Damn Internet Cafes

So I'm trying to type a post in an internet cafe in Florence. Except the computer is slow. And the keyboard is hard, with all these wacky extra letters. And they close in 5 minutes, so they wouldnàt let me get a whole hour and I only got half an hour.

So, my hysterically funny post about eating seafood in Fano will have to wait until another day. This is all you're getting right now. (this letter: à is where the apostrophe is supposed to be. itàs really hard).

I am also trying to upload some photos to Flickr, but the computer is slow. And Iàm probably getting a virus.

Some pictures are up, mostly of food. But I need to go before the computer steals my camera. And my passwords.

We are all having a great time. Driving on the roads here is great, except when you,re in the Cities, then it is terible. I am not looking forward to dropping the car off in Rome. Right in the middle of the city. In the middle of the madness.

Later.

PS The market pictures are from Pratola Serra. The other pictures are from Pompeii

The Problem with Italy

Italy is a beatiful country. The hills are full of huge, old villas and monastaries that stand over well-manicured fields full of great things like grapes and kiwis and figs and tomatoes and olives and lemons and oranges and... The drivers are insane. The relatives are welcoming. The food is amazing. Kimberly and the Krew have been completly overwhelmed by the contained chaos of everything.

Italy also contains some of the most beautiful art in the world, in the form of sculptures, paintings, and architecture, and some of the most friendly people in the world. Well, mostly.

On Saturday, we decided to go visit the Reggia of Caserta, near Pratola Serra. [Caserta is in Southern Italy, close to Napoli, which is an important part for the story.] The guide books call the Reggia the "Versaille of Italy" and sing the praises of the English gardens. Once we got our tickets, we walked over to the bus area to take the 3 km ride to the garden entrance. This is where our story begins.

There was a 20-something guy selling tickets to the train and telling people to line up 'over there.' Two problems: (1) he wasn't so much selling tickets as smoking cigarettes and flirting with the young women in the general vicinity; and (2) Italians, unlike the English or the Americans, do not take well to queuing. The line for the bus wasn't so much a line as it was a horde. The first bus came and went, with our Hero-American-Family standing in the bus' dust, looking completely bewildered and scared. Those little old Italians are not as sweet as they look.

Having experienced this before, I decided I needed to act. As we were the last group pushed off the previous bus, we were first in line for the next bus. As the little Neapolitan women started to encroach upon and pass us, I made sure that we inched forward. As the Sicilian women stood in front of us, I politely explained to them (in my poorest Italian) that the line was behind us and we were actually in the front. [I absorbed enough evil eyes that I had an exorcism that evening. No joke.]

When the bus finally arrived, the contained chaos became uncontained. Old Italians were practically running over us and knocking the Krew down to get on the bus first. When the bus finally stopped rolling, it was actually only a few feet in front of me.

Although a few of the little women were too quick and got on before me, I put my plan in action. With one particulary nice woman and her very pleasant husband right behind me, I blocked the door with my rather large frame and arms. I then turned and told the Krew to get on the bus, blocking everyone else. A few jabs in the ribs and screams of indignation later, we were all on the bus, followed quickly by an angry mob. Fortunately, the heat of the bus lulled everyone to sleep and all their anger was directed back at the husbands, just as intended.

[The woman right behind Kimberly is the one who was jabbing me in the back. I wish I had a better picture, but I was afraid if I actually pointed the camera at her, she would spit on me.]

We spent the next few hours touring the 7 km of garden paths, seeing beautiful fountains, fake Roman ruins, tiny frogs, giant fish, and exotic trees, including a Redwood from the West of America and a Doug Fir from the Northwest of America. Just like home.

On the way back, we decided to walk the 3 km down to the palace. Although we will need to face the hordes of old Italian women again at some point, twice in the same day wasn't worth it.

My first morning in Italy

Ah Italy. We arrived last night, were chauffered by Zio Mimmo and Peter's Dad, and welcomed into a bustling house for dinner with Zia Nina and Zia Rita and her family. What a feast! I certainly won't starve in Italy, although I might gain 50 pounds. That could be a problem. Luckily, the towns are set in beautiful countryside, so walking will be a pleasure.

