It's summer again!

Going out with the baker. Pun(s) intended.

Waiting for Matt to wake up for our road trip.
We'll be going to naples, the coast round naples, then Capri, Pompei, Positano, Sorrento.
We wanted to go further south but there's simply no time. Every kilometer round there is like 2000 years of history. Matt wants to see everything. And he should.
Then he wants to visit Rome on the way back. And I'm like "how can we not"?
Then Tuscany. Then it's time to go back already.

Camoranesi cut his hair. Lippi smiled.
Everyone went crazy. A guy told another: "you don't understand the joy I'm feeling right now", but the other understood.
Everyone was naked, semi naked, or wearing Del Piero T-shirts. Every truck carried 50 people. Every car at least 10. Someone had "Gigi I love you" written on his bare back.
I cried after the last penalty. Then I bathed in a fountain.

Better than 1982.

I've been feeling a sort of anxiety/panic attacks that manifested as stomach cramps/unexpected crankiness all day. I've even snapped at random loved ones because of that.
I went out and saw other people. most had sunglasses and tense faces. If you as "whatsup" to people in Italy today, the answer is ineluctably: "I'm too nervous, I'm going to explode". I realized that I had caught the national illness. Semi final! yay! yay? omg, I feel sick again.

I am expecting a great weekend.
we'll see

I don't like to give advice or directions, but in general, I think we all need to be more precise.

What can I say about these days besides football?
I guess just "football", and not "soccer". Soccer is officially dead, after the painful performance offered by the U.S.: haha. No, seriously. WTF was that?

This said, here is my top 5 for now

1. Czech Republic
2. Italy
3. Croatia
4. Spain
5. Argentina

Yes, 4 are European, and one is almost European.
Brazil won, but kinda sucked. Ronaldo is fat. Ronaldinho is slow. Adriano is sleepy.

But this is just the beginning. And everything can be reversed because the "ball is round" as they say. And as usual, Germany will end up winning, coming from nowhere, when you least expect it.

Today will be always be remembered in my personal history as the day I spat on a Ferrari. Driven, not parked. Dude, the guy wanted to turn left while I was passing through (right of way) with my bike. When I saw the red (the Ferrari red is a unique, specific color) and the horse, I just could not resist. My intention was to spit on the pavement next to it, but the car was moving, so I got the windshield, right in the middle. I think the driver could not believe it. he just looked quite startled, and I was already far away 10 seconds later.

the coolest thing is that it's actually the first time I see a Ferrari on the road here in Italy. I saw a couple in LA, but that's it.

Besides that, I had an awesome dinner.

Today I finally did what i have been wanting to do for the past four years (at least).

Rain is officially boring.

my night film starts in 15 minutes, and it features Jane Birkin. (yyyyaaayyyyy!)

I got matt a present that will make him so happy he will need to redefine happiness.

Tomorrow I buy books.

life is good, except for sexual inaction (sorry puritans).

As a way of sublimating, the world cup starts in 4 days.

Francesco Guccini talks about his city as a contradiction in terms, old bourgeoisie and new experiments in cooperative living, traditional and modern, a juxtaposition of the new and the old. Studying to give a brief guided tour, I find out this imagery dates back at least to roman domination, when one of the main roads, the Via Aemilia, was built right through Bologna, cutting the city into two equal parts, giving way to double dominations and double resistance. Suffocated by the Duke of ravenna and the Pope in the middle ages, the bolognese developed this anticlerical mentality they are still famous for (together with the Tuscans) but at the same time tried to build a church that was supposed to be bigger than St Peter's in the Vatican. Historic bastion of the far left, it also contains a provincial and diffident attitude that is sometimes comparable to the ubercatholic Northeast. Now it really does look like an old lady, despite its demographics: of 400,000 inhabitants 100,000 are university students, still meeting in lecture halls built from the year 1108 to 1500.

But then again, I simply spent the weekend there to see old friends and eat food; and was not disappointed, since that's the thing to do: Sit down and talk, and eat those wonderful things. Anywhere, anything, with anyone.

the only place in here where the connection really works wonders is the bathroom.

The weekend was a strange sort of roadtrip through northern Italy. Leaving Verona on Thursday night I stopped in Brescia to pick up a girlfriend at the station, drove through a long and winding freeway to Genova where we saw a friend for drinks, then drove again to Spotorno on the Riviera, where three other friends were meeting us to spend the weekend at my parents’ apartment (these guys just flew in from England).
These big international conferences are for academics what Coachella is for LA scenesters: tiring but unmissable tours de force.

Friday was lazy and beachy, our strange group of 5 (we all barely knew each other, but we were somehow acting like we’ve been friends all our lives) went in the water, walked around Spotorno, ate industrial quantities of focaccia and prosciutto, and talked about our lives, past present and future.

