Ciao Roma

The End

2008-08-01T16:56:00.016+02:00

Well, that's it. We're back home, though over the course of the year, Rome has become a kind of home too.

I will miss the golden light on the pink buildings. I will miss the swarms of starlings. I will even miss the myriad corridor encounters at all hours of the day and night.

There's a chance I'll write a stray post or two in the future if something comes up concerning our community, like Adam's show at the Catherine Clark Gallery later this month. Or Tim's photograph of Obama for the New York Times. Or when our baby arrives.

In any case, thank you all for tuning in this year. It has meant a lot to me to hear from you.

In bocca al lupo, or, May the she-wolf bear you gently in her incisors.

Hello San Francisco

2008-07-31T15:29:00.028+02:00

My internet starter page flashes these two bits of information: Rome 94°F; San Francisco 51°F.

Earlier today, I can tell how tired I am by how long it takes me to remember the word sponge in English.

My first twenty-four hours back in SF are characterized by restlessness: I try to nap, but am rebuffed, bouncing off the surface of sleep back into the purgatory of my churning thoughts. These thoughts are not very interesting to relate, and mostly involve making little decisions about the new locations of my belongings (i.e. I should put the dental floss behind the mirror on the first shelf).

I must be having some feelings about this large ending—saying goodbye to a community of people I have lived with in such close quarters for a year, and to Italy for the time being—but I have little sense of what they are at the moment. I am bewildered, and possibly sad. After big endings, the awareness of what I'm feeling often eludes me, at least at first, though I've noticed how the experience of loss tends to lurk behind the screen of just this brand of mental agitation.

On the up side, jetlag does afford me the opportunity to watch the sun rise.

Packing

2008-07-28T23:56:00.013+02:00

Since we were leaving a few days prior to the bulk of people at the Academy, lots of folks hung out late into the night and helped us pack. Everyone must evacuate the premises by August 1st, when the Academy closes for a month and prepares to receive the next round of Fellows. We would not have managed the quitting of this place quite as well without the presence of all our friends (including that cup of coffee Paul made me, quick-witted advice nuggets from Lisa, Lisa, Christina, Eleanor, and Erin, and the bursting muscles of Dan McR and Jason). It reminded me of the carnival atmosphere, the intensity, at the end of a college semester when certain boundaries dissolve and you can feel the raw pulse of the goodwill that's been created between people, the atmosphere we've created together.

One More Day

2008-07-28T08:28:00.005+02:00

until we fly home.

Catherine Arrives

2008-07-27T08:21:00.009+02:00

in the nick of time, on her way to visit Piero della Francesca.

Her last project, Daylight Noir, photographs of places in Los Angeles described by Raymond Chandler, will be published soon by Charta. Before that, she edited a selection of Joseph Cornell's dream journals.

Big Pot Small Tree

2008-07-26T08:29:00.000+02:00

Lisa Turns 35

2008-07-24T17:43:00.001+02:00

For Lisa's birthday, we went to the pool and hand-fed her grapes,
...hung out in the sun,

...and the shade.

Dinner on Terrace

2008-07-23T17:52:00.003+02:00

facing east:
facing west:

The Quest for M-Bags

2008-07-22T20:44:00.020+02:00

Faced with the task of getting our stuff home, Lisa and I went to Rome's central post office today. When a friend moved from Rome back to the States last December, he alerted me to the existence of the m-bag, a green canvas bag required for sending books at an economy rate much, much cheaper than the regular mail rate.

The first postal employee we asked had never heard of an m-bag. The third postal employee we spoke to took us around to his desk and spent the better part of an hour trying to locate some information concerning the m-bag. First, we established that m-bags are not available at Rome's central post office. It turns out one may obtain an m-bag at a post office near Tiburtina train station, which, incidentally, is beyond the scope of my map. Tony, the man helping us, knew the name of this post office but not the address, so he spent some time at his computer trying to access this information:
Lisa and I took turns spacing out while Tony made some calls:
Tony showed us on the map the general location of the Tiburtina post office where the m-bags may be obtained:
In addition to not selling m-bags, Rome's central post office sells the following titles at the PosteShop: Secure and Serene Pregnancy, 365 Intelligent Ideas for Fun with your Child, Yoga for All, The Pilates Method, The Pleasure of Massage, Stretching & Stretching, The Book for Interpreting Dreams and Playing with Numbers, and Creative Woman 2: New Ideas and New Techniques. However, I might have felt more relaxed if they just sold m-bags.
P.S. A day later, we call the phone number Tony had worked so hard to procure for us for the Tiburtina post office only to discover that the number he had given us was in fact just another number for the central post office where he worked.

One More Week

2008-07-21T17:48:00.001+02:00

until we fly home.

Conversational Endurance

2008-07-20T20:45:00.005+02:00

Italians love to talk. They engage in incredibly long conversations, spanning hours at a stretch, making the American in me want to cut out and go rope a steer. What accounts for the cultural difference between Italians and Americans in terms of the average person's tolerance, nay enjoyment, of long conversations?

During the time I've lived in Italy, I've just about tripled my conversational endurance. Below, I've charted the duration of one sample lunch conversation, during which a group of about 9 Italians spoke with each other, faces engaged and laughing, for nearly 3 hours, while I, now a varsity mingler by American standards, had to peel off just shy of hour 2:

Roadside Flowers Umbria

2008-07-17T12:01:00.004+02:00

The weather in Umbria was much cooler than in Rome so I could take walks again in the afternoon.

