Woodstock School

Pilgrimage

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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”.

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Italian language, Italy travel

Translating italia.it

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The Italian government (just before it fell) launched with great fanfare italia.it, the country’s new tourism portal, along with a logo which:

As for the website… oh, dear god. They reportedly spent 45 MILLION euros for a site that lacks basic features (such as an RSS feed) that we have come to expect from a modern website. It has technical problems which anyone in Italy who knows anything about the web (and that’s a lot of us) is gleefully (and ruefully – our tax euros wasted!) tearing to bits.

Given my own skills and biases, what I first noticed was the English translation. Here’s a sample paragraph which I did not have to look hard to find:

For having more precise vision click on “+”: in this way it will be visualized an historical period in the detail.
For having, instead, one vision of entirety click on “-” and the period will be visualized a large historical period contain more events. The period comes shown in the Timeline to the right of the zoom: the blue bar will increase or decrease the dimension based on your choice.

This kind of laughably bad translation, like the manuals we so often see with Chinese electronics, gives the consumer no reassurance that there is anyone competent standing behind the product (the product, in this case, being Italy).

^ Someone else in need of a good translation service. The title on this clip in YouTube is "Rutelli inglese maccheronico" – Rutelli’s maccaronic English. Maccheronico (maccaroni-like) is the term Italians themselves use for heavily Italianized English (or other language).

Until a few weeks ago, I might have said that my Italian was good enough that I could translate an English text into decent Italian – not quickly, but I could do it, in fact had been asked to do it several times at the office (we have an office full of Italians, why ask me?).

Then we put this supposed skill of mine to the test. Ross is applying to attend Woodstock School next year. The application form includes recommendations to be done by various teachers and other people at her current school, none of whom (except the English teacher) reads or writes comfortably in English. So the form needed to be translated into Italian.

I took a first cut at it, and thought I had done a reasonably creditable job. Then Ross took it in hand, and came out with something completely different. I realized that my translation had been understandable, and grammatically fairly correct, but probably about as funny to a native Italian speaker as the text above is to a native English speaker.

Around the same time, Antonio, one of the delightful people I met at barCamp Roma, commented about me on his blog: Cavolo l’ho sentita zittire e mettere in riga decine di uomini con un italiano corretto, ma inglesissimo! – "Cavolo! I heard her shut up and straighten out dozens of men in very correct – but very English – Italian." Okay, I’m slightly embarassed about the shutting up and straightening out (not exactly my intention, but definitely my character). But the very correct and very English Italian… hmm.

I stand before you now, chastened and humbled: my Italian is good, but I sure as hell don’t speak or write like a native.

And this is a lesson that many Italians have yet to learn. Just because you can read and understand another language well, and maybe even translate well from that into your mother tongue, does not mean that you can translate in the other direction with comparable competence. If you need a text to sound professional and persuasive, leave it to an expert.

So… I’m looking for someone to translate my resumé into Italian…

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Italian songs

Learn Italian in Song: Una Donna per Amico

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A Woman for a Friend

The late, great Lucio Battisti again, with lyrics by Mogol. This song was played as the Italian athletes entered the stadium during the opening ceremonies of the Torino Winter Olympics.

The title means “A Woman for a Friend,” but you need to pay attention to the subtleties: amico is the masculine form of the noun (a female friend should be amica), so title seems to say that the singer chose a woman rather than a man as his best buddy. The song is about the consequences of that choice.

Continue reading Learn Italian in Song: Una Donna per Amico →

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Aggiungi un Posto a Tavola: Consolazione

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All this God-inspired romance is interrupted by the arrival of a travelling prostitute named Consolazione –

Consolation

– with that name, she could be a denizen of Dogpatch! – who distracts all the men from their wives, apparently because it’s their last chance for an extramarital fling.
Uomini, eccomi! Men, here I am!
E’ arrivata Consolazione Consolation has arrived.
Consolazione di nome e di fatto “Consolation” by name and in fact
Per consolarvi ho certi argomenti I have certain ways to console you
Prova per credere Try it to believe it
Facciamo un patto Let’s make a deal:
Se dopo voi non restate contenti If afterwards you aren’t content,
Sulla parola di Consolazione vi rimborso la consumazione! On the word of Consolation, your money back!
Mando il mondo in visibilio, tutti chiedono di me I cause the world to …, everyone asks for me
L’avventura a domicilio “Adventure at home”
L’ho inventata e sai perché I invented it, and you know why
È una vera vocazione It’s a true vocation
A nessuno dico no I don’t say no to anyone
E se vuoi consolazione and if you want consolation
Me la chiedi You ask me –
Te la do* and I give it.
Se per colpa degli eventi If because of [by fault of] events
sei più triste di un cipresso you are sadder than a cypress
e la sera tu ti senti And in the evening you feel
malinconico e depresso melancholy and depressed
se per questa depressione If because of this depression
il morale tuo sta giù Your morale is down
tu vieni da tu vieni da Consolazione You come to, you come to Consolation
e lei te lo ritira su! And she’ll pull it back up for you!
Un due tre One, two, three
UOMINI Prima a me MEN: Me first!
Quattro cinque sei Four, five, six
UOMINI Comincia da me MEN: Start with me
sei sette otto, chi è senza biglietto Six, seven, eight. Who doesn’t have a ticket?
UOMINI io io io! MEN: Me me me!
Si faccia pure sotto**, sotto sopra in qualsiasi posizione Step right up [it’s done below], below, above, in any position
L’importante è non dire mai di no The important thing is never to say no
E se vuoi Consolazione and if you want Consolation
UOMINI La vogliamo MEN: We want it/her!
Aho ve la do! Oh, and I’ll give it to you!
dialog: Toto’ asks what she’s selling.

