Sunday, November 18, 2012
sometimes it all comes together....
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Chinese hair cut
I love the Chinese.
This is a controversial statement here in Italy. Everybody here seems to have a love/hate relationship with the Chinese. There's been a huge influx of Chinese immigrants in recent years and a lot of Italians hate this. "They're taking over the city!" "They don't even bother learning Italian!" You hear of lot of the typical anti-immigrant sentiment directed at the Chinese, as they seem to be the only ones with enough liquidity in the midst of this huge italian economic crisis to buy up shops and cafes and hair salons. The Italians seem to resent the hell out them, yet their prices on just about anything can't be beat, so in tough times one can't help but turn toward them for basic needs.
While living in Belgium, my good friend and colleague Meike would cut my hair. She's a neuroscientis who would sometimes turn our lab into her make-shift hair salon. Other times I would buy a bottle of wine and she would come over to my place. We would set up shop in my living/dining room, with a couple of good episodes of our current American TV obsession streaming on the computer, and she would spend a few hours cutting and styling for me. Obviously we would follow this with a night out on the town and a hungover morning of more TV. Those were good times.
Since moving back to Italy, getting my hair cut has been an issue for me. At first I went to a hair salon near my apartment. But the prices kept creeping up every time I went, and I swear my stylist was stoned half the time. Conversation with her was painful. A person can't really be that vapid without having consumed some sort of mind-altering substance. Now, I'm not one to judge people on their extracurricular activities, but when you look and sound all dazed and confused on the job and accidently give me a pixie cut, you can be pretty damn sure I won't be coming back for more.
When the pixie had grown out long enough my friend Silvia gave me a blunt bob. Straight around with straight bangs. It was awesome, but now that my hair is even longer, and because I have so damn much of it, I needed something a bit layered to make the growing-out process a bit more bearable. Silvia told me she can only do straight, worried that layers would be too complicated. After all, she's a graphic artist, not a hair stylist.
But damn, salon prices in Italy are through the roof these days and Alberto and I are not exactly rolling in the dough lately. Today I was at that point where I needed to get my hair cut, NOW. I knew exactly what I wanted. My friend Marta, a few years ago while growing out her short cut, got an awesome layered cut that resembled Joan Jet in some ways. It was cool, rocker-esque, and I've wanted it ever since. Somehow though, I've never had the right length and the Italian stylists were always reluctant to give me what I wanted. Apparntly Joan Jet rockin' layers are not so "in", but since when have I ever cared about following trends?
So today... I went to the only hair salon open in our neighborhood on a Sunday afternoon. The Chinese girl had hair exactly how I want mine to be, long and straight with blunt-cut bangs. I told her I wanted her hair and she laughed, seeing how short mine was. But instantly she took my hair in her hands and, in an Italian I could hardly make out, explained that she would need to put some layers in to make it grow out nicely. I explained my Joan Jet idea and she nodded knowingly and went to work. There was no further conversation. She chatted in Chinese with her colleagues from time to time and we listened to some Chinese pop song they were playing on their sound system. My eyes darted around, looking at the pictures of Chinese people with fashionable hair dos hanging on the wall, as I remembered the words of my vapid stoned Italian stylist "Who knows what type of products they use. I'm always having to fix my clients hair after they try to save some money by going to the Chinese. Just think, once one of my clients decided to try to get her color done at a Chinese salon and her hair started falling out!" Uh huh.
The end product is perfect. Exactly what I wanted. The best part, it only cost 9 Euro. It amazes me sometimes how well communcation works when both parties are foreign and neither is speaking their mother-tongue. There's some sort of all-knowing sympathy that each party has for the other.
So with that, I will say it again. I love the Chinese in Italy. Somehow they make me feel more at home. Friendlier and much less pretentious than their Italian competitors, they've definitley earned a new loyal client.
This is a controversial statement here in Italy. Everybody here seems to have a love/hate relationship with the Chinese. There's been a huge influx of Chinese immigrants in recent years and a lot of Italians hate this. "They're taking over the city!" "They don't even bother learning Italian!" You hear of lot of the typical anti-immigrant sentiment directed at the Chinese, as they seem to be the only ones with enough liquidity in the midst of this huge italian economic crisis to buy up shops and cafes and hair salons. The Italians seem to resent the hell out them, yet their prices on just about anything can't be beat, so in tough times one can't help but turn toward them for basic needs.