The Land of St. Francis

2008-07-16T11:50:00.028+02:00

Within the soft folds of these hills, St. Francis preached to the swallows of Savurniano and to the wolf of Gubbio. In the local tradition of friendly animal-human relations, this cat at the retreat center was inordinately affectionate, always leaping on laps, invited or not. She particularly loved leaping onto Caveh, who happens to be allergic.

Growing Rounder

2008-07-15T08:29:00.002+02:00

C Surveys Countryside

2008-07-14T12:10:00.000+02:00

Two Windows in Umbria

2008-07-12T10:13:00.014+02:00

This week I participated in a meditation retreat in the Umbrian countryside. These two windows look out from the meditation hall. The retreat was conducted for the most part in Italian, and it seems to me that I learned more Italian this week than during my entire year living in the English-speaking zone of the Academy. I had been getting down on myself for not being fluent in Italian yet, but now I understand that living at the Academy is hardly an immersion experience.

Summertime

2008-07-10T22:05:00.000+02:00

Same Color Eyes

2008-07-10T14:25:00.000+02:00

The No Men

2008-07-09T12:08:00.014+02:00

According to a brief All Things Considered segment, there was an "embarrassing" moment at the G-8 summit yesterday when a White House press kit distributed at the summit called Italian prime minister Silvio Berlusconi "one of the most controversial leaders in the history of a country known for government corruption and vice" and "a political dilettante, who gained his high office only through the use of his considerable influence on the national media." All too true. And without any help from the Yes Men.

Cinema en Plein Air

2008-07-09T10:53:00.009+02:00

Last night we watched the director's cut* of Sam Peckinpah's Pat Garett and Billy the Kid, with a score by Bob Dylan, projected on the garden facade of Villa Medici, the French Academy in Rome. The café had Coca-Cola popsicles and a many-domed view of the city, just a few yards away from the top of the Spanish steps. These July Roman nights require no sweaters or wraps of any kind, and I like finding the piazzas lively even at midnight.

* According to IMDB, "Peckinpah so detested the studio cut of this film he actually urinated on the screen."

Stairwell with Angel at Center

2008-07-09T10:01:00.000+02:00

Martin Brody's Birthday

2008-07-08T22:25:00.002+02:00

Arts Director Martin Brody turns 59 (not 95) today.

Camiceria

2008-07-08T15:07:00.005+02:00

There's a store in the Ghetto where you can choose the fabric, thread color, and collar for a tailor-made shirt for €50. We went today and C ordered a black shirt with lilac thread.

The Many Colors of Lisa Switkin

2008-07-07T01:57:00.003+02:00

Grapefruitnapping

2008-07-05T18:30:00.009+02:00

A crew of us went to the Villa Aurelia to harvest i pompelmi dolci.

Independence Day BBQ

2008-07-04T21:37:00.012+02:00

Someone made a cake:
Meanwhile, to celebrate, I went to Jackie's room and threw all her tea in the bathtub.

Mastermind

2008-07-03T23:42:00.002+02:00

During the interminable interstices of the Academy dining experience, Sarah and I play Mastermind:

Flavio

2008-07-02T23:48:00.000+02:00

Carini Market

2008-07-02T11:34:00.000+02:00

The Carini market is a few blocks away, and I go once or twice a week to buy groceries. I like to think I've made some friends there. Here they are:

The cheese and olive man:
The meat man:
The fruit and vegetable family:

Film Shoot

2008-07-01T23:51:00.004+02:00

Caveh is shooting scenes for his film this week; he's working with an American cast (Justin Rice, Greta Gerwig) and an Italian crew, with the exception of Eliot Rockett, cinematographer from LA with the kind of name that's going places.

LA Times profile on Greta that mentions Caveh's movie here.

Lost Luggage

2008-06-30T21:44:00.007+02:00

I'm back in Rome, minus my luggage, which got lost in transit, including all the clothes that fit me and my camera charger. Luckily, Anne, who is returning to the States today, gave me a sun dress that Norma gave her, fashioned I think from a tablecloth.

Jerusalem Floaty Pen

2008-06-30T14:20:00.002+02:00

Soldier wearing beret holding Israeli flag floats past Dome of the Rock, gigantic menorah, and a windmill (?).

Hippie Art Town

2008-06-29T12:38:00.007+02:00

I visited my friend in Pardes Hanna, a town where many bohemians have settled. Shantam is an astrologer, director of a circus that performs for Palestinian and Israeli children, and frontman for a band called Guru Guru. Meanwhile, his neighbor Hans makes things by reusing old tires and plastic. This piece, titled "So Many Fucking White Chairs," is displayed next to his front door and uses the ubiquitous white plastic lawn chair:

Keeping Cool

2008-06-28T14:02:00.007+02:00

Being nearly 7 months pregnant in late June in Israel has redefined my notion of what it means to be hot. Luckily, Israelis, unlike Italians, believe in air conditioning. Above, my belly visits the Mediterranean. The water was warm though full of tiny jellyfish. Below, my swollen ankles visit a swimming pool in Caesarea.

The Druze Cruise

2008-06-28T11:17:00.001+02:00

I went with my cousin Ami and his family to Daliat el-Carmel, a Druze village in the hills of Galilee. We visited the market, where a grandmother sits in every store kneading and baking thin pita bread. Then we went to the home of a Druze friend whose sister had orchestrated a huge meal for us.

Friday Market

2008-06-27T14:36:00.004+02:00

It's like beating a dead horse, or in this case, a live fish. These fish were so fresh they were flopping. But you can't teach an old fish new tricks.

