The Belmont Bloggetin
Friday, September 26, 2003
Culture Clash Revisited
Hello. Sorry for the long wait.
I have definetely settled in now, been meeting people I like, and getting a grip of what's cooking in this big pot.
It is with some dismay that I've found out not all ingredients to be fresh, or ripe, or even edible.
Some things are just funny: it brings a smile on my lips when people ask me things like "do you have pizza in Italy" (how about the dreaded "refrigerator" question?), when they seem to believe that it's a far off, exotic, completely different place only to be completely bedazzled by the fact that, say, our educational system has nothing in common with the American one. Yup, folks, no campuses, no colleges, and, believe it or not, public schools are actually GOOD and tuition runs at about 15 hundred bucks a year...cool, huh?
Another thing that I found out to be sadly true is that, well, how can I put this without offending anyone...let's say that a good amount of students probably took too many elective courses in their High Schools years.
Want a proof? While I have a firm grasp of US history (I may not remember the exact dates, but I can place events like the Declaration of Independence, the Civil War and the Great Depression in chronological order), about every other person I asked missed the French Revolution by a good fifty years. When it was not two centuries. Some were "European History Honors".
But who cares for Europe, anyway?
Luckily, what may be the general trend is not the case for everyone. And, to be true, while the actual percentages may be lower, there's folks in Italy who probably don't know much (and couldn't care less) on Italian history, let alone the European or US one. But this is not enough to shadow my feeling.
Coming from maybe the most culture-oriented country in the world, I must say I'm displeased. Next I will tell you about the chill that run down my spine when I found what the buzz about Darwinism was.
Be Good, and do your Homework, for cripe's sake!
J
Sunday, September 14, 2003
Another paper from my english class. There's a funny passage I am fond of in there.
Hear ye, hear ye! Ladies and Gentlemen, let me invite you all on a Magical Mystery tour of my picture ID’s. But, please, take that perplexed look out of your faces – I promise you it’s going to be fun.
First on the list is my School ID. Subject: a visibly jet-lagged student. He is not smiling: more often than not, he ends up being less than satisfied by his pictured smiles. So, instead of spreading over his teeth, his mouth is shut, if slightly crooked. If asked about it, the subject would reveal liking this particular picture. It is an overall neutral, open to different readings one.
The face itself is portrayed while in a very asymmetrical expression. The right side, although slightly shaded, looks happier, more serene: by covering the other half, that hint of a crooked grin actually looks like a smile.
The left side, however, looks completely different. The eyebrow is slightly raised, the offspring of one of the subject’s most typical perplexed, or sarcastic facial expressions. By mirroring this half, we end up looking at a face that tells absolutely nothing about its bearer. It could be the picture on a criminal record, or on a hospital file. It’s a scary face, a face of no feelings.
Yet it is interesting to note how the two expressions blend together into an ordinary expression of quietness. While the two halves may not reflect different aspects of the subject’s personality, the result of their combination is actually very accurate.
Now, I have to tell you, dear “tourists”, I am tired of referring to myself in the third person. You will se more I’s, me’s, and my’s in the following paragraphs.
If we were to take a look at the pictures on my passport, we would be in for some serious giggling. The main one is now seven years old, and I was barely a teenager when it was taken. If I remember correctly, it was just a few minutes I had gotten out of bed, too. So, that one is basically a kid’s picture. I am smiling, but I have not the smartest of expressions. I was still very sleepy.
The picture on my F-1 visa is definitely more interesting, and it shares the same sleepy heritage. I took it only a month ago, one Italian August morning at six a.m., before boarding the train that would take me to Milan, where I was to start a last-minute visa procedure. I sat in the small automatic picture cabin, smiled, and waited for the flash. Flash. When the four pictures came out, I couldn’t refrain from groaning: I had closed my eyes in perfect sync with the shutter.
I had to take another one, and decided NOT to smile, but focus on keeping my eyes well-opened. The result is a picture that makes me wonder how I managed to get that visa.
In a single word, I look menacing. My brown eyes have the same kind of deep, fixed stare than the pictures of Islamic Fundamentalists on newspapers have. My mouth is shut tight, not even crooked, the muscles of my face rigid. I am glad I shaved before taking this picture - otherwise I could have well been mistaken for the long-lost bastard son of Osama Bin Laden, emerging from a past of tranquility in Italy.
The photo on my driver’s license is almost too tiny to be examined in its details. I look halfway between bored and annoyed – with the ever present hint of weariness.
I guess I’m not that photogenic when it’s time to be portrayed for identification documents – and I must admit I find sitting in front of the camera and having to smile quite a thorn in the side: I’d rather be able to use pictures taken in more spontaneous expressions, even though my narcissistic self would probably be “less than satisfied” all the same.
