In the Red Shoes, my favorite actor, Anton Walbrook, plays Boris Lermontov, the magical and exotic genius modeled on the Russian impresario, Sergey Diaghilev.
Both "The Red Shoes" and The Tales of hoffmann featured prominently in our living room last week and dovetail nicely into this little tale and why I was so ecstatic to find Diaghilev's bio while browsing in a bookshop in the plainpalais district yesterday.
This is the kind of book love where one practically skips home, throws keys, handbag and gloves aside, mindful of one thing only; removing the large book from its bondage, placing it carefully upon the table, all other items having been removed, then staring at the cover, stroking the sleeve, studying each sleeve, reading, then re reading each word, dusting off prior fingerprints, gently pulling the sleeve away and inspecting the rest of the book until sufficient time has been spent admiring the look and large size and then, only then, can one sit back comfortably in the chair and ponder the probability of what awaits inside.
Then, tenderly, oh so tenderly, the book is opened, just wide enough to peak inside and blissfully begin the pleasure of reading about a life that scales myth; Sergey Pavlovich Diaghilev.
Interesting to note, for me at least, the similarity btwn Sergey and two other male heroes, Orson Welles and Gore Vidal. They too, actually dined with and lived amongst those that were making history, living history, creating the kind of art that put color to canvas, like Picasso, or that designed before their time, like Coco Chanel, I mean, for heaven's sake, before my eyes could feast on page 40, Diaghilev's sat with Tolstoy and refers to his distant cousin Tchaikovsky as "Uncle Petya"....
Gore Vidal was at the crucible of just about every interesting event that occurred in the United States and Orson Welles was still a teen when he found himself having lunch with Hitler and just about everyone else. We don't have modern essayists or artists to match this kind of CV or lifestyle, ironically, even in such a close-knit, globalized world. Watching Christian Anampour interview Mugabe or Hitchens having Christmas with an Amis just isn't the same thing. At all.
There's over 500 pages to enjoy of this man's life but I had to pace myself and stop at page 70. I know that Stravinsky and Nijinsky are just pages away but I had to turn the lights out and just imagine what shaped this creature that could blend and braid beauty with such gusto, elan and esprit. His modern great age of art, this London/Paris/Berlin/Madrid kind of world that he almost ruled when Venice was still symbolic of the grandeur of Europe and Germany was the mecca in many ways for those in search of deep musical and literary culture.
Recently, I spent several months living just a petite train ride away from Venice. That place, that space. He loved Venice. LIke his first true musical love; Wagner, Venice held a sway over both. Like Thomas Mann, when one was gay, an aesthete, in search of pure culture, that was the place, and it has in many ways, like few cities, retained its unique space in time.
I love living vicariously through his drama, even if I know this bio may not be the best. But its serendipitous as I find myself more drawn to music than ever before. I'm grateful my mother felt so strongly about the arts and that I was so responsive to her quiet passions, she was as much my muse as the other way 'round.....we enjoyed front row seats at Pacific Northwest Ballet for 8 gorgeous seasons, as well as ACT, The Seattle Rep, I think I saw the Joffrey ballet the first time it came to Seattle and by the time I was 25 I was active with fringe theatre groups and non-profits, playing my part, even playing impresario in the most minor fashion, though I can attest to the gasps and bits of adoration thrown at my productions, back in those days while directing fashion and drag shows. I can feel some of that spirit reviving itself as I seek out ways to blend my writing with videoblogging, I'm feeling creative once again.
I admit Opera's been beyond my love and affection but I've been to the Staatsoper in Berlin and met Daniel Barenboim, I've enjoyed La Boheme in Vienna and in fact, just this week, we'll be going back to Salzburg, just as we did one decade ago when we spent our first Christmas together when I met his family for the first time in Bad Raichenhall. I remember attending the opera with my husband's Italian mother and her Bavarian friend, everyone stamping their feet, shouting bravo.
This trip won't feel nearly so exotic or jarring, now that I think about it, but reading about Sergey Diaghilev while in unison will ensure all life's tedious particulars and politics will fall away and life will simply be an aesthetic pleasure.
Boy, you can say that again.
Garman's article in the Independent is brutal. As one diplomatic said, "This deal crosses so many of the red lines laid out by Europe before this summit started that there are scarlet skid marks across the Bella Centre, and one honest European diplomat tells us this is a "shitty, shitty deal".
But then maybe we shouldn't rely upon governments to play honest broker. The solutions will be found by individual people and groups and businesses that can apply serious and strategic thinking to how we can change our insatiable ways towards using energy.
HEATING, POWER and TRANSPORTATION all play their part and technology can certainly assist, but as long as Americans advertise new SUV models with fridges inside, some habits are going to be very, very hard to break indeed.
Such profound change in both media and advertising blows the mind, but exactly which which rules apply is perplexing.
I'm comfortable with LInkedIn and enjoying its natural shift into facebook and twitter, but still...
After meeting with the wise queen in Zurich yesterday, I decided to finally apply some serious study to the phenom that is social media.
It's quite a labyrinth to navigate but I did manage to mine the major players. One such guy named Seth wrote The medium is no longer the message, you are.
Signor Goldstein clarifies his point in the comments section where furs were ruffled, understandably, "To be clear, I am simply saying that the medium is no longer *just* the message. What I was trying to illustrate in this essay was that in a social media context where identities are known that people themselves become a form of media.
Well, that's a relief, but it is all about trust, which poses a problem, I mean, who's going to trust a woman that wears opera length gloves with a Dartanian style cape at two in the afternoon? Not me, certainly.
Another popular guy Chris Brogan, is not only a trust agent he's co-authored a book called Trust Agent, naturally. I found it unsettling to read his recent blog which speculates about those who shall go down in flames in 2012. Social media space is, if anything, fluid. And there's more than a whiff of motivational speaking, if you get my drift.
One ponders whether the boom and bust cycle has already run its course, alas, no worries, M. Brogan quickly addresses my concern, "Is This Gloomy? No. I think this is business. This is a new space. There’s always an
adoption curve, a glut, and then a thinning out – a normalizing. I
think this is just part of the flow.
Well, I for one am relieved, giddy even marketing webconsult; it's traditional IT services and successful mission critical projects are proving attractive to VC's here in Geneva, very grateful indeed.
So Silvio gets whacked by a whack with a statuette of the Duomo, MIO DIO! ciò che sta accadendo!
And just last week, at a social here in Geneva, a Roman gal told us of a recent protest in Rome, 500,000 Italians came out against Silvio....I'd no idea, not even a libretto written about these manifestations simmering down south.but then, Silvio does own most of the media. Makes me rewind time back to 2003 when I marched for 7 hours throughout all the piazzas in Rome against the Iraq war, only to turn on the tv that night and see nothing, nada, rien, niente.....
What is going on, anyway, is Italy getting antsy or is this a point in time (Iraq/Chilcot enquiry in London) simply the comeuppance for Blair and Berlusconi.
I asked a friend, Carola Vannini, a very talented architectural designer who lives in Rome what she thought and she responded on my facebook page,
"Well! lots of people start feeling very uncomfortable here. And the protest was really huge. Rome was completely stuffed. No violence. At the moment I don't think there will be another...
but it's something....
Italy looks now like an island for starlettes and corrupted politicians...
So yes, watching Du Rouge Sur la Croix helped to rinse out the bad taste but the movie enforced the distance war has traveled. Back at the battle of Solferino when the Italian and French were fighting the Austrians you had to come mighty close to kill the enemy. Today,an American can assassinate a Pakistani with a predator drone while sitting thousands of miles away behind a console.
Frank Rich has a great article about another kind of dividing line, the one between Wall Street and Main Street. To illustrate his point he cites Hollywood's latest 'brilliant coda' starring George Clooney. Clooney's character is paid to fire people. At one point a colleague recommends doing it via video conference so they don't have to be in the same room, they can save time and resources.
Doesn't this movie sound great...but rather than cancel Christmas there's always the gift that keeps on giving; Populist Palin. However Christopher Hitchens cautions readers on her brand of populism and her influential pals like Frank Malek, they are very naughty people indeed.
But Obama's inability to properly feel and address the people's pain is making more room for Palin. It was interesting to note how both left and right were equally enthusiastic when Obama spoke of war while accepting his peace prize, but his troubles are mounting and he reacts slowly, by consensus.