Peter and I woke up this morning to the church bells. The bells ring for each hour and for each quarter hour. This means lots of bells. It's beautiful now, but can you imagine the noise complaints if they tried this in the cities at home?

And, to top it all off, this is the view outside our bedroom window.

It's not so bad.... I can probably get used to this for a while....

Do you think the Middle has views like this?

...Ciao Italia

We have arrived in Pratola Serra, the hometown of my father's family. After a quick drive down the autostrada from Rome, we ate our bodies weight in food last night for dinner.

A few very Italian things that have happened so far:

We saw this on the plane as we were leaving Boston:

Italian Air Traffic Controllers Strike

Someone in Portland was joking that all three times he has come to Italy, some part of the travel sector is on strike. Luckily, this didn't affect us, as it was only for a few hours on Tuesday.

Then we saw:

Garbage a burning issue for Naples

Apparently in Naples, the trash dumps are full. So they are piling the trash on the streets and burning it. I can't wait to go see it.

I can't wait to see what happens next.

In memory

My father Phil

May 3, 1943-May 24 2006

We love you.

Goodbye USA...

Got Snuggles?

So apparently, they're gone. :( I haven't seen them in almost a week. Sorry if I'm a little sad today, but it's hard to type through the tears.

I guess they are on their way to Europe and will come back eventually. I guess I'm spending the next couple of months with my 'friends' Ben and Jerry. Some friends these guys are: the growling and hissing has calmed down, but now they knock over my food because they think it's funny. Ha Ha Ha, my stomach hurts from laughing so hard.

So sad.

Anyways, since Kimberly isn't here for the snuggling, I had to find someone new to steal snuggles from. I don't know who this guy is, but he seems sufficient for snuggling purposes, even though he is a Mets fan (I hope PEter doesn't get too mad about that).

Boston Adventures Part 2

My Boston trips have always involved eating. Marrying into a large Italian family, that kinda goes without saying. We eat, frequently and a lot.

One of my favorite places in Boston is an area called the North End. This is a very old part of town apparently dating from the 1600s. The buildings are old and brick, the streets run this way and that way, narrow and confusing. The roads are all cobblestone and brick, beautiful to look at and rough on the ankles. So many different groups of immigrants have lived in this neighborhood over the centuries, but it's been an Italian neighborhood for over 100 years.

My mother-in-law and her sisters were all born in the North End. It has family history (and family still live there). Most importantly, it has pizza, the soul food of Italians. As I have been informed by my dear husband, the quality of pizza is a very important consideration (and as he frequently points out, Portland's pizza generally sucks).

Some of our family is somehow related (don't ask me because the family relations are all too confusing for me to sort out, not to even consider remembering) to the family that runs Galleria Umberto, known in the family as Buckwheat's after the owner. Buckwheat makes pizza. You can get your pizza any way you want it, as long as you want it square and with cheese. None of those fancy dancy toppings. Cheese. You can also get panini (which are somehow ham and cheese sandwiches, but on pizza dough- seems to me that they're more like a calzone, but what do I know), pizzette (somehow the same thing with sauce and cheese baked inside), panzarotti (like a potato croquette- mashed potatoes with cheese in the middle, deep fried), arancini (rice balls stuffed with meat and peas and then deep fried), and calzones (you know what those are). Pizza cost $1.10 a slice, although Peter complained about the increase from the old days of 60 cents a slice.

This is simple, artery clogging food.

This is what we got.

You can see most of the food in this picture. We purchased 8 slices of pizza, 3 arancinis, 1 panzarotti, and 2 calzones (one spinach and cheese, and one just spinach). This was for 4 people. We also bought another arancini and 2 more calzones to bring home for my mother-in-law.

We ate almost all of it.

Here is Peter and his aunt exclaiming over the inadequate amount of food.











After this, we wandered around, had some interesting experiences with getting official documents translated into Italian (more later), and walked the streets until the rain got too annoying. And then, because we certainly hadn't eaten enough, we got dessert.

At this place- Modern Pastry














You might not be able to see in these photos, but there are absolutely no signs in this place. No prices, no names of things, no list of what they offer. They have a coffee machine in the corner, which implies that they sell coffee. They do, but nothing to let you know what they make. They even have other varieties of pastries in the back that they sell, but no mention of them in the front. You have to just know.

