The End of July

The subways are gradually getting thinner, as is my class schedule. Next month I have only two students left. One would think that, given the urgent tone of the tour guide ads I keep replying to, that someone would email me back, or return my phone calls. But this is Rome. I have learned not to expect expediency in anything Italian.

I've said goodbye to each and every one of my students, and now I'm saying goodbye to my fellow teachers, most of whom are going back to the US for the month of August. Turns out I picked the worst time to start a mini-career as an educator: the summer. In September the year starts again, and I will be flooded with work. Even three French guys I made friends with have all left; the last one called this morning to say that he wasn't sure if they'd be coming back: their tenure at Telecom Italia is over. I'm not really upset about everyone leaving, in fact it will make August more pleasant (since everyone will be gone and the streets, excepting the tourist areas, will be relatively empty). But there is a weird apocolyptic feel to it, as if everyone is evacuating.

I've taken to spending my nights watching and re-watching Life is Beautiful. I watched it twice with the English subtitles, twice with the Italian subtitles, and once with my headphones while lying in bed, without watching it at all, just listening. If I don't learn Italian, I'll at least be able to quote this movie ver batim. It's a good movie, there are some flaws, but it will suffice. Since it is depressing as well, I tend to re-watch the first half a lot, and neglect the whole segment of it that makes a concentration camp look like a playground. If ever I'm in a conversation that I lose the thread of, I can just start spouting off lines from this movie. I've learned such useful words as "tank," and "bellybutton," but for the most part, Roberto Begnini speaks at a thousand words per minute, so it is difficult. It is, unfortunately, the only Italian movie we have in my house. My roommate also owns The Motorcycle Diaries, Amelie, Forrest Gump, and the Godfather part 3. Oh, and Moulin Rouge. Though I can watch any of these movies in Italian, I really want a just plain ole Italian movie. La Vita è Bella it is, then.

My Belgian roommate is the mediator of the house, but she is gone right now, leaving me with two women whom I'm beginning to realize more and more each day, hate each other. I make a mediocre mediator, so I've been avoiding the whole scenario by staying in Rome a little longer than necessary and going straight to my room when I get home. I don't like having one or the other unload a laundry list of complaints onto me about the other; that's not why I'm here.

In short, soon I would like to find another place to live. But first, I need to secure a new job for the month of August.

The people who run my school have an intellectual aptitute slightly better than inbred chimps. That has yet to be tested, but I'm pretty sure it is right around there. Today I'm sitting in one of the offices, and Celina, the American girl who got me the job, said, "God, they're so annoying," referring to the loud chatter of the four women who run the school in the next room (the man who owns it is always mysteriously absent), "All they do all day is sit in there talking to their moms or about boys."

News to me, since I thought they were busy in a meeting or something. 20 minutes later they came in telling me I shouldn't have forgot the registers, blah blah blah. What registers? Oh, you mean the ones you people keep forgetting to give me? The ones I keep pestering you to give me? Yeah, about those... uhh, could I please have them? Can you put down your McDonads for a minute (yes, they eat McDonalds everyday, to my horror), and actually do some work? I can't very well get my students to sign them when I don't have them, now can I?

These people know what they're doing. They laugh and hoot and holler all day long in their offices and then get angry with me when they haven't done their job. I have absolutely no respect for them, as business people. I'm sure they're pleasant people outside of work, but here I feel abused and taken advantage of, because I need them more than they need me. AND (and this is the best part), they don't speak English! How, pray tell, can one run an English speaking school and not speak English? Any misunderstaning they have with me they can write off as my inadequate Italian, but it works both ways too.

Tonight I am going to find something entertaining to do. I don't know what yet, but something. Wish me luck.

10 Posts

When I make it to 10 posts, I can join this community of expat blogs that might boost my readership. The problem is I can't even complete one post (read the previous blog).

Anyways. Anyways isn't actually a word, but I use it all the time with full knowledge that it doesn't really "exist." Funny way of thinking about it.

Anyways. Last night my friend Jordan returned from his trip to Florida with his girlfriend. I had never met her before, and it was interesting. She didn't speak much English, so I was forced to speak in Italian. I complain a lot that my Italian isn't improving as fast as I'd like it to, but this is really my problem because I never speak it except to order food or to tell the people at the front desk of where ever I'm teaching who I'm there to see. With my roommates I speak English, but will say certain things in Italian, which sorta restricts me to just what I already know. At first, with Jordan's girlfriend (whose name I have shamefully forgotten) I was extremely timid. After we all ate dinner and went out for a crepe, though, I started babbling in Italian to her. Babbling. What an unappreciated art that is! To be able to babble, one must first have demonstrated some profficiency. I was drunk on my own words. I kept speaking and speaking about everything that came to mind. Granted, some of it I had a lot of difficulty with, but for the most part I got my point across.

