I Pity The Fool

I’m upstate with my parents (and a couple of guests).  It’s been
raining virtually all day today and yesterday, and I didn’t bring any
waterproof shoes either.  At least I seem to have discovered that I can
"borrow" wireless internet from someone around here, for the first time
ever.  I’m not telling my dad because he’d want to use it all the time.

It’s been a rough week or so.  It took far longer than I expected to recover from my jet lag- there were not a few mornings when I awoke, stared at the silly hula girl pillow my mom gave me last year, and wondered, "Who brought that to Italy?  And why?"  As you may recall, I flew back when I did in order to go to a wedding.  It’s just as well that I came home when I did, since it turned out I was almost out of money…I was kind of under self-imposed house arrest so as not to waste money, so going from total vacation mode to staying inside all day was definitely a shock…and of all things, I was less in a mood to go to a wedding than perhaps I’ve ever been. 

I didn’t want to be a party pooper, but it was just sort of incredibly bad timing.  Some of you know more details of why.  I don’t think the person(s) who deserve credit for my foul mood ever read this blog (since hardly anyone does), but I’d rather not go to deeply into it here.  Let’s just say that it was more difficult for me than usual to stifle my bitter side and hang around with lots of other people who are happy.  And again, in terms of bad timing, some of my other friends have not been available this week, which has just left me feeling even more isolated even though I know I shouldn’t take it personally.

Then there’s the job situation…although I’ve been repeatedly reassured by our family’s friend that I will get SOMETHING, I am really anxious about it.  I am scared about finding a job, and scared about not finding a job.  I couldn’t be happier about finishing school, yet the prospect of adult life stretching out endlessly and indefinitely, with no guaranteed perks (e.g., summer vacation, although I guess I’ll have it if the dept. of ed. hires me) is disturbing.  At the moment, I have no health insurance, no income, and no cash that isn’t technically owed someplace else (though mercifully, I have no school debt)…Even if I get a job, I’m worried that I will have to hit the ground running and perform in areas for which I doubt my competence.  So this anxiety is the only thing that’s really been distracting me from the afore-mentioned foul mood.

Actually, that’s not true: I owe credit where it’s due, in this case largely to LK, ED, and IK, who have all endeavored to distract and cheer me this week.  And speaking of distraction, here’s an amusing little tongue-twister we came up with.  The visual concept alone is worth it:

A two-ton Teuton with two "Grand Tetons" and a two-tone bouffant.

I picture someone like "Black Obelisk," the opera singer from the
film Black Cat, White Cat who pulls a nail out of a wooden board with
her ass, except with some Brunhilde-blonde hair, and perhaps a bit of armor (I was thinking of a helmet, but how would it fit over the bouffant?).  Perhaps she is meant to be a totem of strength, bearing me through my current strife on her immense arms (or tetons?).

And with that mental image, I leave you
today.

Let’s say, hypothetically speaking, you return from a long trip overseas, mainly in places where the dollar has a poor exchange rate (poorer even than you realized at the time).  You have used multiple ATMs, some of which do not even provide receipts, and none of which inform you of your account balance.  Not to fear, you reason…never once did I attempt a withdrawal that was denied, so there must be a little bit left in the kitty.  And there is…a little bit.  $38 and change, to be exact.  Frightening, no? 

So then the next day, you go over the receipts, last month’s bank statement, and whatever info you can glean from the telephone banking center’s list of your last 10 withdrawals…  It appears that approximately $100 is missing and unaccounted for: could the unthinkable happen?  Did the bank cut me for a benjamin?  Is someone very modest and thrifty defrauding me or stealing my identity?  Did I inadvertently key in a Euro-glitch at some point, distracted by the sandwiches and loud noises?

So, with encouragement from Mom, you redial the telephone banking center and overstep the maze of options in order to get to a human being (sort of, anyway).  He’s actually very polite and professional, listens attentively, and in short order discovers the perfectly normal reason for the discrepancy: a check written sometime before departure was not cashed until the beginning of the next (current) statement period, which is why it doesn’t appear on the last statement.  A check for exactly $100, though you can’t remember what for.

The moral of this "hypothetical" story is actually a question.  Specifically, which is worse: the fear that somehow, somewhere, someone has robbed you of $100, but the thought that you might be able to get it back from the bank; or that while the bank has actually done its job, you are just as broke as you originally thought you were, and there’s no way an extra $100 is coming down the pike?

I’m still not sure, but maybe it’s a rhetorical question.  At any rate, whoever wants to hang out with me in the next few weeks better think of something cheap or free…

Prospect Park is lovely this time of year, isn’t it?

Home again, home again, jiggety jig.  After a somewhat grueling travel experience (though perhaps I shouldn’t complain, since the girl next to me was on the 2nd of a 4-leg trip from Greece to Washington State), here I am at last.  And this happens to be IPTF post #100, to boot!  Unfortunately, it’s going to be a bit anticlimactic, as I am incredibly tired and about to go to bed.  I managed to sleep a few hours on the train, but otherwise have been up since 6:15 AM Central European Time…in other words, about 22 hours at this point.  And I didn’t sleep much in the past couple of days either, figuring on maximizing my remaining Roman Holiday.

Believe it or not, I actually knew very little about the London terrorist news until the weekend…I had been staying with a well-meaning cousin in Sicily who was worried that if I heard what was going on, it would be too upsetting for me…instead, I was nervous and paranoid because I had no idea what the hell happened (other than oblique references made by her mom and friends).  I finally had the chance to get some info from some Americans on the train back to Rome this past Saturday, but (to make a long story short), they really didn’t know what they were talking about either.  Ultimately, F. called Lufthansa and was able to reassure me that I could still bring carry-on luggage with me, except for liquids or gels.