While living in Belgium, my good friend and colleague Meike would cut my hair. She's a neuroscientis who would sometimes turn our lab into her make-shift hair salon. Other times I would buy a bottle of wine and she would come over to my place. We would set up shop in my living/dining room, with a couple of good episodes of our current American TV obsession streaming on the computer, and she would spend a few hours cutting and styling for me. Obviously we would follow this with a night out on the town and a hungover morning of more TV. Those were good times.
Since moving back to Italy, getting my hair cut has been an issue for me. At first I went to a hair salon near my apartment. But the prices kept creeping up every time I went, and I swear my stylist was stoned half the time. Conversation with her was painful. A person can't really be that vapid without having consumed some sort of mind-altering substance. Now, I'm not one to judge people on their extracurricular activities, but when you look and sound all dazed and confused on the job and accidently give me a pixie cut, you can be pretty damn sure I won't be coming back for more.
When the pixie had grown out long enough my friend Silvia gave me a blunt bob. Straight around with straight bangs. It was awesome, but now that my hair is even longer, and because I have so damn much of it, I needed something a bit layered to make the growing-out process a bit more bearable. Silvia told me she can only do straight, worried that layers would be too complicated. After all, she's a graphic artist, not a hair stylist.
But damn, salon prices in Italy are through the roof these days and Alberto and I are not exactly rolling in the dough lately. Today I was at that point where I needed to get my hair cut, NOW. I knew exactly what I wanted. My friend Marta, a few years ago while growing out her short cut, got an awesome layered cut that resembled Joan Jet in some ways. It was cool, rocker-esque, and I've wanted it ever since. Somehow though, I've never had the right length and the Italian stylists were always reluctant to give me what I wanted. Apparntly Joan Jet rockin' layers are not so "in", but since when have I ever cared about following trends?
So today... I went to the only hair salon open in our neighborhood on a Sunday afternoon. The Chinese girl had hair exactly how I want mine to be, long and straight with blunt-cut bangs. I told her I wanted her hair and she laughed, seeing how short mine was. But instantly she took my hair in her hands and, in an Italian I could hardly make out, explained that she would need to put some layers in to make it grow out nicely. I explained my Joan Jet idea and she nodded knowingly and went to work. There was no further conversation. She chatted in Chinese with her colleagues from time to time and we listened to some Chinese pop song they were playing on their sound system. My eyes darted around, looking at the pictures of Chinese people with fashionable hair dos hanging on the wall, as I remembered the words of my vapid stoned Italian stylist "Who knows what type of products they use. I'm always having to fix my clients hair after they try to save some money by going to the Chinese. Just think, once one of my clients decided to try to get her color done at a Chinese salon and her hair started falling out!" Uh huh.
The end product is perfect. Exactly what I wanted. The best part, it only cost 9 Euro. It amazes me sometimes how well communcation works when both parties are foreign and neither is speaking their mother-tongue. There's some sort of all-knowing sympathy that each party has for the other.
So with that, I will say it again. I love the Chinese in Italy. Somehow they make me feel more at home. Friendlier and much less pretentious than their Italian competitors, they've definitley earned a new loyal client.
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
let's see...
You'd think I'd have a lot to say since I haven't posted any updates since March. Hmmm...
quick round-up:
I have a new job. It's awesome... way better than I could have expected. I work in the urology department of a big hospital for the two most important surgeons in their field in all of Italy. I now know way more than the average person should probably know about prostates. Men talk to me openly about their incontenence and erectile problems. It was weird at first, but now it's just all in a days work.
Our old pervy neighbor broke a hip a couple of months ago and has been in the hospital ever since. He got especially pervy before this happened. I feel bad about not feeling bad about his current state, but at least we have had some peace and quiet in the courtyard lately.
Fabrizio, the crazy upstairs neighbor, has been in and out of the psych ward. This has also offered us some peace and quiet, although when he's home he still stops by at least 3 times a day to demand that Alberto make him some coffee. He's become some sort of staple in our lives and we actually miss the weirdo when he's in the hospital, but then when he comes back we realize we didn't really miss him all that much.