A cascade of mangoes at one of the stalls in the Kfar Saba open-air market.

This store, where we bought challah for Friday dinner, had free tastes of all sorts of incredibly delicious bread and cakes.

Old Port Tel Aviv

2008-06-26T09:06:00.008+02:00

My cousin Shira and her husband Yosi took me out to dinner Thursday night to a seafood restaurant at Tel Aviv's new "old port." The very attractive server set out about twenty small salad dishes to start us off, including babaganoush, tahini, shredded cabbage, and fish in various sauces. Later we walked down the boardwalk just in time to watch Spain score a second goal against Russia on one of the large outdoor televisions. Yosi, above, is an architect and has designed two of the restaurants along this posh seaport development.

No Sharp Objects Plus

2008-06-25T23:14:00.000+02:00

Before checking your bag, before obtaining a boarding pass, before passing through the security x-ray, if you want to fly to Tel Aviv from the Rome airport, you will be interviewed by an Israeli security team.

I was asked the following questions: Why are you traveling to Israel? What family? What is your aunt's name? Where does she live? What is her address? When was the last time you saw her? Why don't you speak Hebrew? Have you ever been to Israel before? When was your cousin married? What are you doing in Rome? What is your husband's name? What? What? What? What kind of name is that? Have you ever been to any of the countries bordering Israel, such as Lebanon, Syria, or Egypt? Do you have any friends in those countries? Did anyone else pack your bag? What does your husband do? Where did your husband go to school? Where did you go to school? What job did you have in the States? Do you have a business card? Why isn't your husband travelling with you?

I was detained for the better part of an hour. I was asked to have a seat until they made telephone contact with my aunt. I gave them her home number, but she wasn't home. I gave them her cell number, but there was no answer. Finally, I managed to remember the name of the place where she works, a university library near Tel Aviv, and they got the number, navigated the phone tree, and reached her just as she was heading out for lunch.

I was concerned that I was going to miss my plane, but I needn't have worried. I made the plane, then we sat on the tarmac for an hour before taking off.

Pool Party

2008-06-24T23:11:00.006+02:00

Today I received a bunch of gifts and good wishes for the little one we are expecting in September from the folks here at the American Academy. The lady half of the Academy gathered at Susanna's apartment for lunch, then we spent the afternoon swimming in the pool at the Hotel Gianicolo across the street. I am full of sun and grateful for all my friends.

The drawing is by Lisa Sanditz. The photo is of Leah (9 yrs) holding Lucia (5 mos), the youngest members of our swimming pool expedition.

The Two Kinds of Decay

2008-06-22T11:19:00.009+02:00

Sarah's new book just out from FSG, an account of the rare blood disease that overtook her while she was in college, received a well-deserved rave review in this Sunday's NYT. I couldn't agree more with this reviewer's concluding sentence:

"Through her own attentiveness, Manguso has produced a remarkable, cleareyed account that turns horror into something humane and beautiful."

It is also a beautiful book design-wise: the book jacket is a deep blue-purple, while the cloth of the hardcover underneath is a deep arterial red, the two colors of blood.

Testaccio Market

2008-06-21T11:15:00.000+02:00

The tomato man: The meat & cheese man:

Oasis

2008-06-20T22:41:00.003+02:00

Taking a dip in the front fountain on a very hot day, we were slightly worried the administrators might not approve...
...until Adele stopped by to cool off too.

Vault Riders

2008-06-19T23:48:00.007+02:00

John tests the strength of the vault he built, first with his wife and child: ...then with six strapping men:
Note the thinness of the cross-section of the vault, only one terracotta brick thick. The vault stands due to the forces of compression rather than any structural buttressing. John studies masonry vaulting at MIT.

Orange Moon

2008-06-19T22:39:00.000+02:00

The Art Monastery

2008-06-18T22:20:00.002+02:00

Tonight I met a few ex-San Franciscans who are running an Agriturismo in the countryside near Orvieto. Betsy, a celebrity knitter and synchronized swimmer, and Chris, a theater director and tenor, met at Burning Man and are now trying to launch an art monastery in Umbria.

Bjørn Wiinblad

2008-06-15T13:46:00.003+02:00

I discovered the work of Danish graphic designer Bjørn Wiinblad at an exhibit at Den Gamle By in Aarhus. I love this guy.

Ladies Circle International, Vejle Chapter

2008-06-14T18:08:00.007+02:00

Anette and I spent the day with her women's group painting pictures and eating salty fish.

Then & Now

2008-06-13T18:28:00.002+02:00

Anette organized a dinner Friday night with Annemette and Kirsten, two women who also worked as au pairs back in '84 and were over at our house a lot when Anette lived with us. We looked through Anette's photo albums.

Me & Anette then:
Kirsten then & now:

Postcard from the outskirts of Legoland

2008-06-12T23:58:00.017+02:00

It's midnight and the sun has finally set. I am in Denmark visiting Anette, who lived with my family for a year back in 1984 when I was nine. That was a tough year. My mom died in April, and Anette's presence in the house did much to cushion me during those months. I have fond memories of her baking bread rolls from scratch each week, and this afternoon I sat in her kitchen in this town in northern Denmark and ate another one.