We arrived at the airport this morning and stood in a virtually motionless line together until he got too nervous about the potential parking ticket and bid me a fond farewell.  Then I inched along for another 15 minutes or so, until an angel in the guise of airline staff permitted me to skip about 20 people, since the only thing approaching rapidly was my boarding call.  I was issued a pass to Dusseldorf, and also for my connecting flight to NYC.  I thought it seemed odd that, for a 1:45 flight, the check-in time was 12:00 (thinking they meant at the gate).  Instead, little did I know that I would have to get a new boarding pass upon arrival at the Dusseldorf airport, setting off a chain of events that ultimately included no less than SEVEN checkpoints.  In fact, I was less worried about potential terrorism than about any number of potential security mishaps.  Fortunately, the only problem (other than the significant delay, later augmented by schedule/coordination management issues at both the departing and arriving airports) turned out to be my hand sanitizer gel.  I permitted the first of two stern Teutonic female guards to confiscate it (not like I had a choice), while the second indicated that I should turn on my digital camera to show that it’s really what I say it is.

I’m actually falling asleep at the computer right now, so I’ll make this short (famous last words).  Whereas yesterday I fully satisfied the urge to utter blasphemies in the Basilica of St. Peter, today I successfully stuck it to the proverbial Man upon my return…without wanting to potentially incriminate myself, let’s just say that I may have committed the sin of omission on my customs declaration.  Hey, my Sicilian cousins bestowed a bag of pistacchio nuts upon me, and who am I to give them up to the U.S. Border Customs?

Anyway, it’s certainly time to go to bed.  I’ve hopefully stayed up long enough to combat the hypothetical jet lag, befitting the jetsetter.  It feels a little strange to be home again after all this time…although I have been away for longer while in college, this was the longest period of transit for me (rather than living in a place).  I’ve already reacquainted myself with Chinese food this evening, and now it’s time to reacquaint myself with my bed.

What an incredible experience it’s been. 

Ciao folks.  I’ve been here since last Wednesday and don’t know where to begin.  I’m here visiting an old buddy of mine, who stayed at my house last summer.  Clearly, his family must have felt that they owed me big-time, because they actually arranged for me to have MY OWN APARTMENT here down the hall from them.  And I’d felt special when Orsi’s parents gave me my own room!  How spoiled I’m becoming… 
Anyway, the days go by slowly around here…I have learned why everyone who can afford to do so leaves Rome in the summer: there’s not much to do, and it’s incredibly hot and sticky out (although still not as bad as Vienna or Budapest, possibly since Rome is near the sea).  The other day, I swam in the Mediterranean for the first time ever, since I’d never been here in the summer before.  In fact, it was rather a rare experience all around, since we were able to go to a private beach outside of Rome.  F.’s girlfriend is the daughter of a carabiniere (type of police officer), and thus has access to the restricted area where the Italian president (and certain other important political figures) goes for a holiday.  The grounds are immense: there’s an area a bit like a fortress, with gardens and random things like a collection of antique horsecarts, plus a canteen for the police officers, it’s also sort of a nature preserve -we saw wild boars running around, for example- plus a somewhat deserted beach, though there’s still a police-lifeguard in a very small bathing suit.
Incidentally, speaking of bathing suits or lack thereof, the other day F. and I had accidentally gone to a nude beach a little further away from the city…  I was about to type "naturist" instead of nude, except that there wasn’t much that was natural about many of the people there, or the women at any rate.  I have never seen so many bad boob jobs up close and personal before…perhaps I don’t watch enough low-rent porn… ,)
And speaking of boobs and the unnatural, here’s another little story I’ve been dying to recount.  Last night we went for a late ride around the city on the moto (something that I’m slowly habituating myself to, although I still can’t get on or off it with very much grace or dignity), and among other thigns, decided to stop for a certain type of Roman sandwich (zozzone) that you can get in the middle of the night.  According to F., the particular sandwich stand we visited is one of oldest and the most well-known in the city.  Anyway, I had the opportunity to eat a chicken sandwich in the company of some singular Roman denizens, including a pair of striking Brazilian transexuals…and I remarked to F. that it was rather a special experience to see (up close and in person) those whom I’ve only glimpsed in fuzzy photos at the back of the free newspapers.  This is not to say that I have never before met or known anyone of the trans community, but these were the ones who provide particular services…actually, in a joke that isn’t worth it to explain here because it won’t be funny ot of context, I’ve begun to call them (in Italian) "the women who are doing an internship."
On this trip, I’ve definitely been seeing another side of Rome, it’s my 5th time here (I think?), and even though I hadn’t been here since 2001, I can still skip a lot of the tourtisty stuff if I want to.  I have gone looking for some of the more unusual places that I’ve read about in books, such as the stores where they sell clerical garb, or a famous little statue of a cat on a rooftop.  And of course, with my personal guide, I’m seeing places that never would have even occurred to me- for example, besides the sandwich shop, we went to a neighborhood a bit like Williamsburg where everyone sits on the street outside a winebar, a bridge where couples leave bike chains or padlocks around a lamppost to signify their fidelity, and a part that is actually in the city but completely resembles upstate farmland, all in a few hours.  I have had occasion to stay up til 4 AM or later several times this week, and for those of you who know me well, you know that it’s not my usual routine.  Actually it’s past 4 in the afternoon now, and I have spent the entire day indoors in my sleepwear, so I think it’s time to go out for some more adventures.
On the 3rd, we’ll be leaving Rome for a roadtrip around southern Italy.  I expect to be back here in Rome on the 12th, and then fly home to the US on the 15th.  If I don’t get the chance to write again before that, oh well- I don’t want to make you kids TOO jealous, after all. ,)
I’ll be in touch though- also, my phone will be reactivated on Aug. 14th if you want to reach me that way.  Til we meet again…