosteen fruit. Allegedly it has a tonellata of antioxidants in it. Barbara tends to speak super softly for a saleswoman so I didn't catch her whole sales pitch, but free radicals are definitely bad for you. I'll tell you that. She is like an Avon lady since this drink is sold on an individual basis instead of to stores. It was mildly better than being sold a vacuum cleaner for ten hours that you could never ever afford, see the Folletto post from last year at this time if you don't remember. The funny thing about Barbara is that she can barely rotate her legs due to her tight hips from sitting glued to a desk selling Xango for a jillion hours a week. So she is in pain during most of my class and looks fairly miserable. If she doesn't come back, I am on the verge of not having enough people to continue at Happy gym which is not so happy. In any event, I don't think I'll be able to pay 30 euros a month for juice unless I start working nights or stripping or both.

Our electrician Mauri is friends with our landlord's son. He never answers his cell because he probably hates doing favors for his friend's dad. I don't know. But you have to trick him into answering. His other big trick is coming to the first appointment with no tools whatsoever just to have a look. What the heck is he looking at? The oven burner doesn't light, another burner clicks incessantly, and we have no door opener. Whatever. He's coming back tomorrow. Allegedly.

2011-12-27T01:48:00.002+05:00

Santo Stefano

Today we had a carbohydrate loading extravaganza with Paola and Stefano. We gave Stefano a Superman sweatshirt because it has the big S on the front and also a loaf of F's homemade bread in the shape of an S. Just so you don't think I'm exaggerating the vegetarian menu of the day was: pasta with traditional pesto; pasta with a nutty parmagiano pesto, vegetable lasagne that was moaning with bechemel sauce, bread, roasted potatoes, and, oh yeah, cake. This was followed with a light, just kidding, smattering of a hundred kinds of biscotti and chocolates at Stefano's parents' house.

My fabulous eight year old fidanzato has learned how to read for himself! We continue to do Bioenergy treatments for his autism and he continues to make amazing steps forward in his development. He is sounding out words like crazy. He is also very taken with airplanes, and I believe that he will become an extremely literate pilot who will whisk me away to exotic ports of call between romantic interludes of sounding out to me from his Pimpa books and, you know, Proust.

He looks just like his papa' in this photo.

I know Lorenzo loves me, but it was helped along by the fact that his parents said that he could finally eat the Pandoro that he waits all year to gobble up once I arrived. I had a fun moment teasing him by wearing the cake box on my head. After he finished his portion he swooped into the room like a bird of prey and finished off any other remaining bits from the rest of our plates. It made my heart pitter patter.

Go get us those free air miles, amore mio.

Stefano's parents back when

We also got to see newborn bunnies that Grandpa Luigi has been tending to in his little shed.

I'm not making this cuteness up.

Later at Grandma Franca's one of the Uncles told Fraser that in Italy you say that someone is lucky by saying that they discovered America. Since he is from Pisa he said that when he got to Lucca. But then he chuckled heartily and observed that we found America by leaving America. Go figure.

2011-12-26T00:14:00.001+05:00

Sweet Real Estate

Today we made a gingerbread house. T thought we should write one of those Toddler & Tiaras type blog posts about how super talented we are, but I think you should know that the production of this edifice was as seeped in controversy, as necessitating of blood pressure medicine, and as entrenched in back room dirty dealing and desperate final hour negotiations as Trump Tower back in New York.

Luckily, afterwards we were invited to have a drinky-poo at Melissa and Mirko's where Tatia played with their three kids, including this cutie pa-tutie in the photos with the Christmas tutu and new Italian Ikea kitchen set. She is fond of me because she recognizes my naughty side and I, in turn, have agreed to rock her little world on Friday morning when we have a fake auntie and favorite fake niece kind of girl-date. Stay tuned.

2011-12-25T15:33:00.004+05:00

peace out,

Buon Natale & Arrivederci Brooklyn!

We march to our own drummer (not a Justin Bieber reference) and we wouldn't have it any other way. Last night we had pad thai for dinner and this morning we had piping hot chocolate chip muffins. This year is so much better than last year, and it feels twice as sweet because all of our hard work to make a new life here has showed up in this beautiful day. T loved her presents, but her favorite was Lee's mother-in-law's D&G weekend bag that I came away with from the Xmas swap. Lee, I really hope that I didn't just take your mother-in-law's bag that she accidentally left on the swap table, but you did make xmas x-tra special.

glamour girl!

My true love,


her true love.

and

joy,

joy!

My favorite moments so far were T running back down the stairs last night because she forgot to leave cookies for Santa about 14 seconds after I thought to myself how sad it was that she no longer wanted to leave cookies for Santa -- and a carrot for the reindeer. I love that she appreciated the gold glitter wrapping paper and noticed how presents were hidden inside of presents, and how she made F a little paper tree with a list of chores on the branches that she is willing to do when he checks them off. One of my favorite gifts was the card from Anna Maria & Fabio which was written with so much care that it would just spezzare il cuore di anyone with a pulse. My tennis club gig tomorrow got canceled so Merry Christmas to me. And we wish our friends & readers all over the world so much joy today and for 2012!

2011-12-24T13:40:00.001+05:00

2002

il 23 Dicembre

This afternoon I taught my last pre-holiday class for one person who my BFF in NY fittingly nicknamed the Grinch. We gave out chocohotopots alla Nigella Lawson at the ortofrutta to nine employees and one man who was looking hopeful and selling batteries right outside. Our friends at the store really appreciated the sweet treats and it is my favorite Christmas tradition. One of the ladies told me that she still has her sachet from last year. Mi fa tenerezza I told her.

little T

Crazy Roberto the client stalker from Happy Gym is calling me again and wants to pay me something for the Bioenergy treatment he received and to talk to me about his health. Allegedly. He plans to just stop by on Christmas Eve. I guess I will have to get dressed at some point.

T, age 5, I think

F got in trouble for putting his chocolate volcano cake masquerading as a traditional Lucchese chocolate pie in the laticed crust in one of his student's sample boxes at the paper making factory. He thought it would be a fun way to present the present but his client got sweetly anxious about the whole thing and quickly put the empty box back in the display.

T and Savana 2009

T did last minute xmas shopping with Natasha (on Natasha's birthday) for her tutors Gabrielle and Lucia. I have been taken off guard by some of the sweet little notes and gifts I have been getting from my students and coworkers as the week goes on. We have crispy vegetarian (meat)balls with spaghetti for dinner and watched the last Harry Potter movie. And in the morning I am planning to have a milky American coffee with a bite of chocolate covered panettone.

2011-12-22T17:52:00.001+05:00

High School: A long series of mistakes

1. I had a triple espresso at the crack of crack this morning which later gave me dry mouth, dehydration and a serious case of the jitters.

The stronzo in the middle holding the plaque is who I'm talking about.

2. I arrived on time to the freezing cold, drafty castle of a high school known as the Istituto Civitali. When oh when will I learn that Italians are always always late?
2,5. We had to go on third which meant waiting for way over half an hour in the icy anticamera.
2,75. I had to pee and my drawstring got knotted, forcing me to do a Houdini like maneuver in the bagno not recommended for people my age.
3. I changed the routine to make it go with the music, thus making my colleagues really mad at me.
4. They had an animator MC guy who entertained the mostly female audience between numbers, thus making this fifteen minute routine go on for, I kid you not, more than four hours.
5. The Samurai karate guy who had slapped me across the face during a free class we took with T four years ago was there.
6. He thought the dirty looks I were giving him were a kind of romantic overture.
7. He caught on and asked me why I was giving him that "face."
8. I told him why.
9. He smiled and slapped me lightly.
10. I slapped him back. Not so lightly.
11. He apologized.
12. I did not accept his apology.
13. My colleagues forgot to tell me we were alternating turns on the punching bag.
14. We were supposed to step up on the ledge of the punching bag to give the top of it an elbow slam.
15. Due to my lack of comprehension, I kept popping over that thing like a drunk, overly caffeinated, cuckoo clock.
16. Zumba was canceled due to the large number of Zumba people from other gyms.
17. Zumba was un-canceled and I kind of blacked out after that.
18. I gave the Samurai guy my special NY handshake and wished him a happy Christmas.
19. I forgot to say goodbye to my boss, thus erasing all good will of the season.
20. She gave me a hurt and offended look, but it was too late to turn back.
21. I looked over my shoulder at the Samurai guy and said, "Now, we're even."

This has nothing to do with anything. Welcome to my life.

2011-12-21T12:44:00.001+05:00

Face Down/ Bocconi

Yesterday I ended up not napping in the morning. I got progressively more loopy with tiredness as the day went on. F brought me a second cup of coffee when my forehead accidentally got glued to the table at lunch. I could not imagine going out in what, all of the sudden, has become the freezing cold. I knew I was supposed to go to the gym for my private client Alessia. I brought an extra large and heavy bag because it was the night that some of my students and I decided to go out to dinner after class. I had to walk the whole way in my high heeled boots because it had started raining. When I finally got to the gym I asked about the weird request I had from the gym owner to work on the holiday teaching some friends of his at a tennis circle. Even though no one had any more information for me, it became clear that it is not a indeed a practical joke. Except people did chuckle when I told them I thought it might have been a practical joke. I have now become serious joke bait for the 1st of April.

I was so tired that I got on the treadmill and just stood there. Then I got a call from Alessia canceling her appointment. Thanks for the huge 60 minute heads up, Alessia. I explained to my other boss Dino about the high school show for Thursday and the tennis circle. He thought it was hilarious that I had to do that show with Happy gym since he refused the offer for LIFE gym. Who would go to that much trouble for a fifteen minute show, he chuckled. Taking pity on me, he said that I could go have a rest in his wife and business partner Gemma's office. She has a massage table in there, but even with my shoes off I thought I would probably wrinkle and dirty the snow white table. It was covered in that kind of crinkly doctor's office paper. When I see this kind of paper, I think of how in the past I have discovered that this stuff can be sticky as fly paper and rips with cinematic surround sound flair and efficiency. Being super scrappy and inventive in moments of necessity, I decided to untie the seat cushion off one of the chairs and lie down on the floor. Just for a minute. Once I got down there, I was delighted to find that there was a heat lamp. I put my towel that I had brought to use in the sauna down under me and tried to imagine that the hard wooden floor was really the beach. My nose was kind of smooshed against the floor planks, but the nice little heat lamp, which rotated like a rotisserie grill, kept swooping around and warming my face. After about 20 minutes I got drunk with sleepiness. I didn't want to fall asleep and have anyone find me there, lying on the floor with drool coming out of my mouth.

Just my imagination . . .

While time stopped entirely, I had these thoughts:
1. Wow, this is a new low -- literally.
2. And also, This may be a low point.
3. Jokes involving the word low while your nose is smooshed against the floor and you are drunk with tiredness are hilarious.
4. I hope this is not a UV lamp.
5. I hope that months of using sun protection were not in vain.
6. I can't imagine getting up. Ever.

and then number 7 . . . Oh s**t my face hurts. Yup, I burned my whole face and was bright red for like forty minutes. Then I proceeded to go into the sala and teach class for a whopping four whole people. Somewhere towards the end of the class, inexplicably my second cup of coffee kicked in. Five minutes into the class, in walked dear Catherine, my new friend from Australia who came on foot from the city, in the freezing drizzle, and about whom I had forgotten to leave word at the front desk. After class, my whole Sex in the Unsexy City bagno turko experience was nixed because it was freezing out and my face was still burnt. Federica messaged me that she was sick, and not coming and so it ended up being just Giusy, Catherine, Laura and myself. Perfect because we fit in Laura's car. We went to a cute pizza restaurant outside of Porta Elisa. At one point during the meal, I got excited and tossed my wine glass up in the air for no good reason and splashed mostly the floor, but also the delicate sleeve of Giusy's blouse. Laura, who has a delightfully wry sense of humor looked me in the eyes and said, "Oh K, that was biblical." If she only knew . . .

2011-12-20T19:02:00.000+05:00

Come on down

On Sunday we were invited to lunch by Adonella and Carlo who are also my friend Paola's brother and sister-in-law. They have a modern apartment with sliding doors and one of those spinning 70's chairs that are shaped like an egg. They also have a terrace that is three times the size of our dining room. It is separated from the rest of their apartment by a wall of large windows. The deck is equipped with its own irrigation system that Carlo invented to water their outdoor plants. He also put a heating system on that wall so that the windows never fog up. They made us a vegan meal of ratatouille and little cups of egg souffles because they remembered that awful time when I wasn't eating cheese and weren't sure what to prepare. We also enjoyed this refreshing salad of raw, thin sliced punterelle dressed in lemon and oil.

