Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Car!
In case it wasn't apparent from my last post, I would like to make it clear that I am extremely happy that my car is here. Just like Kyra Sedgwick in Singles, I really love my car.
Mall rat
So last night I baked pumpkin cookies. While they were in the oven, I tried on the excellent thrift store purchases I made earlier in the day, which include a perfectly worn-in pair of brown Doc Marten twin straps for $3. Oh yes. The beginning of the week filled with retail success: two malls and the thrift store.
Sunday afternoon, my friend C drove us to Vulcano Buono, a mall built to look like a mountain from the outside -- hillside with grass growing on it, in which are doors into the mall. C and I were just interested in seeing what was there and picking anything up if it caught our eyes. And I was looking for one of those stovetop milk steamer/frother thingies for making cappucino at home. It was wonderful to spend the afternoon with C. We met during the orientation events and I liked her a lot; she seemed like my kind of person. She's been busy with family and work, so we haven't had a chance to hang out.
I don't think I've written much about the fashion situation here (if I'm wrong, just skip ahead, of course). I was a little anxious, fashion-wise, about coming to Italy. I mean, Dolce & Gabbana were my favorite designers for more than a decade. (Speaking of D&G, how awesome is the top photo here? Totally awesome.) Luckily, things are not too fancy in my zone. I've heard it's very different in Rome -- crazy fancy -- but my less-than-36-hours there didn't expose me to anything too humbling.
What I have noticed is that styles are much more rigid. There are not very many things one can wear and still be alla moda, unlike everywhere I've lived in the U.S., where there's quite a range of options that are all fashionable. For example, bootcut jeans? Frump. The only stylish option is skinnies tucked into knee-high boots. In our area, the boots are mostly flat, riding styles, with a high number of wedges thrown in. (I've heard that it's all stilettos in Rome, but in two months I've seen less than a dozen pairs here.)
Then there's the color thing: purple is in right now. And by "in," I mean that there's such widespread adherence to this trend that the pedestrian areas in the city look like they were art directed. Fully 60 percent of the people, the tall and the small, will be wearing something in some shade of purple: scarf, sweater, tie, shirt, pants, bag. All the window displays feature purple clothing. My friend E tells me that it was pink earlier in the year, but things have shifted.
It's kind of impressive, but I am a little worried about when the trend shifts again, because then my purple t-shirts and sweater and scarves (which I am glad I already had when I got here!) will be so clearly "last season" -- a phrase I have only ever used in jest before. At the same time, I am kind of sick of the purple at this point, and it's only been two months.
At any rate, I was thinking about this because as C and I browsed from store to store, we started burning out. This isn't really surprising since it turns out that we're well matched in liking to acquire cute things but not liking to actually shop. We only did the first floor before we hit retail overload. In one of the last stores we went into, C pinpointed one of the problems: every store has the same stuff. Choose your price point and your fabric, but the clothes are remarkably similar from one spot to the next. And there are only so many purple sweaters a girl can see before burning out.
It is the saldi -- sales -- period, though. (Sales are only at certain times of the year here.) I got four sweaters and a sweater dress in what felt kind of like my seasonal Target t-shirt run in the U.S., in terms of stocking up. None of these items were purple (teal, grey, greyed spruce, and navy). C got a scarf and leggings and a sweater. And then we stopped and had a glass of wine at the conveniently located wine bar to revive ourselves from all those purple and lavender and violet and raspberry sweaters we'd seen.
Unfortunately, the kitchen store on the first floor only had one stovetop milk steamer/frother thingy, and it had a design-y wooden handle and was too expensive, so I passed it up. Fortunately, I ran into my friend H at the gym yesterday, and she was down with joining me on another shopping expedition. We went to a lower-end mall that's closer to home, and I met with great success in crossing things off my list.
On the way there, I also lost the right side mirror off my car. Well, I guess lost isn't exactly accurate. I imagine that the impact I felt was my side mirror hitting a parked car's side mirror, but all the parked cars were fine and intact, and my mirror fixture is still there. The glass is just missing. Hm.
At any rate, I did get a milk steamer (need to find out the actual name of that thing). I already think I may get a different one -- what I passed up because I thought was too expensive is probably just about right for the quality.