The night before that, as I was walking down the street, past the park, I heard a couple of Americans conversing at the bar. Americans? In Marino? I thought me and Jordan were the only Americans here. Furthermore, they weren't just speaking English, they were speaking it with a thick southern accent. Che cos'è questo? So I sat down with them and started talking to them. One was from Knoxville, Tennessee, the other from Florida, I think Miami. They were on their Peace Corps mission in an African country I'd never even heard of, near Burkina Faso on the west coast. Ian, the guy from Tennessee, was visiting his step-father's sister, who lives in Grotta Ferrata, and Jesse was just looking for a nice vacation. I took them out and showed them around Marino, finding several places I never even knew existed, since I restrict myself a good deal to my living room. Last night I introduced them to Jordan and his girlfriend. Jordan took us up to the top of his house (which used to be the Pope's library) and we drank a beer while watching the lights of Rome twinkle in the distance. The night was a lot of fun. I don't meet many Americans where I live, so it was different, and for a moment I felt like I had myself a community here, even though Ian and Jesse leave tomorrow morning and are spending the night at the airport.

Today I made phone calls to several companies to try to find more work for August. I will be meeting up with one of the guys on Wednesday to see about becoming a dreaded tour guide. I have mixed feelings about it, but my lessons in August are scarce.

I think I need about 3 more posts before I reach the minimum 10 requirement for this network. I think i can pull something out.

7 Days in Tuscany

I woke up this morning with the desire to do nothing all day but lounge in my underwear around the house. Maybe find a good movie on Italian TV and drain myself in front of it. The past week was fantastic, but exhausting. We worked 12 hour days in the harsh, Tuscan sun, moving heavy film equipment around or climbing up mountains to get the best panoramic of the location. It was over 40 degrees here, which means it was over 100 degrees Farenheit. Being home is a mild blessing, and I plan on being as lazy as possible today. Tomorrow I return to teaching; my "real world" isn't half bad, but it's not the dream that Tuscany was.

This plan has worked excellently so far. Now I'd like to start a blog about my past week. My writing on this blog has been sloppy, I'd like to put some effort into it, get it right (or get it "write"). I have a bad tendency to post rough drafts, things written hastily. Normally I regret it in the morning. But it's good, because it exposes the flaws. When writing for myself I don't consider any perspective but my own. Once I know someone else has read it, I see all sorts of problems. My week in Tuscany, however, was as wonderful as you would think, and I'd like to do it a little bit of justice. In short, this blog might undergo several incarnations. There are also more pictures I ripped offline. Same difference, just a different person pushed the button on the camera, right? Joking.



The late afternoon sun shone through the trees like sparkling diamonds and cast a foilage of dancing shadows onto the curvy, Tuscan road. The restful silence had turned into a contented slumber for everyone in the van but me, the driver. Our road sliced through the valleys of the Apennines, going over creeks of spring water and through olive green forests, occasionally breaking out into a yellow field of brilliant sunflowers or misty grain, before plunging back into the dense, mountain forests. I drove with the window down and listened to the wind and the birds.

Behind us, growing steadily more distant, was Florence. I'd been to Florence a few times before, I like the city, but it only takes a few hours to become well-acquainted with it. The scorching summer heat and the unbearable crowds made it intolerable to me my first visit, but when I returned for a second visit in the middle of October, I had a fantastic time.The air was crisp and cool, the crowds manageable, and my company pleasant. This third visit was only for a day; my team wanted to do some shopping and sightseeing. It was their only day off, given to them as a jet-lag day. The heat and the crowds were even worse than I remembered, but I couldn't complain about a free trip to Florence.

When we arrived there, we all split up to go our own ways. Barry, the director, wanted to go to the flea market, while Russ, the sound guy, wanted to do his own thing. Giulia stuck with Barry for the most part, while I tagged alongside Linda, the camera assistant. We did a little shopping-- I needed a new t-shirt and she needed a hat-- but spent most of our time sightseeing. I knew nothing of Florence my first two trips, but have since read several books about the city, and so gave a haphazard tour to Linda. She had been patient with me during my search through the colorful and chaotic market for a t-shirt and so I tried to be amicable, despite the heat and the languor I felt.