At the Rome airport this morning, my rolly-bag was stopped for a security check. The Italian woman searching my luggage asked me, do you have a jar of jam in there? I nodded yes. Then she pulled out the bag of gifts I had wrapped in blue tissue paper and held up a long slender bottle filled with an unknown liquid that, along with the jam, had caused my bag to get flagged on the X-ray. I told her it was aged balsamico from Volpetti that I was bringing as a gift, she looked at me for a second, winked, and waved me on. This is an example of what I love about the Italian way: prioritizing actual gifts of good food over abstract principles of homeland security.

You could sense the different vibe right away on the airplane filled with Scandinavians, a sort of do-it-yourself stoicism, and one didn't sense that one could bend the rules, half of which were unspoken. The bathroom in the Billund airport was the cleanest airport bathroom I have ever been in, so much so that I almost felt guilty throwing my apple core into the wastebasket and marring its state of perfect sanitation.

Anette and I stopped by the side of the road to buy strawberries from an incredibly cheerful farmer. It's about 20 degrees colder in Denmark than it was in Rome, so strawberry season is peaking here now when it already peaked in Lazio a few weeks back.

Anette has two sons, aged 10 and 18, and one daughter, aged 16, who I met today. Her daughter's name is Amanda, an uncommon name in Denmark. She is named after me.

When Bush Comes to Shove

2008-06-12T00:16:00.016+02:00

Bush is in Rome and has a meeting at the American Academy this morning. Several members of the community hung banners on the facade of the building in protest.
Subsequently, Pina stood her ground and defended our right to protest when a cadre of Italian security goons came to try and take the banners down. We heard that Bush's motorcade was rerouted away from the main building.
BBC News flashed on our banners and had a brief clip of Daniel Bozhkov here. Italian news coverage here.

Kathleen Fraser & Andrea Raos

2008-06-07T10:56:00.004+02:00

Kathleen Fraser, Bay Area poet, migrates to Rome each spring where she has an apartment in the Trastevere with her husband Arthur. Last night at Edizione Empiria, I went to hear her translation of Italian poet Andrea Raos's serial work, Le Api Migratori (recently published by Liquid/Oedipus), while Andrea read translations of several of Kathleen's poems from when new time folds up. I was particularly enamored with Kathleen's "Frammenti Romani," written as she was on the drowsy verge of a nap one Roman afternoon:

Aware. O here.

Be there, too, savory rattle.

Afternoon's little zipper
pulls you up each fruiting
rutting assault. Leaves contend!
Pips grow larger even. And figs soon.
Bend.

Arcadia

2008-06-06T11:16:00.007+02:00

Reforming baroque excess in Italian poetry, championing the rustic and pastoral, members of the Arcadian Academy would gather in the Bosco Parrasio, the community's garden enclave in eighteenth-century Rome, to proclaim their verse.

Like all proper reformers, they drafted a manifesto, ten commandments inscribed on marble tablets, including "Thou shall write no bad verse" and "All criticism will be constructive." O, if only proclaiming such things made them so!

Landscape architect Laurie Olin and architectural historians John Pinto and Dan McReynolds stood in the amphitheater where these poetic declamations historically took place and shared their knowledge, though I'm sorry to report they spoke in neither rhyme nor meter.

Fellowfication

2008-05-31T01:58:00.007+02:00

This year's Rome Prize winners became official Fellows of the American Academy in Rome (that's "FAAR" to you and me) at a ceremony this evening in the cortile. Scrolls of embossed paper were bestowed, though the commemorative pins are still wending their way through the Italian post.

Preparing for Open Studios

2008-05-30T13:53:00.007+02:00

Caveh shoots some screen tests with Jason and company......while next door John builds a vault with Erik and Roy...
...in preparation for open studios next week.

Zumthor

2008-05-25T12:06:00.010+02:00

Peter Zumthor, the architect responsible for Therme Vals, what Daniel Mihalyo describes as the most beautiful building he's ever been inside of, hosted a farewell party with live Balkan music. Bright green drinks were imbibed. Polkas were performed.

Saturday Night Sport

2008-05-24T22:37:00.008+02:00

While some people went to see Rome play in the Italian cup championship at the Olympic Stadium, I stayed home and watched Bill, an Episcopal minister, bludgeon a bucket of plaster with a pink sledgehammer as Kate Gilmore videotaped.

22 Weeks

2008-05-22T22:28:00.005+02:00

State of Suspense

2008-05-20T15:18:00.007+02:00

A central drama of our recent weeks has been the prospect of making Thomas the Obscure, the psychological thriller C intends to shoot in Rome this summer. Until the budget comes into focus, we are in a state of suspense, much like the protagonists of the script.

Day Trip to the Alban Hills

2008-05-18T15:56:00.009+02:00

A group of us headed to the hills this humid Sunday, under the leadership of Erik who drove the van, to see two churches built by Bernini, (one dome pictured above, photo by Dan McReynolds), eat the local speciality, porcetta panino from Ariccia, view the large blue crater of Lake Albano, and meander through the piazza at Castel Gandolfo, the Pope's summer residence, where Eleanor, a collector of floaty pens , bought one for me (when tilted, Pope slides over landscape):

Romans vs Barbarians

2008-05-17T00:14:00.003+02:00

It turns out the Romans made a banner of their own:
Romans (Italian AAR staff):
Barbarians (international interlopers):
And, a few hours later, who even remembers the final score?

Il Mondo di Zucchero

2008-05-16T12:38:00.004+02:00

The second installment of Beware of the Wolf opened last night. Above, a world made of sugar swarmed by ants by Corrado Sassi. Works by Lisa Sanditz, Lisa Switkin, and Adam Chapman also premiered.