I also found:
And then the impulse buys: peach juice, my new favorite; squid ink pasta; and prosciutto crudo (already eaten). I eat a lot of prosciutto crudo these days. And by a lot, I mean . . . well, let's just say a lot, shall we?
Oh, and since I'm talking food, here's a picture of a bag of my favorite candy here so far:
The trip home from that mall turned into quite an adventure. We didn't go the right way for the highway, it turns out, so I switched on the GPS, which got us home . . . after a while. It was all surface streets, with no lights or lines on any part of the road, of course. Dark, raining, the only light streaming from oncoming headlights and no line at the shoulder to watch for guidance. It was great, though, because I had no qualms about slowing down as much as I wanted. I knew that anyone who thought I was too slow would just go around me. I love that.
So we wound around and went long ways on surface streets, and finally the nice GPS lady started directing us to something she just called an alley. And we had to turn under a giant concrete overpass-looking bridge with lots of chain link all around, which I was sure was going to abruptly become a dead end with lots of menacing types waiting for us. But instead we curved around some more and then came out behind our community. Phew! But wait!
We drove around and further around and further around outside the fence, thinking the GPS was taking us to the gate. But no! "Arriving at home, on right," she says. And, well, yes, there was my apartment . . . some distance away . . . on the other side of the fence.
So, home safe and with thrifting scores on top of all that, I'm wondering: what was your latest shopping score, retail or thrift?
Sunday afternoon, my friend C drove us to Vulcano Buono, a mall built to look like a mountain from the outside -- hillside with grass growing on it, in which are doors into the mall. C and I were just interested in seeing what was there and picking anything up if it caught our eyes. And I was looking for one of those stovetop milk steamer/frother thingies for making cappucino at home. It was wonderful to spend the afternoon with C. We met during the orientation events and I liked her a lot; she seemed like my kind of person. She's been busy with family and work, so we haven't had a chance to hang out.
I don't think I've written much about the fashion situation here (if I'm wrong, just skip ahead, of course). I was a little anxious, fashion-wise, about coming to Italy. I mean, Dolce & Gabbana were my favorite designers for more than a decade. (Speaking of D&G, how awesome is the top photo here? Totally awesome.) Luckily, things are not too fancy in my zone. I've heard it's very different in Rome -- crazy fancy -- but my less-than-36-hours there didn't expose me to anything too humbling.
What I have noticed is that styles are much more rigid. There are not very many things one can wear and still be alla moda, unlike everywhere I've lived in the U.S., where there's quite a range of options that are all fashionable. For example, bootcut jeans? Frump. The only stylish option is skinnies tucked into knee-high boots. In our area, the boots are mostly flat, riding styles, with a high number of wedges thrown in. (I've heard that it's all stilettos in Rome, but in two months I've seen less than a dozen pairs here.)
Then there's the color thing: purple is in right now. And by "in," I mean that there's such widespread adherence to this trend that the pedestrian areas in the city look like they were art directed. Fully 60 percent of the people, the tall and the small, will be wearing something in some shade of purple: scarf, sweater, tie, shirt, pants, bag. All the window displays feature purple clothing. My friend E tells me that it was pink earlier in the year, but things have shifted.
It's kind of impressive, but I am a little worried about when the trend shifts again, because then my purple t-shirts and sweater and scarves (which I am glad I already had when I got here!) will be so clearly "last season" -- a phrase I have only ever used in jest before. At the same time, I am kind of sick of the purple at this point, and it's only been two months.
At any rate, I was thinking about this because as C and I browsed from store to store, we started burning out. This isn't really surprising since it turns out that we're well matched in liking to acquire cute things but not liking to actually shop. We only did the first floor before we hit retail overload. In one of the last stores we went into, C pinpointed one of the problems: every store has the same stuff. Choose your price point and your fabric, but the clothes are remarkably similar from one spot to the next. And there are only so many purple sweaters a girl can see before burning out.