America is shifting emotionally as political heroes on both the right and left now appear to aim their anger towards the same target, the Federal Reserve Bank and its chairman, Ben Bernanke. As Rich notes, "Like the institutions it failed to police during the
boom, it wields its power from on high with little transparency to
those below."
Populism is now very "in" as it builds a bridge between left and right or maybe it's simply an extension of discouraging discourse. As Gore Vidal said in his essay on "Chaos", The English have never stopped talking since Chaucer's time and the other Europeans are ready-tongued, vocal, imaginative people, whose very folklore and early dialects have been preserved by the ceaseless stream of talk on castled terraces and on village greens since Gothic Times.
But our democracy terrifies the individual, and our industrialism seals his lips. The punishment is very effective. It is simply this: "If you say such things as that, I won't play with you."
I'm in need of a visit to the Red Cross Museum. I need something to wash the filthy taste of war and rhetoric out of my mind. I need to actually see the Geneva Convention Documents, if only to make my head right again. Thankfully mio marito has the film about Henri Dunant. His memoirs inspired the The Red Cross, recipient of the first Nobel Peace Prize. Must watch tonight, maybe that will help.
This week was just wrong all way 'round. Palin, the Creationist supporting science and debating Al Gore on Facebook, then The Guardian had to recycle her ghost written piece from the Washington Post if only for funny comments to ensue. The English are still the funniest country of them all. Who else could give us Tony Blair. He who Barry thinks has both sizzle and substance. Oh, and just last night Blair reminded us all, that despite it all, he'd still invade Iraq.
Watching Obama accept his prize, only to talk about war the entire time was more than a bit unsettling. Apparently, as President he says he'll defend and protect the nation. Someone suggested he was sworn in to defend and protect the Constitution but alas, there's no competing with Barry's ability to contradict himself as he explains his right to wage wars unilaterally, not unlike the Bush Doctrine and so many doctrines before; perpetual war for perpetual peace.
But more importantly I ponder the question, why does he stick out his chin so much? I wish someone, maybe Michelle, would ask him to stop. He looks like a petulant little boy when he does that, which is almost always. I realize this is personal, petty even, but it possibly serves to highlight his inexperience, providing the rationale behind bringing in the old financial and political players of recent past. As if his new role as Lord of the Manor dictates he rely upon old staff to hide his inability to ease effortlessly into the part. Either way, it's uncomfortable to watch.
I don't know, there's something rotten in the state of denmark, there's something suspicious or simply deceptively subtle lurking behind the rhetoric and Glenn Greenwald ponders the strange consensus at his address.
I don't know much about Geneva but I do know it's the most international place on the planet with at least 40% of the population made up of expats.
And contrary to popular opinion they do have a sense of humor, which is nice to know, knowing how serious the Swiss can be.
Last Saturday we strolled into the old town to meet new Swiss friends and ran into the local fun run, composed of people wearing silly costumes; I just barely caught a group of Swiss swathed in their flag with minarets on top of their heads. I mean, it's not as if they've invaded and conquered other countries dictating other people re-locate.
People re-domicile here because it's sensible, lovely and livable.
And I've very little issue with the Swiss having a democratic vote and ban on minarets. I've heard from family members living here that the Swiss are quite peculiar about most everything. In fact, they'll go through your garbage and issue a letter reminding you to properly recycle, so no surprise they don't want "alluha akbar" yelled from a minaret 5 times a day. I suppose if Latin followed the christian church bells the local officials would have their phones ringing off the hook, quietly, of course.
It's just they way they are; particular, precise and literal minded.
But enough of politics, politics doesn't solve anything, really. And certainly not much to write about re the Climate conference so better to focus on the local environs like the soft, calm olive-taupe colored buildings. From the little I know, these people are quiet, they don't like to conquer, and I can certainly see why so many people come to stay; it's livable, lovely and rather sensible.
Relocating to Geneva reminds me of exactly one decade ago. While living at the corner of Olive and Boren I enjoyed my salon in the sky for several blissful years. I was single and very social, prior to meeting mio marito who would dictate a more conventional home, like buying a houseboat.
However, prior to floating on water my social itinerary on land was active, mostly work related but all events back then align evenly and serenely in my mind. Many splendid soirees, several dinner parties, two baby showers, and one earth quake occurred whilst in residence but the most memorable evening was spent alone as I frantically ran from terrace to terrace, as confused as the rest of the city, watching the Battle of Seattle unfold below. My place provided prime viewing as it was located between downtown and capitol. The two terraces on either side (pictured left) looked toward downtown and the Public Market while the large terrace in the back overlooked the stylish and eclectic neighborhood known for its diversity and cool haunts. Back then it felt raw and colorful, especially for a space as low key as the Emerald City.
But I am here, 10 yrs later, living in a different country, in a city that's strangely engaged in the same debate at The World Trade Organization. While hunting for our next address I met a nice guy that worked for the WTO. I shared my memory of Seattle and he said, "Well, i keep my horns in the closet but to tell you truth, we don't even have anything to do with water distribution," apparently that's one of the many issues listed by protesters. Even though this important item doesn't sit within their domain they are the intergovernmental forum that debates trade and tariffs, so who better to play scapegoat. But I'm not convinced the issues emanate from the WTO, maybe the responsibility sits within individual countries and governments and how corrupt or transparent they are...btw, in case you're curious, New Zealand's the most transparent of them all.
And here I thought we'd be moving to a neutral and straightforward new home, but alas, if that weren't enough, we have the Minaret vote. This last weekend the Swiss voted to ban any new minarets so we find the Swiss Imam urging calm. It's not just an architectural item but rather a place to call the devoted to prayer so I get why this could be an issue in a Christian country, but we'll be following the fall out and keeping up with current Swiss drama.
The term 'rock and roll' or 'rocking and rolling' was secular black slang for sex in the 30's and 40', then gospel artists hijacked it, then Alan Freed and others brought the term along with black music into mainstream society.
Logic would follow, at least Italian logic, that our dear leader, Silvio, would thus make the cover of Rolling Stone. Apparently, according to the Independent, he's rocking and rolling allot.
Very, very bad news for anyone living in London This law is so peculiarly awful but not so surprising for the Nanny state, is it? Just as questionable is Murdoch and Microsoft's partnership and strategy for paying businesses to ignore Google. Biz Stone, Twitter co-founder suggests the two magnates are trying to put the genie back in the bottle. Ignore google. Good Luck.
However, very, very good news that Velib, the bike hire scheme we used all the time in Paris, is coming to London. Still theft and vandalism will be a challenge, as it is in the other European cities that promote its use for their residents, but somehow I imagine in the UK, unique issues shall arise...
Everything's sort of cartoonish, isn't it? America's most popular movies are either animated and/or infused with so many special effects they affect a raving headache rather than make you think. I can't handle the combination of audio and doomsday narrative and I'd rather watch something like Night of the Iguana anyway.
And this very morn I read Jim Kunstler over at Clusterfuck Nation calling America's group think infantile, wondering if it's just courting convulsions. He argues against preaching we sustain the unsustainable and debates the kind of delusional economic theories that inspire Krugman and the rest to suggest the country can safely return to an economy based on the fraudulent securitization of reckless debt.
He's embarrassed by many things that pose as news but mostly he's just upset that people don't just grow up, go local and forget all about globalization. Who knows, they just may have to...
The news and editorial from across the pond feels sillier than ever so it's not necessarily a negative I've neither the time nor heart to update my political podcasts on iTunes but Andrew Sullivan posted a video capturing Palin's particular esprit, her 'magical realism', it was v.v. funny.
And just yesterday, the religious right and catholic bishops want to impose religion on all americans:
Americans United for Separation of Church and State today expressed grave concern about a renewed push by a coalition of conservative church groups to impose religious teachings on all Americans through government action.
At a press conference today, Religious Right leaders and Roman Catholic bishops unveiled a joint statement criticizing laws that allow reproductive choice and same-sex marriage. The “Manhattan Declaration” indicates that participating religious leaders will defy such laws if they conflict with church doctrines.
And then there's Sarah Palin.