She spoke always through a smile that arched the timbre of her voice towards benevolence; also she had a healthy laugh and a sense of humor. But she was always calm too. The day before, Giulia and I were a half hour late to the airport-- they were waiting on us, it was 7 o'clock in the morning and they'd flown all night to Rome. Then, to top it off, the rental car wasn't under any of our names. I left Giulia to deal with the car people while I went to find the group. They seemed, if anything, bored. Not the sightest irritation. Linda was the first one I spoke to and it was the quality of her smile that first struck me. Barry came up a few moments later and waved it all off, saying "I've been in this industry for over 30 years, nothing ruffles my feathers anymore."

I could not have asked for a better group of people to spend my time with for that week.



crap. gotta go.

Recreating Eden - Baha'i Gardens - Haifa

As you may know, next week I will be driving a Canadian production team around Tuscany to film gardens. I wanted to see a clip of the show, and I found this, as well as several others in a similar vein. I thought I'd post it. It's a little cheesy, but will doubtlessly be interesting. I leave tomorrow morning at 5:30. Hopefully we don't run into any problems.

Here's a link to the website of the company (I hope all this stuff actually works, I'm still new to the game): Merit Motion Pictures

Some Pictures!

Many of you have been asking me for pictures, so I thought I'd start. The photos of Marino are ones I've found online and yanked from several people. This one to the right is of one of the Porchetta stands that are famous here. Porchetta is a type of pork exclusive to this region. It is fantastic, and cheap. For €2 one can get a sandwich, and for an additional 50 cents, a glass of wine. Marino is known as the "Citta' del Vino", which means, "City of Wine." Most of it is made locally.

It is difficult to find pictures of Marino online, since the search brings up pictures of "San Marino," which is a different, larger city in the north. Most of the picture of Marino are of the wine festival. Here is another one:

This is the fountain in the center of town from which all of the wine comes during the famous wine festival. After the wine is emptied, the grapes which are strewn about come down, and everyone has a grape fight. I live only a few blocks straight down the road to the right of this picture.

A typical block in Marino looks a bit like this:

A rather interesting picture of the turret in the center of town:

I only wish I could take credit for these. Soon enough I'll have my own pictures. They may not be talented, but they'll be mine.

In the course of my online search, however, I found lot's of interesting pictures of "San Marino." Maybe I'll go there one day.

Here are some pictures of the Lago Albano:

I hope you enjoyed the preview. I know I sure did.

Brainstorming

After the excitement of making the 4 dollars, I decided I would look up some of the more popular blogs to familiarize myself with various formats and perhaps dig up some ideas. What I found was fascinating. Most people who make their living off their blogs have come up with great ideas. One man whom I came across would find photos and write brief little short stories about them (which were expertly executed) and then ask other people to write their own. This is ingenius, since it encourages interaction and people check the blog more frequently. His page also contained hundreds of links to other blogs and websites, each divided up by category. The blog had style, but wasn't overstylised. By comparison, my blog is childish.

This is encouraging rather than discouraging, however. It has swarmed my head with ideas, none very good, but the wheels are turning in new ways, and I'm confident I will eventually come up with something. Any ideas?

In the course of my research, I have also found that there are a lot of "professional bloggers" who make their entire living off of their writing. The particular gent I mentioned above just moves around Europe, writing blogs and hanging out with friends from various countries. I don't think I can make it to that level of comfort, but I'm not doing so much else with my time, so I see no harm in trying. One thing I have to do is figure out how to adjust this cheap layout. Again, any suggestions?

Anyways, last night I watched "Dirty Dancing" for the first time. I promised myself at one point in my life (and probably many times afterwards) that I would never watch that movie, but I needed Italian, and so I figured it wasn't really "watching" it as "studying" it. Today, like every other day, I woke up fulfilled, and lively (that's an alteration on a favorite Rumi line of mine, so don't accuse me of plagiarism); the sun was high in the sky, not a cloud to be seen. The past few weeks have been cooler than my first couple. Now I think I'm going to go to the lake and do some writing.

Ciao tutti!
-justin

I'm the best driver you've ever met.

I have several saved drafts of blogs, but nothing I care to post yet, if ever, but I want to post something (especially after my shameless canvassing of my friends). I guess a good place to start is here:

She counted out the money onto the table in front of me. Where I thought it would keep going, she stopped. I asked her if that was all, and she nodded. Taxes? I asked. Again, she nodded. My situation was looking a little desperate: this was an entire month's pay sitting in front of me, and it covered the barest necessities. I sighed and collected the stack of bills and thrust them into my wallet. Time to start coming up with a plan D (A wasn't working out; B never got off the ground; C I had had no reason to believe would ever become more than just a plan). I was in the office of the school and decided to check my email to see if I had gotten any replies from the various companies I'd applied to, or perhaps (and this seems even more unlikely) if one of my friends emailed me [jab]. Everything in the inbox was shaded read and I began to fret. I hadn't even thought about my blog in recent days (I've been too preoccupied), but I decided to check and see if it had made any money. It had: 4 dollars. Four dollars! I couldn't believe my eyes. Four whole dollars! This is no large amount of money, by any stretch of the imagination, but what excited me about it was that it was the first time I've received any money for writing something. I know that this blog is sort of corny, and the only people who check it are a few friends and some family, so the 4 dollars wasn't earned because of some merit of mine, but I couldn't get over it.