Weird sample of beach talk:
Alberto (this guy I had just met): so you’re moving to Minneapolis, huh?
Me: yes. It’s going to be fun I hope
A: you’re going to like it. Remind me, I need to give you the email of a friend of mine. He’s really cool, and he’s a wobbly, imagine that. They still exist and they’re quite big in MN apparently.
Me: Wait a minute. What’s his name?
A: Nate.
Me: you mean Nate Holdren?
A: YOU KNOW HIM? wtf???
Me: wtf indeed. He never mentioned he was a wobbly.*
Now, I don’t like to name names in my diary, but fuck it, this was too weird.

Saturday Morning, after being mesmerized by Genova once again (hence my evocative backdated entry - May 26), and after a quite literal empty talk at the conference -full of people I knew from LA, to add to the estrangement- I returned to Spotorno, slept a lot and waited for the others to get back from their sightseeings. Dinner at a nice fish restaurant, tons of sparkling dry white to accompany shellfish, grilled and fried fish, shrimps and octopus.

Sunday everyone left, myself included. I went to Torino for the night, just in time to see a friend after dinner, then train back to Verona Monday morning.
I like how this teaching gig is giving me the opportunity to see different places every week, or simply the Eagles (yes, the band, and no, I’m not kidding) at the Arena on a random Monday night.

Well, as they say, “Take it easy.”

* http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wobblies

I like Genova because it's a city built on four floors. Because cars and humans are simply scared shitless when they penetrate its surface and glide down in circles inside its bowels feeling like they will never get out. Because everybody writes songs about it, and they all mention whores and murders, and the city still laughs at them from above looking all sunny and sparkling, reflected in the bluegreen mediterranean coast. Because none of its streets is flat, or straight, or ending where you think it will. Because it's so much smarter than any of us.

Unbelievable.
I found the Verona Critical Mass today. It materialized as two bearded university “fricchettoni” types plus a cute girl in sweatpants. They were putting up poorly designed and photocopied flyers. I have one on my bathroom mirror now. It’s on the 31st, so I’m clearly going, I want to see what they’re up to. I said to myself I don’t really want to meet anyone here, but as usual, whatever. The conference I should be preparing right now is going to be over next week, and I gotta get out of the room sooner or later. There’s also this girl I know from Turin who works here during the week. I wonder if she has a bike.

In the meantime, I’m here sort of working and finding excuses to get distracted again, watching splendid vintage Sergio Leone with an almost vintage (hence less exciting) white Müller Thurgau. This is a white wine area, so I’m disappointed. Tomorrow night the program guys have organized a wine tasting thingy. I might go, depending. I kind of want to go to bed very early, since I haven’t managed to entirely get rid of this fucking jet lag. I try going to sleep at 12 or 1 and I inevitably lie there awake as a cricket, and then I can’t wake up before 9:30. I literally can’t. I tried very hard this morning, with alarm and all, but there’s something that’s worse than just being asleep, or sleepy. It’s like your body won’t react to anything. And since I am not really forced to go to work before 3pm, it’s going to be even harder.

Can’t wait for class tomorrow, when we’ll start discussing the novel: Wu Ming’s “54”.
It’s Italian, not Chinese, and it will be officially published in the US end of July.
If you guys won’t read it then, you’re officially wasting your lives.

It’s already time to sleep with the windows open, which is good and bad; good for the summer, bad for mosquitos. Or maybe good for mosquitos from their exclusive point of view. This nice balcony with view on the river though, promises nothing good.
I don’t spend much time in central Verona for now, because I know I would get bored of it in no time. I even keep a distance from my students in a way. I have this paper to finish and as usual I procrastinate most of the time, watching movies: Zeffirelli’s Jane Eyre last night (grande porcata=enormous bullshit) , Kill Bill the night before (always nice, but Uma Thurman’s roman accent bugs me).
Anyways, internet connection is shit, so my online time has been replaced by the “nazional popolare” appliance par excellance. I’ll wait to go out when this paper and this conference next weekend are over.
I taught my first class yesterday and it was cool. Most students seem to have at least an idea of what I talk about. It’s not the first time I teach in English, but it’s the first time I teach Italian culture in English. The coolest thing is that it sounds like any other speech about Italy I am forced to give here and there at parties. I almost go on automatic.
Dude I miss home! Don’t know which one really, but I do miss it.

Fun fact: it takes 3 hours from Torino to Verona at an average speed of 140 Km/h and no traffic. It’s nice to drive like that, but seriously, the pianura padana is no excitement. It’s like the part of Italy nobody talks about but Paolo Conte, who can write poems even on windshield wipers. May brings no fog, though, which is unusual, and better.

How’s Verona? Like any other Italian city of the Northeast. Small, nice, medieval, with “tons of old stuff” as the most frat-boy oriented among my group of students would claim, a river and an overwhelming number of fascists. You may not be acquainted with this notion, but if you ever go to Italy, you should pay very specific attention to graffiti and writings on the walls. They’re not gang stuff, they’re political groups stuff.