While F lounged,

and K shopped,

Carlo entertained

Adonella created

They both cooked

and prepared and fussed over us.

It was kind of like being on a game show, named Top that Generous Gesture. When they heard that I had been looking to buy a kind of dance shoe and exercise mats they took us to Lido di Camaiore and then along the promenade to Via Reggio, looking for them. Adonella also revealed that her hobby is making jewelry and she took out a tool box filled with wires and gem stones and made T a pair of earring right on the spot. She planned out a necklace for me and showed me all of the goodies she buys at the trade fares in Milano. When they heard I had missed a certain movie called Maschi contro femmine in the movie theaters they produced the dvd out of a drawer and thrust it into my hands. Therefore, despite our exhaustion, and a luncheon date that lasted over six hours, F and I had to feel just lucky that there are people in the world who are really that kind and that we know them. We would have felt guilty about having gotten the royal treatment, but we were too tired and fell asleep at nine on the dot.

2011-12-18T14:20:00.000+05:00

T and I are almost the same height. Excuse me while I go lock my closet.

The Amazing Race

Like all reality shows that are chock full of absurd challenges fueled by sleep deprivation, petty arguments, and lack of perspective, this week in Lucca our dramatic reality has reached epic proportions.

No lines at Macys; the Xmas light show is free here in Lucca.

Yesterday I went to the rehearsal for the high school show and I taught my boss at Happy Gym and the Zumba teacher Manuela and the Contemporary Dance teacher Amanda my number. Amanda came in late, and she did it wearing fabulous sunglasses and with the kind of performance quality that makes you feel like a total loser for coming on time. I can't swear by it, but I am pretty sure Manuela drinks at least 14 cups of espresso a day. I put the steps in the wrong order so it didn't go with the music and they were pretty confused and unhappy. Manuela did her best not to look me in the eyes. Not only did I choose a song that is impossible to count and that changes tempo constantly, but I chose a song that is so long even a marathon runner would have trouble working up the endurance to execute it. If we survive my number, we then are going to do a Zumba combination that is very Waka-Waka ala Shakira, something called GLIDE where you slide around with little flat potholders under your feet, and standing Pilates involving an awkwardly large ball that we are supposed to hold in our palms. Since there will not be a giant mirror at the high school and I will have to follow along from behind the other teachers, I am full of dread. My memory sucks and I don't know right from left. The real act is going to be on a tiny platform that is only 20 cm high. Also, I kept losing my potholders, which does not bode well at all.

Then I got a phone call from an unrecognized number. I thought it was my boss at LIFE gym, but way later I figured out that it was one of his partners named Massimo who is all business and very serious. He asked me to work on the 26th for one holiday I actually do have off, even if we are going to lunch at Paola and Stefano's because it is the holiday of San Stefano and thus his name day. I actually thought that since Dino, my regular boss, has a pretty mischievous sense of humor, it could be some weird kind of practical joke. But joke's on me, because they really want me to teach Metamorfosi at a "tennis circle" at an undisclosed location for ten to fifteen friends who have a tradition of taking aerobics on the day after Christmas. . . Yeah, seems unlikely to me too. Maybe I misunderstood. Again. I hope I heard right when he said that he thought they would pay me 60 euros instead of the regular 15.

This is the store window display at a bar/candy store.

T went and had a great time at Natasha's birthday party where they ice skated, ate pizza, and generally reveled in the pre-holiday buzz of activity which oozes from Lucca's pores on the last shopping weekend before the real chaos ensues.

F and I, after determining that 4:00 in the afternoon is too late for a nap, decided to walk several miles over to the shopping center on the sidewalk-less streets where there are these discount stores and a sporting store called Cis Alfa. They had nothing I wanted at all, but F got a blender. When we came back it was pitch black outside. I considered lying down on the cement in front of the shopping center. F pointed out that there was a grassy patch right next to the cement that would be more comfortable. I looked at him square in the eyes and said, "Nah, that would be too easy."

2011-12-17T13:51:00.002+05:00

Purple Rain

Yesterday we had the kind of thunderstorms all day that render umbrellas completely useless. Therefore, after teaching my class for one whole person who was brave enough to come out in that wet mess, I limped home with my umbrella reversed, cursing under my breath with all of the Old McDonald had a Farm animal-centered Italian curses I could come up with.

Finally in bed, after a day of waking up early to visit our accountant/ commercialista, only to find out that tax season is in May not in February like I had heard, and bringing Christmas cupcakes to our florist friends and my friends at the hair salon, I was not too keen on getting dressed up to go to F's new friend Alessandro's dinner party. T, my unpaid stylist, got me dressed and did my eye make-up. I did just inherit a bunch of clothes from my friend Adonella that I have been dying to try out. I may have been a bit overdressed in the end, but you never know here if they mean informal when they say informal. On our way to Alessandro and Barbara's, we saw that the church of San Michele is now lit up in purple with beautiful stars like a Prince MTV video from the 90s. The party was in a cool loft style apartment and the food was delicious, and, thankfully, not a sit down affair.

There were 2 Alessandros and 2 Marcos. This makes things more & less confusing.

To give you an idea of how small Lucca life can be, it turned out that one guest is a relative of my boss at Happy gym and the other who is the hostess' cousin is the niece of our neighbors around the corner. Ironically, my intensivo is now cancelled at Happy Gym, but at least the rehearsal for the show at the high school is now pushed back until noon Saturday. I have a less insane number planned that the other teachers will do with me to Justin Bieber and Busta Rhyme's version of The Little Drummer Boy.

There was one guy at the party with long sideburns who F admitted to me he could not understand at all. It turned out that this guy's Italian came out of his mouth without his ever changing the shape of his upper lip. When he opened and closed his mouth it looked like two straight lines slapping together over and over again. We decided he was the Italian judge muppet from the Muppet Show who used to sing the opening number. This made us giggle uncontrollably.

The moral of this story is that everyone is tired, but if you get invited to a party you should go, go, go.

2011-12-16T15:04:00.002+05:00

Xmas light projections on a nearby building. Wowza!

Delle nuove amiche

Giusy-- after she walks me home.

Yay new friends! I am starting to get a nice group together from the LIFE gym. I have invited everyone over in January for an open house. In the meantime there is talk of a pizza night on Tuesday for about six of us that will begin with a Turkish Bath at the gym. If that happens, it will be very Sex in the Unsexy City. It started with Giusy who lives across the street and is from Puglia. Her boyfriend is a pilot stationed in Napoli so she when he is not around she would like to meet some new girlfriends here to go out with. Federica, on the other hand, is like Flashdance incarnate. She climbs ladders all day and hangs upside down restoring beautiful frescoes and stuff. But now she has a bad neck. It turns out that shy Serena, who tells me that the name Tempesta would suit her better, is actually a doctor. Silvia and I have the best talks and she loves the Eat, Pray, Love book I got her because she is thinking of leaping into a new career path. And Laura and Gloria are always fun to have in class because they are the bravest of everyone. Except there is this one lady who doesn't take my class who I found in the changing room standing on the benches talking on her cell phone. I told her that I liked her just because it was endearing that the spirit moved her to stand on top of the benches while she chatted. She smiled and said, "That's nothing. At the pool I stand on the benches when I get undressed. People think I am an exhibitionist, but really I don't like to stand on the dirty ground. I'm a neat freak." "We're like two drops of water, I told her," an Italian expression that means we are kindred spirits. Even though I am maybe less OCD and more just kooky.

Federica the fabulous!

T skating in Piazza Grande

2011-12-15T02:20:00.001+05:00

Miss Understanding Things 2011

Today I figured out that only one person signed up for my intensivo at Happy Gym because as EVERYBODY knows EVERYONE works on Saturdays (except if they go to LIFE gym?) and that on Dec. 17 EVERYONE is planning to buy their Christmas presents. I then offered to cancel the class since for all I know card number 808 is not even going to make it there. You will recall that they are signing up by number because they are too ashamed to write their real names on my sign up sheet. I did invite a lovely Australian lady I met today, but there is still time to cancel if need be. Then my boss opened her mouth and Italian came out. I swear to you that I know the words she said, but somehow the meaning got sucked into a wind tunnel of incomprehension. In the end, I think she said, well, come teach for this one woman, who she explained to me has weird bangs and is crazy, because afterwards we can practice our parts for the show at the high school. Yay just what I was hoping to do on a Saturday morning in December when EVERYONE else is buying Christmas presents.

In other news, Giuliano the florist asked me to translate his battery operated Santa on a motorcycle's song into Italian. It turned out to be "Santa Claus is coming to town." I did a bad job, but he got the gist of it. Also from my explanation of my religion --of which I was purposely vague because I was born a Jew but I am strictly a spiritual person who is afraid of organized religions that historically divide people and of late I am sort of digging Jesus in a bioenergetic kind of let's model good behavior kind of a way-- Giuliano decided that I was a baptist who has painted a large Budha in her living room. T, upon hearing this little tidbit said, and I quote, "Great job Mom, now he thinks we are heretics."

And so the upshot of this story is that I told Tony from Oregon, my first blog fan from Oregon, that I would try to get the book he told me was out of print a million years ago on Kindle. He then typed the thing for my by hand and I told him that I was sorry that I had bilingual dementia. He then told me that what I had described was the same as being illiterate in more than one language. I will now accept the crown and thorny roses. The first runner up will probably be Michelle Bachman. Just sayin'. . . .

2011-12-12T17:42:00.002+05:00

I Know Nothing

I'm pretty sure Plato said something about that in the cave. But Socrates was the guy who asked all the questions, right? As I said, I know nothing.

For example, It turns out the show at the Instituto Civitali high school came about because the principal wants the kids to exercise more. None of our students, not even the little, cute ones, are performing and it is just us teachers taking each others' classes. Therefore, if I had gone ahead and done my sexy bidella routine I would have been the laughing stock of all time. But we are doing some ridiculous demonstrations of our classes for the entire high school student body so I am still not totally relaxed or anything.

I don't know these people.

Adding more incomprehension into the mix, I tried again to get Cristina, the teacher of the class before mine at Happy Gym, to encourage people to stick around for my class, but --again--she said she didn't understand a word I was saying. Later I came to find out that the head teacher Amanda has been trying to help me all along. She explained to me what the real deal with the performance was; she changed my sign up sheet so that people are identified by their code numbers instead of their names so that they are not too embarrassed to sign up; and she led me to believe that Cristina had a bit of an attention deficit disorder and doesn't understand anybody until after she's had a cigarette. Two people wanted massages from Cristina's class and so I had to start off my class with massages which was weird for the three people who came in for active exercise. All of this begs the question, if these six or seven students asked my boss to have me come teach at that hour-- what made them all change their minds?

Then at Life Gym tonight I taught a double with my supervisor Fabio whose moves do really hurt my back. But he is very generous and caring with the clients and I had fun. I am a little fearful of this talk we are supposed to have tomorrow in which he gives me feedback because I know when I am nervous I look in the mirror too much and I also know I should learn to use the microphone headset, but it is too embarrassing to speak italianglish at a high volume. It also turns out that my boss' wife Gemma never wanted to teach with me, but with Elisa who can't do it so Fabio is taking her place, and not during my intensive class, but this Saturday. And this coupling teachers together is a Christmas tradition at the gym and no one is trying to spy on me or steal my material or replace me or anything. Paranoid much?

T, age 1 year. Her first words: I demand computer privileges.

T came with me to the gym. She bounced on a giant red pilates inflatable for three hours while I taught because we went out for hot chocolate before class and then the prospect of staying alone at home without being able to use the computer was too depressing. We think we saw a cat attacking a chicken on the way to the gym but it might have just been the wind and a goat. By the time we got back home tonight she had convinced me that her computer privileges should be restored and that she should be on probation instead. If she is not the next Diane Sawyer or Anna Wintour she may very well be a pseudo Italian Judge Sotomayor.

2011-12-10T19:53:00.001+05:00

A Broom in Hand

Lucca has started to get festive with the Christmas lights and music and special little open markets and outdoor skating rink.