These people are exactly who they say they are...it appears that Kristol and his kind are playing Professor Higgins to Sarah's Eliza Doolittle. She may only boast a small, albeit fanatical base, but from what i've read, women that would never vote for her message will vote for her gender. Et tu Bay? No way, I'm must watching this recipe for disaster from afar. Alas, I've met people that adore her, this demagogue, they may lack critical thinking of any kind, but they have a vote, they have their own anger and they will assist Sarah Palin.
Update: Belgium's Herman van Rompuy becomes first EU President, and Catherine Ashton becomes the EU foreign policy chief. She's competent, she's a woman, and a baroness no less, how fablous a fact is that...
Earlier today; The 27 members may soon elect a president and high representative to represent the EU as a cohesive bloc. The vote is to be held tonight even though some are still mystified about the Presidential powers compared to the HIgh Representative's duties,but what would the EU be without complications.
The EU represents many things. The EU=No War but to most Europeans it's about the Euro and the Schengen, and for all the members involved, creating some 450 million people, Germany and France still dictate and provide the engine that is the European Union.
Herman van Rompuy leads the field, having governed fractious Belgium, but there's still many contenders, providing a headache for all. I'm sorry to see that field being made up mostly of male candidates, but at least the decision will be made by this evening.
Of course, there's always a Friday and Saturday and Sunday I suppose....
Sir David Attenborough asks the obvious question, which part of climate change is due to natural causes, which part to human activity. Here's the chart.
Even the most ardent activist and hardened skeptic can agree on the following fact; faced with so much science and data , why not try and address the risk, slow it down, now, when we have the window like this guy, in his video, spread the word.
I guess the trickiest bit is that it's up to each citizen to do their own homework, like reading the fine print on a mortgage agreement. I suppose that begs a big, 'Uh oh'.
No wonder George Monbiot suspects this is a lost cause. His site has a great quote, "Tell people something they know already and they will thank you for it. Tell them something new and they will hate you for it," Being the political and environmental activist he is, his latest article discusses the skeptics and how futile it's become to fight those fighting the science, the proof...maybe so, but he's still trying, go George.
My sister in law is on the front line, writing some of the content and data for next month's conference in Copenhagen. She's up for the good fight and fighting it hard, trying to help outline exactly how climate change is a human-induced process of global warming, largely resulting from the emission of greenhouse gases. The science has arrived, people, why not take at least ten minutes to read some of it.
But I understand how it's a tough sell what with the recession, free trade and human rights, not to mention all the warm, tepid and hot wars going on....speaking of, watched The Manchurian Candidate last night and wondered if the only way the world can conspire an awakening is by brainwashing certain continents, like watchingin horror as the red communist villain Khigh Dhiegh of the Pavlov Institute in Moscow leans across the brainwashed character played by Laurence Harvey and laughs at how easy it is, "guilt and fear are uniquely American traits'.
Back then it was about the red hunting McCarthyists deliberately weakening America for their own gain...today it's the corporations, the Rupert Murdoch's of the planet pulling the levers, controlling the message via the media to get back in political charge of the ballgame. How else could Sean Hannity so effortlessly dismiss Jon Stewart for calling him out on fake footage on Fox News, it's just a mix up, plugged in the wrong tape, let's talk about somethin that sizzles, like Sarah and her new book, one that Rush Limbaugh refers to as the most 'substantive' book he's ever read in his entire life.
Mio dio, it's a mad, mad world indeed as I tune into NPR and listen to my fellow Americans call into the radio show saying, "listen, it's up to the media to spring us into action'.
Even though 20% of Americans read the periodicals, study the science and agree and say, yes, there's a major problem, we still hear so many simply say honestly, sadly, 'you gotta instill the fear of god into climate change, that's the only way we'll listen".
For avid readers who prefer their own imagination to someone else's interpretation, audiobooks can detract rather than enhance. Recently I've enjoyed re-visiting Rebecca and The Castle of Otranto if only because my imagination dictated the first impression.
But In regards to Sapphire's "Precious", well, that's a different gig entirely.
I can't fathom competing with Bahni Turpin's rendering and I'm not even sure I'd breeze through the novel, specifically due to the slang, what I know as ebonics. Listening to the main character felt similar to initially opening my ear to Italian and French or could be compared to traveling to Quebec where one might argue their version of French is dramatically different, even bastardized but it's equally as important and certainly integral to the local community imparting information, so all things relative as language is a fluid mode of communication.But you know Sapphire the performance poet is going to take it to another level, and she does and I am impressed and spent.
So I download the novel and take a seat along the banquette in our salon, overlooking the stagnate black water with Colette and Godot peacefully at sleep on either side. I've turned off all the overhead lights and desk lamps, everything, wishing to listen in the dark, relieved of all reality and sense of protocol. I want complete immersion into her brutal life, I want to see who this child is, this black, obese, illiterate being, sexually abused by both parents, impregnated by her father, twice, by the time she's 16. I want to understand what it's like to have never ever been given the chance to broker a deal with Faustus, what it's like to be born directly onto Dante's inferno.
And so I do. I follow Precious Jones along the yellow brick road and witness in horror as the last lifeline of mainstream life floats away. I'm so grateful by the time the good witch arrives in the form of a wizard, a teacher named Blue Rain who happens to be a lesbian, arriving just in time to gently guide Precious from the flames towards sanity.
This is where its important to note and appreciate the author as performance poet. The words flow from the character, so economic and yet with a particular force so fierce that each syllable, every letter demands to be heard. I even found myself imitating Precious as she recites the alphabet, had I forgotten the order of the alphabet? I leaned forward, I had a moment, so many moments while listening to Precious recite her life to me. There were other students, other stories and I was surprised how important the other stories became to me, in such a short time frame, their lives in just 5 minutes, a clever mechanism as each student had to recite their own story to complete the course.
You begin to believe, at least I did, that Precious could and would want to remove her victim status, erase every 'why me' from her daily prayers and just forget about the fact the world conspired to make such wistful thinking practically impossible.
Language, yes, a tricky proposition indeed. It's amazing some of us can communicate at all. I miss speaking English to those around me, it's primal. The other nite I went out with my local galpal, Elise, as she tried to teach me Italian slang, please, and not 10 minutes ago, my husband sent me a pic on his iphone from Geneva; this particular niece speaks 5 languages and she's not even 5 years old, in an Israeli accent for heaven's sake. But the world's conspired to make it easy for her, to learn and live amongst many people, but Precious, well, she's going to inspire millions, she's certainly made an impact upon me, deep into my psyche, a second reading will not be on this weeks' itinerary....whoever you are Sapphire, you are something otherly, indeed.
Is using aid to Israel as leverage becoming a mainstream idea? Glenn Greenwald explores the taboo topic by cross referencing Friedman's inconsistent column with Joe Klein's piece in TIME. Friedman, of course, is too coy to carry his thoughts to their natural conclusion so Greenwald does it for him but GG's surprised by the harsh and realistic tones of both columnists.
Benissimo, certo, after listening to the NPR interview with Lee Daniels my appetite's been sufficiently whet, like an aperitif, it is certainly time to see his movie called Precious.
Here in Northern Italy, the local digestivo consists of one part soda, prosecco and Campari with a slice of orange or lemon and that's how it felt listening to Sig. Daniels speak, he's so utterly charming, enticing and refreshingly authentic. I'd no idea what the next question would inspire in this guy, how he'd relay a chapter of his life, a family member, a situation, he was so eloquent. He inspired the mind to wind back to former lives and times.
In my 20's I found myself directing fashion shows for a nightclub on 1st avenue. My clients included the Broadway market, Pike Place market and a couple of retail corporations that allowed me to get very creative, infusing rap singers with drag queens and once I found 'drag', before the 'craze' began in Seattle, I got it. They just started showing up at my fashion shows and immediately I knew there was a show I could write specifically for them, which I did, with success.
Drag is such a gorgeous art form when done well and these performers captivated my imagination. I think I launched a career or two and even inspired a well loved modern dancer to come out with his 'alter' personae, a gig I caught last time I was in Seattle. Unfortunately my particular esprit didn't match the savvy of the 'night club' scene and one show in particular where we opened for Rupaul turned me completely off. It had nothing to do with the performers but rather the local promoters. To make matters more complicated, AIDS was everywhere and after holding hands in the hospital and attending funerals the timing inspired a foray back into the 'business' world.