This time around, we got two cannolis (mmmmmm) and a slice of ricotta pie. (I also highly recommend their lobster tails (the pastry not the fish)). As we left, we discussed where we were going to take our treats. Peter mentioned that his grandfather's brother and wife might still be in town, up the street, so we walked over to their place. We popped in, Auntie Mary made us coffee, and Uncle Giulo peppered us with questions about our trip. They've lived in the same apartment in the North End for 52 years, since they returned from their honeymoon. It turns out that they will be in The Village in Italy about the time we're passing through, so Uncle Giulo has promised us a walk through the countryside and some potatoes.

It's sometimes bewildering to be surrounded by so much family, coming from a relatively small family like mine. But I wouldn't trade them in for anything.

_________________________
[PEter Edit: A couple quick things: (1) The problem with pizza in Portland is that people are worried about the toppings, rather than the important things, like crust and sauce (for Example A see The Flying Pie). And places with good pizza, like Ken's new pizza place or A Pizza Scholls, with good crust and simple toppings, are ridiculously expensive. Escape From New York (or Manhattan, whatever) on NW 23rd was good too. (2) My family is not related to the people that run Bacqui's (apparently, not Buckwheat, but that's how it's pronounced); my Aunt (not the one pictured) dated Buckwheat when they were young. My Uncle Giulio used to hang out with them too. (3) Kimberly added a link to Galleria Umberto's up there: check out the picture of the storefront. It's hidden in plain view. (4) The Unlce Giulio Kimberly met yesterday is actually Zio Giulio (pronounced Ti-Giulio) on my Grandfather's side, easily distinguishable from the other Uncle Giulio on my Grandmother's side.

Boston Adventures Part 1

Ah, Boston.

I've visited a few times now, and am slowly starting to figure out the parts of town I enjoy, the things I'd rather skip, and a vague sense of where things are. This trip I've already got to experience something new, something exciting, something Peter's been waiting for since we first met.

I went to my first Red Sox game at Fenway.

It was quite the adventure. To fully appreciate this story, you should know that I've never been a big sports fan. Just not my thing. In fact, it was something of a strike against Peter when we first met. But, he turns out to be a fine person even with the whole sports thing. And, when we decided to get married, the only prenuptial-sort-of-thing we had was the one sport rule. We agreed that Peter could pick any sport, any at all, that I would feign interest in. And then, I could openly disparage all other sporting activities.

Anyway, Peter picked baseball and the Red Sox and I've been watching baseball ever since. It's not half bad actually. I have Red Sox gear- a fancy baseball hat. I know players; I know some general rules. Not bad for me.

So... Peter's been searching for tickets ever since we decided to come back here on our way to Europe. Unfortunately, the Red Sox seem to be the hottest thing in town, and tickets are hard to come by. Peter found standing room only for the bargain basement price of $50 each! Eeek!

We were beginning to resign ourselves to no baseball when a friend came through and gave us noon tickets for the rainout make up game on Thursday.

It's crazy there. The banners, the people, the Red Sox gear. Here we are entering the park.







I got my first Fenway sausage. Note the size of this thing. Clearly bigger than my head. And I ate the WHOLE thing.

It stayed dry through the game which was lovely. There was a fabulous lady in front of us, yelling and talking the whole time. When her accent got too thick and we (or me) didn't understand, she slowed down and clearly enunciated, which was great too. The guys behind us had wicked accents that I spent half the game eavesdropping on, such that Peter got concerned he was going to get into a brawl. But, no worries, they were too drunk to notice.

The sun didn't really come out, it's been cold and rainy the entire time we've been here. Apparently a Nor'Easter is coming through (this translates to "really big storm" for those at home).

All in all, it was a fun time. I'll probably even go again sometime, since I'm good luck now as they've won every game since I attended. But, geesh, lower the beer prices already. $8 for a Sam Adams?

An Ode to Banana Man (The 262 Revisited)

After college, I moved into a house with four other guys in Inman Square in Cambridge; we were two guys from Boston and three guys from Connecticut. We were all the same age and starting our working careers. We lived across the street from the The Abbey Lounge, before it was renovated and still had those two seedy windows. We had good parties.