Last night I was woken up by drunk people (outside of the house, you weirdos, why would you think there would be drunk people inside the house?) And I couldn't go back to sleep. So I woke up full of acciacchi/aches and pains, having to teach my intensive two hour class for only seven women. Why didn't anyone tell me this weekend was il ponte or a bridging holiday so everyone would be away?

While I was awake last night, I was hyperventilating about the sexy bidella/janitor routine I have planned for the high school students that Happy Gym is entertaining next week. It is based on the routine from the musical Stomp in which they use brooms to make music and the song Push It by Salt n' Peppa, as remade by Glee. I once had a brief conversation with the woman who was known as Salt about holistic medicine at a fundraiser for Haiti, but that will have to be for a different post. Anyhoo, I bought a broom with hearts on it, but I haven't really choreographed enough of the performance to feel comfortable. And I have a sore throat so I don't feel like practicing.

On the one hand, I'm thinking I should pull out of the whole deal because my boss asked me if I was sure I wanted to do the routine alone without proposing who in the world would do it with me--surely not any of my students. She alternates between being super enthusiastic and offering me her mother's housecoat as a costume with looking pitifully at me, like maybe I should just give up now. She can't have too much faith if she is making the head teacher decide on Saturday whether she even wants me to go on or whether it would be too embarrassing . . . for them. She was a bit horrified when I confessed that I can't find where the music attacca/starts and so I improvise everything which gives me a lot of angst before a performance. And then she taught me how to spin the broom to look like I know how to twirl and then left to answer the phone. An hour later the only words she said to me were that a stray cat had taken a crap on the floor and to watch my step as I exited.

On the other hand, I have made a sort of secret resolution to live life as if I were Demi Moore, if she had stayed married to Bruce Willis, if he were a really smart web designer. And I think she would go on with the show. If I had another hand, which thank god I don't, on that hand, I would also add that I don't even like Demi Moore. Which is sad in this particular instance.

The one thing that kept me going all morning is that my real husband, being supportive of my hopes and dreams and knowing how to work a machine, sewed a golden satin lining into my sweatshirt hood and bedazzled the sleeves, leaving Bruce and Ashton in the dust.

2011-12-08T18:26:00.002+05:00

Forget you: a memorable day

Making conversation with our friends the florists, I had asked about Christmas trees, and Giuliano offered to bring me one. He said anything taller than me would be 25 euros. Even though they sell cheaper ones at the supermarket, I thought that a real traditional Lucchese tree that would be brought straight from the vivaio to our door would be better than F having to schlep it on his back or bike. Little did I know that these traditional guys that Giuliano deemed "classico" are worse than porcupine needles when you try to hang ornaments on them. I find it hard to believe that your average family in Lucca were cursing and sticking their fingers in their mouths during their darling, decorating festivities, but there you have it. Apparently everybody in Lucca decorates their tree on the eighth of December for the festa della immacolata concezione. I got the wrong memo on this because I thought it had to be done before the holiday and rushed to do it early. It probably got confused with the memo about the campestre at school that said T had to bring a change of clothes and a towel to school in order to be allowed to participate in a race that only occurs during rainy season which I also did not get, necessitating F to have to run to school with a bag filled with leggings and shirt choices.

Yup those needles are pointy!

T, holding the Girl Black Belt ornament and imitating the pose.

Yesterday I taught a late afternoon class and while I was warming up I hyper-extended my knee. It's fine now. I didn't really have time to go home so I went to the next gym and had to stay moving for an hour and a half so I wouldn't cool down too much and my knee wouldn't swell. After walking in the pitch black night and freezing drizzle to the next gym, avoiding both dogs and lizards, an oncoming train, and several razzle-dazzle motorcycle racers, I was surprised to see my direct supervisor who had asked me to substitute for him that night. It turned out that he was teaching the hour before he wanted me to take over.

He invited me in during the last fifteen minutes of his class to do abs. It was with a degree of horror that I realized that, despite the fact that I had positioned myself at the front of the room facing the mirror in the teacher spot, he didn't want me to teach anything. I still don't know why he wanted me to do his manly man back breaking abs segment as a student. Maybe it was so that I would bond with the students? But then why did he not announce my class afterwards or ask anyone to stick around for the second hour? We have to teach as a team on Monday night and maybe he just wanted to show me how he likes things done. . . hmmn.

BTW, at the gym they were showing MTV's 16 & Pregnant on the television and my boss asked me if I was familiar with the program. I paused for a minute, embarrassed by my homeland's cultural offerings and then said: It's like birth control for teenagers or, you know, that holiday, the immaculate something something.

About six ladies stuck around, but one of them is the financial sector woman who smokes continuously and she crashed in a pile of ash after the first ten minutes. She literally looked gray but she didn't take my advice to go to the reception desk to be monitored so I just did what I could do and made up cardio moves li per li/ then and there. The women never smiled but they did sweat. I have no idea what they are going to tell my supervisor about it. At the end, I gave the gray lady a neck massage.

After class I went to change into something a bit less sweaty so that we could go to dinner at our friends Giovanna and Arturo's house. My colleague Laura forgot she was going to give me a lift to the city and left without me but then called to say she was looping back around to come pick me up. Don't say it, I know what you're thinking: I make a real impact on folks.

Moving on: for those of you who remember Giovanna and Arturo were T's friend Greta's family's neighbors/translators/saviors while they lived here, providing all kinds of essential services from homework help to language translation and rather decadent food catering. We had a lovely, lovely dinner that was very much the cheese lover's delight, and it made me happy that my appetizer had been three hours of non stop exercise.

2011-12-06T01:38:00.001+05:00

The Eagle Has Flown/scena madre

I don't know what I'm saying. My mom is going back to New York in the morning. While she was here this happened:

And then this happened:

(That is red wine. That is a chocolate Twizzler straw. My mother did have one, too. F felt he was above such behavior. Remember that No Judgment clause you signed when you became an Arrivederci Brooklyn reader? It goes into effect NOW.)

2011-12-03T01:14:00.001+05:00

Mother's Day

Yup. I know it's December, but my mother came to visit from New York City today. She unpacked the gifts, put a few drops in her eyes, ate a light lunch and did what we do best: went to my exercise class at Happy Gym. Oh she didn't just watch. She took the class. Jet lag, shmet lag. Her performance put several very young Italian women to shame and caused them, most likely, the need for much therapy. Which is convenient since my mom is, of course, also a psychologist. Check her out in action:

P.S. She brought Allure and People magazines (otherwise known as expat crack), chocolate Twizzlers (yes, I said chocolate--the last two bags of vintage, hard-to-find, specially flavored licorice sticks that had been gathering dust in a Food Emporium on Broadway), and lots of little items that say New York on them (so that T can dominate in popularity at school). That, my friends, is how to make an entrance.

Mom did the optional "advanced" moves.

She sang along.

She also improvised.

2011-12-02T02:36:00.001+05:00

Buon Lavoro, Giovanotto!

2011-12-02T00:58:00.001+05:00

Gym-ophobic cultural mishaps

1. At Happy Gym one of the teachers re-did my poster because mine was too ugly and made it bolder and more in keeping with the rest of the posters there, all of which she also made. Unfortunately, no one put there names down indicating that they actually want to take my intensivo 2 hour special class. But it is still early yet, I guess; and it is crazy early for Italians who can't even imagine where life might take them 16 days from now.

2. My nice boss at Happy Gym asked me if I would like to make up a number to perform in front of a high school. She was so smiley and nodding up and down at me that I started smiling and nodding up and down and about seven hours later I realized that I was going to now lose a night of sleep or more, spend hours sweating and having stomach cramps and that I would also have to invent some kind of concept, if not specific choreography, to perform in front of a million restless teenagers.

3. Tonight I had the genius idea of trading places with the crazy lady student who never has enough room at LIFE gym so that she had the front spot at the mirror and could maintain a visual patrol of all the imaginary people who might encroach on her. I took the middle spot where no one could see me, but everyone could hear me. At a certain point half the room asked me if I was really a dominatrix in New York and why I took pleasure in seeing them suffer. I smiled and said, "ten more please!"

4. In the dressing room at LIFE some nice things were said about me behind my back, according to my new friend and student Silvia who gave me a ride home. Although I later found out that while a bunch of students wanted to know if I was going to the gym's special dinner and dance tomorrow night, no one at the gym had actually thought to tell me about it. There is apparently a sign posted somewhere, but even if I found it, the chances are that I would need help reading it, so . . . I asked for information from my other boss, but since my mom is coming tomorrow and I didn't exactly have a full dance card at the last LIFE gym get together, I think I may miss it.

There was a post recently on the local expat meet up message board about the difficulty of making friends with Italian women. The post which was rather negative in tone didn't really resonate with me, but I thought it was brave of the author to raise the subject. I haven't found it too hard to make friends-- what I've found hard is figuring out which way is up and where to pay for things and the seventy two different terms for how people order their coffee-- but I'd be lying if I didn't say that I have noticed that almost all of the Italian women I know have had a really hard time of realizing themselves professionally. Some of the younger women in my class who have the most tense necks are working cleaning houses or at the post office and these are not just temporary positions while they study or apprentice in a field that really satisfies them. That is it. And it is not the stuff their dreams are made of. This wouldn't be so bad if people didn't work six days a week, twelve hours a day and earn very little money. Others are stuck in family businesses that come with all kinds of pressures attached and no escape chutes. Everybody I meet in Lucca tells me that New York is the most exciting concept for a place ever invented. It is the Disney land of their, by now, adult imaginations. And I think the issue of choice, and personal expression is at the heart of it. Cue the Jay-Z track.

I believe that even though I never had just one thing I knew I wanted to be when I grew up, and instead tried out a couple of different options, the work experience I had in New York helped me immeasurably to figure out what I'm good at, what I suck at, and what makes me happy. I don't know if I would be able to be very brave or centered if I hadn't had those life changing experiences that were based around self realization. So if some of the Italian women are a little competitive or defensive, as many of my expat friends have found offputting, I think that has a lot to do with it. I wouldn't probably be too sympathetic with someone from England, or Canada, Australia or New York if it seemed to me there biggest problem in life was seemingly trying to track down some peanut butter while I had to stand on my feet for fourteen hours, not allowed to use my cell phone or sit down until quitting time.

Arrivederci, Brooklyn!

2011-12-01T17:02:00.001+05:00

A Casaccio & For No Good Reason

Just 'cause my brother sent us this and it cracks me up to think that this feathery dudette could have buried her head in the sand, but then thought, "No I'm gonna be a die hard planker and catch me some freshies off the breezeway." Okay, okay I googled some ski slang. Sue me.

2011-11-30T17:32:00.001+05:00

Car trouble & Gastronomy

Nice to know that while we can't drive our car which is filthy and sitting in Santa Anna alone, we can still get tickets on it and a some damage too! It turns out Paco had a bit of a joy ride during the car exchange portion of our summer swap, but we didn't figure that out until after F had biked all the way back to the concessario to see if the car had tickets on it before we bought it. Then F noticed that the car was dented and scratched. There was a note on the car with a phone number. But that would be too easy. And this is Italy. It turns out that the guy who lives in the giant house next to the parking spot saw the whole thing and got the license plate number of the guilty party who dented and dtiched us. The eyewitness on the phone told me to stop by and that he'd give me the number. Why on god's green earth wouldn't he just message or tell me the number over the phone? If we had to meet in person, couldn't he give me a precise time? So I texted him to ask when we should come and have our little visit. It was a good thing I checked because he was away on business in Pisa and wasn't coming back for two days. Today F and I kept our appointment with him and he came out and told us everything very cheerfully. He was young and looked like an actor from my other favorite telenovella that was called Agrodolce. But this guy was less tortured and more helpful overall. He didn't even seemed phased by the overall drecktitude of our car having been covered in grime in this last month of disuse.

Wham bam, thank you slam!

Luckily tonight we are making a Moroccan & Indian combo feast (ala Jamie Oliver) for our friends Anna Maria (the police officer!) and Fabio and their girls who will eat plain pasta and potatoes up in T's room because they like nothing except pizza, pasta, and potatoes as far as I can tell. The littlest girl is allergic to a pork by-product and that is how we found out that Nutella is not vegetarian. Yikes! We will buying the organic version at the biologico store.

Ecco le ragazze!

Wine in the foreground. Thus explains our facial expressions.