I'm on a real diet for the first time in my life. My days of wine and beer drinking and salami and cheese eating have finally caught up with me. Today is day 2 of my diet. I made chocolate banana muffins for Alby and Claudio tonight and only tasted half of one. I'm guessing this will only last until the weekend, but we'll see. Eight - ten pounds is my goal, to get back to the weight I was when I met Alby. I've also got a fancy gym membership. I went to a group conditioning class yesterday and I can hardly walk today. Damn, I'm old. Despite the pain, I went for a 40 minute walk tonight. The weather was beautiful and I reckon we won't have too many more days like today before the cold grey rain that defines the Milan winter sets in. I've got to enjoy the sun while it lasts.
Oh, and just in case you didn't know, Italy is in economic shambles right now. Thank god for my job. Things are looking grim out there. Alby is scraping by with some free-lance work, but times are indeed tough for many right now. Yesterday I dared to think about how much gas actually costs. Converting liters to gallons and Euro to Dollars we currently pay $8.86 per gallon. Ouch. Needless to say, we don't go out much these days. Luckily most of our friends are in the same boat so we have a lot of poor people dinner parties where we eat pasta and drink discount beer. It's awesome, except that both pasta and beer are prohibited from my diet plan. Like I said, this may have to be a 5-day a week diet.
Now that I'm a bit settled in a routine I'll see if I can actually write something sometimes. Also because I don't get to talk to the three of you who might read this on a regular basis. I miss all my friends and family afar!!
quick round-up:
I have a new job. It's awesome... way better than I could have expected. I work in the urology department of a big hospital for the two most important surgeons in their field in all of Italy. I now know way more than the average person should probably know about prostates. Men talk to me openly about their incontenence and erectile problems. It was weird at first, but now it's just all in a days work.
Our old pervy neighbor broke a hip a couple of months ago and has been in the hospital ever since. He got especially pervy before this happened. I feel bad about not feeling bad about his current state, but at least we have had some peace and quiet in the courtyard lately.
Fabrizio, the crazy upstairs neighbor, has been in and out of the psych ward. This has also offered us some peace and quiet, although when he's home he still stops by at least 3 times a day to demand that Alberto make him some coffee. He's become some sort of staple in our lives and we actually miss the weirdo when he's in the hospital, but then when he comes back we realize we didn't really miss him all that much.
I'm on a real diet for the first time in my life. My days of wine and beer drinking and salami and cheese eating have finally caught up with me. Today is day 2 of my diet. I made chocolate banana muffins for Alby and Claudio tonight and only tasted half of one. I'm guessing this will only last until the weekend, but we'll see. Eight - ten pounds is my goal, to get back to the weight I was when I met Alby. I've also got a fancy gym membership. I went to a group conditioning class yesterday and I can hardly walk today. Damn, I'm old. Despite the pain, I went for a 40 minute walk tonight. The weather was beautiful and I reckon we won't have too many more days like today before the cold grey rain that defines the Milan winter sets in. I've got to enjoy the sun while it lasts.
Oh, and just in case you didn't know, Italy is in economic shambles right now. Thank god for my job. Things are looking grim out there. Alby is scraping by with some free-lance work, but times are indeed tough for many right now. Yesterday I dared to think about how much gas actually costs. Converting liters to gallons and Euro to Dollars we currently pay $8.86 per gallon. Ouch. Needless to say, we don't go out much these days. Luckily most of our friends are in the same boat so we have a lot of poor people dinner parties where we eat pasta and drink discount beer. It's awesome, except that both pasta and beer are prohibited from my diet plan. Like I said, this may have to be a 5-day a week diet.
Now that I'm a bit settled in a routine I'll see if I can actually write something sometimes. Also because I don't get to talk to the three of you who might read this on a regular basis. I miss all my friends and family afar!!
