cultural difference tidbit of the day.

We were discussing how to say the numbers 1-5 in English over dinner today (I live with toddlers) and thus, counting on our fingers. It became apparent that we counted in different manners. The toddler's Nonno told me that once, he saw a movie in which a certain actor was playing a European character, and at first it was difficult to tell if his accent was real, if he was just a realyl great actor, until he raised his middle three fingers to indicate the number to someone -- then, related Nonno, you knew right away this was an American. Europeans use their thumb and first two fingers.

It made me reflect on the level of detail a director has to pay attention to in order to achieve authenticity. I thought of Emma Dante and her Sicilian Carmen. Noone but a Sicilian could pull it off, obviously, and having a director who is as intimately familiar with a culture as only a native can be lends a performance that much more nuance and credibility. It can be used to comic effect as well -- there were some glaring stereotypes in My big fat Green Wedding, but Nia Vardalos' subtler one-woman show was developed out of her own experience, and yes, that is what makes it authentic -- it's hers -- but what makes it culturally authentic is that she IS Greek. So what business do a lot of us have meddling in music written in Russia, or Italy even, when our level of removal from those cultures can be so vast?

Well, there is no answer to that question, actually. It's rhetorical. But I ask it of myself at nearly every performance I attend.
I saw a recital that defied the odds the other night -- a Russian baritone whose performance of Ravel's Chansons de Don Quichotte were far better than his Rach and Tchaik sets. Weird, eh? Well, there's a first for everything I guess.

a wee tribute

I came back from London in December sick and was relieved of my final responsibilities to my classes. I didn't renew my contract, and am therefore finished working for the school, and it deserves a little send-off.

My first lesson of the day on Thursdays was in Bicocca, a little "suburb" that has sprouted around one of the numerous university campuses here. The tram drops me on campus, and I walk through a series of buildings that are all the same, coloured a specific shade of burnt orange and really really square -- hey must have been built in the 70's; they have that look about them -- to a piazza that is literally an outdoor mall and food court, complete with escalators and picnic tables, "paved" with something that looks like tile, where my students live in a really nice 10-or-so-floor condo. The buildings are tall for Milano and rise up all around you. They are still constructing in this area -- it's soon to become even more of a hub, with its own metro line. It's a vibrant area, or at least has some life about it -- the students pour out of the buildings at lunchtime and line up for kebab or a slice of pizza, and sit all over the piazza. Part of the reason I love going here there and everywhere to teach is getting to discover these new areas of the city, not necessarily beautiful in the same sense as the Duomo is beautiful, or the Foro in Rome; but each face of the city lends it its own flavour and deepens my understanding of its people.
I taught the majority of my lessons in Piazza Aspromonte, a 15-minute walk from my apartment. My walk to work will be a nice memory, if banal. By now, the row of kebab shops, restaurants, knick-knack stores, and cafés is as familiar to me as the row of houses on the way to the corner store where I grew up. OK -- maybe not quite as familiar. But it only takes something as small as a daily walk or other mundane routine to instill a sense of home.
My students were all Italian. Some were children, and some of those children were insupportable, but I am going to miss the little girls who drew me pictures. I'll miss the determined university students working towards proficiency exams and the Spanish-speaking Italian businessman who went crazy for Dire Straits. I won't miss the many cancelled appointments and the students who didn't try; these taught me patience, though, and which things to get stressed about and which to let go.
As for working for an Italian school, I think the well-oiled machine that was my Toronto job spoiled me.

I'm done with the school now, my contract having expired as I said; I've chosen to not renew it and spend my last six or seven weeks travelling and focusing on my personal and artistic development, and enjoying myself. My itinerary is up in the air, and more on that will come later, but I am looking forward to an extremely productive couple of months.

Things that currently annoy me

1. Screaming children. This is nothing new, but it has become a more persistent problem with the onset of flu season and the children I live with becoming ill.