It is the saldi -- sales -- period, though. (Sales are only at certain times of the year here.) I got four sweaters and a sweater dress in what felt kind of like my seasonal Target t-shirt run in the U.S., in terms of stocking up. None of these items were purple (teal, grey, greyed spruce, and navy). C got a scarf and leggings and a sweater. And then we stopped and had a glass of wine at the conveniently located wine bar to revive ourselves from all those purple and lavender and violet and raspberry sweaters we'd seen.
Unfortunately, the kitchen store on the first floor only had one stovetop milk steamer/frother thingy, and it had a design-y wooden handle and was too expensive, so I passed it up. Fortunately, I ran into my friend H at the gym yesterday, and she was down with joining me on another shopping expedition. We went to a lower-end mall that's closer to home, and I met with great success in crossing things off my list.
On the way there, I also lost the right side mirror off my car. Well, I guess lost isn't exactly accurate. I imagine that the impact I felt was my side mirror hitting a parked car's side mirror, but all the parked cars were fine and intact, and my mirror fixture is still there. The glass is just missing. Hm.
At any rate, I did get a milk steamer (need to find out the actual name of that thing). I already think I may get a different one -- what I passed up because I thought was too expensive is probably just about right for the quality.
I also found:
- the metal cross thingies (riduttore X, according to the shelf label) that go on the burner grates to make it so that I can sit the little moka (stovetop espresso maker) and little milk thingy on the stove and not have them fall through:
Sad milk jug, sitting right on the burner:
Riduttore X:
Happy milk jug, sitting up above the burner:
- espresso cups and saucers that are (1) plain white and (2) did not cost a ridiculous amount of money; I have demitasse cups in my fine china:
but I wanted plain ones:
to go with my white Fiesta ware (which will arrive once we find out if our request to move is approved and know where we should have our things delivered)
- Viakal spray which is a scary don't-touch chemical that will thank goodness take care of the crazy calcium hard-water build-up on everything here
Oh, and since I'm talking food, here's a picture of a bag of my favorite candy here so far:
The trip home from that mall turned into quite an adventure. We didn't go the right way for the highway, it turns out, so I switched on the GPS, which got us home . . . after a while. It was all surface streets, with no lights or lines on any part of the road, of course. Dark, raining, the only light streaming from oncoming headlights and no line at the shoulder to watch for guidance. It was great, though, because I had no qualms about slowing down as much as I wanted. I knew that anyone who thought I was too slow would just go around me. I love that.
So we wound around and went long ways on surface streets, and finally the nice GPS lady started directing us to something she just called an alley. And we had to turn under a giant concrete overpass-looking bridge with lots of chain link all around, which I was sure was going to abruptly become a dead end with lots of menacing types waiting for us. But instead we curved around some more and then came out behind our community. Phew! But wait!
We drove around and further around and further around outside the fence, thinking the GPS was taking us to the gate. But no! "Arriving at home, on right," she says. And, well, yes, there was my apartment . . . some distance away . . . on the other side of the fence.
So, home safe and with thrifting scores on top of all that, I'm wondering: what was your latest shopping score, retail or thrift?
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Going forward
Happy New Year!
As is evident from the sporadic posting I've done here, I've been having a bit of a hard time with exactly what and how I want to share things here. I find general accounts of travelling and photos of famous places to be fairly boring, but that's what I've been slipping into. It's easy. It doesn't take much time. I'll spare you the early-'00s-style agonizing over what to write on the Internet and what to keep to oneself. Suffice it to say that I'm tired of boring even myself.
I'm very excited about this new year, though. 2009 was an epic year for me, incredibly challenging and rewarding beyond anything I imagined:
Coincidentally, my word for 2009 was release, the word Christine Kane used as an example in the 2007 post that I linked above. I didn't choose it for any of the reasons she mentions in her post, and it didn't particularly resonate for me in any of the ways she describes as possible outcomes. That's the beauty of choosing your word for the year -- it will work on and within you in a completely personal way.
I chose release thinking that I needed to let go of the need to control everything, to be right, to be perfect or at least appear that way. I scrawled the word on a piece of paper and taped it to the wall across from where I sat in my home office so that I saw it whenever I looked up from working or doing homework. And as the year went by, there were many times when I laughed -- often somewhat bitterly -- over having chosen that word. I could almost hear God saying, You want to learn about releasing? Really? Okay . . . here you go . . .
