Dull, dull, dull

Howdy all! It’s a clear, cool night in Rome. An absolutely gorgeous red moon is hanging over the hills of Abruzzo in the distance. All this from my terrace. Quite nice…and yet I feel no inspiration lately. Too tired from work and then the inevitable homework questions from DRK. I need a few more hours in the day. At least I’m reading another book…trying to research a major setting in my book and fill up my coffers of ignorance with a modicum of knowledge. Am I reaching too far? It’s all a bit scary.  

That’s it. Not much more. Life is dull, dull, dull.

A Change of Mind

I had planned this whole blog entry about cultural differences, annoyances I face every day in Italy and then I saw this video, shot all over the world. Something as simple as dancing…I dare you not to smile!

Whip

Bloody true

First, congrats to la Gringa. Finished book #2. That is a huge accomplishment and not to be taken lightly. Hot dog, that’s great news. Me, I’ve been under the weather lately. I gave blood last week and wasn’t aware that I had a minor virus at the same time. A pint down in the red stuff, the virus took charge and chased me to bed. For three days straight, it was like being car sick. Non-stop. But it’s over. And the blood donation was worth it. Maybe it’ll save someone or make that surgery a bit easier. 

And me, I’ve now given blood in 5 different countries. That’s a noble accomplishment, right?

Here in Italy, I should have learned the words for dizzy before I arrived. When the light headedness took over and I grew all sweaty and clammy while at the food table, I walked back to the nurses. “Are you fine?” The words to describe my condition escaped me so I just said, “No.” And boom, the room jumped into action. A nurse cleared the couch in the teacher’s lounge (Blood drive was in the teacher’s lounge at DRK’s school). She laid me down and threw down drops of some nasty liquid down my throat. Another nurse held up my feet. A third, the one who actually took my blood, came over to check on me. Everyone was so nice, caring, helpful. Both the nurses and the fellow donors. After a few minutes, the blood giving dizziness was gone, I chowed down and left. It was only an hour later when the viral nausea hit. Later in the day, when DRK called, she said her mother mentioned I had almost fainted. Rather than ask how her poor father was, she grew desperate on the phone and asked, “Did anyone see you? Did any teachers know who you were?” My health be damned. She just didn’t want to be embarrassed. I told her everyone saw and that I wore a nametag that said, “DRK’s father.” She was none to happy.

Oh, and a question, with all these needles and blood, why don’t the nurses wear latex gloves? 

Whip

The Logic Board has Died

More tales of computer woe! Not only does La Gringa’s poor letter “P” not work, which is a huge deal for a book about the Perils of Paulina in Panama, but DRK’s computer has just passed away. It was a quiet death, dragged out. The video card, built into the Logic Board on her Macbook Pro is no more. It was always troublesome, but I figured we could fix it. We went out to the Apple Store in Rome (sorry La Gringa, the first and only Apple Store on the old Continent is in Rome!) The Genius Bar was kind and told us no problem we could fix. The estimate? The same price as a new PC and only guaranteed for 3 months. Ah…no thank you, Apple!. So we bought a new PC, and that’s PC and not Mac. Of course, being in Italy that means I will forever be stuck with Windows in Italian. Italian, French, German, whatever. We gringos are used to this. We deal with it all the time. Trying to figure out how to get the accent marks, QWERTY vs. QWERTZ. I’ve dealt with Austrian keyboards, Swiss French keyboards, French keyboards (yes different from Swiss French) and now Italian. At the very least, Italian keyboards are baseline QWERTY. Phew! 

We are momentarily inconvenienced, however. We have been a 2 computer family, but were going to upgrade and become a 3 computer family this summer. We are now a 1 computer family for a few days. Doesn’t work. Thankfully, we pick up our new treasure on Thursday.

I only hope the “P” works. :>)

 

Whip

I can’t say goodbye

I’d like to moan and groan for a second. Yanno, feel sorry for myself despite my many good fortunes. You see, I wrote a book, a pretty good one I think, got myself an agent, edited the damn manuscript to death (many, many times). Said agent then sent it out, got some interest, but no major bites. It’s six months and about 10 rejections later. I’m beginning to fear said agent might one day give up and toss in the towel. If so, should I follow along? It’s a rhetorical question, mind you, because, as the title says, I can’t say goodbye. I know I can’t. Not yet anyway. No publisher yet believes in my exciting cyber-adventure, but I still believe. Alas, I don’t count. I don’t publish books. Just write ‘em. So, I sit here on this rainy Roman night, alone (DRK’s in England and Wifey’s in Florence) and wonder, what’s next? There has to be someone out out there for me. Where are you? 