Saturday, September 13, 2003
Alhoa
The days go by at a steady pace. It's a good sign. It means that I'm keeping my mind occupied with constant applications. It means that I have less time to sit idle, and think how far I am from home. I mean, it's not that I don't like my *new* life here - actually, I must say I love it, with a few caveats - it's just that I have left behind so many good things. I said things - I should have said people. The only real thing I miss is my sea.
The people are so hard to replace.
Friends of my high school years, friends of those hard, bitter, let's say tragic times, friends that have been more than shoulders to lean upon. It's so hard to keep in touch. It's probably harder for them - I mean, I'm the one who thinks about home at least five times a day - my absence from their lives is probably bound to be far less noticeable. They will begin their classes soon - anytime from a week from next monday. Their life is going on, and hopefully, once the huge train of schedules, tests and exams gets rolling, we will find ourselves together again, in December.
I hope they're having a good time.
J
Tuesday, September 09, 2003
Welcome back.
The few past days have been sort of hectic: several things have happened, most of them at the same time, and I have had very few free time to dedicate to this place.
I met a fellow guitarist, and so far it's been the absolute best encounter I have made.
It is funny how we got together because of the guitar, and the guitar alone. He was playing under the shade of a tree, as I walked by. "Man, he sounds good", I thought, and stopped. He looked a bit embarassed, and I can understand him as I was kind of staring at him. "Keep playing", I invited him, and he played some more. Superior stuff. very musical, very groovy, very well played. I loved it. He stopped once more, looked at me with almost an expression of fear and went "Are you the classical guitar player, the one who performed at the open Mic last wednesday?". of course I was. I am the very best ITALIAN classical guitarist on campus. :D
That same evening we got together at the party I've been telling you about, and played together. Things really clicked into place - almost frightengly so. Our styles complement each other perfectly, or at least so it seems to my ear.
On sunday night, we wrote our first song together. It still needs some polishing, but it's got a very nice attitude and a distinct flavour.
I can't wait - what for, you ask? Well, for writing and arranging more songs with this guy. For a chance to share a stage with him. This is gonna be good.
J
Sunday, September 07, 2003
This is a short piece I had to write for my english class. it's about home, so I thought I'd share it.
La Citta’ Vecchia
It was not the first time I was going to Genova’s old town, il centro Storico, a daedalus of narrow alleys and ancient buildings built on top of each other, the largest surviving medieval settlement in the whole world. Some of the houses are more than nine hundred years old, and when you’re a kid they seem to be looking at you through their blackened windows like a series of vecchie signore, smiling crooked smiles that really look more like grins – it was not my first time there, but it was a special time, nonetheless. My father, for some reason known only to him, had decided he would take me to the Aquarium and then through those winding tiny streets in which he had grown up four decades before, and all of this on a beautiful spring morning in which I was supposed to be at school.
I enjoyed my n-th visit to the Aquarium as only a kid could, and I wasn’t through until it was time for lunch. We went from the Old Port up to the historic borough of Sottoripa, heading to a place renowned for its freshly made custom sandwiches. I still go there from time to time, more than ten years later – and the sandwiches are still the best in town.
Dad would drink his usual beer, and let me taste it – “just a tiny little sip”, he’d say, just like every time Mom wasn’t around. I loved him for doing so, for letting me take a glimpse at manhood, for having yet another little secret between us. Things like having me have some of his beer, or going to the stadium together for each of Sampdoria’s home matches were probably the very bonds that helped us stick together and don’t fight each other all the time once there was only the two of us left.
I can’t remember what road we took, whether we went up via degli Orefici and into Piazza di Campetto, or if he showed me all the way to the breath-taking majesty of Santa Maria di Castello, gracefully suspended between the sea and the sky. I do remember him telling me tales from the days when Genova ruled the Mediterranean, from the time of the Dogi, and how those very streets witnessed scenes of great courage and of vile treachery. Most of the houses still have unlikely stooping watchtowers, from which the sentinels would cry the alarm at the sighting of the Moors’ ships.
The smell of the street is probably just the same as it was a thousand years ago: a unique, extraordinary blend of sea breeze, fish, frying oil, garbage, and cat piss. Not a pleasing smell, by any sort, but still the smell of the Citta’ Vecchia, the smell of my city. It is incredible how even something that dreadful can stir a moving sense of affection into the human soul: when I walk the alleys of my city, I don’t hold my breath, I don’t quicken my pace in search for fresh air, but get to the point of savoring that odor, letting it take me back to all the previous times I have ventured down and into that intricate maze.