But while I could partake, I did enjoy, watching them apply layers of character, reviewing their closets at home, listening to the older ones I couldn't entice back into business share their tales of live shows and fabulous acts, I suppose it's no coincidence I would go on to recruit and become an advocate for another fringe type, 'the techie'. I'm glad I was there before either went mainstream.
But what I recall most vividly was a conversation I had with one of the performers after a long rehearsal. While driving him home he said, ''honey, you've no idea how hard it is to be black, a fag AND a drag queen," he laughed but that moment was so sad and no, I've no idea but he did provide a snapshot and he shared his story, as much he could. The other two black performers had managed successful careers in the arts but 'Paul' struggled and last time I saw him he was working at Nordstrom's, laughing, spritzing me with some tester perfume. And times have changed so much in the past 20 years, it's fantastic but rather amazing when I step back and review time. Time is on the gay and lesbian side, even if tolerance is not.
I was deeply touched by many things Lee Daniels' had to say about his family, his culture, his reality and how the times dictated something entirely different. I may have lived a parallel life to this young and brilliant director but I can relate to the topics indirectly as I've done a lot of non-profit work towards eliminating domestic violence, I learned as I grew to know and understand the black and gay drag artists in my shows and I've certainly seen how we still must side step around closet cases which is one of the saddest facets of our modern lives.
Every time some soul is oppressed the world loses out, unless they prevail, as does this particular "Precious" and listening to Lee Daniels' candid manner of addressing some of the most brutal aspects of his life; jail bound brothers, abusive fathers, violent neighbors certainly inspires an inspection of movie times for "Precious"....in Milan perhaps....
Italy convicted 23 secret agents, challenging the CIA's extraordinary renditions. Odds are the agents may simply be issued new passports but the world is paying attention, the statement has been made. As I said in previous posts, Italy does it differently, that's why they adroitly pay off the Taliban chiefs to keep their troops safe. It's Berlusconi's way and say what you want about Silvio's 'art of the deal' making ways, I'm not sure he'd have his hopes dashed as did Merkel.
Just days after making an impassioned speech to Congress, emphasizing the Climate Issue, imploring Americans to accept the fact the science is in, Merkel's government is shocked at GM's decision to reneg on the sale of European subsidiary Opel. She's really in a pickle, what is she going to do, nationalize Opel? German laws, unions, workers expectations are different and what about the Russians, they really wanted this to happen. We'll have to wait and and then wait some more as Merkel doesn't do anything quickly but she may be forced into action. Her current political situation isn't too dissimilar from Gordon Brown's she could, in fact, receive a vote of no confidence; Opel's a big deal in Germany, very.
I found my own hopes dashed while listening to my fellow americans calling into a radio show on National Public Radio. Even though 20% of Americans actually read science periodicals and have done their research and understand the sense of urgency, the majority of Americans suggest t's it up to media to instill the fear, to scare them into action.
That's not very promising as many scientists suggest there's only a 10-20 year window in which we can properly address climate change. Technology won't happen fast enough, we need to change our ways, we're insatiable and unrealistic, it's time for a reality check. I'm so humbled by nature, it's become crystal clear while living this temporary lifestyle, by choice, this intimate relationship with nature, it is truly awesome.
However, I'm not sure America's media has the time to focus on anything but the celebrity of politics. Politics isn't just about money and elections and raising money to get elected, it's as if politics has officially become the new celebrity culture. Climate change, economic change and authentic issues haven't a chance against reality shows such as Sarah Palin vs Levi Johnston.
...I've enjoyed a lovely birthday and it's only half over; received kisses from Dutch n Swedish friends, kind wishes from the isle of both Malta and New Zealand, lovely, wonderful notes from Paris, Rome, London and from across the pond, old friends from NY, Chicago and Seattle sent their very best, forwarding them in advance to arrive on time.
And if this weren't enough, It would appear I've yet another porn star following me on twitter! What a surprise, their provocative names mysteriously show up as followers until they mysteriously unfollow me, but then, just about everything regarding twitter remains a mystery to me.
But the biggest surprise arrived around 1 as we cycled aimlessly underneath the warm sun surrounding lignano sabbiadoro, casually looking for lunch...we'd have been content with a baguette or a slice of pizza. Curbing our enthusiasm as well as our appetite for the hedonistic effort would be made at dinner we parked our bikes against the non-descript trattoria and looked through the sliding glass door....improvisimente, a slim black clad Italian woman threw the door open, insisting we usher in our basket of papillons.
She escorted us to the table and immediately two water dishes were put down before the kids with two biscuits placed carefully at either side.
We then enjoyed
glasses of prosecco, a bottle of cab-merlot blend from the Friuli-Venezia
region, colorful platters with a dozen kind of fresh fish, pasta, cappuccini, followed by complimentary limoncello, of course. The kids may look less than enthusiastic but they were giddy, until they fell asleep....birthdays aside, this day's been swell so far...
Latest update; finally, after reading a week's worth of funny, earnest english press forcing the candidacy of tony blair upon europe as eu prez, we can finally breathe easier today as it would appear his hopes are fading, finally...
And no, it's not because blair didn't inspire his country to enter schengan or engage in the euro, (as if they would) and no, it's not because tony blair's viewed as a war criminal by millions, its' not even about the peculiarly awful way in which he wears his ambition and his own brand of religion, but rather he'd never have europe's best interests at heart, unfortunately, and that's an integral part of this job description.
Apparently M. Blair is sensitive to being humiliated so he can't actually 'ask' for the job, but just to provide some lopsided logic we have George Monbiot's perspective. Silvio supports him which could be perceived as bonus or not. The most scathing reading is the comments section whenever the British press pushes their boy....
Even his own advisers are against appointing Tony Blair as EU president:
How could a country that's funnier than any other give us Tony Blair? That must have been another earnest phaseand they did give us Monty Python, Chaucer and Shakespeare, but still....even his own previous advisers like Sir Stephen Wall, one of the main architects of the EU Prez post suggests in the Independent, Tony Blair may not necessarily be the right guy. There's even a European petition, which doesn't have very many Europeans, but over 18 thousand Britons, who happen to feel very European, or feel for the Europeans, who knows, who cares, I'm just tickled they signed a petition arguing against Blair.
The Tony Blair saga continues...
The Independent asks whether Mata Hari was she a double agent meant to disappoint and exasperate both sides, alas, no one really knows...files to be released in 2017 may assist but the mystery is so much more fun and inspires another eccentric, Edith Sitwell and her poem about the 'great Popinjay'
One women spins her charm for as long as possible while another plays out her wit while perfectly still, so still in fact Jane Brown captures the eccentric Dame in repose
Sig.Vidal's sun is setting and he may be grieving for a circle and country long gone but while we overlook Lignano this October eve his views prove as probable and prescient as ever.
I love Vidal, read him often, but must rely on Dawn Powell's acute observation circa '54: "Something of a Disraeli, a high patrician like Solomon in judgment and philosophic power with wit, poetry and music. Not to be fit in any fashion, but will outlive them all, like the great ones."
How could Dawn have known? Maybe due to her own literary vérité failing to fit into nessuno fashion. Like Gore she got it, documented it, but not the way one 'must', like, say, John Updike, with just enough bland and benign allegiance to appease one's precious readers.
Both Gore and Dawn were obsessed with 'motivations', instead of itemizing, whether in fictional character or historical figures. Rather than "memorize" a shop window or describe the same street or the same adulterous affair in a dozen ways, they wrote about the deep desire behind the eyes viewing the wares. Vidal and Powell wrote about sex, yes, as it is life, but their curiosity investigated the way we daily work and vote, stay on the make, and ride an empire into the ground.
So when Johann Hari listens to Gore whip off funny one-liners about Britain like, "This place isn't a country, it's an American Aircraft carrier"one might understand why he simply sums up his subject as angry and full of fury. Too bad for he falls into the same quicksand as does his fellow gay avenger Edmund White in the recent piece in Salon.
There's valuable truth sacrificed and lost in translation as Gore Vidal has unique and deeply strong and consistent ideas towards our sexual acts, based on a far wider swath of history than any other modern figure. If our world existed within a more natural order, most would fall into both sexual acts in some way or at least not be bothered or wonder why others do when they do.
Too few people understand that Gore's essays play mistress as the love of his life is pure politics, particularly American. That's why he wrote about it for 6 decades, adroitly, presciently, passionately.