My Trip to Banca di Roma

2008-05-13T15:19:00.026+02:00

How long did it take you to cash a check at the bank this morning?
One hour: 30 to wait in line, 30 once I got to the counter. There are two machine-gun-proof turnstiles and a large security guard leaning on his firearm at the bank's entrance. Once inside, however, a casual, laissez-faire atmosphere prevails. Employees lumber slowly from task to task, while patrons wait in orange-upholstered chairs for their number to be called. My chair had a wet spot, which I discovered only after sitting down. I reassured myself by remembering it had just rained.

How many bank tellers does it take to cash a check?
Four separate bank employees handled the check. A fifth was telephoned.

Did you have time to go to the farmer's market before it closed as you had planned?
I did not.

Did you grow impatient?
The employees of this bank were very human, with humor and courtesy intact. I appreciated the fact that they were not the sort of customer service representative you find in the States, exemplified by the gal I spoke to on the phone at Expedia the other day, who, when faced with customer distress, robotically regurgitates official corporate-speak then returns you to the endless rabbit hole of their phone tree. This sort of treatment tends to increase my distress and experience of powerlessness in relation to what I am tempted to conceive of as our corporate overlords. In the case of the Italian bank, there was much less emphasis on centralized managerial efficiency. It was just a bunch of folks shuffling through their day, doing things in the time it takes to do them. In the end, the man who finally handed over my cash still had a relaxed demeanor, as if to acknowledge our shared time together.

Did anything else eventful happen on your way back from the bank?
Crossing the street with my empty grocery bag, a car almost ran me over even though I had the green. I gave him my WTF arm gesture, as if bouncing a globe of air in my palm, and, as the hulk of his SUV surged past me, he gave me the same gesture right back. It was my feeling that these gestures were exchanged without any rancor, rather like nods of greeting, the quotidian choreography of crossing an Italian street.

How much was the check for?
150 dollars which all too quickly became 86 euros.

Running from Bush

2008-05-12T00:49:00.004+02:00

Spirit Club

2008-05-12T00:40:00.010+02:00

Lisa Sanditz spearheaded the creation of a banner for next week's big Academy soccer match, Barbarians vs Romans. The young ladies of "Chinqwe Beh" (5B, the family housing unit next door) provided the artistic talent.

The banner reads "Beautiful barbarians, brave barbarians" and, yes, those soccer balls at the bottom are on fire.

Pentecost Sunday at the Pantheon

2008-05-11T16:00:00.005+02:00

rose petals falling through oculus
photo by Sarah M.

This Terribly Significant Business of Other People

2008-05-11T13:54:00.009+02:00

I was supposed to read Patrimony for a freshman year English class, but I never did. Now I'm reading my first Philip Roth novel, American Pastoral, and, on the heels of reading The Road by Cormac McCarthy, a book that also received the Pulitzer, I am relieved to be in the presence of a master. With so much ongoing social interaction at the Academy this year, this passage particularly spoke to me:

“You fight your superficiality, your shallowness, so as to try to come at people without unreal expectations, without an overload of bias or hope or arrogance, as untanklike as you can be, sans cannon and machine guns and steel plating half a foot thick; you come at them unmenacingly on your own ten toes instead of tearing up the turf with your caterpillar treads, take them on with an open mind, as equals, man to man, as we used to say, and yet you never fail to get them wrong. You might as well have the brain of a tank. You get them wrong before you meet them, while you’re anticipating meeting them; you get them wrong while you’re with them; and then you go home to tell somebody else about the meeting and you get them all wrong again. Since the same generally goes for them with you, the whole things is really a dazzling illusion empty of all perception, an astonishing face of misperception. And yet what are we to do about this terribly significant business of other people, which gets bled of the significance we think it has and takes on instead a significance that is ludicrous, so ill-equipped are we all to envision one another’s interior workings and invisible aims? Is everyone to go off and lock the door and sit secluded like the lonely writers do, in a soundproof cell, summoning people out of words and then proposing that these word people are closer to the real thing than the real people that we mangle with our ignorance every day? The fact remains that getting people right is not what living is all about anyway. It’s getting them wrong that is living, getting them wrong and wrong and wrong and then, on careful reconsideration, getting them wrong again. That’s how we know we’re alive: we’re wrong. Maybe the best thing would be to forget being right or wrong about people and just go along for the ride. But if you can do that—well, lucky you.”

My Cousin Cara

2008-05-10T12:30:00.007+02:00

My cousin Cara passed through Rome today on her way to an aquatic animal medicine conference. Cara (right) works as a veterinarian and researcher at the Mystic Aquarium in Connecticut, keeping the Beluga whales, sea lions and other mammals, fish, and birds healthy. Her friend Pam (left) said Cara chased a pigeon with a hurt foot in St. Mark's Square yesterday in hopes of removing the wire that was injuring the bird. Alas, that particular bird got away. She is presenting a paper at the conference about an unknown fungus that killed a California sea lion.

Farewell to Lally

2008-05-09T13:40:00.002+02:00

Chris Lally (in red), skilled craftsman of American comfort food—egg salad, fried pork, mashed potatoes, limonade—ends his kitchen internship with a prosecco-laced farewell on the terrace.

Spanish Academy Open House

2008-05-08T23:43:00.009+02:00

Last night at the Spanish Academy, I discovered drawings by Juan Francisco Casas, who creates these images using a blue ballpoint pen. It's hard to see online, but every single mark, each various texture, in these life-sized, photo-real party portraits is made only using a basic Bic ballpoint.