Give it to Mikey. He'll eat anything. (Life cereal commercial reference from 1970s.)

Anyway, Fabio and Anna Maria like to travel and are adventurous eaters so we made --I say we in all honesty this time because I helped -- curried veggies with improvised Indian bread -- crispy focaccia with paprika on it, yogurt harissa dipping sauce, citrusy spicy cous cous and pickled lemon garnish. The drink is an iced pomegranate refresher with mint.

It was fun and we were all drunk with sleepiness afterwards. And we remembered that we are lucky and that things like dents and insurance and tickets aren't worth getting too worked up over. That's Anna Maria's torta di ricotta e ciccolato talking. My snarky self shall return tomorrow.

Oh and when Anna Maria was leaving she said to me that if I ever ever needed her she would be there. She would run to me, she said. It was a much sexier version of the James Taylor lyric and also she meant it. I know it because her exact words translated into English were: I may be stressed out and a mess when I get there, but I will come. And I could never wish for more. Grazie

2011-11-30T00:15:00.001+05:00

This was our zucca pie for Thanksgiving. I picked at the crust which was prettier beforehand. Scusatemi!

wonky

Tonight it was useful to not speak Italian fluently because I could pretend I had no idea what was happening. A woman in my class kept stopping during the cardio dance segment to put her hand on her hips and look perturbed because she didn't feel like trying to get the steps. I repeat the same things over and over since I am not good at counting or picking up steps either, I know that the moves I do are all within grasp of anyone who tries, but she was not in the mood to try. Ladies older and equally dignified were having no problems. So I ignored her. Then it was time for mat work and the woman asked the student fairly far behind her to move back and give her more space. The student complied. Over the next little while the woman stopped two other times to ask my friend Laura who was on the mat in front of her to move. Laura knew better than to run any risks and moved to the other side of the room entirely. Then this woman moved her mat a little to the right, a little to the left, up and down several other times fighting off this invisible crowd that was bothering her. In reality, there was an ever widening space around where she was situated. The only other student within a stone's throw from her got yelled at next. During the dispute which was distracting everyone and was broadcasting over my spoken directions, I eventually made eye contact with her in the mirror and said that I was sorry but I didn't understand anything that was going on. When she tried to explain it to me slowly I cocked my head to the side like a bewildered puppy and looked at her blankly. Finally the woman got up and left. For the rest of the class everyone was chatting and giggling about her, but I said nothing. Later during the massage at the end of the class , I said to the ladies, "my mamma didn't raise no fool now"-- translated "io conosco i miei polli"-- and they all started laughing because ignorance, in this case, was bliss Italian style.

T & friends

Other people's parents are less embarrassing

At the train crossing before class, the train actually came and the little barriers came down so I had to stand there with all of the cars. I was listening to my ipod and it was very hard for me not to bop up and down with the music so I did a modified little bop which was very constrained of me since I considered bursting into a number from Footloose and entertaining the troops while we were all stuck there together. But then I thought of how it embarrasses my daughter that I wore a hoodie to pick her up from school and changed my mind.

Try not to embarrass me, mom. (All that nonsensical existing etc.)

Today I had my first personal training client who is the daughter of one of my students and she is probably seventeen years old or so. We danced like maniacs to the music from glee and talked about Nicole Ritchie's tumultuous life and association with Tracy Anderson. By the end of the hour she was completely red in the face and sweating so i felt like I did my job. We'll see if she comes back on Thursday.

Then i got a call at work from my friend who wanted English homework help for her daughter. Does anyone know the names of our toes, individually, and in English? I went with the ordinal numbers, but I had a perverse and strong desire to make up a lot of crazy sh$t. Like oh in America we call them piggies or the big one we call the pimp or the middle one is the helltotheno. But I had a fit of decency. I hate when that happens.

2011-11-25T18:39:00.001+05:00

Cain and Abel--- Remix
We spent our Thanksgiving eating zucca pie and stuffing with red wine sauce and talking turkey with T. She showed us this SNL video parodying the Republic debates which was followed by our own SNL skit, but ours is, thankfully, not available on video. (http://www.nbc.com/saturday-night-live/video/GOP-Debate-Cold-Opening/1358180) During dinner, T told us this hilarious story that -- should I be worried? -- the vice principal told her while he was in charge of her class. Take it away, T. . .

T here to recount the story our vice principal told us during Study Hall. It's a parody on the bible he found on the Internet. To get the joke you guys need to know Adam = Adamo, Eve = Eva, Cain = Caino, Abel = Abele and Satan = Satana. Oh and that most--not all-- but MOST, Italian boys names end in "o" and most girls names end in "a" or "e."

When Adamo and Eva had children they had two boys, Caino and Abele. Abele was always very calm and thoughtful but Caino was always quite high energy and agitated. When they became young men Caino decided he wanted to find a girlfriend. One night he tells his mother, Eva, "I'm going to go out tonight. I will either be back late or in the morning." So Caino goes to look for a girl, but he finds no one after hours of searching. He repeats this for many weeks until an idea finally comes to him. He goes up to Abele, his brother, and says "Look, Mom's name ends with an "a," me and dad's names end with an "o" but your name ends with an "e". So you aren't my brother you are my sister and since you are the only woman on this earth we shall marry." Abele responds "Um, no, actually I AM your brother and I don't want to marry you." Then Caino, frustrated, hits him over the head and kills him. He shouts up, "What have I done? I killed my sister!" Now God comes down from heaven and sends Caino to hell. Caino knocks on the door of hell and then Satana opens it up. Caino says "Hello, my name is Caino." Satana responds "My name is Satana." Caino looks happily at Satana and says "Ends with an "a" right?"

2011-11-23T13:10:00.002+05:00

Lots of brand names & getting bitten in the face

For whatever reason, we still have the worst thing about summer here with us in late November: MOSQUITOES/ LE ZANZARE. A handful of times I have woken up in the middle of the night to find a buzzing right in my ear and then even if we kill the sucker, I still can't get back to sleep for hours.

In other news, the Guess girls have abandoned ship and feel that their work load is too heavy to continue exercising with me in the evenings. Several of them tended to cheat a bit and not do the thirty repetitions or do the exercises full out, but I always found that a good challenge and really kind of funny. There were fewer and fewer of them and they usually trickled in as a threesome instead of in a pack of eight which meant that I was really not earning much of anything anyhow. T did not love being banished to her mansardo to eat her dinner and I really do not like getting started with the jumping up and down just at the dinner hour, so I think it is all for the best. Meanwhile a girl in my LIFE class asked me for personal training which is I think the better, more profitable, direction in which to head.

I went to see my friend Alessandro Menichini's open house for the Hermès home collection and, yet again, I felt a little teary to see so much beauty in one place. There was one cashmere fabric that was so rich that it made me both itchy and sad to think about the artificial cheapo fabrics that I lay my little worried head on at night. It is so cool to see the prints as they translate from paper to fabric. This particular collection is very historical and filled with horses and old world characters and one of the prints is even block printed using an 18th century technique where you make the design onto at least 20 blocks of wood and then apply it to the paper. Despite the nods to the past, the chain link prints and famous interconnected H's look modern, masculine, and very George Clooney's bachelor pad, or so I've been told. I wouldn't dare show you any photos of it because there is a whole branch of people who get paid to hunt down mishandlers of the Hermes logo and/or their images and poor Alessandro had to sign a contract that was thicker than my arm.

This is a random picture of my friend and professional pharmacist Amelia from Farmacia Centrale. I didn't know she had a terrified dog named Oliver or that she shopped at the fancy pink pet store where I got the golden poop bag holder. But she is a mystery that I will never unravel. I invite her to lots of stuff that she never comes to, but I am very Lucy and Charlie Brown with the football about the whole thing. Ever hopeful, always a blockhead.

2011-11-21T19:08:00.001+05:00

No caption necessary.

Italian pooper scoopers (literally)

I have been a naughty little blogger because I finally let the call of the blog allow me to go a little cuckoo crazy yesterday. Let me just say that, being me, I did move all the way across the world only to end up having a ton of familal social obligations -- even though they are not for my actual family. We are really and truly honored and feel blessed to be included in our friends' gatherings. But in all dysfunctional extended expat families there is always one super special relative; and, in this case, it is the sister-in-law who is obsessed with her bulldog Romeo.

This guy has a nicer winter coat than I do.

This dog understands baby talk . . . or is he just faking?

He looks cute-- until he ruins your good Italian leather boots.

She carries him around like a baby and he has a wardrobe that is nicer than mine. The big fat slobbery doo-doo head, drooled a puddle on and then scratched my good boots. (You know I'm talking about the dog, right?) Plus my little fidanzato doesn't like Romeo because he bites his feet and we lovebirds prefer to sit with out legs extended while we watch our cartoons, so there. So knowing it might be blog worthy, and because I was a little drunk with exhaustion after T's birthday party, I did go out of my way to get the sister-in-law a joke gift from the overly expensive and extravagant, completely pink pet store near Piazza Grande. I could have gone to the ordinary pet store with the thousand cages of birds and hamsters and baby bunnies whose floor is littered with bird seeds and is noisy and dirty and has a rather unhappy, elderly couple in charge, but that would not have been as good of a blog post.

She is holding the golden wallet. I am hiding under the coffee table.

Where's K? I don't know she disappeared when we brought out the cake . . .

"I hate when my feet get bitten for no good reason." Don't worry, honey, K is on the case.

I love this grandma's cookies! She is my Angelina Jolie.

All bad ass bloggers have tractors .. . See the pink pet store bag: snazzy!

Instead, I purposely went to the hoity toity pink pet store and soon realized that, as much as I love you readers, I was not going to spend eighty five euro on a leather bomber jacket for Romeo. So based on the advice of the nice man, whose wife we came to find out is pregnant, we chose to give the sister-in-law a golden, leather, wallet that holds the bags for picking up the poop/ ca-ca. I lost steam in the actual moment of gift giving and did not give the party girl a double-cheeked kiss or ask her how she liked it, as I had planned. Instead I sort of slunk off to the other side of the house. But first I forced F to take a ton of pictures! I've got your back, blog readers.

Arrivederci, Brooklyn!

2011-11-19T16:32:00.001+05:00

Here is the portrait we made for her birthday card!

La festa di compleanno di T

Today we got up at the crack of crack to get T to school early for a class trip. They are going to a paper mill to see how paper is made. It is a very Lucchese thing to do. Trust me on this. (And good news: she came back with five rolls of toilet paper, a ten pack of facial tissue and a carton of napkins!)

I am forever grateful to Melissa and Stefano who agreed to drive us all to the ice skating rink after we all have lunch at the pizzeria everybody goes to for their birthday parties -- Marameo. In fact, three of the girls, T included, are going back there for dinner for somebody else's party. Aside from being really happy that F doesn't have to drive without a license, I am also thanking my lucky Italian f'n stars that T never got this flu and that the four girls, two Italian, one Irish and one Canadian, that we really needed to come celebrate with us are coming. Now I am just hoping against hope that the ice skating rink I found online really exists, you never know, and that they are open, still not sure, and that it will not cost a lot more than expected, unlikely, and that we all get there at a reasonable time in one piece and get all of their rental skates on. After that, I'm planning to have a carafe of wine and let nature take its course. I'll let you know shortly.

Well, not shortly. But here we are, longly, after. The lunch went well except that there was another simultaneous party of older teenagers who got served first. Looking at that crew as they exited I have to say as a waitress I would have done the same. When we first arrived at the skating rink, T and I were dismayed to find out that although the Omniacenter is the size of a huge football stadium, the skating rink is proportionately the size of a postage stamp with snow on it. They hadn't cleared the ice for quite sometime, let me tell you. Nevertheless, the girls had a great time. They had these push-a-penguins which were for beginning skaters to use like training wheels for the ice, if you will. I don't recall ever seeing those at Skyrink. Take that you big city slickers, you. When the girls were exhausted enough they came back and had a hot chocolate and the chocolate cupcakes we brought with us. It was so chocolatey that at one point T's friend Natasha heard herself say, "It's too much chocolate for me," and then corrected herself saying, "did I just say that? I must have really taken a lot of falls."

At the moment T is back at Marameo and I expect she will come home and sleep the sleep of the righteous or the really zonked, whichever comes first.

Stefano is a fun guy.