And as the one path Dad and I took that day loses importance, it still pleases me to remember the way he would teach me all he knew about our beautiful, stern, smelly city, and how those “vecchie signore” wouldn’t scare the kid I was anymore, but rather look like a group of old, reassuring family members.
As we went back down towards the port and our car, we could hear the high pitched cries of the fish market’s sellers, and Dad would translate the name of the fishes from the Genovese dialect for me. It was time to go home.
Friday, September 05, 2003
Rejoice, everyone! It's friday, and it's well past noon, and I don't know about yours but my classes are over for this week.
*peeks at schedule*
uh-oh...now what's this...saturday, 9 to 5, ORATORIO RETREAT?
*faints*
...
.....
...
As you can infer, I'm not really fond of oratorio, but, y'know, I'm the stoic type.
There's a party tonight, which can only mean GOOD as I will hopefully get to know the few peolple I've met so far better, and better, and better. I'll let all know about that later.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Surf there if you feel brave enough. Being able to read Italian could come in handy, though.
Be good,
J
Thursday, September 04, 2003
D'ä mæ riva
sulu u teu mandillu ciaèu
d'ä mæ riva
'nta mæ vitta
u teu fatturisu amàu
'nta mæ vitta
ti me perdunié u magún
ma te pensu cuntru su
e u so ben t'ammii u mä
'n pò ciû au largu du dulú
e sun chi affacciòu
a 'stu bàule da mainä
e sun chi a miä
tréi camixe de vellûu
dui cuverte u mandurlin
e 'n cämà de legnu dûu
e 'nte 'na beretta neigra
a teu fotu da fantinn-a
pe puèi baxâ ancún Zena
'nscià teu bucca in naftalin-a
From my shore
with only your white napkin
from my shore
into my life
your bitter smile
into my life
please forgive my broken voice
but as I think of you the sun glows in my eyes
and I know well you're looking at the sea,
just a bit further out than our sorrow
and I'm here in front
of this sailor's chest
and I'm here looking at
three flannel shirts
two covers and a mandolin
and a hardwood ink pot
and in a black cap
your picture as a girl
so that I can kiss Genova again
on your naphthalene lips
***
"Da a me Riva", by late Genovese Songwriter and Poet Fabrizio de Andre'.
The attempt of a translation to english is my own fault.
I guess I'm a bit homesick.
Me be back.
Yesterday night was Open Mic night. I had been looking forward for that, as I knew that performing a piece of two could be probably the best way to break the ice and get to know a few people.
I wasn't really worried about the set duration, which kept shrinking as my turn onstage approached - I knew that I just had to get up there, crack my usual silly joke, and play at my best.
I picked a song of my own, one I knew I would be comfortable playing, one I was sure the people would like. Slow, moody, melodic, and sweet. it's probably the best thing I've written, or a close second. You can download it
here
along with some other songs of mine. The one I played yesterday is called "How Good it Would Be"
(note to self: write a guide, "how to turn your english class blog in a shameless self plug")
And the song surely hit the mark. I met people who kept complimenting on my playing all day - not bad! I'm kind of happy about it because it's not like I played to impress anyone (I could have chosen one of the faster paced, flashier pieces); I just played to convey all the emotions that I put into that little song.
Tuesday, September 02, 2003
What I learnt today:
DO take an umbrella or a k-way or a portable gazebo of sorts WHENEVER you leave your room.
The weather changes fast here, moreso when you spend hours in the SOM's dungeons...*creepy*
London, be ashamed!
This has been the official first time I've felt COLD outside since I came here. Must be because of that drenched tee in the pouring rain...*rolls eyes*
Be Good,
J
Monday, September 01, 2003
Welcome back, dear visitors. First of all, please excuse the utter meaninglessness (cool word, if existant) of my last post / I was severely jetlagged and not so hot about "writing about your most thrilling experience at Belmont as of yet"...
Now things are different. Very different.
The report of these first few days is as positive as it can be. Heck, I'm even learning how to play the piano! The campus is cool, the people are cool, the weather is freacking hot but for gosh's sake something has got to give. The caf food is alright - who would have said that?
I'm even starting to meet a few people - that's incredible if you let me say it... *rolls eyes*
We'll see if I get a chance of keeping this thing sort of regular
Take care, wandering souls
*******Italian Meassage to follow
Ciao Euge! (e gli altri)
Qui la vita va bene, benone, non ci si lamenta.
Ho appena finito di mangiare e devo dire che il cibo fa tutt'altro che schifo.
Uno dei pochi problemi e che le nuove conoscenze si contano sulle punte delle dita di una mano, sebbene due di queste siano due topoline molto carine. We'll see how I fare.
statemi bene, ed inquinatevi di fronte alla maestosita' del mio 100 nel quiz della pecorella coprofaga.
vs.
J