The Cure

2008-05-07T18:08:00.005+02:00

"When he awakened from his comatose and drunken state, first his hair fell off, next his fingers and nails, then everything melted away in succession. But since there was still power in the seed, Nature molded the man again as if from birth. Nature brought fourth new hair, new nails, and pure flesh, and he put off the old hide, like the skin of a serpent. He was called back into a new growth of life like another man. This story is not entirely reliable, but it is not completely unbelievable either. For it is believable that one evil may be driven out by another. And for nature to effect a renewal of man from a persisting spark is not unbelievable...."

— Aretaeus (translation from the Greek by Maud Gleason, the 37th Jerome Lecturer at the AAR)

Greer's Buns

2008-05-03T21:35:00.010+02:00

The other day at the May Day barbecue, Greer mentioned she would be making fresh cinnamon buns, hot out of the oven Saturday morning 8 a.m. People who know me know I'm not an early riser, but this morning I was first in line for one of Greer's buns.

And Jana, sister-in-sweetness, who had also taken note of Greer's announcement, arrived a minute later:

Caveh Climbs Into Incredibly Small Car

2008-04-30T14:12:00.003+02:00

and whizzes off to the Romanian Academy.

Strawberries

2008-04-30T13:27:00.001+02:00

For weeks at lunch, we've been lucky to have an abundance of organic strawberries grown by the Cistercian monks of Santa Croce in Gerusalemme. Mona tells me the strawberry season, along with asparagus, is just at its peak right now.

Birthday Boy

2008-04-29T23:00:00.000+02:00

Love Locks

2008-04-28T22:17:00.003+02:00

On a lookout spot along the Amalfi coast, lovers write their names on padlocks and lock them to the grating to signify eternal devotion.

Virginia & Charlie

2008-04-25T23:29:00.003+02:00

My aunt Virginia and uncle Charlie arrived today for a visit. In fact, we all flew in on the same flight this morning from JFK. We took the train from the airport to Trastevere, but when we tried to get off at our stop, the door closed suddenly, dividing Charlie on the platform from Virginia and me on the train. We were promptly whisked away to the next station and had to backtrack to reconnoiter with Charlie, who was biding his time on a sunny bench talking to an Italian gentleman who gives tours of Rome to Americans. Later, at a cafe, I noticed we were sitting in front of an entire window display of Virginia biscuits.

Fellow Countrymen

2008-04-24T04:15:00.011+02:00

We had dinner with Joe Swanberg and the cast/crew of his latest film who are living together for a month in a one-bedroom Brooklyn apartment to shoot a movie. Back at our hotel room, the actors read some scenes from Caveh's thriller script and we split the loot from his Tribeca schwag bag.

Springtime in NYC

2008-04-23T13:00:00.002+02:00

Dilapidated tulips and flourishing cherry blossoms

Nehw Yawk Citee

2008-04-23T04:00:00.009+02:00

The posters papering the windows of Printed Matter read:

I AM A
lezzie
butch
pervert
feminist
amazon
bulldagger
dyke
AND SO ARE YOU

(copyright fierce pussy 2008)

Heelloo New York! I've missed you!

Perk

2008-04-21T18:06:00.000+02:00

At both the supermarket and the airport in Buenos Aires, there was an express line for us embarazadas, pregnant women. Now that's civilized!

BAFICI Roundup

2008-04-20T17:32:00.011+02:00

BAFICI, the Buenos Aries Festival Internacional de Cine Independiente, really did devote itself to independent cinema. Some film festivals try and amp their prestige by opening with a star-studded Hollywood blockbuster and rolling out the red carpet. Not this festival. The films I saw in the competition tended to be slow-paced character-inextricably-embedded-within-a-landscape studies set in far-flung locations around the globe (southern Thailand, the Mississippi Delta, an island off the coast of Chile...).

As for the awards ceremony, best film went to Indimidades de Shakespeare y Victor Hugo, a documentary by first-time Mexican director Yulene Olaizola, set exclusively in her grandmother's house, with a surprising final revelation. Best director went to Lance Hammer for Ballast (who won the same prize at Sundance this year). And special mention went to Cochochi, an understated Kiarostami-esque story of two boys who steal a horse to deliver medicine to a remote canyon in the Mexican Sierras, produced by the Y Tu Mama Tambien boys, Diego Luna and Gabriel Garcia Bernal.

I would recommend all three of these films (and it looks like Ballast and Cochoci are playing at the SF International Film Festival in May).

Italians in Argentina

2008-04-19T13:21:00.007+02:00

I was looking forward to eating non-Italian-food for a while, but it turns out, aside from meat, much of Argentinian cuisine derives from Italian cuisine.

Here are some stats about Italians in Argentina: The 1991 census found that more than six million people, about a fifth of Argentina's population at the time, were of Italian descent.

On Fire!

2008-04-18T16:33:00.006+02:00

Argentinians love meat. Restaurants grill large slabs of carne or pollo, often in full view, as if to boast.

The other evening I began to wonder why the whole town smelled of grilled meat until I realized, no, this is more than dinner.

It turns out there's a huge fire blazing just outside of town, so, for two days now, smoke has infiltrated every pocket of air in Buenos Aires, including our hotel room. I feel like I'm living inside a barbecue.

The fire was started by cattle farmers clearing grasslands for grazing to raise more meat.