2011-11-18T01:14:00.001+05:00

Blech

Today was pretty much what I have been dreading since mid-summer when I started auditioning for gym jobs. I like to worry in advance so that none of my problems take me by surprise. What? Don't tell me you think that is neurotic. If you're from New York there is roughly a seventy-five percent chance that, if you're being honest, this is competely normal to you. It is really a massive mistake as a life philosophy and I urge you not to do it. But once in a while it does come in handy.

Today was the day where my cold turned flu-like, but since we had the flu shot--there is the up side right there to the advance worrying, so take note-- it shouldn't last too long. After re-reading the Tracy Anderson 30 Day Bootcamp book for the millionth time and making myself do thirty five minutes of cardio and then teaching my two friends at my house, I started getting chills and a sore throat. In the book, Tracy says one day," maybe not today and maybe not tomorrow" I should be guaranteed a Sunday (why Sunday?) in which I can eat cupcakes all day long and it will not affect my thighs even an iota. Does anyone else think this is a weird assertion? For a health book? Anyway, I can't eat normal cupcakes because I have had to give up dairy products this month since I figured out that my lack of magnesium means that the calcium deposits from any yummy dairy I consume come out my face like little salt rocks making me look like a pimply faced adolescent with much more psychic and physical pain than what one usually endures from an ordinary blemish.

Back to this delightful tale of rainbows and unicorns. . .I took a nap only to be awakened by a delivery guy who rang not once but twelve times and stayed put until I padded down the stone steps in my slippers and sweats and a wrinkle on my face from where the pillow had been. The one good thing that I can say is that it was not raining. That is about it. About half way to the gym I started freezing and wheezing, but in Italy, we do not take sick days. We shield ourselves with our magic scarves. How's that working out? Based on today, I'd say not swimmingly. I piped the music from Glee through my headphones since Mary J. Blige's album and the Michael Jackson remixed concert music don't come out until next week. I had less umph in my step in my pre-class warm up which at that time of day and after having worked out in the morning, and factoring in my fibromialgia takes about an hour to an hour and a half. Then I teach for an hour and then I give thirty people neck massages, making sure to douse my hands in disinfectant. Thankfully one of my students gave me a ride half-way home and F bought my favorite onion focaccia for dinner which goes very nicely with lemon hot pepper broth .For the roughly four and a half hours of working out I did today, not including the lesson and music preparation which took two hours, I earned exactly 23 euro. We'll talk aobut that later, when I'm not sick.

Meanwhile T spent the day accompanying her friend from school to the dentist. This was funny because the dentists are her Uncle and her Grandpa and because her friend was terrified. They both are very pessimistic and argued humorlessly about whether they would have to drill or do an emergency root canal. Every single thing they did and every implement they touched had to be explained to the patient's satisfaction, a feat which was next to impossible. For her services T got a decadent lunch with a homemade chocolate tart and a very much appreciated early birthday present of fingerless gloves.

The only joy about today, aside from the lack of rain, is this song by the winner of reality show Amici singing Sitting on the Dock of the Bay with Craig David. I love the grit in her voice and the fact that she clearly has no idea what the F**k she is saying.

2011-11-13T21:45:00.001+05:00

Paola's Birthday & Mio Fidanzato Ne Sa di Computer

Today was our luncheon in honor of my friend Paola's birthday with her parents and brother and sister-in-law. F made Paola's favorite farro with fried stuffed zucchini blossoms and for dessert T helped make a red wine chocolate cake with a dark chocolate glaze and red wine reduction for the plates. I made the hearts on the plates. Don't laugh. I also cleaned the whole house, 'kay?

My friend is also the mother of "my fidanzato" Lorenzo, the little boy who we give Bioenergy treatments to for autism. In addition to the fact that he has decreased his yelling and covering his ears since receiving the ear protocol, he has since learned how to use the computer. He is incredibly gentle when he touches the keyboard, and for that, all the credit goes to his teachers at the Capannori school. The fact that this boy who was nonverbal and very hyperactive and uncommunicative when I met him is now able to type in searches into youtube, double click on the videos he wants to see and change the volume and screen size using the mouse is pretty astounding. Yay Bioenergy!

2011-11-12T20:03:00.001+05:00

Tidbit

Yesterday I went to my friend Pepper's photo exhibit where he was getting an award. F had bumped into him earlier in the day and found out that the exhibition was in the big official building across from our house; he said I could just pop in on my way back from teaching class and give Pepper a hug. I thought about going home to change, but I didn't want to be late. So I walked in all shlumpa-dinka with my pony tail all frizzy and bumpy and weird and still in sweats and sneakers. Once I creaked open the heavy wooden castle doors, there was no point of return.

In the last row I found my friend from Canada and her two lovely daughters. Of course it was a photo exhibit in Italy so there were like fourteen long drawn out speeches before it got to the award part. All of Pepper's other friends looked classy and Italian-like. The girls were sitting as though they were in church, well behaved and with good posture. I tried to put an end to all that. I made a mouse out of my scarf and tried to see how far I could make it jump towards the gentlemen in the row ahead of me. I whispered to the older girl and forced her to make fashion drawings with me. I played a raucous game of finger wrestling with the little one until the man sitting right next to us had to ask me (in italian): "Is that your daughter?" I said that, no, I was just a friend. I gestured towards her mother who was sitting at the end of the row looking elegant and occasion appropriate. He then said to me "Oh, I get it, you're the nanny, right?" I said no. He said, "But you're South American, right? I said that, no, I'm the friend from New York. He was all like, "Are you sure you're not the nanny from South America?" And I said that I was pretty sure I'd be the first one to know if I were. He paused and then said, "I have a daughter in San Francisco." And then he moved his seat to be further away from me. Oh why didn't I go home to change first?

2011-11-12T16:55:00.001+05:00

Intensivo

This morning I got to the gym bright and early to prepare for my Metamorfosi intensivo, which is a two hour lay-it-all -on-the-floor, you-can-eat-whatever-the-heck-you want-afterwards kind of a class. It started off better than in my dreams with all the women hooting and hollering, keeping up, sweating, and having fun. The room can comfortably hold twenty, and I had fifteen students who signed up and paid extra to be there at 9:30 AM on a Saturday morning!

After the first hour I misread the clock and said that it was time to cool down for the final half hour of massage. Some people looked dismayed and two of the more dramatic ladies walked out. Even before they reached the door, I realized my mistake and regrouped to psyche them up for yet another half an hour of grueling exercises. Despite that little hiccup, it went very well and I got more cash this morning than I usually make in a month of hoofing it back and forth to teach and hour here and an hour there. The boss was happy, the ladies were happy, and I am looking forward to leisurely day of carbo loading and watching really awful reality television shows.

P.S. If you've never seen the Real L Word, don't start now.

This was not my class at all, but rather some kind of Sri Lankan movie. However, they also look like they are having a hard day:

2011-11-12T00:47:00.001+05:00

Santa Claus Eyes
Today F and I went to meet with T's art professor for our parent teacher meeting/ricevimento. After listening to two really sweet parents in the corridor complaining about how pointless an assignment it is to trace over highly detailed illustrations of Gothic churches in their text book, including the written text, I finally came up with something to say when it was our turn to go in. So after listening to a few nice things being said about our kid, I commented that I had noticed T was working on a tracing assignment this week. I said that T is many beautiful things, but precise is not one of them and that she seems to really be getting a lot out of it. He said that was exactly the essence of the assignment. Then I threw in that now that I am working outside of the house this year, T has to do her homework independently. This was crafty of me because indipendenza is the other thing that he really is keen on. He hates it when certain overzealous parents do some or all (oh okay, in our case only a tiny bit) of the tracing for their kids - cough cough.

So after the professor leaned across the little desk and peered over his spectacles at me with his watery Santa Claus eyes and I melted just a little bit, F piped up. That is always a scary moment, by the way. When F finally pipes up, I mean. Because it only happens when things are going really well and when he is possibly feeling just brazen enough to end that little streak of good luck. But we hate to discourage any talking done by this tall silent drink of water. In this case he said, "Si! E' un buon lavoro per imparare pazienza," all proud like a little school boy who just did something right. Once safely outside the school building, I said to F that I am not sure that is exactly how an Italian would put it, but he got his point across. Then he reminded me that the last time he ran into the art professor at the train station he had told him that he was on his way to go imparare/learn English and he just wanted to get it right one time to redeem himself. So we had a good laugh and a funny romantic moment in the parking lot. No, T, no one saw us.

2011-11-11T01:04:00.001+05:00

Same old, same old . . . just kidding

I was thinking that I had nothing to write after that rather momentous Tutti Pazzi party, but then I realized that my regular day to day routine is completely wackadoodle and perhaps even blog-worthy.

Yesterday there was a full moon. I know this because instead of just my new friend Patrizia and her new friend Sabrina, we had like a dozen other ladies of all various ages and levels of skepticism come join us at Happy Gym for my 4:00 in the afternoon class. I don't know what sparked this mass interest in a class that happens right at the end of the intervallo when many elementary school children are just being picked up, smaller children are waking up from naps, retired people are watching CSI repeats, and everyone else is back to work, but I hope it was not just a once in a lifetime occurrence. When my boss came in to take attendance, she almost fainted.

One thing that happens to me twice a week is that I walk about twenty minutes outside of the walls of Lucca towards the LIFE gym and I get to an incrocio/intersection where there is no traffic light. The train tracks are at one end, and if there is no train passing to stop the cars in their tracks, there is pretty steady traffic on that piece of road. Last week I had to do a couple of pretty impressive jumps to get people to let me pass and then I noticed that one of my colleagues was in her car watching me and waving so once I got across I waggled my hips in a happy dance, thus making a nearby construction worker's day. Today I had to resort to serious measures so I rather dramatically loosened and removed the red sparkly scarf that I borrowed from T and did a burlesque kind of number, twirling that sucker around a few times and grinning to get across. People smiled. "She's not from these parts," they were thinking.

2011-11-07T05:03:00.003+05:00

Pazze come siamo, io per una sono contenta di esserlo.

I should explain that when I was in tenth grade I finally had three best girlfriends all at the same time, and I was never so happy as in that time. We had inside jokes and we made plans, that kind of thing. Those friendships all faded away and I never had a group of girlfriends again. It gets harder as you get older to get a group of women together; and when you add in all the differences in culture and language, it is even more of a challenge. Plus they say Lucca is even more of a challenge because of the walls, physical and emotional, but I don't believe that. Not anymore. But I now know what it is like to be a professional wedding planner for people with commitment issues. Stressful. Rewarding but stressful.

1. Even the Italian women took their shoes off.

2. They loved the Tutti Pazzi per Amore show; and the third season promises to be the best one yet!

3. They brought so much food! I still had to fight to get people to sit down in the living room. Even without chairs in the dining room, the ring around the table was formidable, but eventually everyone moved into our little improvised home theater.

4. At one point two of the ladies in the center in front of the t.v. asked me to sit there with them, right in the middle of everyone and I felt like that was the moment I had been dreaming of all along.

P.S. This is me freaking out beforehand:

P.P.S. F went with Paola's husband Stefano and her brother Carlo for a pizza. At Carlo's house before turning on the soccer match they took a peak at our telenovella Tutti Pazzi per Amore 3 to see what all the fuss was about. lol :)

2011-11-06T04:06:00.005+05:00

"Is this my gym?"

My Gym's Birthday Party

What a totally weird night! Having never been to a gym's birthday party, I did not know what to expect. But I certainly did not expect to find my nice little friendly gym transformed into a nightclub with disco lights, an outdoor pavilion, a DJ, a professional cake display, a fashion show of knitwear, and a table full of expensive artiginal chocolates, including ones in the form of chess pieces that T and her friend Natasha ate cheefully. Check.

Being a gym instructor at a party like this is a lot like being a priest. My female students would eat some cioccolatini and then come to me to confess their sins. This is always weird, and it also used to happen in Park Slope, because I, of course am not sitting in judgement on any chocolate snarfing that may or may not occur on any given day, especially if I am doing the snarfing.

I did not partake in the group staff photo with the cake because I did not want to push and shove my way into the shot and no one asked me to join in. Does anyone hear the song loser like me from Glee? Just me. T and N came to round up babysitting business which was impossible as those Italian babies have grandma forcefields around them to keep anyone else out of the competition.

Here is the staff photo I did not appear in.

"You're not my grandmother!"