With each challenge I had, I found the need to release was key to moving on: release my desperate attachment to San Diego, to California, and to people I met and bonded with there; release my habitual ways of reacting and making decisions; release my identification with my past job; release my fear of feeling anything, of reaching out, of letting go.
When I let go, I found myself always in a better place -- that place was the present, where I was actually living.
I can't say that I mastered release. The word, the act, could be a lifelong project.
I can say that I am a different person now from who I was 12 months ago, just about all for the better. I am awed by how far I have come, how much I have learned, and how that has transformed my world. 2009 was, I guess, objectively agonizing. But looking back, all I see are miracles and grace.
My word for 2010 is unfold, inspired by a birthday card sent to me by my dear friend S, and by a transformative conversation I had with my dear friend E.
I'm excited. It's going to be great -- it already is great! With release, I felt that I had a pretty clear idea of what I wanted to gain from the word, although I knew, of course, that I'd get so much more than that. What a ride it turned out to be.
With unfold, however, I do not have that same sanguine confidence that I had a year ago. Unfold is already, right from the very beginning, a mystery, a little scary, a gloriously big box of wonder.
It's already begun to work in my life, as we look at the possibility of trying to move from our gorgeous little community down into the city. I have no idea if it will happen, but I've put out my intention and I feel joy and contentment as I walk forward to see what will unfold.
2010 is unfolding all around me, and I wish you a year full of both exhilaration and peace, of joy and discovery.
As is evident from the sporadic posting I've done here, I've been having a bit of a hard time with exactly what and how I want to share things here. I find general accounts of travelling and photos of famous places to be fairly boring, but that's what I've been slipping into. It's easy. It doesn't take much time. I'll spare you the early-'00s-style agonizing over what to write on the Internet and what to keep to oneself. Suffice it to say that I'm tired of boring even myself.
I'm very excited about this new year, though. 2009 was an epic year for me, incredibly challenging and rewarding beyond anything I imagined:
- I became bilingual.
- I lived on California's central coast, one of the most beautiful places on earth.
- I was challenged intellectually and emotionally in ways I never had been challenged before.
- I moved twice in eight months . . .
. . . from the west coast . . .
. . . to the east coast . . . .
to Europe.
- I celebrated a landmark birthday (at the beach, as is my custom).
- On that birthday, I had earth-shaking revelations about events and beliefs that had been shaping my life for decades.
- I spent most of the spring, summer, and fall fighting to pull myself out of depression over and over again.
- I spent most of the spring, summer, and fall doing intense personal work, examining what I was realizing, what was being revealed.
- One day back in January, I realized I was about to start shrieking from stress and despair, so I put on my tennis shoes and went for a walk. As the year went by, I ended up losing 15 pounds and getting in the best shape of my adult life.
- I ran my first 5K and finished seven minutes faster than I anticipated.
- I learned how to make a life and keep going without a job, without friends close to me geographically, without a church home.
- I made so many new and wonderful friends.
- I saw spectacular fireworks, unobscured by fog.
- I adored my first crab boil.
- I drove all the way across the country, from sea to shining sea.
- I lived in the east for the first time.
- I got to visit my best friend twice in one year.
- I traveled by train.
- I learned a new and foreign public transportation system.
- I sold my motorcycle, making the last quarter of 2009 the first time in 11 years that I didn't own at least one motorcycle.
- I bought a bicycle, making the last quarter of 2009 the first time in 17 years that I owned a bicycle.
- I discovered the joy and miracle of Skype.
- I climbed a volcano.
- I was continually astounded and humbled by my husband's love, integrity, work ethic, consideration and generosity.
- I was continually moved by the love and generosity of my friends and family members around the globe.
Coincidentally, my word for 2009 was release, the word Christine Kane used as an example in the 2007 post that I linked above. I didn't choose it for any of the reasons she mentions in her post, and it didn't particularly resonate for me in any of the ways she describes as possible outcomes. That's the beauty of choosing your word for the year -- it will work on and within you in a completely personal way.