Our art work was pretty standard for a house occupied by five young 20-year olds: some beer posters, things we found on the subway or at yard sales, an Anna Kournikova poster.

One day, Basement Brian brought home Banana Man; he was working at a children’s theater at the time and someone there had given it to him. In the beginning, Banana Man was pretty simple, basically a banana with a face. The Banana Man hung on the wall for a couple years, overlooking the foosball table.

At some point, Rob decided to spice him up and added the hat, hair, bow-tie and tuxedo shirt.

Most importantly, he added those red lips.

After a couple years, the five of us started moving on. I went away for a couple months and subletted my room to Alfay. Then Basement Brian got married and moved out, making Alfay a permanent member of the house. Lew moved home and got married; he rented his room to his brother, Uncle Brian. Rob moved in with his girlfriend, I moved to Portland, Alfay moved out, and some other people moved in. Chad held down the fort for a few more years, being the one constant in the house from start to finish.

Once Basement Brian and Rob moved out and didn’t take Banana Man with them, sentiment turned against Banana Man and he was removed from the wall. When I moved out, I rescued Banana Man from the basement, carrying him across the country to the NorthWest.

Banana Man hung on my wall in Seattle for a year; then he hung in our bathroom in Portland for the last 2+ years, scaring countless small children, disconcerting Kimberly, intriguing others, but always providing a conversation starter.

We decided Banana Man wouldn’t come to the Middle with us; Kimberly isn’t a big fan of the Banana Man and we were running low on space. Last Friday, we had a going away party and gave Banana Man to a friend. She’ll be proudly displaying him in her office cube, until some future time when either I can reclaim him or he can be passed on to someone who appreciates a true piece of art.

Goodbye Banana Man. You’ll be missed.

We Were Overwhelmed There For a While

So ever since Kimberly defended her thesis last Thursday, we've been pretty crazy-busy. Mother's Day with Grandmama was fun. But most importantly, we packed up and moved our 2 bedroom house, moved our cat to a new home, and had an empty-house party. We're now in Boston, getting ready to go on a vacation.

We're about to unload some blog-alanche on you, as we have lots of good stuff built up. So get ready for some reading.

Guess Who's Back...

...It’s the M-I-L, E to the S,
The rockin' Russian Blue who loves you best

Hey there everyone, it’s been a while since I’ve checked in, and boy, have I had some crazy adventures. I’m a little discombobulated these days (how’s that for a big-cat word) (it took me about 30 seconds to type it though, damn paws without opposable thumbs), but we’ll get to that in a second.

So the best place to start is probably a few weeks back. I had been helping Kimberly with her thesis. She may have had all the “ideas” and done all the “typing,” but I basically wrote the thing for her: you know what they say, behind every good woman, is a cat. I’d have to agree whole-heartedly.

Then one day, these two decided to take me for a car ride. I try to tell them over and over again that I don’t want to go in the car: I wail incessantly, I throw up on the rug, I wake them at 5 a.m. They really need to learn Cat-alonian if this whole relationship is going to work out.

Anyways, they think they’re so slick, trying to trick me into getting into the Box, but I know what they’re doing. If there wasn’t two of them, I wouldn’t have gotten in, but they over-powered me. It’s not so much the car that’s the problem, it’s that dam Box, it keeps closing in on me. Once we were in the car, I really turned on the wailing and gave Kimberly the Puss-in-Boots eyes; I really turned it on. She eventually relented, and I was free to burrow under the seats. Ah the safety of darkness.

I figured we were heading down to that nice old woman’s house; I think they called her Grandmama. She was nice, giving me treats and lots of petting, kind of like a spa treatment. But no, we ended up at some strange house where everything was a little suspicious. There was a weird scent in the air. Once I got in, it was obvious: new friends.

Ben and Jerry seemed like nice enough cats, but they were not happy to see me. Hiss, growl, hiss hiss hiss. That Ben, he needs to chill out. Jerry seemed cool, but Ben was all freaking, so I couldn’t really get to know him.

I figured the best way to avoid showing him who was boss and giving him a swipe to the head was to hide under the couch for a while; I wouldn’t want to embarrass someone in their own house. But we all know I could have. I was happy when Kimberly got me out from the couch and gave me some treats. I was really happy when we left that place and the ominous, terrible smells of Ben and Jerry.