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Subway observations
I took the subway, or in Milan talk, "the Metro" today for the first time in months and was reminded of how there are very few things that I find more aesthetically absurd than drawn-on eyebrows. It's like a terrible accident... one of those horrible scenes that you can't bear to see, yet can't manage to tear your eyes from at the same time. Why do so many women feel the need to completely shave off their real eyebrows and draw a thin, dark line above the area where their brow stubble is peaking through? I saw 2 in the arc of 20 minutes... if we extrapolate that statistically to the entire Milan metro area population it means there are quite a few women in this city that are afflicted with the drawn-on brow syndrome. Is there some sort of psychological disorder that causes them to rip out their real brows? Is it a cultural thing that I'm unaware of? I find it odd.
Also, all of you 20-something young ladies out there, if you are going to wear leggings as pants, don't act annoyed when men, and women for that matter, stare at your ass. Leggings are meant to be worn under tunics, long sweaters, skirts or even shirt dresses. They are not meant to be worn with nothing else covering your ass. Everybody knows that even opaque leggings are not 100% opaque. We can still see your underwear, and yes, we are all looking because, let's face it, riding the subway is boring... and also the battery on my cell phone is almost dead so I can't creep facebook at the moment.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
biologically unfit
I'm still sick. I swear I have the weakest immune system possible without having some auto-immune disorder.
Just as I thought I was getting better... BAM... fever, throat on fire, and some not-your-typical-monday-morning crappiness hit me like a ton of bricks.
Turns out my body has become a bit resistant to amoxicillan. Wonderful. My mother lovingly told me with a laugh that I'll surely be the first to go whenever the world gets crazy enough for biological warfare.
I guess it makes sense though. I mean, I've only been eating antibiotics like candy since I was born. Constant ear infections for the first 2 years of my life, then constant tonsillitis until I was six and had them removed. Then, at least one case of strept throat a year until I graduated from college. Now at least it seems I only get hit bad once every two years, but each time it seems worse. Is that an age thing?
I also love that my family doc here insisted that it was tonsillitis, even after I told him I had my tonsils removed 25 years ago. His specialty is dermatology, but still, come on! On Tuesday I finally went to an ears/nose/throat specialist who confirmed that my tonsils had not grown back, my throat was just so swollen and funky looking that apparently only a specialist would be able to tell that I didn't actually have tonsils.
10 more days of a stronger antibiotic... another week in bed. I feel bad about missing so much work, especially since all of my new classes at the television station just started up the week before I got sick. But, I got an email saying that all the students are happy to have me as their teacher and they can't wait for me to get back... so that was reassuring.
Alberto, in the meantime, is becoming an awesome cook. I knew something good would come from all of this.
Just as I thought I was getting better... BAM... fever, throat on fire, and some not-your-typical-monday-morning crappiness hit me like a ton of bricks.
Turns out my body has become a bit resistant to amoxicillan. Wonderful. My mother lovingly told me with a laugh that I'll surely be the first to go whenever the world gets crazy enough for biological warfare.
I guess it makes sense though. I mean, I've only been eating antibiotics like candy since I was born. Constant ear infections for the first 2 years of my life, then constant tonsillitis until I was six and had them removed. Then, at least one case of strept throat a year until I graduated from college. Now at least it seems I only get hit bad once every two years, but each time it seems worse. Is that an age thing?
I also love that my family doc here insisted that it was tonsillitis, even after I told him I had my tonsils removed 25 years ago. His specialty is dermatology, but still, come on! On Tuesday I finally went to an ears/nose/throat specialist who confirmed that my tonsils had not grown back, my throat was just so swollen and funky looking that apparently only a specialist would be able to tell that I didn't actually have tonsils.
10 more days of a stronger antibiotic... another week in bed. I feel bad about missing so much work, especially since all of my new classes at the television station just started up the week before I got sick. But, I got an email saying that all the students are happy to have me as their teacher and they can't wait for me to get back... so that was reassuring.
Alberto, in the meantime, is becoming an awesome cook. I knew something good would come from all of this.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Perks of the job
Alright, let's not talk about the fact that in the past 10 days I've had the flu, tonsillitis and bronchitis and just started getting out of bed again yesterday. No no no... let's talk about something a little brighter please. Have I ever told you how great some, well actually most, of my students are?
Saturday, February 4, 2012
some updates
Fabrizio was very well behaved for our little pizza party last night. He did start knocking on the door around 5:30pm, even though Alberto told him they would go at 7pm to pick up the pizza. But, apart from his impatience, he was a delightful dinner guest. Today, he's only knocked 3 times, and we've been able to avoid letting him in with various excuses.