I chose release thinking that I needed to let go of the need to control everything, to be right, to be perfect or at least appear that way. I scrawled the word on a piece of paper and taped it to the wall across from where I sat in my home office so that I saw it whenever I looked up from working or doing homework. And as the year went by, there were many times when I laughed -- often somewhat bitterly -- over having chosen that word. I could almost hear God saying, You want to learn about releasing? Really? Okay . . . here you go . . .
With each challenge I had, I found the need to release was key to moving on: release my desperate attachment to San Diego, to California, and to people I met and bonded with there; release my habitual ways of reacting and making decisions; release my identification with my past job; release my fear of feeling anything, of reaching out, of letting go.
When I let go, I found myself always in a better place -- that place was the present, where I was actually living.
I can't say that I mastered release. The word, the act, could be a lifelong project.
I can say that I am a different person now from who I was 12 months ago, just about all for the better. I am awed by how far I have come, how much I have learned, and how that has transformed my world. 2009 was, I guess, objectively agonizing. But looking back, all I see are miracles and grace.
My word for 2010 is unfold, inspired by a birthday card sent to me by my dear friend S, and by a transformative conversation I had with my dear friend E.
With unfold, however, I do not have that same sanguine confidence that I had a year ago. Unfold is already, right from the very beginning, a mystery, a little scary, a gloriously big box of wonder.
It's already begun to work in my life, as we look at the possibility of trying to move from our gorgeous little community down into the city. I have no idea if it will happen, but I've put out my intention and I feel joy and contentment as I walk forward to see what will unfold.
2010 is unfolding all around me, and I wish you a year full of both exhilaration and peace, of joy and discovery.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Roma, la prima volta
We took the train up to Rome this weekend, the first venture outside our metro area, and it was wonderful. Less than two hours after boarding the train, we were at Roma Termini, the central station there.
With less than 36 hours in the city, we didn't try to do too much. As far as major sites, we saw the Trevi Fountain on Saturday night, which was absolutely gorgeous all lit up. I had no idea it was so big! I'd seen pictures of it, and of course seen La Dolce Vita, but I still somehow didn't quite get it. Just beautiful.
Sunday, we tried going to the Vatican to tour the basilica and museum, which are free on the last Sunday of the month. Unfortunately, after standing in line for about an hour, we were turned away because of a pocket knife we weren't willing to toss. It was a little frustrating since the scanners picked up the knife but not the multi-tool (with knife blade) that I carry in my make-up bag, but the day was not lost. The Piazza San Pietro was still beautiful, complete with enormous Christmas tree and Nativity (presepio, nacimento, creche, what-have-you . . .).
After wandering around the square, we walked down to the river and along to Castel Sant'Angelo.
After a trip to the restroom that featured three workmen trying to open a stall door to release the woman trapped inside, we headed up the ramp that winds around inside the castle. I had a much greater sense of the age of the building than I have at the other sites we've visited. I could smell the stonework.
The view was amazing, too.
More compelling than just the castle, though, was the exhibition going on through the end of January: L'Arma per l'Arte: Antologia di Meraviglie. This was a trove of artwork that had been stolen and recovered by the carabinieri, the theme being the carabinieri's role in protecting Italy's cultural heritage. The paintings, sculptures, and religious objects were stunning. The placards for each piece featured the usual information (title, artist, and date), plus two other dates: Furto (theft) and Recupero (recovery). Almost every recovery was made within five years, although one of my favorite pieces, the "Madonna Salomon," painted by Giovanni Bellini, was missing for 27 years!
Oh, and we also discovered a statue of Voldemort there at the castle:
Although my impressions were somewhat skewed by it being a holiday weekend, I really noticed the wide streets, mellower traffic, clean air, and different accent/dialect. I could understand so much of what I heard around me, which was great for my self-esteem. It was also strange to hear so much English when we were at Piazza San Pietro; I've never experienced that in the city here.
Best of all was getting to catch up with our friends. They were incredibly generous with their time, their home, and all their resources; and we got to chat for hours. Cosmopolitan European capitals may be great, but friends are better.
With less than 36 hours in the city, we didn't try to do too much. As far as major sites, we saw the Trevi Fountain on Saturday night, which was absolutely gorgeous all lit up. I had no idea it was so big! I'd seen pictures of it, and of course seen La Dolce Vita, but I still somehow didn't quite get it. Just beautiful.