Of course, ironically, when he was well situated in the world at 20, he was situated dead center as a crossroads; he could "take a right turn and end up accursed in Thebes or abandon it and turn left and end up in the holy Delphi".
With his Luciferian looks, a suave and veiled power and a need to be authentic he wrote about homosexuality at exactly the wrong place and time. It was helpful he had a privileged upbringing because both his father and grandfather were self made men who insisted he follow suit, which he did or rather was forced to due to The City and the Pillar.
The interview with Hari has its highpoints though it's unfortunately titled, "United States of Fury" but people forget the patriotism Gore Vidal felt once upon a time, actually, he still does, but to another country, quite unlike the one he's made the unfortunate choice to die in. Why he left his paradise retreat we'll never know even though I suspect it was a combination of losing his partner and falling into the same illusion so many Americans living abroad feel when faced dying in Italy, move back. We think Italy overmedicalizes. Either way I'm ticked as after 2 or 3 stalking attempts, just when I was ready to knock on his door down in Ravello he done moved back to America on me. Actually, it's alright I was only meant to love my gorgeous boy from afar and in the next world, that's when we'll be together.
Gore loved politics but chose to write about a love story. Chaucerian. And now his sun sets he's surrounded by gay writers that don't focus on the real love, the one he chronicled diligently, consistently, accurately.
Not that it matters as our 'internet age' history is what twitter discovered 5 minutes ago but what Dawn said years ago does matter, "Lunch with Gore Vidal. He has more character, manliness, power, manners and general good breeding, intelligence than other young men...and capacity to work, in spite of perfect capacity for climbing as the others have and customary social charm and ambition. Latter has driven him to do too much and without direction."
Well, no one's perfect...
Mio marito skidded in from Geneva as did an old pal from Seattle, Ian Mcfail, visiting while in the midst of his adventure having a Giorgio de Chirico authenticated at the foundation in Rome. I bestow all the de Chirico energy as I've posted about friends with their own originals. Either way, Ian has a pretty spectacular collection for your purview if interested on Facebook.
Even though the cold winds have arrived and the men have left it still feels like la dolce but now I'm alone and Zurich and Milan remain one week away, it's time for new film. Fortuitously enough, upon picking up my MacBook Air from the techie hospital in Venice I located what mio marito suggested I see and I say there's a reason we've driven thru this commune, quickly, without dropping in for a caffe macchiato, rather than stay for a tour.
The film, Gomorra, is based on the chilling book by Roberto Saviano. To suggest Sig. Saviano is courageous is an understatement. He's currently living within a life threatening lifestyle after extensively investigating and exposing the Camorra. His brave journalism has inspired Matteo Garrone to create this quasi non-fictional documentary; cleverly scattered stories that tell the story of life lived not well, in hell, in fact. It literally feels that way as the camera captures frantic hands grasping through black bars for their heroin fix as gang members are kept underground in ghetto style environs.
Based in Naples, the Camorra possibly began in the 16th century, directly descending from the Spanish secret societies, creating a structure of loose confederations not too dissimilar to our modern day terrorist cells.
I was captivated by the film's cryptic style of piecing together various vignettes of mothers, son and cousins, each with their own role in their isolated dramatic world. Mio marito had shown me youtubes snippets highlighting their confined souls, swept to the edges, soon to fall over the ledges of southern Italy as one is killed every 3 days.
Corruption is indeed everywhere, each country playing their own game, mirroring another continent in their own cultural way but nothing nears the evil touching this world, this ghetto, this life that is antithetical to la dolce vita.
My guy insisted we go to Trieste as we'd never been before...the city was grand, all Austrian Hungarian architecture on full display, not to mention a million sailboats. As if I hadn't see enough, alas, the Barcolana was in full swing, arguably the largest sail race in Europe, some sort of casual crazy race of families and somesuch, who knows....but it was lovely. Generally i post my own pic but someone else posted the onlyh one worth viewing
Somewhere along the yellow brick road I lost the desire to impose morality on other people. Godot arrived, advised otherwise and once again I live in the land where love, sex and skin is everywhere, therefore overlooked, almost irrelevant, especially here in sunny, laissez faire Punta Faro marina in Lignano Sabbiadoro.
So many syllables, must be the close proximity to Germany, either way I find I'm thriving in my temporary lifestyle. No one is as surprised as I, now more than before as I'll soon be in Milan or Zurich. My existence inspires the mind to be utterly quiet at times, decreasing the energy of my personal existential angst. The days may be spent online or addressing the remaining issues on the boat but the nights are so still with solitude my body' becomes little more than a sliver, a slice nestled with a hammock within a womb serenading me to sleep. I'm awaken either by silence surrounding my life or the dogs demanding it's time to go above for a sec, that's why it's called the poop deck.
However my world is not entirely without a hiccup or two. Yesterday my Macbook Air broke, a manufacturer's defect which took two years to strike mine. Conveniently enough, the closest APPLE CARE center is located a half hour away, in Venice, fancy that. We've spares aboard so I can still network with Geneva and London and more importantly, keep up on world gossip.
When I i read about Roman Polanski's recent troubles I was reminded of the bizarre brutality of his life, the inhumane bookends that lost his parents to Auschwitz, a place I toured last year, to losing his gorgeous wife to the Manson murders. Incroyable. i also read that the victim had reached a settlement decades ago and wanted it to be done with, with that said I have to wonder why this happened now, near here.
The Swiss. The Swiss. I'm talking to that place everyday, that serious state of cities managing 40% of the world's wealth. One does wonder if the rumours are true and whether this case is effected by the serious squabbles btwn UBS and the US. That would factor into the unjust reality of Roman Polanski's current situation. I hate to say it but America's really encouraging other countries to take sanctions. I'm not kidding, no one other than the Americans will be surprised when China and others have had enough. The Americans won't see it coming, they're too busy absorbing the mental conagion that is Glenn Beck, but oh so slowly the rest of the world will quietly begin to dismiss America, if they haven't already begun.
And then just this morning I read about Letterman. I could care less what he does behind close doors, as long as he doesn't do it in broad daylight and scare the horses. He'll have to live with his wife's eyes for the rest of his son's life. And I'm blind when it comes to Letterman because he's made me laugh since the moment I started watching him way back and staying up just to have the last laugh. The stoic, sensible mid western guy who's having way too much making fun of the big city. Too bad he got caught up in his joke, but this is life; any sense of perceived authority will catch you off guard and show you how shallow our gene pool is, our evolution, not so evolved after all.
Astonishingly enough the Irish have ratified the treaty. Now for the tricky bit, positioning the EU presidency. Position's open and we all know who's campaigned the loudest. Merkel's vote is the most decisive, obviously, and like many Europeans they'd prefer anyone but the 'brand' that is Tony Blair but if she can lobby her candidate in the foreign high representative slot, maybe the rictus grin will be on display center stage.
Rarely does the concept of 'branding' live up to its own hype. Therefore it comes as no surprise that now the world has less money to spend on the concept it conjures up fairy tales such as The Emperor's New Clothes rather than any desire to acquire or buy into a 'brand', super or less than.
Speaking of less than, it appears the cynical tool that is Palin is wearing thin as well. We'll see, maybe Professor Higgins will demand Sarah sit down and study the structure of a proper sentence, who knows. But what I do know is that I've posted about Blair's bid to become the EU's first permanent President and it still rings wrong due to the following facts; there's still neither job description nor job posting, the Europeans don't like him, the European left openly loathes him and he's not considered European. There's also that tedious item re Iraq. In case you're curious, Europeans don't like war.
Neither does Croatia. I recently spent several weeks there and met a few residents. The war lives several years back but they're still deeply traumatized, in shock and trying to rebuild. They're sad, they lost entire families, so this is not easy, even when opportunity arrives via their brilliant coastline and potential EU entry.
And now, Donald Macintyre, an Irish investigative journalist who happens to do 'Strictly Dancing' to hype his own brand writes a compelling article selling Blair, 'The Brand', insisting the Chinese and Russians need to have some 'name recognition', to have heard of the next EU president. I'm not convinced, that feels weak but the article's compelling, after all, the writer's Irish and they do have the gift of gab and rhetoric but when one inspects the rictus grin that is Tony Blair and his recent role as Middle East Envoy, I fear his accomplishments appear to be stashed in the same place as the 'job description'. I suppose it's simply the English press bashing on about Blair to enforce their views over here, probably. Makes sense.