Three Windows in Buenos Aires

2008-04-17T16:24:00.000+02:00

Buenos Dias Buenos Aires

2008-04-14T21:08:00.021+02:00

I followed C to Buenos Aires and here we are in a densely furnished hotel room with brown-upholstered walls. By day, C focuses intently on his screenplay, a thriller he plans to shoot in Rome in May/June, while I either weigh in on his draft or wander around town. By night, we watch movies at the festival cineplex across the avenida.

Yesterday we saw Esther Robinson's film, A Walk Into the Sea, about her uncle who hung around Warhol's Factory and shot footage with Andy's Bolex for a while, then went missing. Now Esther runs a nonprofit to help artists buy houses called ArtHome (sorry to say the program is only set up for NYC, though she wants to expand to SF).

Cucina Romana

2008-04-09T11:46:00.014+02:00

Speaking of cucina romana, it is striking to me that 95% of restaurants in Rome serve exactly the same menu. This is no exaggeration. The cuisine here is unbelievably uniform. From primi to secondi to contorni to dolci, menus differ more in font than in content (even then, the menu is usually printed in a cursive font—no Helvetica in this town).

Restaurants here strive not to outdo each other in terms of original recipes but rather to make the best version of any given traditional dish, for example the best pasta carbonara.

Recently, a friend went to a restaurant with a few Italian buddies. They had given her the impression that the food at this restaurant was different than the mainstream: Yes, they serve pizza, but in a new way! they assured her. It turned out this "new way" meant rolling your basic Margarita pizza into a roll and eating it cannoli-style. Now, that is revolutionary (literally).

Then again, devoted as they are to simple, fresh ingredients, you're unlikely to find Italians endorsing this kind of marketing synergy—blue Smurf pasta is pure cucina americana.

Vitamins

2008-04-08T10:54:00.003+02:00

Being far from home and friends for an entire year is like having a form of scurvy (soul scurvy). So when a old pal comes for a visit, it's restorative like an essential vitamin.

Above, Mark (Vitamin M) visits from Frisco and we attend the opening of the Rome International Festival of Photography, fortified with work by Tim Davis.

After the opening, we went to what billed itself as a Mexican restaurant and consumed a 7 euro ($12) saucer of tortilla chips with a spoonful of guacamole (Vitamin G). You could get ten tacos in the Mission for that sum, but after months and months of cucina romana, it was worth every eurocent.

April Updates

2008-04-05T18:29:00.026+02:00

Maternity jeans at the local department store sport a surfeit of rhinestones and metal rivets. I'm going to New York in mid-April, my first trip Stateside since I arrived here in September, and will endeavor to outfit, with a little less spangle, my thickening waistline. This time it's not just the pasta.

Morely Safer has appeared at the Academy, not as a journalist but as a painter. He has taken over Junot Diaz' studio, who vanished to Venezuela a few months back.

Speaking of South America, Caveh's flying to Argentina next week as a juror for the Buenos Aires Festival Internacional de Cine Independiente.

The weather's getting warmer. In the park this afternoon, actors in 19th-century costumes launched lengthy monologues in the direction of passers-by taking their passeggiata. We met Napoleon.

Chocolate Shots

2008-03-24T23:50:00.010+01:00

At the chocolate shop down the road, you can get a shot of coffee liqueur inside a shot glass made of chocolate, with whipped cream and nuts on top:

The idea is to put the entire thing in your mouth in one go. On the day after Easter, a holiday here, we saw this lady step up to the plate. Here she goes, encouraged by her son and daughter-in-law:

In another shop down the block, you'll find an espresso set made out of chocolate:

Beware of the Wolf

2008-03-23T01:15:00.003+01:00

The first of a three-part show of American and Italian artists opened at the Academy last Thursday, along with an installation by Caveh called "Mussolini was here" (the installation incorporates film footage of a visit to the AAR by Mussolini in 1932):

(The chair in the film and the chair that the video monitor is sitting on are the same chair.)

A piece, involving myriad flashlights, by Italian artist Federico Pietrella:
And a series of photographs by Tim Davis, "Politicians in Cyan," wheatpasted on the gallery walls (my snapshot of his photo (of a faded poster, a political/religious palimpsest) subtracts most of the visual impact of the image, but here it is anyway for the folks at home):

Panino Party

2008-03-22T23:40:00.010+01:00

Tim & Lisa hosted a panino party this evening. The idea was to conceive, create, and share a sandwich of your own devising.
Lisa's "Padre Pio":
Jason's "P.L.T." (Prosciutto, Lettuce, Tomato) and my "Islands in the Stream Egg Salad":
Fred Fisher's "Cleveland circa 1958" sandwiches (butter & sugar; mayo & peanut butter; grilled cheese):
Adam's "Dodecahe-dog" (12-sided hot dog):
First place in the sandwich contest went to Eleanor for her roasted pumpkin sandwich. I'm going to see if I can get the recipe from her to post here.* A close second was Daniel M's "Japanese Lasagne," with layers of rice, seaweed, imitation crab meat, and fish roe, salted to perfection. Third went to Tim for his "Axis Powers" sandwich, with wasabi tuna (Japan), grilled eggplant and pomodori secci (Italy), and pumpernickle (Germany). I found Roy's "Green Sammies" particularly comforting, made of avocados, lettuce, scallions, apples, and cheese.

* Eleanor's award-winning "Panino La Zucca"
Part I: Pumpkin sandwich spread:

Dice some pumpkin and toss it with a couple peeled whole garlic cloves, some olive oil, salt, pepper, sweet paprika, and cinnamon.
Spread the mixture on a large pan and roast it in a hot oven until the pumpkin is tender and has a lot of crusty brown bits - some call it caramelized, some call it burnt.
Let the mixture cool, then use a food processor to puree it. Whiz in some fresh ricotta and honey, and taste - add more salt, pepper, cinnamon, and paprika if necessary.