Things were back to normal at home for a while, as I settled back into my cycle of eating, sleeping, and whining. But boxes kept showing up and things slowly started disappearing. Something was up.

My fears were confirmed when they drugged me. Yup, my so-called caretakers gave me tranquilizers, and as far as I can tell, it was all a cruel joke. I almost fell off the window, couldn’t eat, and was constipated for days. Don’t get me wrong, the semi-comatose sleep and melting walls were pretty cool, but the hangover was killer. I still have no idea why they would do that to me. Maybe not enough wailing and whining?

When I finally recovered from my haze, half the house was missing and the boxes had grown and covered half the house. Now something was definitely up.

I tried laying low for a while until I could figure things out. I even cut back on the whining and increased the sleeping and eating. Then out of nowhere, we were back in the car again. They had grabbed my lead and harness, so I figured we were going outside for a nice afternoon of chewing on grass and vomiting on the bed. But they tricked me, again. I’m really gonna get them.

We ended up back at Ben and Jerry’s house – I could tell as soon as I smelled them. When I got inside, though, they were no where to be found. That was cool. I wandered around, checked out the scene, scratched the post for a while. This place wasn’t so bad; lots of space, lots of windows to look out, lots of dark hiding places.

Then out of nowhere was Jerry, all by himself. Cool. Hey buddy. He gave me the old submissive move, rolling onto his back and showing me his belly, sniffing my butt. Like I said, this Jerry is pretty cool. We’ve been getting along pretty well, sleeping and eating like old buddies.

But Ben, he’s one uptight cat. Hiss hiss hiss. Growl growl growl. All day long. I try to walk down the hall and get a little shut-eye – hiss. I need to use the litter box – growl. I understand it’s your place, I’m cool with that. It’s not like I want to live here. I just want to be friends, ok.

Well, Ben isn’t getting the message. I’ve had to slap him around a little bit the last couple days. And I feel bad about it, you know. It’s his house, his brother. But really, if you’re going to keep disrespecting me, I’m going to have to start laying down the law more often and show you how the food chain works. I don’t want it to go down this way – like I said, lets be friends, sniff a little butt together – but if I have to, I will give you a swipe.

I’ve actually been over here for a few days now, claiming my spaces, checking out the lay of the land. Kimberly and Peter were here the past couple nights; I guess we’re all moving to this place. That’s cool. They just left a little while ago, carrying some bags. It looks like they’re still moving some things around.

I can’t wait until they get home from work and we can snuggle. Just like old times.

Things I'll Miss About Oregon: Volume 9 [Our Aquarium Community]

Tonight, we passed our fish tank community on to their new caretakers, the Southerners.

Although the tank wasn't the same the last few months, what with most of the fish dieing off, both rapidly and of old age, it will be missed. It looks so sad in that picture, but I promise, it was really exciting. Really.

Someday, I think I'd like to get a big 50-gallon tank, maybe with a salt water community. But Kimberly keeps giving me a look. You know the look, you probably got it from your principal or mom once. The "NO" look. I don't think I'm getting the big tank anytime soon. :(

With Kimberly's thesis odyssey coming to an end and me quitting my job, who would have thought that the giving away of our aquarium would be the thing that makes it feel like this whole vacation and move might actually happen.

Done

A quick post here because I'm too sick of typing to write more.



I'm DONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The thesis is DONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I defended it today. It's over and done. A few short hours of changes and printing and that's it.

I think my whole world will change.

Can I take a nap now?

Things I'll Miss About Oregon: Volume 8 [The Couv]

For the last year, I've been driving 20 miles across the Columbia River and heading north to Vancouver, WA for work. My last day was last Friday.

The Couv. Vantucky.

The Couv doesn't have the best reputation: it's the red-necked, meth-addicted stepchild of cool, hipster Portland. In reality, it's mostly a bedroom community for people who want to work the system: no income tax in Washington, no sales tax in Oregon. Me, I worked the system the wrong way.

Don't get me wrong, the Couv seems like a perfectly reasonable place to live. It's just a lot of suburban sprawl compared to Portland's dense city center. It probably gets an unnecessarily bad rap, especially when people perpetuate the stereotypes by calling it Vantucky.