2. Racism. I was privy to a confrontation on the subway platform between a black man and an Italian man, who was screaming at him and the whole subway platform, "YOU DON'T BELONG HERE! GO TO YOUR COUNTRY! GO TO AFRICA! YOU ARE AN EXTRACOMUNITARIO!!!"
An extracomunitario is basically a foreigner without papers; these days, with an active government campaign to get all the foreigners legal, it's considered a pretty rough insult.
Also, Africa is not a country.
What brought this on? Nothing, but noone stopped him. Noone except the girlfriend of the guy being yelled at. I wouldn't dare step up -- my Italian isn't rough enough to join a verbal battle -- but the Italians in the subway just laughed and made fun of the black man's accent. What the hell kind of country is this?

3. Sidewalk etiquette, or lack thereof. There are really really small sidewalks here, and a fun game to play is to guess who the foreigners are -- you can pick them out because they are the ones weaving in and out, dodging old ladies' shopping carts, and looking annoyed at how damn slow everyone is moving. Sometimes, I can saunter along with the best of 'em, but not when I am late for work... and not when I am behind two nonne having their afternoon stroll, stopping to gesticulate relatively wildly every two or three miniscule steps -- it's like the fear of God. You just don't challenge the nonnas. You also don't see people walking on the right side of the sidewalk -- I mean, that's crazy, right.
Sidewalk etiquette also encompasses umbrella etiquette. It rains so much here that everyone carries one on a grey day.
Because Italians like rules (so that they can disregard them) I offer the following as Umbrella Etiquette.
1. Umbrellas of the curved-handle variety may be carried in the hand if the carrier adheres to the following: the umbrella is carried vertically, is not swung wildly with each step, is not used as a cane, does not impede traffic flow on the sidewalks by sticking out at various angles.
2. Open umbrellas may be carried only above the head. Half-open umbrellas, for example a half-retracted umbrella carried in the hand at knee height and dripping wet, is inadmissible.
3. Umbrellas must be lifted above the head of the person passing the carrier on the sidewalk, especially if this person is umbrellaless. If both are carrying an umbrella, the taller person must yield. Avoid dripping onto the person's shoulder.
4. Umbrellas purchased in the subway must not exceed 4 euro even when it is raining cats and dogs.

With the rain come the umbrella vendors, like worms, crawling out to profit in their way from the rainfall. On Sunday my umbrella broke and I was a bit desperate; I talked one vendor down from 8 euro to 4. Just because it's raining, your umbrella doubles in value? He did look pretty devastated to be selling me the umbrella for 4 euro, though - it's a rather nice one, with a curved handle and a huge circumference, and I'm pretty sure it's been treated with something becuase it is impermeability itself. I am happy with my purchase.

4. University application fees. Why are these so high? Why do they get higher with each dehree level? Does it take more brainpower to process my transcript, reference letters and contact info than it does to process Joe Undergrad's transcript, reference letters and contact info?

5. The fact that just about everyone I know chose the year I moved away to move to Toronto. It's like they were just waiting for me to leave...

Young'un Yelping

OK.

If going off my hypoallergenic diet and being attacked by hives didn't kill me, maybe living with two small children and a cat would. If that didn't kill me, maybe having the ordeal of a lifetime trying to get a 39-euro phone fixed on warranty would. If the phone war didn't kill me, maybe getting a job with a shady company and breaking my non-existent contract for a better offer and not getting paid would. Nope, that didn't either, so maybe running out of supplements and searching out viable alternatives and praying I don't have reactions to the new products would? Nope.. Not that either. OK, maybe then having about half the amount of stuff to do in a day than I am used to, and a significantly lower number of friends in Italy than at home would. Not yet but we're getting close.

Nope.

It was the 5 devil children from Hell... I mean.. uh, the class I taught at the Educandato today.
The Educandato, as it is familiarly known, is the city's foremost Italian-language private school (there are international schools as well) and they have a reputation as such. The children are rich and privileged and they know it, and it is impossible to ignore this fact when they are basically doing whatever the hell they want in your class while you try not to swear at them in English.

To make matters worse, the Director of my school decided to sit in and observe, which she did for the other classes too, but she didn't observe -- she micromanaged. She somehow failed to realize that by talking to me and giving me extremely valuable advice on my lesson plan, she was taking my attention away from them and they were wreaking more havoc than was really necessary.

So... What exactly is it that is so important to tell me while I try to control the beasts, lady? Tell me all about how they need to speak more English, please. As if I didn't know.

I don't know how people do it -- all of you out there teaching children, I salute you.

I never want kids.