“This!” she says, showing her breasts.

“I only see a pair of zinne,” he responds.

“What did you expect me to have – four?”
Mi vuoi esotica o nostrana Do you want me exotic or local
turca greca russa o indù Turk, Greek, Russian or Hindu
Preferisci l’egiziana Do you prefer the Egyptian
Faccio tutto, scegli tu! I do everything, you choose!
E per te Consolazione egiziana diverrà And for you Consolation will become Egyptian
Tutankà tutankà tutankamera veniteme a trovà! Tutan[khamen]… [everything in the room] – come up and see me!
UOMINI Consolazione Consolaziò-ò-ò men: Consolation
Tu sei l’ultima occasione You’re the last chance/last sale
Non possiamo dire no We can’t say no
Voglio la Consolazione I want Consolation!
La volete? You want it?
UOMINI Si! Yes!
Io ve la dooooooooo, siiii I’ll give it to you, yes!
UOMINI
Consolazione consolazione, dammi tutto tutto dammi consolazione!		 Consolation, give me everything, give me consolation.

* Te la do – “I’ll give it to you” – to give “it” is used as a euphemism for a woman to give sex.

God, however, has something up his sleeve to take care of this little setback. Toto, the (unmarried) village idiot, has been hanging about the sidelines of this scene, too dense to know what to do with a woman. God suddenly gives him the necessary knowledge, and he shoulders aside the other villagers to reach Consolation, who takes one look at his, er, talents, and closes the door on everyone else, leaving them to go back to their wives.

next: Notte Per Non Dormire 2

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media

Fun in a Photography Studio

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Family portraits have been on my mind because, during our January visit to my dad and Ruth, I received an unusual birthday gift: a photo session at Venture “New Generation Portraits,” a UK-based franchise with a new approach to the photo studio business. Dad and Ruth had had their portraits done a year ago, and had so much fun doing it that they gifted sessions to Ruth’s sister and brother-in-law, and now to me and Ross. I had seen Dad and Ruth’s pictures, and knew that we were in for something different from the usual stiffly-posed studio portrait.

Before we left the house, Ross did an excellent makeup job on me (as well as herself). I ordinarily never wear that much makeup – wouldn’t have time or patience to put it on every morning even if I knew how – but it looked great.

We were told to choose clothing that we felt comfortable and looked good in. There’s a dressing room at the studio and you can change as many times as you want during a session, but in the end we didn’t bother: we chose one outfit each and didn’t bring any extras (to the photographer’s surprise – she said girls usually bring lots of changes).

Once in the studio, the photographer (an energetic young woman named Lucy) asked us (and Ruth) questions about ourselves, our relationship (“are you cuddly?”), and what we wanted to get out of the session. We didn’t really know, mainly just wanted to see what it was like and have fun, and let Ross see how a (different kind of) professional portrait photographer works. I looked forward to having a nice photo of myself for a change: Ross rarely photographs badly, but I am not nearly so photogenic or comfortable in front of the camera.

The business end of the studio was a big white space with studio lights. We took our shoes off, then Lucy had us get physical: sitting on the floor and pushing our backs against each other, tickling, and combat-crawling on our elbows towards the camera (Ross won that race by miles, which isn’t surprising – that’s how she always crawled as a baby):

Lucy asked if we would dance, but Ross wouldn’t dream of dancing in front of her mother and a camera, and the music wasn’t sufficiently inspiring (we could and should have brought our own).

Lucy did things with the lighting: red, purple, and blue bounced off the wall behind us. We did some individual shots. For me, she set up the lights to halo my head from the back so you could get the full effect of my hair which, when it’s behaving the way my hairdresser intended, fluffs up like a dandelion – so we did one with me “tearing” my hair, which came out very funny.

The photo session took an energetic hour, and we knew we’d gotten some good shots. We had an appointment to come back two days later to see the results – Ruth had begged them to schedule it in quickly so we’d be in time to choose our photo before we headed back to Italy on Monday. They gave us a price list to study at home, which only confirmed what Ruth had already told me: all I can afford right now is the 8×10″ that comes with the gift voucher. Prices after that start at 169 pounds for a 5×7″! And go up well into the thousands for the poster-sized and multiple jobbies encased in lucite – which is clearly where Venture make their money.

So we knew we would have to choose only one picture. (For now: they keep the photos on file for two years, during which time you can always go back and order more prints, though I winced to hear that they store them on CDs, a medium with which I have long experience and very little trust.)

The photo viewing was an emotional experience, complete with a box of tissues ready to hand. Out of about 80 photos that had been shot, we looked at 40, projected onto a wall. In the first pass we were unusually ruthless and got it down to about 20, by discarding the ones in which either looked less than perfect.

None were standard studio portraits – all had been manipulated in some way with Photoshop, for example adjusting the colors to blue- or violet-toned black & white, or bleaching out features to emphasize the eyes (Ross complained that in one shot her nose almost disappeared). They were shot and/or rotated to unusual angles, and some were designed to be printed in a widescreen format.

I liked the combat crawl shot, with me far in the background as Ross lunges towards the camera. I felt it was symbolic of my supporting role in her life: I’m there to stand behind her, whatever she wants to do. But it wasn’t so great as a portrait of us both.

There was an outstanding model shot of Ross, but then, it’s easy to get outstanding shots of Ross.

Ross liked one in which I stand skeptically looking on while she jumps in the air, kicking up her heels. Again lots of fun and very symbolic, but it would be better as part of a tableau with one or two more serious shots.

The one we ended up with is shown at the top of this article.

(The intrusion in the lower left corner is a ceramic tile from Castelli that is propping up the picture on a bookshelf til we figure out where it will live permanently.)

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