I did have a few nice chats with some students. There was one awkward conversation in which one of my bosses tried to talk to F but F did not know it because he is too tall and the electronic music beat was all that he could hear. My supervisor who did not know what to think instead directed his gaze and me and I had to make excuses about how zen Californians are only to find out later that F is more deaf than he is mellow. So there is some truth to how's the weather up there and all that. He was easily seven inches taller than the tallest guy there.

"Seriously, what did you do with my gym?"

Anyway, we left early and on foot and I managed not to be the drunk American dancing like a maniac to the annoying electronica music. I achieved this great feat in the same way that I managed not to stand on the tables at Barnes and Nobles on Seventh avenue and take off my clothes and yell obscenities. I never did that, but I was always afraid one day I might. So viewing the night through those cautionary lenses, it was a success. Tuesday back at work should be weird, though, because even though I am an upstanding citizen, responsible mom, and lip reading wife, I am still the weird hip hop dancer who sprayed mosquito spray in my hair and tends to shake her booty on the tread mill.

Arrivederci, Brooklyn!

2011-11-04T02:41:00.000+05:00

Break-up Blindness

There are no photos, but you can feel free to run your fingers over this post.

If you want to know what it is like to invite many tante Italian women to a party in the four or five days beforehand, I can only tell you that it is like being broken up with repeatedly over the course of many hours. It is like the Groundhog day of all break-ups. Since this party is only for women, today was kind of like being the loosest lesbian of Lucca and having all my many lovers find out that I have been cheating on them all at the same time. It was rejection city, I tell you. But it is good to know that so many lovely females will be having very Hallmark like moments this Sunday evening from a baptism, to a golden anniversary, a niece's birthday and dinner with high school friends. Thank goodness for my friend Giusy who told me that I don't have to worry because she will be there and in the end the right people always show up for you at the right time.

It was a good thing that Giusy showed up for me today at my Metamorfosi class in Palestra LIFE. What happened was that this shock of hair in the front of my head got loose from my pony tail while we were doing the cardio dance portion. I tried to slick it back, but it was determined to stay up like Alfalfa's cowlick. I didn't want to fuss over my hair so I told myself that it was okay to look goofy for a song or two and just let it go. Then when we had a little break and the ladies went to get their mats I grabbed my bag and reached in for my hairspray. I gave myself a very liberal spray down and went back to the mat. That is when the odor appeared. I realized that I smelled very much like the back of one of those NY taxi cabs where they have the little pine tree hanging from the rearview mirror. Pine forest fresh, if you will. As I located the sense memory, I became aware that my eyes were stinging and I was slowly going blind. That is when it hit me that I had sprayed my head with mosquito spray by accident. Some of the ladies encouraged me to leave class and go to the bathroom, but, in between sit-ups, I pointed out that then the water would run down my face and I really would go blind. And that my friends, is stuff that you cannot make up.

2011-11-01T22:45:00.000+05:00

But we're not normal

Normal people when they go to Florence/Firenze do the following things: Go to the Piazza della Signoria, visit the Boboli gardens and the Pitti palace, the bapistry, the Campanile or the Galleria degli Uffizi, check out the Ponte Vecchio, the Duomo, and the David at the Galleria dell'Academia. Buy a pair of gloves! Something!

But we are not normal people.

Yo Savana! This says GRAND HOTEL MINERVA

And this is why with Uncle Laurence defenseless and in our clutches, we nodded at those normal things but chose instead to concentrate on eating a mega gelato at GROM, buying marzipan (you left it in our backpack, hee hee) and chocolate dipped orange peels; getting a glimpse of Santa Maria Novella; and climbing up for the free and stunning view from the top floor of the Chiesa Orsanmichele (thanks for the tip, Deborah).

All this was followed by sitting around drinking red wine and a cuba libre for two hours while killing stray random mosquitoes attracted by the outdoor heat lamp. T managed to extract a pair of vintage, purple polka-dot, velvet Converse sneakers from her beloved Uncle and then we all trudged over to a mozzarella bar called Obika where we dined on truly artiginal samples of this jack of all cheeses whether they be affumicata, pontinata, pastum, or stracciatella di burrata. (Thanks for the tip, Giusy.) I had grilled artichokes with mine that were divine. T had a four cheese pizza. Uncle Laurence who doesn't play went straight for the fried version and then ate a lasagne while F ordered a regular pizza. I complained about his choice later at home because he should have gotten the one with smoked mozzarella and grilled pumpkin which was the special per carita' and which I would have liked to taste.

They had slightly more fun than us in Florence and she did not plunge to her death.

2011-10-30T20:20:00.000+05:00

LUCCA COMICS & GAMES 2011

Me and the T -- NYT, that is.

Won't you be my neighbor?

2011-10-30T20:03:00.000+05:00

Flash mob Italian Style

Today we flash mobbed Uncle Laurence and all of Lucca. T's friend Caoimhe attends a dance school called Arabesque which along with siamocomelefragole.it put on a spontaneous display of dancing in a massive crowd of costumed lovers of humanity for the Lucca 2011 Comics and Games festival. It was hella fun.

(That last coment was for you MJ of AmericanMominParis.blogspot.com, since you are internet-less and we love you always wherever you are.)

No comment.

Here is what the scene looked like 2 seconds before we burst out in dance.

Mary Poppins eat your heart out!

Jack Sparrow on strings

It was blazin' hot today.

This is a lamborghini painted as a police car . . . btw

(I wore my snakeskin converse which makes me write as if I am originally from Brooklyn instead of originally from Flushing, Queens. Forgive me for I cannot contain myself.) T is wearing a gray top and bright pink leggings and I am about four rows back in black with a pony tail and a pink top. Here is how it went down:

2011-10-30T02:22:00.000+05:00

I'm not implying any Smurf similarities, but the shirt, I think, speaks volumes.

Pretty Smurfy

Ahh Comix! It is like a land of fairy Disney princesses who all woke up on the wrong side of the bed. "Welcome the F$$K to Lucca Disney," they seem to say. Plus, as I have previously mentioned, there is the time warp around the walls of Lucca so that it is somehow cool/ganzo if you are 24 years of age to dress up as Harry Potter, Evil Spider Man, or a Smurf/Puffi (pronounced puffy). Aside from the grumpy Snow Whites and Cinderellas, everyone is pretty cheery --except for the guy who routinely throws me out of San Frediano church whenever I want to show a house guest Santa Zita's remains.

Smurftastic!

Today we sprung T out of school early since she was supposed to sit around doing nothing for the last two hours while her art professor went on strike. She studied for her grammar test, packed up her costume, and went with friend Natasha and her mom Melissa to decorate Jessica's house in Capannori for the Halloween party tonight. We took Uncle Laurence prisoner, after having been rejected by one of Lucca's most beautiful churches, forced him to march through the vineyards of Colleverde in Matraia, drink a thumbful of wine at a local establishment, beat us in gin rummy, and then go to said Halloween party where Jessica and Melissa threw down one pretty fabulous par-tay.

Behold my favorite chicken costume ever.

Some of the dads were way into this event . .

but they had to keep up with the moms . . .

mmmn . . .eyeballs!

the better to see you with, my dear

T had the time of her life jumping on the trampoline reaching into intestines (porridge) and eye balls (mozzarella) and something else gross and pinning the tail on the skeleton or some-such. I fell into friendship with this cool woman Paola and her daughter Tatiana from South Africa who had been living in Belgrade and now is running her father's newly constructed guest homes in San Ginese.

lady fingers

Arrivederci, Brooklyn!

2011-10-28T23:51:00.000+05:00

Not Uncle Laurence

Yup, that there is Uncle Laurence

No school for three days, Halloween, and Comix? Are we dreaming?

Twizzle me happy

So today was pretty momentous. It is the first day of Comix and my big brother is here. Unfortunately both gyms called on me to substitute teach. So F went and got Laurence at the cute, little Pisa airport. They had to go by train because of the whole Italian driver's license issue. We won't talk about that in front of F. Anyway, Uncle Laurence brought us loads of goodies: all of the Missoni kids' clothes that I ordered when they were on sale at Target, a pair of Levis for me (saving more than 100 euro) three pairs of Victoria's Secret black velour sweat pants (my faves), a pair of fancy-studded- snakeskin-platform-fake-Converse kicks (saving us another 100 euros), and most importantly three, count them, two pound bags of Twizzlers.

Not the chocolate ones, but still . . .

This won't hurt a bit. . .

Acceptable kicks even by Lucchese standards

135,000 people, most of them wearing wigs or fluorescent hair dye, came to Lucca last year for the Comics and Games festival in the rain. This year it is crisp and sunny and the festivities have been extended for an extra two days. It is the only week in Lucca when more people wear sneakers than wear stilettos. Here are my new $29 American sneakers; I'm so glad I didn't buy the studded leather version for 175 euros.

When you see crazy coming . . . cross the street.

I lost my sheep.


Did you hear about the crazy American who teaches Metamorfosi?

You're x-box and I'm more atari

Nice costume!

Excellent costume!

2011-10-26T22:43:00.002+05:00

Ninja pigeon killers, hustling, and time travel

T says that lots of kids in her class are complaining about how much harder second year of middle school is compared to the first. For her it is just the opposite. Of course last year she was doing almost six hours of homework with me a day, three in English and three in Italian. Now she gets the job done by herself in one or two hours and life is good. It is mind blowing that I was begging her to try to speak in complete sentences in Italian this time last year and now the only help she wants from me for her history essay is to help her recopy it into nicer script for her bella copia.

Plus Natasha and T got to live out their babysitting dreams. They hit the motherload in the form of thirty kids whose parents were attending a meeting at the Foro on homeschooling. Up drove the VW vans and out came their surely-braver-than-I parents. The girls, apparently, did a magnificent job.

Some things, however, don't change. Last year we begged the office building next to our house not to use the electric pigeon killer because, among other things, whenever it rains it makes a constant electrical shocking sound every time a rain drop rolls down the gutters of the roof. They fixed the problem. Then this year as soon as we got our first big rain, the pinging noise was back. Anyway, as annoying as the pigeons can be, I think zapping them to death is perhaps a bit harsh.

Last year I wasn't working. (If you call doing six hours of homework a day with a furious eleven year old not working.) This year, I am always hustling. "Giuseppe" asked me to give private exercise classes to his wife, despite the fact that she payed the membership already for the fancy Ego gym. I don't have time to take the bus out to where they live, but if she is willing to come to me and pay me 25 euro for a private lesson, then I will carve out the time for her. I am still waiting to find out how the negotiations go. After his Bioenergy treatments, he can now move his finger that was not mobile due to a motorcycle accident which broke a bone and shortened a tendon in his hand. But he still doesn't believe that his results came from the treatments. He doesn't want to believe I helped him even though he was in full back spasm when he came to me and he left showing me all kinds of moves to demonstrate how athletic he is. He's a hoot, that Giuseppe.

I am also now teaching English once a week to my friend Claudia and she insists on paying me. I am making her read Eat, Pray, Love in both languages at once and she is just thrilled. It is the easiest money I've ever made, although during the course of an hour I have to ask her about seven hundred times to speak in English. I love her but she is una donna testarda.

Another example of how change is good is T's new hair color that came just in time for the Comics and Games festival (which attracts over 135 thousand manga outfitted teenagers to Lucca) and also Halloween (which does not really exist here). Check out the photo. So cool, right? She said the kids in her class asked what I did when I found out. They didn't wrap their brains around the fact that she had my full permission to dye some strands of her hair shocking pink. In many ways living in Lucca is like going back in time to the 1950s with 1980s fashion choices. Imagine Weird Al Yankovic on Happy Days. Or people who color coordinate their sweat suits with their hair ribbons, leg warmers and earrings. T is not amused.

2011-10-24T00:17:00.000+05:00

Tutti Pazzi per Amore

Everyone is Crazy for Love. But I am crazy number one. Not only have I planned this party two years (no, I wish I were kidding) in advance, but then I invited every Italian woman I know to come to it. Even having to limit the guest list to Italians, it is still sixty people. So far. Also I have become insane because unlike America, in Italy they don't tell you when the third season of your favorite television is going to go on the air. Wait. They do tell you, but here is the Italian part: then they go and change the date on you. So first they said on the internet that it would be on for October 16th and then they decided not to do it. Berlusconi had to wash his hair that night. I don't know why. So then by stalking individual actors on their Facebook pages, I found out that they changed the date to November 6. I don't know at what time, but that is okay since you can't invite Italians to do anything earlier than five days beforehand.