In other news...
A while back I wrote about my adventure in trying to secure a more long-term, less limiting work permit. Just 2 days before we left for Minnesota, I finally had temporary papers in hand, enough to get me back into the country after the holidays in the US and to keep working for the time being. This week I got a message saying that my actual permit was ready and that I could pick it up at 10am today (Saturday). However, this morning when we went to the immigration office, it was dark. There were a bunch of policemen and immigrants just sitting around in the dark. "Technical problems", they told me, "come back some other time." Nothing surprises me in this country anymore.
It's cold here and there's snow on the ground. I'm loving it. The News on TV is making a huge drama out of a couple inches of snow in Rome. The world must be ending! Don't go outside, you might die! It would be funny, except of course that this country is terribly unprepared for even a slight amount of snow. Alberto's dad slipped on some ice this morning and bruised a rib :-( Salt, sand, anybody? I feel like I should be educating an entire country on how to shuffle your feet down an icy sidewalk to avoid a disaster. And let's not even talk about their driving.
In other news...
A while back I wrote about my adventure in trying to secure a more long-term, less limiting work permit. Just 2 days before we left for Minnesota, I finally had temporary papers in hand, enough to get me back into the country after the holidays in the US and to keep working for the time being. This week I got a message saying that my actual permit was ready and that I could pick it up at 10am today (Saturday). However, this morning when we went to the immigration office, it was dark. There were a bunch of policemen and immigrants just sitting around in the dark. "Technical problems", they told me, "come back some other time." Nothing surprises me in this country anymore.
It's cold here and there's snow on the ground. I'm loving it. The News on TV is making a huge drama out of a couple inches of snow in Rome. The world must be ending! Don't go outside, you might die! It would be funny, except of course that this country is terribly unprepared for even a slight amount of snow. Alberto's dad slipped on some ice this morning and bruised a rib :-( Salt, sand, anybody? I feel like I should be educating an entire country on how to shuffle your feet down an icy sidewalk to avoid a disaster. And let's not even talk about their driving.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Nikita has a boyfriend!
On a lighter note...
His name is Chicco (pronounced Kiko). Don't worry, he's fixed.
He and Nikita meet at the window every morning and meow hysterically until we open it. They usually share a nose-sniffing kiss and then proceed to ignore each other. Chicco is one of our not-crazy neighbor's cats. He's a good guy.
His name is Chicco (pronounced Kiko). Don't worry, he's fixed.
The Neighbors: Part 2
When Alberto and I first moved into our apartment in May we thought it was cool that we enter from a communal courtyard, the neighbors seemed quirky and interesting... until we got to know them.
Exhibit 2: the head case upstairs
Oh, where do I start?
When we first moved in, our 70-something year old neighbor upstairs, Rosetta, warned us about her son. "He's not well.. and don't worry if he doesn't say hello when you see him, he really doesn't like many people." As the story goes, Fabrizio was a totally normal, functioning individual... until his 27th year of life. Apparently, at 27, he had some sort of nervous breakdown, or 'psychotic break' as psychologists like to call it, and he was never the same again. Now, at 47, he's like an overgrown kid, with a drinking problem, a gambling problem and a coffee addiction.
 |
| Alberto with Fabrizio |
Oh, where do I start?
When we first moved in, our 70-something year old neighbor upstairs, Rosetta, warned us about her son. "He's not well.. and don't worry if he doesn't say hello when you see him, he really doesn't like many people." As the story goes, Fabrizio was a totally normal, functioning individual... until his 27th year of life. Apparently, at 27, he had some sort of nervous breakdown, or 'psychotic break' as psychologists like to call it, and he was never the same again. Now, at 47, he's like an overgrown kid, with a drinking problem, a gambling problem and a coffee addiction.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
The Neighbors: Part 1
When Alberto and I first moved into our apartment in May we thought it was cool that we enter from a communal courtyard, the neighbors seemed quirky and interesting... until we got to know them.