It was such a good feeling that I packed up my stuff, went to the park, and got myself a gelatto. I sat watching the rowers in the lake thinking about the 4 dollars, and why it excited me so much. A part of me has always doubted my abilities in any endeavor; I have never experienced a moment of total confidence. Every action is marred by self-doubt. But recently I felt I had finally started to shed all of that off, the 4 dollars merely proved something to me: that if I worked hard enough at it, I could really actually make some money. Part of me was being silly, but I wasn't worried about it.

I was feeling pretty dandy when an American friend called me to see if I was in town for the night. I had no plans, so I agreed to meet her for aperitivo in Campo dei Fiori at 8. After I got off the phone with her I decided to start walking, somewhere, anywhere. It was a delicious afternoon, the air was calm and cool, there were no clouds in the sky, everything seemed sleepy, like a Sunday. I strolled through the ancient streets, deliberately trying to get lost, but by now I have an internal compass in this town, and no matter how narrow the strip of blue sky is above the rooftops, or how directionless the streets seem, I can always find my way. The money, I started to tell myself, wasn't bad. Cutting out the gelatto and the occaisional beer would set me straight. No indulgences and I'd be fine. Wasn't being here indulgent enough? Wasn't the Roman air an ointment for my frustrations? Yes, the money wasn't really a problem at all, I thought, and suddenly realized it wasn't. The more I walked, the better I felt. I had forgotten about the 4 dollars, or pushed it aside, and was rambling out whole, fantastic yarns in my head; I was writing a novel every block and I was miles from a pen. Instead of trying to remember any of these threads, I usually just surrender myself to them and let them carry me along; in their wake I will perhaps remember a cluster of words or an idea that occurred, but nothing rivalling the initial force of my imaginative rambling.

At 8 I met up with Giulia and we went to a bar to get apperitivo. Generally one pays for a drink and then there is a buffet opened to you, but occasionally I just pretend I am with people and eat for free. But this place was too nice and not very busy, so I bought a drink and got dinner. The apperitivos are generally really good, and I was happy to gorge myself. There was a nice quiche and several panini with prosciutto and mozarrella, there was bread with several spreads, a salad. Together with the glass of wine, it made a nice meal.

Giulia I met 2 years ago here. I knew when I met her that she'd be a useful contact to have, and so far she has been. One cannot walk half a block with her without running into someone she knows. I've always suspected she inherited a lot of money; there's no other way to explain how she supports her lifestyle. Her tastes are expensive, and, as a result, she wines and dines right along side all of the American businessmen, diplomats, journalists, etc. In her company I have met everything from sculptors to actors. This is the reason I will occasionally fork out the money for a drink with her.

However, Giulia and I are only acquaintances, and sometimes it is a strain to be around her. The conversation started out slow and clumsy before she asked me if I had a driver's license. She asked me as if it were an afterthought. I told her I did but didn't ask why she wanted to know, and the conversation quickly moved on. After about 20 minutes she told me about the job she has for a week in Tuscany: driving a Canadian production team around to various gardens in Tuscany. They worked for a show that did features on different gardens around the world.

"I don't know if I'm going to take the job. The money's not great, but they pay for the hotels and my food and everything," she said.

"How much do they pay?" I asked. She told me and my jaw dropped. This was the best indication of how wealthy this girl must be, if she described this as "not a lot of money."

"That's more than I make in a month!" I exclaimed. "And you said you don't know if you want to do it?" I was incredulous. She was visibly tickled by my reaction. "You get to drive people around Tuscany, eat for free, and hang out with a group of, probably very cool people, and you get paid for it!"

"Well, that's why I asked you if you had a driver's license." My jaw dropped even lower.

"You want to know if I want to do it?" I felt light at the possibility. So much could come from this possible outcome.

"Well, I'll have to contact the people who hired me and see if it's alright," she told me, "I'll probably know by Monday."

This idea was too much. I could take a week off from work easily and make a lot of money while having a fantastic time. Giulia's phone rang and she excused herself. She had to go and meet some friends. I was welcome to come along, but I needed to catch my train, so we parted ways. Later I sent her a text message: I'm the best driver you've ever met.

To be continued...