Sunday, we tried going to the Vatican to tour the basilica and museum, which are free on the last Sunday of the month. Unfortunately, after standing in line for about an hour, we were turned away because of a pocket knife we weren't willing to toss. It was a little frustrating since the scanners picked up the knife but not the multi-tool (with knife blade) that I carry in my make-up bag, but the day was not lost. The Piazza San Pietro was still beautiful, complete with enormous Christmas tree and Nativity (presepio, nacimento, creche, what-have-you . . .).
After wandering around the square, we walked down to the river and along to Castel Sant'Angelo.
The view was amazing, too.
More compelling than just the castle, though, was the exhibition going on through the end of January: L'Arma per l'Arte: Antologia di Meraviglie. This was a trove of artwork that had been stolen and recovered by the carabinieri, the theme being the carabinieri's role in protecting Italy's cultural heritage. The paintings, sculptures, and religious objects were stunning. The placards for each piece featured the usual information (title, artist, and date), plus two other dates: Furto (theft) and Recupero (recovery). Almost every recovery was made within five years, although one of my favorite pieces, the "Madonna Salomon," painted by Giovanni Bellini, was missing for 27 years!
Oh, and we also discovered a statue of Voldemort there at the castle:
Although my impressions were somewhat skewed by it being a holiday weekend, I really noticed the wide streets, mellower traffic, clean air, and different accent/dialect. I could understand so much of what I heard around me, which was great for my self-esteem. It was also strange to hear so much English when we were at Piazza San Pietro; I've never experienced that in the city here.
Best of all was getting to catch up with our friends. They were incredibly generous with their time, their home, and all their resources; and we got to chat for hours. Cosmopolitan European capitals may be great, but friends are better.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
'Cause This Is Thriller!
I had to move away from Texas to learn to love iced tea, and it looks like I had to move away from America to feel the magic of Michael Jackson.
So the Sunday of Thanksgiving weekend, walking through the park near church, we came upon a group of people doing . . . something. As we approached, I realized it was a dance rehearsal. Of course, I stopped to watch. It looked kind of familiar, and also very fun.
Besides the director, I immediately pinpointed another girl who really knew what she was doing -- and looked cool and nice, too. Before moving, I'd resolved to take dance classes in town in order to both have fun, get better, and integrate a little more into the city. So I decided to stay until there was enough of a break to ask if they were from a local dance school and to get more information.
At about this point, I realized why the choreography and counts being sung out looked and sounded familiar: they were rehearsing the zombie dance from "Thriller"!
When the chance came, I went up and talked to the girl I'd noticed from the beginning, and she invited me to join them. I was nervous and went back to stand on the side, but after a couple of minutes, I realized I was being ridiculous. I went on over and joined in.
The irony is that I am possibly the only American girl my age who didn't learn the Thriller dance in elementary school. As a result, I was at least a beat and a half behind everybody for the couple of run-throughs I did. If you look very, very carefully, you may be able to see the visual evidence.
Nevertheless, when rehearsal was over, one of the girls told me I was brava, and offered to give me more information on the event they were preparing for. Next thing I knew, I'd exchanged contact information with G and A. Then (another) A came up and introduced herself, letting me know that they were probably getting together to practice at her place during the week, and that she'd get me the information when they had finalized the plan!
Y'all! Seriously! I could not stop smiling! I skipped on the way back from the grocery store that night! We were all Facebook friends within a day or two, and they sent me links to videos from previous rehearsals so I could practice.
And practice I did, for about two hours Monday night. During this session, I made the unpleasant discovery that my ability to correctly follow someone who's dancing while facing me had disappeared over the years. I kept mirroring instead, using my right for her left. Agh! My solution? Turning my back to the computer with my head craned around. Then I graduated to being at 90 degrees to the screen. Also, I should mention here that I have never taken a jazz or hip hop class in my life. I was determined, however, to not show up at A's looking like a fool.
Unfortunately, taking care of details for the move into our new apartment (!) wiped out any rehearsing Tuesday or Wednesday. Fortunately, I have retained the attribute of having steps and combinations sink into the muscle and stay there so that they can be called up later. This was fortunate, because I did indeed go down to the city Thursday night to rehearse!
