vacation from blogging

yes, I haven't posted in a while. I'm back in the US for a bit, until the beginning of September. Getting cavities filled, filing paperwork with the university, seeing my advisor, etc.

I'm officially taking a vacation from blogging until I get back to Bologna. Sorry all. I am listening to a lot of new music, so I may put together some new podcasts for you. If you've subscribed to the first one iTunes will update it for you if I do.

Come back in September!

addio a bologna (for now)

I'm off. wrapping up my computer cables and emptying the fridge. the frigo, rather.

I'm excited to be in Rome again for the next few days. I'll have a chance to get in some beach time, eat some good spicy food, and see my Roman peoples who are already back from vacation. I haven't seen the sun in days, it has been cloudy and ominously dark here.

Then, the long flight home. Get ready New York.

strutto

a correction: I clearly have not fully grasped Romagnol food. When I wrote that piadine must be made with olive oil - a dead giveaway that I am more accustomed to central and southern Italian cuisine. In fact, the griddle cakes typical to the region are full of lard. Hence delicious, and to be consumed sparingly.

cryptofascist gastronomy

At this point in my gastronomic life, I understand well which cheeses I can and cannot eat, thanks to a serious mold allergy. Soft ripened and blue cheeses are perilous for me. I haven't yet suffered any cheese-related symptoms worse than mild asthma from some gorgonzola or an irritated mouth after a camembert. Yet. I usually throw caution to the wind and eat all but the moldiest. The potential reactions are uncomfortable at best but potentially fatal in the case of severe asthma. Who wants to be remembered as "struck down in the prime of her life by a morsel of Roquefort"?
Tonight, we add Taleggio to the list of cheeses I cannot consume without risk. I really know better, I just can't help myself. The stinky fuzzy cheeses are the best. This particular taleggio had at least three discrete colors of fuzz. Deliciously creamy, with a bite, slightly asphixiating. My handy-dandy asthma inhaler saved the day again. sucks to my asthmar. When they invent the gene therapy for my allergies I'm going to throw a party with acres of stinky cheese and kittens.
Apropos noses, why is it that American fragrances are so offensive? This question comes from the pleasant suprise that I like the scent of my Italian fabric softener. In the US I don't use fabric softener because I find it noxious. Here, line-drying and very hard water makes it necessary, but the scents are light and natural. Being an allergic person and also one with a highly developed palate has made me hyper-sensitive to smells. And crypto-fascist about them: the jerk who invented Lush cosmetics should be shot. There is a store here on one of my favorite streets in Bologna that I can hardly stand to walk past, it is so foul. Fake fruit scents and heavy florals, repulsive. I could happily reside near a fish market; I want desperately to develop a taste for durian; I adore the scent of horse manure...but "strawberry" bath gel makes me want to vomit.

This all brings me to the problem of taste. I confess to profound intolerance: it is hard for me not to demote someone who proclaims a dislike for onions to untermenchen. What bothers me the most, I think, is not that people have tastes different from mine, but that they use "taste" without further explanation. How do onions feel in your mouth? What is your experience of the flavor? What memories are linked to the flavor or smell or texture? I dislike chammomile, but I am aware that this is because it became linked in my mind to illness, that the scent recalls for me the feeling of nausea. My friend Maggie can't stand egg whites - she can explain a visceral reaction that I accept without thinking less of her (also because I suspect it is an allergy). Furthermore, "taste" becomes an excuse to not learn and develop and explore. In my Inferno, the ninth circle is inhabited by the non-adventurers and closed-minded of the world.

vitamin news deficiency

I continue to be amazed by the provincialism of Italian news. Watching the telegiornali while reading the NY Times and Guardian online is particularly instructive. There is, of course, plenty on al-Zawahiri, but most of the terrorism news turns on the extradition of Hussein Osman from Rome. We've at last exhausted the details on Italians (and only Italians) killed at Sharm el Sheik that fed the headlines last week. Incredibly, the other dozens of victims went unnoticed, in favor of shmaltzy pieces on young fiancees on vacation and Sicilian girls celebrating graduations.
Lately I'm taking in images of demonstrating soccer fans, endless footage of holiday traffic congestion and weather, and a bewildering amount of cocaine dissolved in the Po River.

neither here nor there

August is an uncomfortable month. I have plans through December, but August is a black hole. Ideally I'd be working hard in the archives or vacationing on a beach somewhere, but the archives are closed and I can't afford a vacation away from BO. When I do leave, it will be to take care of all sorts of obnoxious tasks in New York: dentists and doctors and paperwork for the university and trips to the Italian consulate. I'm looking forward to seeing my people again, but it won't be under the best of circumstances. Reverse culture shock makes me cranky and unsociable. I'll try not to spend the whole time being disgusted by the food and going through real coffee withdrawal...

In the meantime I have a routine of early mornings spent taking care of the house, leisurely breakfast, reading, talking to my plants (they're anglophones, because they're succulents. the rationale: in Italian they're called piante grasse, or fat plants. since Americans are fat, my plants understand American English). My shower is brief; the water heater seems to have a capacity measurable in teaspoons. I watch a little news, check email and the NYTimes, and start out on the goal of the day: writing the Fulbright application.

I might punctuate the day with a pilgrimage to il Gelatauro for almond-orangeblossom gelato, or browse a bookstore. I'm not out much in the evenings lately, since everyone is on vacation.

A quiet life, for now.

bologna is hot and deserted

when will I learn?:
1. You cannot overemphasize "not too short" with hairdressers. I went for my emergency haircut with a photo in hand of a model with the perfect cut for me. I now have no hair, and do not resemble the photo in the least. TOO SHORT! it's cute anyway and I can show off all my dangly earrings. Italian hairdressers have it in for me.
2. You can overdo it with anchovies.
3. When Romans tell you a place is hot, it is very very hot. I was warned about BO.
4. Nothing happens in Italy in August. Disregard any advice that says ferragosto (aug. 15) is the beginning of vacations.
5. The library opens when it opens, not when it is supposed to open.
6. I cannot consume a kilo of apricots. Breakfast, lunch, snacks, dessert...there are still too many to eat before they go bad. They just look so pretty I can't resist getting a sackful.

what have I learned?:
1. I like tube tops. I would never have imaginged it, but I'm skinny enough to pull it off. And there are positive side effects like better deals at the produce market (I'm terrible, I know, don't be so scandalized, mom). Negative side effects: catcalls from 12 year olds.
2. I love bicycles. With my roommates gone I have the run of the household AND the use of their bikes. I'm liberated! pedaling around the city quickly.
3. Buying extra pairs of linen pants on sale is a good idea. I found a great pair that looks good on me and went back to get more in another color. I'm living in them.
4. When Dad made us wake up before dawn on the farm to do work before the sun got too strong, he was right. This makes sense on a farm. He's taken to a ridiculous nth degree. Here, I have trouble sleeping past 6:30 lately; by 10 I have to flee the apartment in search of a cooler place to work.
5. Moms are moms. I had to reassure Marta's that she hasn't been taken hostage by terrorists, she just left her cell phone charger in Rome - so isn't answering.