Part II: Assemble the sandwiches:

Split some soft pizza bianca and toast it lightly.
Spread the pumpkin mixture on one piece of bread, and more fresh ricotta on another.
Sprinkle some grated smoked cheese on the spread, and then slap the two pieces together! I used a smoked mozzarella di Bufala because that was readily available, but I had hoped to use a smoked and aged ricotta like the one Osteria La Zucca (restaurant in Venice) sprinkled on their flan.

Enjoy!

Reading Raymond Chandler

2008-03-21T22:26:00.000+01:00

"I got up on my feet and went over to the bowl in the corner and threw cold water on my face. After a little while I felt a little better, but very little. I needed a drink, I needed a lot of life insurance, I needed a vacation, I needed a home in the country. What I had was a coat, a hat and a gun. I put them on and went out of the room."

—from Farewell, My Lovely

Cheaters!

2008-03-18T12:12:00.003+01:00

Caveh tells his story.

This guy's "spent years studying high-end escorts." You could say he has a PhD in prostitutes.

This woman gets paid by wives to pose as bait and ensnare husbands in the act of philandering.

The four-second delay between Atlanta and Rome creates a brief conversational lull, perhaps even a moment of reflection, in the 24-hour news cycle.

Caveh on Larry King Live

2008-03-18T00:35:00.010+01:00

Caveh was interviewed at 2 am tonight at Rome's CNN headquarters for Larry King Live. Here's what the website says about Dr. Drew's segment, "The Secret Lives of Cheaters": "The secret world of cheaters! Spies, lies and suspicion reign when one person strays. Dr. Drew takes you inside the hidden world of illicit hookups! Insights into infidelity for the hour!"

The Rome live feed went out twice during the half-hour interview. Yes, that's a faux Fra Angelico backdrop. Question: why do TV doctors always go by their first name, i.e. Dr. Ruth, Dr. Phil, Dr. Drew? Is it because they are always already our friends?

Emily Brown Comes to Town

2008-03-16T14:42:00.017+01:00

My friend Emily Brown came to visit from London, where she's just moved with her partner Todd and her dog Soster, who as recently as a month ago was sniffing hydrants in San Antonio. Todd works for Valero, and they were in Rome as part of a company field trip to watch a rugby match between Italy and Scotland. Consequently, we saw many a kilt-clad man walking around the centro. Emily's keeping a blog of her three-year stint in London.

Running Rome

2008-03-15T12:44:00.005+01:00

John Cary from the Academy is running the Rome Marathon tomorrow. Tonight he'll be eating lots of pasta.

Meanwhile, last weekend the Hash House Harriers ran the Ides of March Hash in togas. They identify themselves as "drinkers with a running problem."

A Vinter's Tale

2008-03-08T10:51:00.006+01:00

Last evening, Pina hosted a tasting of Italian wines and shared some wine folklore with us.

Est! Est!! Est!!!
One version goes like this: Around 1000, when the Holy Roman Emperor marched on Rome to settle some controversy with the Pope, a certain prelate in his entourage was more interested in the Dionysian opportunities available in the Italian countryside than in any political machinations. He sent his cupbearer ahead to discover the whereabouts of the best wines and to chalk the word "Est!" at the most desirable inns. At Montefiascone, the cupbearer marked "Est! Est!! Est!!!" to convey the excellence of the wine. After his business was done, the prelate returned to Montefiascone to live for the rest of his life. For several centuries it was the tradition to pour a barrel of wine over his tomb every year. Another version of the story describes the prelate as so enamored with the wine in Montefiascone that, in a surfeit of ecstasy, he drank himself to death that very night. Bonus track: Sarah Manguso's poem "Est Est Est."
Gallo Nero
The symbol of the black rooster on bottles of Chianti dates back to the Middle Ages when the city states of Florence and Sienna decided to settle a boundary dispute by means of a contest. On the designated day, a horseman would ride toward the other city once a cock had crowed, and wherever the two horseman met would be the new border.

Sienna chose a white rooster and pampered it in preparation for the contest. Florence starved its black rooster, which woke up hungry and immediately crowed while the white rooster was still asleep. The Florentine rider arrived within a few miles of Sienna before meeting the other horseman, and this is how Chianti became part of Florence's domain.

The "Gallo Nero" or black rooster has been the symbol of the Consorzio Vino Chianti Classico, the Consortium of Chianti Classico wine makers, for hundreds of years. That is, until California wine mogul Ernest Gallo sued the Consortium for trademark infringement and they subsequently lost the right to use the ancient name in the States.

Villa d'Este Waterworks

2008-03-05T19:13:00.003+01:00

Landscape architect Laurie Olin gave us a tour of the gardens at Villa d'Este. The fountains dazzle from every angle. Pictured here are two of the more discreet moments in the overall phantasmagoria.

Cindy With Oculus

2008-03-05T19:06:00.005+01:00

Cindy stands before the architectural remains of the baths at Hadrian's Villa. It is thought that such oculi, common in bathing structures, inspired the Pantheon's oculus. It was a cold and rainy day in Tivoli, and I wished the baths were still in working order.

Lucia for Obama

2008-03-04T19:18:00.003+01:00

I gave this "Babies for Obama" onesie to Lucia when she was born. She's already grown into it and accessorized with a button!