We were in an apt. in a neighborhood near the Duomo. I got to the building's massive front doors at the same time as F (whom I recognized from Sunday) and yet another A (to whom I was promptly introduced). They rang the bell, announced us, and opened the small door that was cut into the ginormous doors.
I followed them up, up, up the stairs, arriving at last at an apartment painted in bright colors, containing four new friends, a giant and sweet orange and white Persian cat named Romeo, and an amazing collection of more than three dozen vintage Polaroid cameras. G and A arrived soon after, and we shoved aside the furniture to start rehearsing.
It was so gratifying to be able to keep up fairly well, thanks to my work Monday night -- and to be able to keep up fairly well in Italian as well. Everyone spoke English, so they were able to switch if I needed it, but 90 percent of the conversation stayed in Italian. It's a good thing my instructors couldn't hear me, though -- especially by the end of the night when I was all full of the pasta somebody made for dinner, and my brain was worn out -- because my grammar and vocabulary were pretty hideous. But I did it!
I was totally busted on the dance thing, too. A asked me if I'd danced before, and passing by, (another) G pointed and announced in English: "You dance!" I had to 'fess up. Later, A asked how long I'd studied, and after the number of years came out, asked "classico?" I assented, and she said and gestured that she could tell by how I carried my shoulders and back. (I still need to get the scoop on her dance background, which is clearly substantial.)
So what was all of this for, anyway? A flash mob tribute to Michael Jackson, performing the Thriller dance in the Piazza del Plebiscito on Sunday!
I got there at 10:30, ripped white t-shirt in hand and scissors in my bag to help others appropriately zombify their clothes. I followed the lead of a guy who dropped a ripped but clean shirt onto the ground and then did the Twist on it in order to age it and get it dirty, then followed the example of some of the girls and used red lipstick to add some blood stains.
More and more people showed up in various stages of zombie-hood, and small groups were marking the steps. I met many more people, including one guy who is a really excellent dancer -- so sharp. (You can see him at the edge of the video here.) I was completely flattered when A identified me as someone who danced, then bummed when he immediately asked me if I could moonwalk and I had to say no.
As the crowd grew, the choreographer rallied everyone 'round and gave last minute directions over the church bells that had started pealing.
And then we were off! It felt fantastic to be dancing full out, music up, and doing it. We hit the last, scary-laugh note way too soon for me, and then everyone was congratulating everyone else and full of relief that we'd made it.
That was when I found out that I'd seriously misunderstood the event. That first performance wasn't it. The group was trooping around and performing in different piazzas through the city! A had actually mentioned this when I first approached her the week before, but I'd misunderstood and thought it just applied to the rehearsals, which had been in various locations throughout the city for the preceding month.
I had to miss out on the rest of the day, though. Some friends from Rome had planned to come down to do some shopping either Sunday or Tuesday, and we'd gotten a call that they'd made it on Sunday and had just arrived.
The girls were dismayed -- no no, it wasn't over! Wasn't I going to come with them? And everyone was going out for lunch afterward! No!
I was disappointed. I felt like I'd barely gotten started -- which of course, I had. But I'd committed to meeting my other friends, whom I hadn't seen in more than eight months, and I was incredibly anxious to start the public transit trek home.
I'm just beaming that I got to participate in this event. I felt so welcomed by the city, by my new friends, by the entire community taking part in the event. When I saw that rehearsal in the park, it was as though the city were giving me a sign: yes, here, you belong here. And I've laughed and smiled more in connection with this than with most other things over the last several months. I'm a happy, lucky girl.
So the Sunday of Thanksgiving weekend, walking through the park near church, we came upon a group of people doing . . . something. As we approached, I realized it was a dance rehearsal. Of course, I stopped to watch. It looked kind of familiar, and also very fun.
Besides the director, I immediately pinpointed another girl who really knew what she was doing -- and looked cool and nice, too. Before moving, I'd resolved to take dance classes in town in order to both have fun, get better, and integrate a little more into the city. So I decided to stay until there was enough of a break to ask if they were from a local dance school and to get more information.
