I’m a huge fan of musical theater, grew up singing along with The Music Man, Camelot and Oliver. The first show I saw on stage was You’re A Good Man, Charlie Brown, in what must have been a local or travelling production, in San Francisco, when we were on home leave in 1969. I knew all these shows by heart, and by now know (and have seen) many more – most recently, Spamalot.
Continue reading Aggiungi un Posto a Tavola – An Italian MusicalI am subscribed to about 125 blogs at the moment. (Must cut that down.) Many are for work: blogs about “new” television and “new” media, broadband, Internet, Web 2.0, general tech news, etc. Then there are a bunch which apply my work but I’d read anyway: on design, customer service, marketing, user interaction, usability, how to run a happy business. One of my favorites in this (or any) category is Creating Passionate Users. Kathy Sierra is my hero – I hope I get to meet her someday.
Some I read just for fun and for useful tips.
Some I read to learn about different cultures, such as Adventures of a Lipstick Wahhabi – written not nearly often enough by a young woman in Saudi Arabia. I don’t understand half of what she writes in Roman letters (let alone the portions in Arabic), but it’s a fascinating glimpse into a world I’d like to know more about. I found her via Hilaliya, a TCK Kuwaiti whom I discovered because he linked to my TCK pages, and through him I’ve found a community sharing their lives in the Middle East via blogs.
Then there are the blogs I read to learn how different minds see the world.
When I want to shake my head sadly over the state of the world (which is quite often, lately), I go to Richard Dawkins’ site for links to articles about the world’s excesses in the name of religion.
I’m adding more and more Italian blogs to my list. I define as “Italian” blogsby Italians in Italian or in English (some use both), and blogs by foreigners inItaly.
Then there are blogs that advise me on how to make a living from blogging.
Recently I’ve started reading some very dangerous cooking blogs.
I don’t read all of these every day (even those that publish daily or even more often). One I do read as soon it’s published is Scott Adams’ Dilbert Blog. Adams is the author of the Dilbert cartoon (beloved by geeks like me, among others), but his blog is also consistently funny and/or thought-provoking. His mind doesn’t seem to work quite like most people’s, including most of his readers.
Steve van Rooy, a Woodstock alum (class of ’68) has started his own website with fascinating tales of growing up as a missionary kid in India and at Woodstock. Well-written and highly recommended!
Galacticast – A weekly videoblog of sci-fi spoofs and more – great fun!
A charmingly-animated take on the Ramayana, the classic Indian epic, from the point of view of Sita, the long-suffering heroine.
Many countries throughout the world (but not the US) celebrate March 8th as International Women’s Day, in Italy known as the Festa della Donna.
Everyone is supposed to show their appreciation for women’s achievements on this day. Men take their female colleagues to lunch and give them flowers. In Italy, the flower of choice for this is the mimosa. I have in the past cynically speculated that the reason for this choice is that, at least in northern Italy, mimosas are not yet in bloom as early as March 8th, so the flowers must be imported – on March 8th, everybody from street hawkers to greengrocers has little sprigs of mimosa to sell at ridiculous prices.
This year, global warming has foiled the profiteers: our neighbors’ mimosa trees are already in luscious full bloom, perfuming the air with their sweet scent, and enlivening the scenery with feathery foliage and bright yellow blooms like tiny pom-poms.
This is unfortunate for me, because I am dreadfully allergic to mimosa. And someone always gives me some for the Festa della Donna. I gracefully acknowledge (and truly appreciate) the gesture, then get rid of the flowers as quickly as I can. I would prefer red roses and dark chocolate, but I guess that would have been more appropriate for Valentine’s Day.
As with most holidays in this day and age, la Festa della Donna has become commercialized, with bars and restaurants offering what the Brits would call “hen nights” – male strippers, drinks and music, and a fixed menu including a cake called mimosa – a white cake base with lots of whipped cream, decorated with fluffy little yellow balls of something that look like mimosa blooms. (Also not my favorite – give me devil’s food any day.)
What will I do to celebrate this year? Probably what I do on this day every year, and what women mostly do all year round: work. I’m not feeling very celebratory. On top of premature spring allergies, I have my usual drug-resistant long-running sinus infection which refuses to go away after more than month. I’m on my second round of antibiotics now, plus aerosol etc. to try to clear out the gunk. Another effect of global warming (I suppose) has been an unusually dry winter, so Milan’s pollution is worse than ever. Between that and the boss’ cigars, going in to the office has become hazardous to my health.
Mar 9, 2008 – Read something about the origins of La Festa della Donna that I never knew!
In my encounters with fellow alumni of Woodstock School, many naturally ask me if and when my own daughter will attend. The answer is: with a great deal of luck, she will start in August, 2007, for an exchange year which will be her fourth/senior year at Woodstock, but only her penultimate year of Italian high school.