Exhibit 1: the 80-year-old pervert
Signore Brambilla is the 80-year-year neighbor in the apartment to our left (if you're looking at our front door). He likes to chat. The first problem... he only likes to chat in Milanese, the local dialect, which I don't understand very well. Luckily Alberto's dad has given me some experience with this language, but it's not really spoken by anyone under the age of 60, so I've never really needed to become fluent in it. Brambilla doesn't seem to understand or care that I don't understand him most of the time. He just keeps talking and I just keep smiling and nodding. But this really isn't the problem. The problem is that he seems to always be waiting by his window to see when we come home or when we leave the apartment, and he comes out and traps us in a fifteen minute one-sided conversation in which my face gets tired from smiling and nodding. He never fails to tell me how pretty I am, and try to kiss me. Now, it's common practice in Italy to give a couple of kisses on the cheek, but he always grabs my face and plants one on me wherever he's old man tremors allow... the eyeball seems to be his preferred target.
Exhibit 1: the 80-year-old pervert
Signore Brambilla is the 80-year-year neighbor in the apartment to our left (if you're looking at our front door). He likes to chat. The first problem... he only likes to chat in Milanese, the local dialect, which I don't understand very well. Luckily Alberto's dad has given me some experience with this language, but it's not really spoken by anyone under the age of 60, so I've never really needed to become fluent in it. Brambilla doesn't seem to understand or care that I don't understand him most of the time. He just keeps talking and I just keep smiling and nodding. But this really isn't the problem. The problem is that he seems to always be waiting by his window to see when we come home or when we leave the apartment, and he comes out and traps us in a fifteen minute one-sided conversation in which my face gets tired from smiling and nodding. He never fails to tell me how pretty I am, and try to kiss me. Now, it's common practice in Italy to give a couple of kisses on the cheek, but he always grabs my face and plants one on me wherever he's old man tremors allow... the eyeball seems to be his preferred target.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Time on my hands
Time is something I once thought I could never have enough of, but this week, I've a got surplus.
Alberto and I got back from Minnesota on Thursday, but most of my lessons don't start up again until next week. Hours of work this week = 6. Awesome... or not?
This morning I was up at 7am for a morning coffee date. More on that later. By 8 I was home. By 10:30 I was in the gym, lunch at 12:30, my only lesson of the day from 1:30-3:00. By 5pm I had already got my facebook fix and had no idea what to do. My house was clean, the dishes and laundry were done, grocery shopping won't be necessary for another couple of days. I was so bored I almost considered going back to the gym. Luckily, I realized there was a How I Met Your Mother episode I hadn't seen yet. 20 minutes later... what to do, what to do?
Alberto was closed up in the only other room of our 2 room apartment, diligently making some final edits on the book he recently finished writing. Me? Cuddling our cat on the couch. How's that for focus? I really need some new hobbies for times like these. A girl can only cuddle a kitten for so long.
Now Alberto insisted on making dinner. No complaints from me... even if I think it's just his way of getting out of washing the dishes after dinner.
Maybe I'll update the blog. I haven't done this in months. Let's see if I can make it a habit.
random fact: it's colder in Milan today than it was on any of the 18 days we spent in MN this winter.
Alberto and I got back from Minnesota on Thursday, but most of my lessons don't start up again until next week. Hours of work this week = 6. Awesome... or not?
This morning I was up at 7am for a morning coffee date. More on that later. By 8 I was home. By 10:30 I was in the gym, lunch at 12:30, my only lesson of the day from 1:30-3:00. By 5pm I had already got my facebook fix and had no idea what to do. My house was clean, the dishes and laundry were done, grocery shopping won't be necessary for another couple of days. I was so bored I almost considered going back to the gym. Luckily, I realized there was a How I Met Your Mother episode I hadn't seen yet. 20 minutes later... what to do, what to do?
Alberto was closed up in the only other room of our 2 room apartment, diligently making some final edits on the book he recently finished writing. Me? Cuddling our cat on the couch. How's that for focus? I really need some new hobbies for times like these. A girl can only cuddle a kitten for so long.
Now Alberto insisted on making dinner. No complaints from me... even if I think it's just his way of getting out of washing the dishes after dinner.
Maybe I'll update the blog. I haven't done this in months. Let's see if I can make it a habit.
random fact: it's colder in Milan today than it was on any of the 18 days we spent in MN this winter.
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