At about this point, I realized why the choreography and counts being sung out looked and sounded familiar: they were rehearsing the zombie dance from "Thriller"!
When the chance came, I went up and talked to the girl I'd noticed from the beginning, and she invited me to join them. I was nervous and went back to stand on the side, but after a couple of minutes, I realized I was being ridiculous. I went on over and joined in.
The irony is that I am possibly the only American girl my age who didn't learn the Thriller dance in elementary school. As a result, I was at least a beat and a half behind everybody for the couple of run-throughs I did. If you look very, very carefully, you may be able to see the visual evidence.
Nevertheless, when rehearsal was over, one of the girls told me I was brava, and offered to give me more information on the event they were preparing for. Next thing I knew, I'd exchanged contact information with G and A. Then (another) A came up and introduced herself, letting me know that they were probably getting together to practice at her place during the week, and that she'd get me the information when they had finalized the plan!
Y'all! Seriously! I could not stop smiling! I skipped on the way back from the grocery store that night! We were all Facebook friends within a day or two, and they sent me links to videos from previous rehearsals so I could practice.
And practice I did, for about two hours Monday night. During this session, I made the unpleasant discovery that my ability to correctly follow someone who's dancing while facing me had disappeared over the years. I kept mirroring instead, using my right for her left. Agh! My solution? Turning my back to the computer with my head craned around. Then I graduated to being at 90 degrees to the screen. Also, I should mention here that I have never taken a jazz or hip hop class in my life. I was determined, however, to not show up at A's looking like a fool.
Unfortunately, taking care of details for the move into our new apartment (!) wiped out any rehearsing Tuesday or Wednesday. Fortunately, I have retained the attribute of having steps and combinations sink into the muscle and stay there so that they can be called up later. This was fortunate, because I did indeed go down to the city Thursday night to rehearse!
We were in an apt. in a neighborhood near the Duomo. I got to the building's massive front doors at the same time as F (whom I recognized from Sunday) and yet another A (to whom I was promptly introduced). They rang the bell, announced us, and opened the small door that was cut into the ginormous doors.
I followed them up, up, up the stairs, arriving at last at an apartment painted in bright colors, containing four new friends, a giant and sweet orange and white Persian cat named Romeo, and an amazing collection of more than three dozen vintage Polaroid cameras. G and A arrived soon after, and we shoved aside the furniture to start rehearsing.
I was totally busted on the dance thing, too. A asked me if I'd danced before, and passing by, (another) G pointed and announced in English: "You dance!" I had to 'fess up. Later, A asked how long I'd studied, and after the number of years came out, asked "classico?" I assented, and she said and gestured that she could tell by how I carried my shoulders and back. (I still need to get the scoop on her dance background, which is clearly substantial.)
So what was all of this for, anyway? A flash mob tribute to Michael Jackson, performing the Thriller dance in the Piazza del Plebiscito on Sunday!
And then we were off! It felt fantastic to be dancing full out, music up, and doing it. We hit the last, scary-laugh note way too soon for me, and then everyone was congratulating everyone else and full of relief that we'd made it.
That was when I found out that I'd seriously misunderstood the event. That first performance wasn't it. The group was trooping around and performing in different piazzas through the city! A had actually mentioned this when I first approached her the week before, but I'd misunderstood and thought it just applied to the rehearsals, which had been in various locations throughout the city for the preceding month.
I had to miss out on the rest of the day, though. Some friends from Rome had planned to come down to do some shopping either Sunday or Tuesday, and we'd gotten a call that they'd made it on Sunday and had just arrived.
The girls were dismayed -- no no, it wasn't over! Wasn't I going to come with them? And everyone was going out for lunch afterward! No!
I was disappointed. I felt like I'd barely gotten started -- which of course, I had. But I'd committed to meeting my other friends, whom I hadn't seen in more than eight months, and I was incredibly anxious to start the public transit trek home.
I'm just beaming that I got to participate in this event. I felt so welcomed by the city, by my new friends, by the entire community taking part in the event. When I saw that rehearsal in the park, it was as though the city were giving me a sign: yes, here, you belong here. And I've laughed and smiled more in connection with this than with most other things over the last several months. I'm a happy, lucky girl.
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