I fixed my bike and now I'm spending a super lazy day in my hotel/apartment, getting re-acquainted to the interior spaces of Italy, which are awesome in many ways: great movies
on public TV, newspapers that don’t stain your fingers and are great to read, a nice cappuccino at the bar (bars are for coffee here, mostly).
I realize in shock that I'm no party girl: everyone else was going out last night
and I opted for a solitary evening instead. Matt called, so it was nice.
It’s just that I still have the excitement of the past few days in Turin, which were the best. I love how everytime I go back there, there’s no absolute way for me to not like it.

Fun fact #2: my next door neighbors here are having very loud sex right now.

weird. I open LJ here and it's in Italian. Everything is. From "Il mio LJ", "amici", "ricerca" etc. It looks cool at first, then you realize it's mostly wtf.

that's it then. Iside has no more house keys. of course it's provisional, I'll get my parents' keys today, I'll get a place to stay in Verona next couple days, and I'll look for some form of housing in Minneapolis soon enough too. but nothing for now. and speakling of nothing, I can go on to the more literal aspect: someone fucked with my bags at the airport and now I have nothing. I had to borrow my mom's panties.
Temporary is the new permanent.

Leaving LA was sad. Even being here all by myself is not tht great after all, despite good talks with mama and dad. god, did I miss them.
Last night we went for a nice walk in central Torino. Everything's different since the olympics, it's cleaner, and more people are outside, maybe for the nice weather. It's warm and sunny, but MAy is still variable. Of course I wish Matt was here, but I hear about his trip to Minnesota with my car and it makes me smile. Apparently he changed all the tires yesterday, and now they're all nice and shiny. Can't wait to see them.

What else...yes my mom talked me into going to the hair salon today. I like to go, but our hairdresser (the same since I was born) is this freudian self-taught scholar who makes every haircut sound like a lecture. And he is very demanding of attention and I am supposed to know the stuff he talks about, so I can never just enjoy a nice shampoo without getting sucked into very detailed conversation, on symbols (oh, yeah, he took up Jung later in life) rationality and desire.
oh, well. he likes me, so it's usually free.

Giorgio Napolitano new president of the Republic.
But this is not the best news. Fausto Bertinotti (still old school, still communist) president of the Chamber. He met with Venezuela's Chavez today. "For a better world" as they say. Isn't obsolete leftist rhetoric the awesomest? What feels better than saying "proletarians of the world unite"? No, seriously. Try it on a bad day.

But this is not the best news. The world cup is starting in a month exactly. You may want to have your calendar ready: http://fifaworldcup.yahoo.com/06/it/w/schedule.html
the well known round tower in ex-East Berlin has been turned into a football. Soon all of Europe will be.

But this is not the best news. Tuesday I'll be flying transcontinentally. Going home always sounds cool. Especially after a year. As soon as I land I'm going to have focaccia from the best bakery on this planet. the breadmaker is a notorious cokehead genius who turns the nightshift into night-and-day shift. you can buy fresh croissants at 3 in the morning on a Sunday. Or a wednesday. he'll be up.

But this is not the best news.
My car, "california girl," is also getting ready to travel. And does she ever deserve a road trip.

I seems like the last stuff I wrote was mistaken.
so let's try to use a different type of approach:

I am overly excited to move to the twin cities because I can't wait to:
1) get into ice skating (or rollersakating; flat surfaces, anyways)
2) be able to live closer to campus, hence do more things with my time than commuting
3) Get proper heating (apartments can be awfully cold in L.A.)
4) Find a new place and fill it up with the complete collection of Henri Lefebvre's books that I will finally buy, after years of unfulfilled wish.
5) spend the winter online buying Lefebvre's books from shady dealers
6) spend the winter writing
7) spend the winter
8) find out why they call them twin cities since they don't look alike at all

Points 9 to 225 are for anyone to fill in.
P.S. note that this entry is the semi-exact translation of the previous one.

But what?
Upcoming moves always reserve some stress. we know that and we take it into account. but a move from smalltown to big city always brings with it that kind of genuine excitement that certainly not the big city itself, but at least the fantasy of it can suggest.
So what's with the opposite direction? big city to smalltown I mean. What are the fantasies related to it?
This is an open and dialectic question, and answers could be important, indeed crucial. We know how our notions of "real" and "imagined" often have blurred ends, so that it is quite easy to adjust our expectations to reality. Actually, if we think about it, it's either that, or the rejection of reality altogether. And the latter is also highly prejudicial, at least in most human beings I know.
Some say that if you don't really expect anything, you'll be pleasanlty surprised. This is obviously major bullshit, since it is impossible not to expect anything. So the question is really how to fill in the empty canvas of expectation, to use a rather vulgar and trite metaphor.


but then, again, what? is it the move itself, the eve of the move, the things and work that will be done and the people that will be met once moved? Is it about the suddenness of the whole thing? Or maybe the feeling of estrangement related to the fact that that one day, when you least expect it, all your belongings will be mailed to some guy with a weird name who lives in Richfield Minnesota.