This promo says it all. The protagonist says: "It's tonight." And then he asks if the family were going to all watch it without him. His wife assures him that he is the protagonist. The tv announcer says the show is going to come on . . . in less than a month. Everyone moans. Then he says it wasn't in the tv guide. The tv talks directly to him and calls him by name and he talks back. His wife asks why he is talking to the television. Then he says, "You heard the tv talk to me; I'm not crazy." And in the end no one knows when the cavolo the show is going to come on the air. And this is the commercial for the show!

Tutti Pazzi per Amore is a show about a widower who falls in love with a divorcee after they move next door to one another and all of the hilarity and grief that ensue once they try to combine their three children and the totality of their lives including friends, elderly aunts, work buddies, and living space. They often burst into song and/or dance in flash mob style. The humor is wickedly dark which adds a nice balance to the complete lack of realism of the situations combined with the absolute emotional honesty that only Italians can deliver in a telefilm.

Aside from Un Posto al Sole, I learned more Italian by watching this series than with any teacher or text book. Plus my birthday is two days after Christmas when none of my friends are ever around so this is my way of saying happy birthday to myself. Since I tend to be poca realistica and also somewhat pazza myself this should be interesting. It will also be interesting to find out how many of the sixty Italian women would want to show up here on a Sunday night and if they did show up where the heck I would put them all or what they would sit on or drink out of.

p.s. Dear old "Giuseppe" came over with his wife who has a stressful job and some back and hormone issues that are making her miserable. I told them about my experiences with Bioenergy while serving them a nice red wine since I had no idea what food I could offer aside from raw vegetables that would not make me seem like a total hypocrite as a beacon of health and sanity (don't laugh.) I showed her where she could order a book on menopause by Christiane Northrup in Italian and I told her about Tracy Anderson. And they were lovely. And that is why we make dinner for everyone and their mother and I try so hard with people. Because I can. And because for me it is worth it.

p.p.s Only after I totally embarrassed myself calling Sig. Paoletti, the landlord, on a Sunday night did F investigate to find out all the valves were closed. Now we have heat! And I have to call back Sig. Paoletti. Argh.

p.p.p.s. If you see an ad for Christian Mingle under this post it was our way to try to earn money off the blog, but we don't get to choose the ads. Since we have only made 83 cents after months of posting these fill-in-the-blank ads you should know that we only keep them up because they make us laugh and it is fun to see what comes up based on the content of our forever wacky life in Italy.

2011-10-23T16:34:00.000+05:00

Flashback

Didn't we have this same fight last year? This same weekend last year, I begged F to turn the heat on. He swears that it is sixty-eight degrees Fahrenheit in here. Would I be able to feel my toes in my winter socks and boots and need to wear a winter coat inside if it really were sixty-eight degrees in here? I think not!

F says the law of Lucca is that you don't turn on the heat until the end of October. I start with the teeth chattering in this stone abode around the 20th even though it is perfectly sunny outside. What is going to happen if we turn it on now? Will the Italian heat police come? Do they wear cute outfits? I know the energy costs are high but why have a house, if you are going to freeze your tushy/chiappe off in it? Plus my brother is coming from Massachusetts on Friday. And so, just like last year -- like all good Italian citizens -- I had to go on strike! Now let's see if I can get these old radiators to cooperate.

Speaking of flashbacks. . . last year on this very day we were woken up by a lunatic with an extra forte microphone announcing the arrivals of the aluminum blanketed marathon runners every 14 seconds. I guess I had blacked it out because it came as a complete surprise when this third Sunday in October (holy recurring bat headaches, batman!) It happened again. Do the words Sunday morning mean anything to anyone anymore? Not to Giuseppe who was punctual to his 11am Bioenergy treatment and wants me to come meet his wife tonight.

Here is evidence of my sciopero/strike:

pretty please?

why not?

I mean it!

Here is evidence of our dinner with my little fidanzato and his family:

love is in the air

sniffing the hot sauce

our guests routinely sniff the hot sauce . . not to worry

love that hot sauce

2011-10-22T01:34:00.000+05:00

Freckles and whatnot

Those of you who really know me might wonder how in the world I ended up with several additional gorgeous girls all of whom have reddish hair and freckles under my roof on a Friday night. Well, I was asked if T's friend Caoimhe could sleep over tonight and I said sure. Then I heard Caoimhe's mom murmur something else. That something else turned out to be the names of the other two children. Well played. And that is how some people get a date night in Barcelona and I get . . . very little if any sleep, most likely.

But then it turned out that I was to get only two out of three, the biggest and smallest. The middle one is as easy going as they come, so I have no idea why I didn't get her too, but that's life minus the bragging rights. Also we must have had very bad reception on that cell phone conversation because they ended up being in Bologna and not Barcelona. Anyway, the smallest girl who has been known to give a leaping sciatic seizure inducing hug about the neck and sometimes a quick affectionate kick in the shins, turned out to be quite cuddly and rather winning after all. She was squirmy because the picture book did not have enough pictures and then she was rather put out by the lack of water nearby the bed; but, in the end, she was a good movie buddy (Enchanted) and refreshingly decisive, what with her I-want-the-blue-cup and this-pizza-is-too-peppery kind of no-nonsense-Dr.-Phil-with-an-Irish-accent kind of witticisms.

Meanwhile, "Giuseppe" from the gym has called me three times in the last twenty four hours because his back seized up while he was driving and he has decided to be a rather large baby about the whole thing. He wanted a Bioenergy treatment for his finger which has limited mobility, hopefully not due to a violent poking somebody incident, and so now he might even come over tomorrow for a back treatment. I think he is envisioning massage rather than non touching hand protocols, so that should be interesting -- provided he even makes it up the stairs and then doesn't faint when he sees how tall F is.

F is, at this moment, having a "business" meeting involving a lovely bottle of red wine and our downstairs neighbor from Switzerland named Beat pronounced Beh-at by everyone except F who prefers to refer to him by his rapper name: Swiss Beatz. It turns out he runs the Swiss public television network. Funny how the tall men disappear when small freckled people don't quite want to go to sleep just yet. Hilarious, in fact.10:01 They're still up;(.

Arrivederci, Brooklyn!

2011-10-20T13:17:00.001+05:00

Hard nuts to crack

When it is a brisk, sparkling autumn day in Lucca, you can buy hot, roasted chestnuts/castagne from the street vendors that get scooped up in white paper cups. Everyone lets the shells drop to the street and you can hear the crunching under your boots for days afterwards. It is so darn picturesque. This morning it is raining bone chilling gigantic gusts like pirate ship sails made of ice water. After a night of coughing (allergies I hope), I canceled my one student for my home fitness class this morning- the only one who had not canceled on me- to try and catch my breath before I have to teach this afternoon. It is cozy for the moment, at least.

Yesterday we got our renewed permessi di soggiorno and it was a love fest at the police station. We got invited back for hugs from my two police officer friends and it was just an utter joy to be fingerprinted by such lovely people.

Last night the same new student, a raven haired woman around my age who on Monday was counting over me and be rather sarcastic during class with the girls from the Guess store, was purring like a kitten and just as sweet as pie. I have to remember that sometimes people get defensive during their first class and act out in weird ways and it is not personal. I told this particular lady how fit she was, the absolute truth, and she just turned to mush. Kill them with kindness, I guess.

There is a peculiar flavor of female Italian defensiveness. When I told one of my favorite ladies from the LIFE gym that I would not need her to give me a ride home after class because my husband had to bring some documents to the gym for my boss, she yelled at me. I yelled back that she was the sweetest lady on the face of the planet earth. Mid-yell she chilled out. It was scary, actually. And it was alarming to the other people in the room who had just had their necks massaged. And yesterday afternoon I had three new ladies try my class at Happy Gym. While I was grateful for the new blood, this was a tough crowd. One of them literally stood there with her arms crossed in the back of the room and watched me with a grimace on her face. Any bets as to whether she will come back? At least the LIFE gym is still packing them in. I love nothing more than a full sala, people.

2011-10-17T21:38:00.001+05:00

Lucy & Ethel meet the waitresses

I'm not sure if F is Lucy or Ethel but here is what happened. There are two restaurants downstairs from our house in our tiny piazza: the restaurant we go to and the restaurant we don't go to. We always try to go to the restaurant where they make the good vegetarian soup and the owner and chef are super friendly when the other restaurant is closed so the people who probably don't even like us don't get their feelings hurt. The restaurant where we don't go is known as Osteria or Da Rosaleo. When we first moved in there was a grumpy waiter and a waitress we called sad girl because she never smiles. Then one day grumpy waiter who had grown on us over time disappeared and there were all new people. Sad girl came back several months later but grumpy waiter was no more. I hate walking by people everyday and not talking to them. It is stronger than me. So I invited all the waitresses and cooks from the restaurant downstairs to come for chocolate cake during the intervallo. When I asked Gabrielle, T's tutor, if I am the only person who would do this. She looked me in the eyes and said, yes.

F and I argued this morning because I thought it would be better to make the cake this morning (or rather if he made the cake this morning) and he thought it would be better to do it right before the arrived so the house would smell of chocolate and the cake would still be warm. But I got nervous because if the volcano cake gets overcooked it tastes terrible and there is no yummy molten part to win over the hearts and souls of the people who distrust us and who we have offended for months because there are almost no vegetarian options downstairs and we are saving money by eating at home. I wasn't sure they would even come since we made the invitation last week and they wanted to come today instead and so I had do the embarrassing trek downstairs to ask if they wanted tea or coffee as a subtle reminder (F's idea.)

Next an I love Lucy episode ensued in which I thumped on the cake and it appeared to be hard on top and I panicked. F maintained that the cake was probably molten underneath and my anxious kvetching made him nervous to the point that he took the cake out of the spring form too early so parts of it dropped off the sides and made it look nibbled. Then he whipped up cream but there was only a little left in the container and it just sunk into the nibbled off sides of the cake, making it look like it had been in a food fight with some sour milk. Luckily, Italians are always late. F started frantically scooping the cake into ramekins while I crammed them down with my fingers. It still looked bad so we cut up strawberries to put on the top. Then the door bell rang.

Cake smooshed into pots

The evidence of things gone very wrong...

Giggling is a good sign. Right?

Sad girl, Sandra & Carmen

Carmen the chef and Stefania

Me looking possessed explaining about accupressure. . .oy

We had made T and Gabrielle stay in to study so that they could be cute at the table if no one was talking. No one was talking. And neither did they. Awkward. But then slowly, after F left to pick up a homework sheet from T's friend's house and the girls were long gone, we all started chatting. I gave one of the cooks a neck massage. They stayed for two and a half hours. The chef took a brief nap at the table. I invited them to a party I plan to have next month and offered them that if they want to come up when it gets cold and they can't get home in between their shifts they could nap here or come in for a hot drink. They seemed pretty cheerful when they left. Even sad girl. So anyway now I can walk by and smile and it will be friendlier. And if they think I'm nuts it doesn't really matter.

2011-10-15T14:28:00.002+05:00

Figs and stuff

In trying to make sure that I heard my client say "what a figata" correctly after the neck massage I gave her, I looked up the term on word reference.com, one of my favorite sites for getting the low down on real Italian expressions. I had to share with y'all just how "low down" this particular discourse went. Read on with caution:

"Figo, figata, figa

Hi, Could someone give me the correct translation to the following words?

Figo, Figa, Figata, Figato. And there use in sayings like "Troppo figo"

What is the difference between "troppo figo" and "troppo figato"?

Re: figato figo???
Figa is a bit unpolite, slang way to say vagina

but it is really, really used by italian people in the spoken language...when you say "figo" it means cool, "troppo figo" that's too cool, it rocks!

usually you use the adjective "figa", if you are a man, between men, an you want to mean that a girl you know, or that you just saw passing by, is really really cute... (it would be nice if you would post me back some slang expression to mean the same thing in american or english slang, please )

ah! Italians, specially in the north, say Milan, use a lot "figa" as an exclaimation of surprise ^__^, or for swear a bit ...or just like a comma in their sentences...I'm for real!!

"è una figata!" that's a deal! or something like that

Figato really does not exist!!
I'm quite sure you are referring to Sfigato that both means a really unlucky persons or someone that girls and people in general don't really appreciate...a nerd basically...(without its strict-american informatic-expert acception, but sort of.. )
...troppo sfigato is super nerd or someone who's fighting against luck!!!