Over the last year, I've resisted learning anything about the Couv, including the names of the streets near my office. I have found some decent eating places that I'll miss, like Patrick's Hawaiian, the Golden Tent Mongolian Grill, and the always popular all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet.

Most of all, though, I'll miss my work mates. My job was often insanely crazy; we even invented a new term for those really rough times: a cry-nap. But the crew of people we had was pretty great, often times making my life easier. I don't know if I'll ever go back to the same industry; I'm don't think I'll miss it if I don't. But I will miss the good people I've worked with.

Things I'll Miss About Oregon: Volume 6.2 [Things in The Forest ]

The plants that are native to Oregon are pretty spectacular. Lots of cool things grow in the forests hear, including tiger-lilies, dogwoods (that's one growing wild up there), and rhododendrons. In fact, there's a whole city named Rhododendron in Oregon.

Rhoddies are kind of the unofficial-official plant of this area (after Roses, which are kind of the official-official plant of the area, represented by this). I imagine it's because they're dormant 11 months of the year, then bloom in the spring to announce the end of the rainy season. Rhoddies are a harbinger of warmer, sunny days.

Usually, they aren't that spectacular: a boring green bush/shrub/tree. But right now, the rhoddies are exploding with their blooms. I imagine the Rhododendron Garden is looking amazing.


Pretty much everything here is blooming right now; the pollen is painful. The streets are covered, the car gets a fresh coat every morning. Although I can barely breath with the stuffed up nose and pounding headache, it is pretty beautiful here right now.

Credit: Dogwood photo from Jerry Greer, which I found randomly with Google Images and is a pretty awesome photo.

Things I'll Miss About Oregon: Volume 1.2 [Other people love Portland food]

In case you doubted my rave reviews of Portland food- see these links for national reviews of Portland restaurants!!


Voo Doo Donuts was reviewed by Jane and Michael Stern and also aired on the Splendid Table, an NPR radio food show (which you should definitely check out, 6 pm Sundays here in PDX)


The NY Times ran a review about Portland recently- 36 hours in Portland

So, really, when I tell you that there's some good food here- I'm not joking!

"Honey, Stay Away From the Creepy Man"

My eyes, they're kind of messed up. I wear hard pieces of plastic in my eyes, known as scleral lenses; after reading that first wiki entry, this apparently means I have "advanced or very irregular keratoconus." I thought I had a mild case. Crap.

[That first wiki article is actually very interesting, especially in regards to treatment alternatives.]

Anyways, the doctors and contact lens specialist I visit usually put some phosphoresce chemical in my eyes, then shine a cobalt/black light on it and can tell if the lens is sitting on the eye properly. To me, the chemical has always given the room an amber hue.

But today, they wanted to do some extra stuff, so they actually had me fill the lenses with this chemical before putting them on. Apparently, it doesn't dissipate as quickly when applied this way.

When I got in the car, I freaked myself out pretty good.

Disclaimer: No photoshop was used to doctor these images, except for cropping.

Apparently, it will eventually dissipate, but until then, I look forward to messing with people on the street.

I think it would be cool if I could do this whenever I wanted. It looks way creepier in real life.

Things I'll Miss About Oregon: Volume 7 [Full Service Gas]

Oregon State Law does not allow self-service gas stations. While the intent of this is to create more jobs for the often-depressed economy, a residual benefit is that I don't have to get out of the car in the rain to pump my own gas. Hooray for me being lazy.

A lingering downside to the law is that most people who pump gas, especially in the Portland Metro area, are either 12-years-old and scratch my car or are meth-addicts, with few or no teeth. The funny thing is that gas in Oregon is generally cheaper than across the river in Washington, even though it's self-serve up there. I guess meth-heads work on the cheap.

Not the meth-head who pumps my gas.

[Here's a fun little project: go to Google Images and search meth-head. Look who's picture #1]

This is a Weird Feeling

I've know my wife for about 4 years. We've been married for about 1.5 years.

I got back from my week of work travel last night at about 8 pm.

At approximately 8 pm on Friday, April 28, 2007, I knew my wife for the first time when she wasn't working on her thesis.

The world is a different place. Up is down. Left is right. Black is white. Dogs and cats are playing together in harmony.

Congratulations Kimberly-Wife.