The Afghanistan war is not going well, the Iraq war was awful in every way, and now it's official, Iraq has one million widows in Iraq. One million lonely hearts, roaming their graveyards, their lives, their minds, making others wonder why, why, someone like Tony Blair should become EU president of a union that absolutely detests every single thing about war, if only because they remember it all too well.
...on the decline for women according to a study on HuffingtonPost. Maureen Dowd, who's never pretended to be happy puts on her own spin. I like Dowd, she's bitter and a stereotypical NY'er and very good at her job. I begrudge her nothing, she's honest.
So what happened. Quello che è successo? This study started in the 70's when women were 'officially' allowed to find their independence, but let's not discount those that did prior to permission, in fact, the one's I know seem relatively content, but let's review the Study and play along.
Possibly it has something to do with the stress and materialism of 'having it all', and more importantly, 'wanting it all'. Per esempio. I started making a 6 figure income in my late 20's, that was heady stuff, but while sitting across from my friend, Norman Durkee, having lunch at the Queen City Grill on 1st Ave in Seattle, which we did for years, he uncovered my secret, I wasn't happy. I'd always made him laugh until I didn't.
Money's great, but it doesn't love you, maybe one might benefit by lowering their expectations. Also I'm grateful I was surrounded by women who lived on the 'who's who' lists. When I achieved good grades and ranked in tennis, I received encouragement from Muv and letters from friends' mothers, applauding accomplishment. I knew independence was a necessary need for me and thanks to the times, I did. But, I never wanted to 'have it all'. I know many women that 'have it all' and they've no monopoly on happiness, and one could argue many have had to exchange the very currency in order to 'Have It All'. Again, I begrudge them nothing, they're bizzy.
So, per previous post, I decided to have a chat with the young woman in the marina office. She took calls and carried out her business but kept coming back to the counter if only because I wouldn't leave but I could tell she enjoyed the topic. It's also a tricky one for Italians, not only because of the traditional cultural issues, but because like the French, they rather like their 'soft' and 'hard' power behind the scenes. She said feminism came much later but still, women are encouraged to remain 'quiet', unless they're on Silvio's variety shows. In response to my specific questions about 'the backlash' via Silvio, she said they simply resented all the nakedness 24/7. Italians, like most Europeans are relaxed about their bodies, lord knows life is casual around here, but she said they didn't want to see it all day long on the tele.
I asked her about Oriana Fallaci, and another woman joined in. I was looking to find 'strong' Italian icons that we could discuss alongside Sophia and the usual suspects. We all agreed on Oriana, she was a bit too pro-american/9/11, too anti-arab, too reactionary, but she was cool and made her mark. I suppose for both men and women, business is 'complicated' here, but still more so for the opportunistic female persuasion.
Happiness, studies, who knows...but when I see these two women, which I do almost daily, chatting, cutting themselves up, I can tell, they're content. They'd be positively happy to go inside if only Silvio would stop putting those bikini clad women...
I park the kids and take pictures, they do little justice. After a few minutes the sweetest thing happens, the proprietor comes out and asks that I wait. Suddenly the large riverboat wheel in the water starts spinning and the potted plants go round and round and up and down like a carousel. They're a kind couple, Belgium/Paris/LS lifestyle.
Joy.
When we reach the dock I put the kids out to run the rest of the way home. Godot is left in the dust as Colette has already flown over the bike, done a pirouette or two and waits patiently aboard the boat while her brother and mother take a bit longer...
I've adapted easily to this new routine, this sporty, cycling life, filled with fresh fruits and veggies. I'm even doing Pilate's on the bow of the boat in the morning sun using the same large rubber matts we used to view the stars on midnite watches, no longer missing my Pilates machines stuck in storage.
Life's pretty healthy and organic. I'm meeting my laid back neighbors, working on my Italian, enjoying the rhythms of their arrivals and departures as they come to putz for an hour, take the family out sailing for a day or escape back onto the dock alone for a peaceful overnite sleep, winking my way, offering a quiet 'ciao'. How can one not luv the Italians...
The air is so divine, the most fragrant I've ever imbibed, while cycling underneath the pine, inhaling the cornetti and cappuccino as we whip along the cafe's competing with deep aroma's escaping the terraces of the rustica restauranti's passed along our morning or afternoon routine. At night from the deck chairs at the back of the boat we review the sea's environmentally sound air to match.
Everyone's perfectly chilled out, even lunches aboard are quiet with the kids barely fussed, needing nothing, leaving the world and their parents alone, it's truly tranquillo, bellissimo in Punta Faro marina in Lignano Sabbiadoro.
But the moment these Italians step back into their working world, like the French, they or the televisions in the background will be swearing their heads off. I love to swear and certainly had more to swear about while sailing. i've only recently stopped bashing my head or jamming my toe every ten minutes so I miss the sounds and say thanks Larry David, grazie mille, really.
Last night I downloaded several podcasts and sat back for a long listen. Initially it was inspiring with some pundits wishing to end partisan politics but quickly the discourse descended into base vitriol with policy sifted effortlessly into cyberdust.
When conservatives like Auberon Waugh and his Etonian brethren of a certain era issued vituperative remarks they maintained upward mobility because they were played as farce, a spoof, until the winds changed tack and libel laws inspired Mr. Waugh to write seriously, which he did, about wine and travel rather than Lord Goldenballs and Nora Balsoff.
I'd assume that Glenn Beck would be served as satire but he's taken straight with no chaser by both sides, understood to be somewhat outré but dissected seriously by everyone. Bill Maher and Jon Stewart may be news spoof material but many think Colbert's Report is played straight. Very little critical thinking pours forth in a land where people crave both purpose and pots and pots of dosh.
When the wingnuts and christian converts 'aim high', their sloppy reference points and disdain for history hit low with End Times played for real, Mormon style. This may be a natural extension of Ronald Reagan, a tool and employee of GE, having spent 20 years making records warning us about the Red Threat and Socialized Medicine, but Glenn Beck's audience is much larger than those who listened to Ronnie's records.
Even as I hear the MSM rhetoric ramp up, Obama remains calm, intent upon playing the management consultant, sticking with the white paper approach, which is unfortunate as the infrastructure is jammed and the system is stagnate, creating a less than optimal predicament for a country that thrives on creativity, productivity and forward momentum.
I really don't think this is a right vs left paradigm. It's almost as if the culture's nerve center has suffered malnourishment due to three distinct diseases I write about; litigiousness, evangelism and victimization. Climate change and financial responsibility are seriously addressed issues everywhere but there so America can dismiss the rest of the world but the rest of world has just begun to dismiss America.
The citizens may care little how the government has engaged in cold, tepid or hot wars with at least one country on each continent since WW2 and they may never, ever mind paying half their taxes towards that end but those pathologies are now embedding their way deep into the nation's psyche. Law schools may issue fewer JD's and people may assume the jesus freak fundies would gently fade away along with Bush Jr. but I argue the opposite; all three are more than afloat.
To listen to the pundits highlight the race card only amplifies the victimization pathology. It feels counter-productive as so many suffer from selective racism, overt or covert and that issue necessitates nuance, reconciliation and solidarity, traits not necessarily integral to America's current personality.
Special interests are so powerful as to make statistical analysis, pollsters and party members absolutely irrelevant. The country i grew up could almost always swing back to the middle, towards normalcy but that's no longer the case, why else would Glenn Beck become the King of Talk, TV and the blogosphere, the boy wonder, talk of the town.
I've only seen youtube bits but after reading his Wikipedia entry it's telling if not tragic. Half his family committed suicide, the other half suffered heart attacks, little wonder he slid into so many addictions and converted to Mormonism. Elmer Gantry has nothing on Glenn Beck, but he's not a satirical character in American fiction, he's the new PT Barnum, making more money and crying nothing but crocodile tears to the bank. Big Time.
For all those unloved kids left behind, cocooned tightly within so many slights, this is what it's all about. Winning. Of course, they haven't won anything at all, but that's the only game in their mind. The process is irrelevant, their oxygen emanates out of anger, without it they wilt for what is life without the mission, the people to convert, their imaginary best friends to make them feel something, anything.