Re: figato figo???

These are slightly coarse words, although very common amongst young people

Figo cool (nice, fashionable) Troppo figo!-> sooo cool!

Figa- literally, female genitals (vulgar!), but also form for a female -> cool

Figata- something that is cool

Figato- I am afraid this term does not exist, Sfigato (or sfigata, female version) means the contrary of figo: normally, a problematic and sad young person who is therefore isolated by peers. (Note that the "real" sfigato is isolated because he is sad and problematic, and therefore no one can stand him, while I would call "emarginato" one who is sad because of isolation)

Women call sometimes "sfigato" a man who would do and say anything to have a sexual intercourse, with any woman avalaible, and often (obviously) fails!

Re: figato figo???

Actually Figato *is* used somewhere in Italy (Frosinone, for instance) and have the same meaning of the word Figo: cool thing, nice guy, ...

Re: figato figo???

...ok, let's say it is used somewhere in italy but it is not as spreaded as the other words...

if you're watching italian tv you'll probably hear (in movies, serials..) the words Figa, Figata, e sfigato...but surely not sfigato!!

I bet on it!!!

Re: figato figo???

...ok, let's say it is used somewhere in italy but it is not as spreaded as the other words...

widespread is the word you were looking for.

Re: figato figo???

this "figa" is kinda odd. so if someone refers to me as figa, should i be offended or flatered? just curious.

Smile Jesus loves you!

Re: figato figo???

Well, calling a girl "figa" is not very polite... It's a vulgar way to express appreciation for a girl's look, but after all it's a compliment, so I don't think you should be offended if someone refers to you as figa.

P.S.: Anyway, if you think you are a figa or if many guys call you like that, please let me know...

(JUST KIDDING!)

Re: figato figo???

If you don't mind being likened to a piece of meat, then I suppose you should not be offended.

Re: figato figo???

I guess Italian standards differ a bit compared to American. It's all in the context isn't it.

Thanks for the headsup on the word figato. I knew I heared it somewhere.

Re: figato figo???

I can just give my two cents here. The masculine form of this word is a cool/slang compliment for a guy, the feminine form is rather gross, but some girls might like it, that's a matter of personal choice and taste.

Also, cool can correspond to the Italian fico, though it's quite old nowadays, but that's how it's usually translated into Italian in movies and tv series etc.

Anyway, like any kind of slang, it's not suitable on some occasions and suitable on others.

Re: figato figo???

Also, cool can correspond to the Italian fico, though it's quite old nowadays,

What's the "new" term for cool?

Re: figato figo???

There are sooooooo many... "bangin'", "tight" and "phat" are three that pop to mind immediately. They're not really new, but they're still in heavy usage, and all are used in the context of a pretty girl walking by.

Re: figato figo???

the new term in italian for cool, instead of fico. I'm American too. I can say it in English.

Re: figato figo???

Well... it's figo.

We've been talking about it...

Re: figato figo??

usually you use the adjective "figa", if you are a man, between men, an you want to mean that a girl you know, or that you just saw passing by, is really really cute... (it would be nice if you would post me back some slang expression to mean the same thing in american or english slang, please ).

grazie a tutti

Re: figato figo???

I partially agree, personally, I think figo had better days... now you can also hear togo and ganzo.

Re: figato figo???

Could you please explain more about figata? I studied Italian but slang is always difficult to learn. I have heard the song "Che figata di serata" by Jovanotti and wondered the exact meaning. Grazie, amici!

Re: figato figo???

"She's really HOT!"

That's a way for one guy to say to another guy that a girl is really cute, sexy, attractive. I don't personally say this. I have a really big hang-up (attraction) to very smart women, and although some of them ARE hot, that's not what initially catches my attention. Perhaps I'm just weird.

There is another expression used a lot, but I really don't like it:

"What a piece of ass." I think this is a totally disgusting saying, totally insulting to women, so I really hope you will never use it. But you may hear it. "

I'll never eat fig newtons in the same way again . . .

P.S. To make things even more confusing, guess what the word for fig is in Italian? Il fico, of course! Il fico or la fica also means great or a great guy or girl. Non ci capisco un ficcosecco means I don't understand a thing!

2011-10-15T12:57:00.003+05:00

A lucchese bird that looks like a cross between a turkey and a huge pigeon!

Clouds and clearing things up

There is an expression in Italian that is supposed to be like "every cloud has a silver lining," but instead it goes, "not every cloud comes to hurt you." The Italian version contains just the right amount of paranoia and cynicism to appeal to me and also sums up what happened last night at Happy Gym. In short, no one showed up to my 9 pm class.

Flashing back in time for a second, it was a tough day. T had come home from school on Thursday with a 24 hour stomach virus which I woke up with on Friday, but I still had to go jump up and down at Happy Gym at 4 pm. I was shocked to see that in addition to my regular lady and the new lady, I also had a striking young women named Mathilde, who is from the south of France and is here studying for 7 months, and "Giuseppe" who took off from work early again to come to my class. Honestly, I felt like a queasy, bloated, boysenberry in my bright purple Happy Gym t-shirt accessorized by the big glowing zit on my forehead, but I smiled my way through it. After we had concluded the lesson with neck massages that were viewed by an audience of two dozen six-year-old disco dancers (how relaxing!), I got my two regulars to agree to search out some girlfriends to come along with them because our longevity as a class is probably in danger otherwise. Not surprisingly, Giuseppe cornered me about coming to his house near the river to give him inspiring private lessons, etc. Since he was only interested in 6 pm when I teach at LIFE gym or am preparing for the girls from the Guess store, I told him that I had to teach at the other gym. He decided to go and take a sample class at the other gym and maybe get a membership over there. I tried to stop him, not very hard though, because it beats shlepping over to the river or the scene that would have ensued in my own living room and I don't even know how much he would have forked up for an hour's lesson.

On a positive note, now I don't have to curse myself every Friday night for getting myself obligated to show up for another tiny class at Happy Gym while missing any fun stuff like going to a CDMAL cocktail hour or, oh, not doing anything, that might happen on a Friday night. It was a bit of humble pie, but I did have the brainstorm of giving my friend Mikole's class body rolling massages for the last ten minutes of her lesson, thus ingratiating myself with three more clients who left the place rolling their shoulders back and saying something that sounded like "what a figata" about how much they loved my trick for getting knots out of people's necks in less than three minutes.

The real good news is that last night the Bioenergy session for my little fidanzato, Lorenzo, who has autism, took a really emotional turn. I, literally, could not stick to the regular protocol we always do because my hands got pushed by his energy into this very irregular pattern. I did not know what was going on. Then I figured it out. He was communicating with me. I had tears in my eyes when it was over. His energy felt much more peaceful than usual. More quiet. I had set the intention to help Lorenzo to quiet the noises in his head which often make him put his fingers in his ears and yell throughout the day. Sure enough, when I called his mamma the next day to check on things, she told me that he had not yelled or put his fingers in his ears for the first time for the last three days. It was day three of this series of treatments. I am really excited to see what happens next!

2011-10-13T23:42:00.000+05:00

Don't be a people pleaser! Haven't you been listening for the last 25 years?

Saying si when I mean no no no!

It is all my fault. It was my idea to ask for the Friday night class at Happy gym. But then I thought my boss and I had a clear understanding that I would start this week at 8:30 pm when there is nothing on the printed calendar. However, she did not mean it or we didn't understand each other. I have no idea what happened. It seemed so clear to me when we had the conversation the first time but then she was so shocked that I had invited people for this week. It turns out that there is a class that takes place during that time slot but that it is just not on the calendar. Seriously? I can teach the class this Friday but starting at 9 pm. And lord I hope that just for this one off time I am not alone at Happy gym because that would be, well, sad. For me 9 pm is just too late. I'm trying to go to sleep at 10:30 or 11:00 pm, honestly.

Let me explain before you think that I am a boring, achey, mother of a certain age. My alter ego is just getting started at that time, what with being invited to one gala after another in fabulous restaurants and in spectacular Tuscan homes and not getting home until 3 AM, but still remembering to use eye makeup remover, and waking up fresh as a daisy the next morning. But my actual self is asleep. Mi capisci? The most important part of this story is that nobody told me that nobody but nobody goes to the gym on Friday nights. That is a lot of nobodys my friends. I don't remember what made me think it was the score of the century and that I'd have a packed room full of energy, adrenalin, and love. On the contrary, I would get the usual quattro gatti that I get now at 4 pm. At least there is some life at LIFE gym where the classes are filling up really nicely.

So I dropped by Happy gym today and explained to Amanda, who is kind of the top instructor there and teaches a little of everything, why I couldn't sleep last night. The idea was that she could in turn explain to Francesca, the boss lady, how the dopey American didn't know that everyone goes out on Friday night but without ever stopping at the gym first like some people do in New York. And while I was at it, I asked her where those people are going and if they are having a great time and if we could go some time and check it out. I know, I know I just said. . . But if I'm busy sleeping I'll send my alter ego.

What would Oprah say? Ahh the perennial question . . .

The other thing that happened is that all the girls from the Guess store that come to me for private lessons did not show up this week. The second time it happened they said they were all sick. I totally believe them because a brutal cold has been making the rounds in Lucca. We all had it two weeks ago. But then this friend of theirs showed up and I gave her a private lesson. She asked me if I could teach her auntie who can only come at 2pm in the afternoon, but I don't know if I can squeeze in another class since I am already teaching 10 hours a week. So for now the auntie is going to squeeze in with the other Guess crew which fluctuates with no pattern that I can discern between three and nine people. If you know how small our living room is you can feel free to gasp now. Gasp!

Then this character "Giuseppe" who is the only man to take all the classes at Happy gym took off from work to come take my class so that he could guilt me into teaching him privately. Now if he paid me enough and he is sincere in his desire to meet me to exercise, I might do it. But he is rather famous at the gym and he only speaks of his wife in that she doesn't understand me tone of voice that is always suspect and now he has thrown in that they have both gained weight recently, as if it is all her fault. I told him that I couldn't teach him if it was going to rob business from the gym, but he said he was going to go ahead and pay them the annual membership in any case. I don't know. I just don't know.

I would like more money, but not more hours. I don't know if I should be saying si or no or quando, quando, quando.

2011-10-11T18:32:00.002+05:00

Can you carry a dog on a vehicle with two wheels if it is smaller than 50cm and in a case?

Domanda n.5


	I veicoli sono tanto più sicuri, nella circolazione, quanto più le loro masse sono differenziate


		V	F

This basically asks if vehicles in circulation are much safer because their masses are different. The answer is "True."

Makes no sense to me either...

And if it's "True," why is this true, too?

"The driver of an SUV (SUV) should drive with extreme caution, aware that the height and mass of your vehicle are a potential danger to pedestrians, cyclists and cars of modest size."

Domanda n.8


	Il conducente di un fuoristrada (Suv) deve guidare con la massima prudenza, consapevole che l'altezza e la massa del proprio veicolo costituiscono un potenziale pericolo per pedoni, ciclisti e autovetture di modeste dimensioni


		V	F

Or this?

"At night, when there are missing or insufficient or rear position lights or emergency lights it is required to signal that the vehicle is stationary with the mobile triangular danger signal even in residential areas."
Here you have to know that you never use the triangle in an inhabited area. All the rest is just there to trick you...

Domanda n.9


	Di notte, quando mancano o sono insufficienti le luci posteriori di posizione o di emergenza, è obbligatorio presegnalare il veicolo fermo con il segnale triangolare mobile di pericolo anche nei centri abitati


		V	F

And finally, true or false: "The driver of a vehicle with two wheels can take a dog if it is smaller than 50cm and in a case that fits in your shopping cart."

Domanda n.14


	Il conducente di un veicolo a due ruote può portare un cane se è più piccolo di 50cm e in un caso che si inserisce nel carrello


		V	F

Can you carry a dog on a motorcycle? Being Italy, I wouldn't be that surprised if you can. Or possibly it means that you could carry one on a bicycle, so therefore it is possible...

So the upshot of all of this is that I have failed my driver's test for the second time. Che palle! I now have to go back and be reevaluated by the autoscuola doctor and wait another month to take it again. Meanwhile my NY license expires on the 23rd of October.