The application process has not been easy. Not surprisingly, the application forms and process for SAGE (Studies Abroad in Global Education, the US-based outfit that runs Woodstock’s exchange program) are slanted towards US students. There are differences between Italian and US school systems and cultures that could cause an Italian applicant to look “weak”.
American private schools and universities are fond of “well-rounded” applicants, expecting students to be doing sports, public service, paid work, arts, etc., in addition to lots of schoolwork (apparently, no one is allowed time to just be a kid anymore).
Almost none of this is likely or even possible for Italian kids.
There are no extra-curricular activities in Italian public schools (I assume for lack of funding). The only sport is PE. There is no music, no school newspaper or yearbook, rarely drama, no clubs. There is student government (mandated by law), but only two class representatives (plus two for the whole school) are elected per year, and they don’t do much. There are occasional special events that students can volunteer to participate in (Ross is usually the photographer). Ross’ current private school does try to get their kids to do volunteer work, in a very limited way (Ross tutors a younger girl in English).
Some kids do after-school sports or dance, a few competing very seriously, but participation at that level is expensive and takes a lot of time. Otherwise, Italian kids don’t have opportunities for awards or recognition. Volunteerism exists in Italy only on a small scale, and few kids are encouraged to participate. Almost none but the truly needy work after school or during summers – it was unusual that Ross did an internship last summer, at the company where I worked.
Italian kids simply don’t have time or opportunity to do much of anything outside of school and homework. One effect of this is that kids who are not good at academics may never get a chance to shine at anything, nor to realize that they may have non-academic skills that are useful and valued in society. This can’t be good for their self-esteem. No wonder so many seem to be drifting and unmotivated.
The SAGE application asks about a “guidance counselor,” a role which doesn’t exist in the Italian system. No guidance is offered about university entrance or careers – kids figure these things out together with their parents, which may be part of the reason that many university students seem profoundly uninterested in the degrees for which they are studying.
Some high schools used to have part-time psychological counsellors available, but those positions have disappeared from public schools with recent cuts in education funding.
There is no tracking in Italian schools, no honors levels or anything of that sort: everyone does exactly the same classes as their classmates, sink or swim. If you fail three or more subjects in a year, you repeat the year, and the failure rates are astonishing. In Ross’ first year of high school, six or seven of the 25 kids in her class failed. The same thing happened again in her second year (which was when Ross herself failed). I’m not crazy about the American practice of “social promotion,” either, but there’s got to be a happy medium somewhere!
Italian grading is a mystery to me. In high school, students are graded on a scale of 1-10, with 6 being a pass, but grades above 7 don’t seem to be assigned at all routinely. Given that, and the high rate at which students fail classes and entire grade levels, I was amazed to learn last year that 97% of students pass the maturità (school leaving exam) on their first try, with some high proportion getting very good marks. Perhaps the teachers grade harshly throughout high school to keep them humble. In discussion about this on the Expats in Italy forum, one Italian participant opined that some high school teachers grade punitively to enhance their own sense of power. (Hey, she said it, not me!)
The SAGE application further asks: “Smoking, use of alcoholic beverages and drug abuse are unacceptable at SAGE schools. Does the applicant have a history of using any of these?”
My answer: “In Italy, it was until a few months ago perfectly legal for 16-year-olds to buy and consume alcohol. A new law says 18 [I’m not even sure this passed], but it’s doubtful that this will survive as law, let alone be applied in real life. Most Italian kids drink wine at home with their families from age 12 or even younger – this is a cultural norm. Smoking is legal from age 16, and many kids (unfortunately) smoke. Light drugs such as marijuana are treated lightly by the law. (Ross drinks, but she knows the rules, and will abide by them at Woodstock.)”
A huge question mark over this whole exchange idea is what happens when the student returns. The Italian government encourages students to go on exchange programs during both high school and university, and increasing numbers are doing so, usually to English-speaking countries so that they can become fluent in English. But their re-entry into the Italian system is difficult.
The classes they take as high school seniors in average American public schools are far behind the levels at which their Italian peers study in the fourth year. Unless they had excellent grades when they left (which is difficult – see above), upon return to Italy most face the unappetizing prospect of studying (alone) all summer to make up the deficit, then trying to pass comprehensive exams before the new school year starts in fall, so that they can rejoin their peers in the fifth year. If they choose not to do this, or fail too many of the tests, they must repeat the fourth year.
Some of this process would be easier if we had signed Ross up to one of the several established exchange programs in Italy, but these give you no control over where you end up and for Ross, who doesn’t need to learn English, going to some random school in the US is not particularly appetizing. For the sake of future Italian students who may wish to attend Woodstock (which likes to be as international as possible), I may eventually talk to some of these agencies and see what the prospects are for working together, but they would not move in time to help Ross for next year (one I wrote to months ago never responded to my email).