God save us from the converts and those children beaten half to death by their Mama's bible for they grow up to become reactionary, extreme and erratic in behavior, tragic, disingenuous souls.
One of the benefits of a 'liveaboard lifestyle' is close proximity to mother nature. You become much more aware of everything, including oneself while in close proximity to mother nature. Everything you do and use is inspected on a base level and I've become even more weather obsessed than ever.
As much as I may love this time of year, this climate, this place and the variable weather, the perspective shifts dramatically aboard a boat when the skies open up with thunder and lightning, if only to accentuate the drama...this is Italy, operatic et al, so I suppose one must be careful for what they ask as the answer may arrive and collide in one's cockpit, located not so conveniently on top of one's cabin, quite suddenly, as it did aboard MADI.
Though the leak proved far enough away from our bed, near the nav station, still, the drip, drip, drip came in, and well, mother nature felt just a wee too close for comfort. I love to hear it, see it, breathe it, but I don't want to necessarily feel it, no, not unless I'm Gene Kelly, and I'm not, so I don't. The details, which were devilish, if only for a short while, are no longer relevant as they've all been addressed and eliminated most adroitly by a lovely man named Mario, but yesterday was not necessarily as fun as the day before.
However, it's far too soon to discount my degree of happiness as I now live amongst Italians informed by the organizational atmosphere floating down from the North via geographical osmosis. I domicile amongst a lyrical accent and a laissez faire attitude that must be appreciated for what it is; quite nice. So, in order to delve more deeply into the region in which I reside I find a book/memoir called "Ciao, ricordi, ciao", by Antonino Marrocutti sitting along mio marito's selection of books. How fortuitous and timely as my guy's having lunch with Signor Morocutti's son Max, in Milan as I write this missive so the least I can do is read the book. Conveniently enough, it's inspired by the Province in which we're parked; Udine.
It's a great read, bringing to life this complicated place nestled in between the Adriatic and the Alps. Fortunately Sig. Morocutti's life provides more than enough material for a memoir. He grew up in the small village of Ligosullo, was educated in Vienna, set up shop in Milan, became a Lieutenant liaison in Vienna, suffered and successfully made his way through the war, married happily, created a large family, enjoyed cruises to the Caribbean and America, and then some.
His reflections are recorded in a delightfully eclectic fashion, bursts of candid, insightful comments floating randomly yet fluently and personally along each page. He muses about the Swiss, the French, escaping poverty and prison, always navigating his way from and to a place of privilege, even from a young age, adored, adoring, grateful, sardonic and sweet.
So much life in this collection but I've only time to highlight one nugget amongst many where he ponders emigration philosophically, specifically the 'vu cumpra', the Northern Africans. I well remember the 'vu cumpra' when we lived in Rome. It speaks to so many conversations I've had about how different cultures travel, either through necessity or pleasure, some better than others, the Italians possibly better than most. They've certainly exported their culture with tremendous success.
Sig. Morocutti compares and contrasts the Italians ability to take their talents elsewhere, quietly, in small numbers, gradually, willing to sacrifice with a wish to be accepted, earning only what they give in return. Immigration contains a labyrinth of challenges and scenarios and many Italians simply integrate the Africans by marrying them but one can't marry them all. His views are contrary and conservative, based on personal experience, probably because he was born in a place and time that dictated most of the men emigrate and most of them did in an industrious and productive fashion, providing well for them and their families.
We should all be so lucky and resourceful, speaking of.....
Option A was to stay in the Malta flat in that heat and that air with transportation via mio marito's motorcycle or 60 yr old buses blowing billows of black smoke.
Option B was to become a liveaboard within country club environs with transportation via my nice new white bike and golf carts with personal drivers.
Option B is working out really, really well. In a month or two we'll decide upon a country to call home, permanently, or as much as a nomadic European and an obliging europhile can call any home permanent.For now, we domicile in a divine space with the most breathable, fragrant air and nature as surround sound. Venice is but a half hour away, Vienna a pleasant train ride. Lignano Sabbiadoro is Italian style infused with German competence; molto bellissimo, tranquillo, perfetto. Option B, brilliant.
My neighbors are mostly rich Swiss that leave their yachts to live on land. The docks are quiet until the weekend arrives as the rhythm shifts with happy Italian families putzing on their boats while the grander sort enjoy luncheon aboard their yachts named 'Bridget' and 'Allesandra'.
Groceries are delivered by the kind drivers that arrive in 5 and and I've a spiffy new set of wheels to park next to MADI, a cool, surprisingly comfortable model that folds up to store on the boat.
The kids luv it, like when I used to whisk them thru the arrondissements in Paris, this carrier is their bliss. As I write mio marito's picking up his motorcycle at a family residence in Riva del Garda, then Milano, then Geneva, requesting I take care of the boat and put my headhunting hat back on as work must loom along the horizon, unless I wish to be a liveaboard forever.
However, until then, this sensible Venetian style mooring system with poles alongside each boat lends to the kind of security that gives me sleep like I've never experienced before, nestled within our teak and holly home. It's an adjustment as laundry requires a trip down to the end of the dock but the golf cart taximan is more than happy to assist.
It's so peaceful, private and quiet I have to say that Punta Faro Marina appears to be nothing short of the dogs bollocks. The town is pristine beyond belief as it caters to Italians, Germans and Swiss. Grand trees line the streets...
and bike paths provide access to everywhere as we witness the season gently, slowing down.
Soon enough, it'll be just me, c, n g at
the doggie beach...and yes, they even have a doggie beach, as if
tailored for us at this time.
We parked at ACI marina in Pula, our last stop in Croatia. The views were spectacular, if not extreme. At first we have the Imperial grandeur of Rome, a lovely coliseum, if not thee coliseum.
Then I move the camera just slightly to the left to capture true imperial culture by the Austrians:
Only to pan slightly right to the coliseum, blindsided by the inspiration, or lack of, circa Tito...
Simple fare; fish, white wine and local water have been super for the diet and waste line for both me and my guy but finally we enjoy fries and a meat platter, wonderful stuff.
Here are the kids, Colette and Godot visiting country number 23...I'm thinking a book perhaps as I have pics to prove...this idea is teasing and tempting the commercial mind to coincide with the less than lite stuff. Hey, wait, I forgot, Colette was born in Australia, she's been to more continents than I....
We step off the path and travel towards the water...I sit next to a sweet old Croatian, he tries to converse, who can blame him, how could you miss my feet.
Wish I could share pics of the lovely girls in all their greek inspired sandals and the young beautiful boys with their bright dark eyes prancing on top their sinewy bodies, so much skin everywhere...for so long have I seen...someday I shall once again be expected to wear clothes...cannot wait...oh, wait, rather, yes I can.
Weather channel's insisting we stay at port another nite lest the Bora winds get the best of us so I've time to post pics from Mali Losinj. And si, oui, scenery's still drop dead gorgeous.
Walking away from the coastline, like the town before, the views transport my mind back to Northern California near my birthplace, where the lovely stucco homes are protected by elegant palms...then a home or two ago in Rome, even the Azores make an appearance, then time rewinds and I'm transported to Seattle, distinctly PacNorthwest territory with its deep pine forests
A block from the marina we dine along the pines, just beneath the bridges, modeled after the Venetian 'bridge of sighs' where convicts were allowed their last divine gasp of the most feminine, the most pure city of them all.
From across the pond there is much to sigh about, Ted Kennedy and his fellow Irish Americans passing along.
After combing the headlines for 5 minutes I then receive an email from a friend in seattle, his beloved muv has passed. I remember her soft wise latina soul...so many sighs.
Alors, so much time allowed for reading and further sighs....the exercise of sailing is filled with lovely bits but also long bouts of tedium so I re-visit several stories and particular poems of death, with Dorothy Parker at her tender, biting best ..then I put my portable DP aside and devour once again all of Gore Vidal's essays in his The Last Empire compilation, explaining away the death of a country and how we missed the Saturday nite dance.
Pauvre Gore Vidal, uber idol, he, at the crucible, must be shaking his head, surrounded by citizens sans clue or curiosity to the inner mechanics of our past 100 yrs.....I need silliness after so much sobriety so Auberon Waugh's 'Will This Do' plays a nice part, gawd, what a piece of work, then I go light the last coupla days and read of Jackie Kennedy's post JFK period, via Ed Klein, but alas, so much death in this life.