Whip

Screaming for Screens

Glad to see La Gringa is back from the Far East. Her comments on 1st world vs. 3rd world were interesting. Truthfully, I have no idea what’s PC anymore and frankly don’t care. At 3 Outlanders, we tell it like it is. And today, I’m telling you there’s something wrong with Europe. They don’t believe in screens. Be they on doors or windows. Nope. We’ve got just your plain doors and plain windows on plain old houses (that are rarely air conditioned, even in hot old Italy). Personally, I don’t mind heat so I’m cool without air conditioning (that pun was unintentional but nice!) but it does get hot. I do need to open doors and windows to let in fresh breezes. But without screens, that means I also let in a ton of bugs, flies and fat old bees. My apartment is buzzing with them ALL summer. Sure, I could get a screen, but it’s so rare, that I have to go to a specialty shop and get them made to order. VERY expensive. And no one I know has them. I remember one of my chores when I was a wee lad growing up in NY was to take down the regular doors on the house and put up the screen doors. Until I came to Europe, I thought that was the norm. Screen doors make sense, especially in Rome. And yet, they haven’t heard of them. 3rd world vs. 1st world. You tell me.

Yours in whiptitude. Whip

btw-I finally put up my picture. It’s semi-current. At least you get an idea of the kid who had to put up the screens every summer.

PS 22 Rocks to Tori Amos

Make sure your school’s music department is supported. We all might not sing well (take me for instance), but music is something we all need. It is present everywhere, in every culture. Check out the kids in this school choir. They are so into the music. And what an amazing music teacher. I wish I had one like that growing up.

Sing!  Whip

What I’m reading – April 2008

I love a good thriller/mystery and found a really great author. Natsuo Kirino. She’s Japanese and only a few of her works have been translated into English. I’m reading her first mystery, “Out“. And what’s great about it is the depth she gives to her characters. Some rather chilling scenes. The fact that the four female protagonists seem real, everyday and ordinary makes it even scarier. Check it out.

Got any Stamps?

I don’t feel that sorry for La Gringa because as terrible as her Post Office experience was (and I’ve suffered through many in Paris) Rome’s got you beat. I’ve waited numerous times on line only to get to the front and be told, “Sorry, out of stamps.” The first time shocked me to the core. A post office out of stamps? I said as much. The woman behind the counter just shrugged as if it was a common occurrence, which I fear it was. “Try back tomorrow.” What about using that fancy printing machine? I didn’t need special stamps. I don’t collect. Nope, she said. That’s for packages. Make sense yet?

Anyway, come back I did. With one more line to suffer through. At least it didn’t happen at tax day. Yes, we have to file our returns even from far away. The long arm of the IRS! 

Be Nice to Outlanders Day

Obviously the lady next to me on the Metro hadn’t heard. As usual, it was mega crowded. Rush hour mind you and some teenage boy decided to lean against the pole that we weary travelers use to hold on to. A short woman next to me couldn’t reach the overhead bars and motioned to me to make room for her to squeeze in and hang on to the pole. She said something but I had my iPod on so didn’t hear. Still, I moved away to allow her access before the train took off and she fell. She stuck her hand in, then pulled it away and made some angry motion with her hand. I nodded as I assumed she was talking about the rude boy who had usurped the entire post, oblivious to the rest of us trying to stay upright. I slid my hand down to give her more room. Instead of grabbing on, she pointed at my hand. Huh? I grunted. She then proceed to flick the name tag on my bag in disgust. What the hell? I should point out that my name tag is actually my business card. She smacked it a second time. It then dawned on me. You see the Metro in Rome (I used to live in Paris with La Gringa and Seattlite, but have decamped to Rome) is over crowded and not very clean. But I don’t blame anybody. Anything overcrowded gets dirty. And with all the hands going from nose to mouth to poles, I’ve had numerous cases of heavy, itchy rashes. So, I was holding on to the pole through the sleeve of my coat. For some reason, this pissed Signora Loser off. On top of that, a quick read of my business card and she tagged me as a foreigner, some elitist who was too good to hang on to the pole with his bare hands like the rest of Rome. After the second flick of my card, I said, FU. At which point, she started to speak very loudly, “LALALALALALALALA”. You know, like your five year old kid would do when he/she doesn’t want to hear you give orders. I called her another choice word. “LALALALALALALALA.” Petulant, isn’t she? “What is your prob—” Cut off by another chorus of “LALALALALALALALAs.”

Of course, it’s a funny story and I wasn’t harmed in anyway, but there’s that initial moment when you’re singled out and lambasted for no other reason than being a foreigner. In my 14 years abroad, it’s happened only a few times (but at least once in the four countries I’ve lived in), and it cuts you because it’s proof positive, a reminder you don’t belong. I never expected to become a full member of society, but I have been careful to blend in, follow the local customs, as a courtesy. Now, it’s a good story for dinner parties, but it does hurt, for a brief moment, to feel the undeserved hate. We outlanders sometimes struggle to fit in anywhere. Even back home. And I’m not talking about the Europhiles who lambast all things American because they have now found culture. Gross! Living in a foreign culture changes you because you have very original experiences, something a typical American wouldn’t be aware of. This is not a criticism, just a fact of life. It’s no different than a New Yorker living in LA for 14 years. You change and become something you weren’t before. But you’re still a New Yorker at heart. Me, I’m always going to be an American. Proud of that, but I haven’t lived a typical American life. Fitting in completely anywhere takes effort. So even a nasty lady on the Metro can remind you just how tough that effort is.

Anyway, the woman get off at my stop. Hope I see her tomorrow. I won’t yell or complain or say anything vulgar this time. I’ll just blow her a kiss and say Buongiorno Signora! Come va?

 Your foreign friend, Whip