So we’re doing this on our own. Because Woodstock has much higher standards than most American public schools, I am hoping that Ross will be able to avoid some re-entry hassles if we carefully match what she studies there (e.g., in math, physics, and science) with what she’ll be missing here. Some subjects, such as Dante, she will certainly have to do on her own.
Assuming that she’s even accepted to Woodstock in the first place. With Ross’ long history of being a misfit in the Italian school system, her grades are disastrous. But the prospect of going to Woodstock seems to be a powerful motivator: now, when it’s almost too late, she is throwing herself into her studies, and starting to see results. It’s not easy for her, and probably never will be, but she’s trying hard. Let’s hope it achieves the results she desires.
Mar 4, 2007
In the flurry of gathering papers and filling in forms, I forgot to mention perhaps the most important result I’d like to see for Ross if she attends Woodstock: friendships. Not that she lacks for friends here, but there’s something qualitatively different about the friendships one makes in a situation like Woodstock. My classmates, staff, and other friends from Woodstock are my family: the people I can rely on to understand me deeply and be there for me, as I am for them.
And this doesn’t just apply to the people who happened to be there when I was there. With the shared bond of this very unique (okay, weird!) experience, superficial differences like nationality or religious belief simply fall away. I can meet any Woodstocker, anywhere in the world, and, no matter whether I’ve met them before or they’re twenty (or more!) years older or younger than me, I know that, at the very least, I can look forward to a good conversation.
Addendum: Rossella was accepted into Woodstock School. Now we have a lot to do.
Indian man on a pilgrimage [title of the photo, which Ross took during our trip to India in 2005]
Pilgrimage: a voyage of devotion and penitence towards the sacred places of every religion.
Sitting for hours in front of the computer.
I’m waiting for a great idea for some logical thread or thesis to follow, to write an excellent admissions essay, to arrive from this sad, gray sky.
For months I have decided to hide, at least from the fotolog community, my intention, if circumstances permit, to do a school year out of the country, and I have never explained my reasons for “wanting to participate in this program and attend an international, multicultural and multireligions school in India” – which I need to [explain] by tomorrow and, of course, I have waited right up to the deadline to do it.
So, why go?
Why leave a decidedly comfortable life which gives me, with little or no effort on my part, everything I need and many things I could just as well do without, but still leaves me unsatisfied, with a constant sensation of incompleteness?
Why say goodbye – for a not-short time – to the friends I depend upon, the lifestyle I’m used to, my habits, vices, tastes, caprices, constructive pains, infinite gossip, hysterical laughter, frustrated crying, and the long list of unconnected things that come to mind when I think about HOW I LIVE.
The harder list to make, however, is the things I will have to get used to if I go, and the list of what I hope and expect to gain:
I wouldn’t have the same freedom, but – freedom to do what, anyway?
I would have to learn to be independent in a very different way from how I am now. This would no longer mean coming home when I feel like it Saturday night, feeling adult because I got drunk and went to the disco.
I would have to live with habits and customs completely different from those of Lecco, substituting rice for pasta, H&M with the local tailor, and things like that.
It will no longer be an option to leave all my clothes on the floor until they form a mountain that takes on a life of its own and becomes an independent being (seriously, my clothes will soon open their own fotolog: fotolog.com/wevebeenonthefloorforayear).
[Many other things] will no longer be an option (alcohol, smoking, immoral sex – what “immoral” means I don’t yet know!)
But I still haven’t given my reasons [for wanting to go]:
I’ve already visited India. Thinking about it brings back those sensations that I feel when I watch a documentary or hear ethnic music in the waiting room at the beauty shop: the strumming of the sitar carries me back to the heat, the spicy odor in the air, the brown faces with huge black eyes that I’d like to photograph, one by one, I’m so moved by their beauty. It carries me back to lime water, to the streets full of cars from several epochs ago, side by side with rickshaws magically pedalled by very skinny legs. To how I wanted to cry the first times that the children, seeing white people, surrounded them like ants on a crumb.
It’s difficult if not impossible to explain in words this desire to run away, because in the end it would mean running away in the hopes of finding a better life when I return. It may be that I have it in my blood. I’m resigned to the fact that, even if I had never spoken of India with my mother, the desire to go would have started pulsing in my veins sooner or later.
Writing this essay is like waiting for a flight to board, when with a thousand books and magazines I try to calm myself and hide the fact that I’m jumping out of my skin with curiosity and excitement to go to a land other than my own, and explore it in all its aspects. I am excited about the world because it’s international, multicultural, and multireligious.
Why not take a risk – risk not having everything, not living comfortably, risk seeing sad, ugly things and then crying from the joy of having been so fortunate as to feel an emotion so strong?
Why not say goodbye to the people who love me, knowing that, if they really do love me, distance and time will be irrelevant; to search for different people, perhaps more like myself, who will understand exactly what I’ve gone through, once everything is done and I return home with one more huge suitcase / new “baggage”.