Time to sail towards La Serenissima and imbibe some bliss before life floats entirely by...
Cruising the Caribbean was culturally diverse with its islands of French, British and Danish descent and sailing from Seattle to Desolation Sound was deeply pretty, pristine and clean but Croatia, well, it has castles, cathedrals and 'bridge of sighs' kind of architecture via Venice.
From the immortal lettres a la Jim Carrey, this place is absolutely B.E.A uuuuuuutiful.
Capitano brings us into Marco Polo's birthplace in Korcula
Still floating in Otranto, taking a breather prior to sailing across the Adriatic to cruise Croatia and then enter La Serenissima. And why not, this town is quite the party, it could easily rival the Edinburgh fringe festival for eclectic music and entertainment, at least by square mile.
Otranto may be tiny but performance art, jugglers, musicians absolutely swarm the place at sunset. After dinner when back on the boat we listen to latin, techno or italian female crooners carrying their sound across the water to MADI and no one hangs out better than the Italians, basta cosi.
So I must give thanks to the gods of fate for allowing the quality of the food and fashion to pronounce its style in color and variety once again. The pasta and fish equally fantastic and discussed and loved upon arriving at the table with just the right amount of fuss.
By day the Otrantini bronze at the beach and by night the walls of the castle and the boardwalks compete with sounds and visions for everyone to enjoy. Otranto took us totally by surprise, what a welcome and perfect reprieve...
How fabulous is that! Quite, in fact, but not without its multiple tasks, bruises, abrasions, work and lack of sleep, some of which we've received back, but do need much more, svp. Gosh, had to edit prior post, a rarity, but it was written as if waiting for the lift.
Mi dispiace, allora, we've arrived. Even Godot. So here we float, situated at the Eastern most proper tip of Italy; Otranto. Madi is anchored alongside Otranto's castle, ready to stay steady for a day or two, maybe three if something breaks, which something almost always does, just about everyday, when you're sailing...
Here's a beach perspective of Madi with the red Tinker tramp hugging her port side. The Tinker, the world's only inflatable/dinghy/sailboat.
Robert and the Tink dropped me, C, n G at the port to see if there might be room at the inn, there was not, so I ventured into the town to find shops where we could buy other stuff to fix the other stuff that broke.
Unfortunately, when I walkietalkied my taxi service my chauffeur wasn't any too happy to see me as the engine had broke en route so we were towed by some awfully nice Otrantini back to Madi.
I didn't mind, I was whistling and rowing happily enuf, enjoying rare and real exercise but kindness is something too precious to push away... Gosh, I didn't even play walkietalkie as a kid but it was fun, if silly, but silly's good...sleep's even better....
The Italians aboard the lovely 50ft beneteau with passarelle boasting black lights (tres chic), on our port side suggested we hit the well known fish joint across the marina. They'd just spent two months sailing along Croatia and had much news to impart and we're listening as that's our next destination.
We met Allesandra, (pictured above) Michele, and Giacomo to enjoy the first proper meal I've had in too long...once again, all is right in life as some invisible magician orchestrates that food and wine simply appear, course after course, et.
Allessandra's one of those cool chicks from Genoa who works in Milan and speaks some English and likes to party, so we do. The cigarettes, cigars and camaraderie float down from up North and play surround sound for the night. We may no longer smoke but its outside and just fine as Allesandra tries to seduce me into dancing into the nite, but I'm spent.
Her father, Michele, is the kind of Italian that exudes an ease with life; retired, content, happy to hang with his daughter and friend, and cook, Giacomo. Allesandra's twin brother is far away, in NY, learning English and Economics. I'm pretty sure I'll see Allessandra again and it's so nice to have to speak Italian, struggle though it may be after three years in Parigi.
When the pasta arrives, I can taste the Italian herbs. The volcanic ash is at work and the cows have been sung to in Italian so the food is simply bettah, so there. I can practically channel Paul Giametti in Sideways, identifying the grape within the Italian white wine butter sauce. Colette and Godot joined us at the table, we're all so relaxed, unfussed.
We set sail from Crotone at 8am, sailing at 15 knots until noon. This time I'm channeling my grandfather back when he used to sail one of his many mistresses in the san francisco bay, of the inanimate/yachting persuasion. The waves and wind hid hard. By mid afternoon, everything calms down, we then pull out the deck chairs at 6, have a cocktail and peacefully enter the harbor of Santa Maria di Leuca at 10pm and anchor out.
So here we are, at the southern most tip of the heel, dello stivale, in Santa Maria de Leuca....
...in the land where the coffee tastes like milkshakes and the pasta is al dente, finally! Benissimo!!! Such a process this exercise of sailing. It took some time to prepare. First I became at one with MADI. Cleaned, bleached, waxed and varnished her back to life: packing along bits of Italy, France,Gore Vidal and Dawn Powell to keep company.
Provisioned for a coupla days but Maltese fruit, like the little banana, lasts little longer than a day.
Nav station, pilot house in order and V-birth stashed and organized
We're ready to set sail...
6 hr watches, mio marito prefers the night, I the day...our times overlap, we all catch the sun rise and set along Sicily.
W'ere so blissed out, our thoughts focused on nothing other than the stars exploding, the sun's moods, life's so nice a dragonfly joins us 12 miles out from the coast along the Ionian Sea.
On the 3rd day we tie up at Porto Vechio Crotone, in blessed Italy as the cute kids whiz along the marina in their vespa...
Alors, with the Italians and French flanking either side, we're happy and secure....time to drink some milkshakes, wake up and explore the town prior to setting sail towards Otranto tomorrow...
So, now tis time to bid adieu to persephone's myth near Mdina, to 7,000 yrs of Maltese history and all that jazz.
A good entrance and exit is key, to any country, we think. Would have loved to sail away on Muv's b-day, but that's why we create pictorial blessays.
Escorted by my grandfather in their home in San Fran, Muv walks towards her betrothed, the man she would marry for some 55 yrs...
The second is her last sketch, outlining her own exit; with style and strength;
My biological realities, so much in evidence this past week as I spoke for the first time in 2 decades to my daughter. We'd emailed and I'd provided the background to particulars surrounding her unique birth. Even though she boasts a double degree from Univ of Washington, she opted to become a dancer in New York, a young women that proves both delightfully fierce and artistic, making her way into an all female dance company in the big city. I sigh with wonder. I may have given her up for adoption while at University so long ago, but her DNA plays a part in placing her in the space in which she lives today. The fact she studied in Argentina, speaking Spanish, simply completes the biological bookends, Basque et al.
Magic and mystery abounds, almost always.
So tomorrow, this time, when we set sail towards Sicily I'll pray to Calypso, documented as the first feminist, Homer's character of 2800 yrs ago that lived on the isle of Gozo, not far from Malta.
I've never been in danger of placing a mirror to the nymph's mistakes but departing this patriarchal island and entering a more matriarchal spirit is more than a bit symbolic.
And if Muv was a bit proper, funnily enuf, she luved nothing more than painting La Nu.....
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John Hooper@The Guardian has a great article about Matera, a place of caves where people have been living since Paleolithic times. This place, in Basilicata, in the south, was surreal and a must see for anyone that wants to see what most others don't while living in or traveling throughout Italy.
We didn't stay in this hotel but one similar, in a cave, with a lovely bed, phone and candles. Prior to falling into a blissful sleep our eyes hung off the window perched high above as the church bells rang and then silence, still, complete silence, like I've only heard in the middle of the Atlantic provided surround sound.
Hopefully I'll hear the same kind of sound on this sail to La Serenissima...
One of the highlights of having a sailboat is meeting new friends along the dock. Here in Malta, Manuel Marina to be exact, we met a cool couple from Hamburg, Knut and his lovely wife Birgit. They park their baby across from Madi and come to Malta several times a year to sail the Med.
Last weekend they came for a sail to Sicily, giving me advice, sympathizing while leaning back and laughing as I varnish in the high heat, then kindly offer a good beer or two aboard their boat before they see me melt my way home.
Per their promise, they then went home to tease and please me, keeping me posted of news, weather and local environs up north.
Here's a view from their window; a gorgeous garden, a jungle of beauty they call their backyard in Hamburg. I sigh with wonder at what their eyes see, green with envy...
'bis bald', 'a presto', 'a bientot', soon...