2 3 j u l y 2 0 0 0 .
when i was sixteen, i saw the international gay guide spartacus for the first time in a waldenbooks in san jose, california. today, eight years later, i bought it for the first time in the piazza del duomo, milano, italia. listening to barry white, "i only want to be with you." whatta late bloomer i am. i just checked out my referrer logs and saw that someone found my site with the search string http://www.mamma.com/Mamma? timeout=4&lang=1&affiliate_id=6194&query= Love+is+me+me+is+love+woo+is+you+you this is a new favorite for me. my goddamn (but highly affordable) hosting service keeps crashing, so mi dispiace if you can't reach your favorite periodically.
went to see lou reed (rock star) at idroscalo (manmade beach and park on the outskirts of milan) last night with some of the guys at work. where the hell are the gay people in milan? the ticket costs the equivalent of ten u.s. bucks one of milan's many perks, in addition to the superb coffee, food, clothes, and men. it's a tiny bit lonely, though, not knowing people here and having a weak command of the language. hard to explain that to friends back in new york, who can't understand why i'm not ecstatic to be here i am, it's amazing, but also weird. still figuring out how to become part of the city's life more.
i sure feel like an american, much more than i do at home; watching cnn (in inglese), reading nytimes.com, and listening to d'angelo mp3s can be super comforting after a long day trying to make out, decipher, and deliver rapid-fire italiano.
i have currency from three different nations in my wallet right now. wondering how i'm gonna handle all this culture shock until october, er, ottobre.
"The color of his pallor, however, was a curiously basic whiteunmixed, that is, with the greens and yellows of guilt or abject contrition. It was very like the standard bloodlessness in the face of a small boy who loves animals to distraction, all animals, and who has just seen his favorite, bunny-loving sister's expression as she opened the box containing his birthday present to hera freshly caught young cobra, with a red ribbon tied in an awkward bow around its neck."
- J. D. Salinger, Franny and Zooey
everyone in italy has a distinct mobile phone ring that was at first annoying, but now is more of a curiosity than anything else. i was sitting on the steps of la piazza del duomo as they rang all around me. the duomo is a huge, lovely cathedral in the center of milan that is sort of the hub of urban life; pigeons are everywhere, but nobody seems to mind them, and some are in fact trying to stand still so that the birds land and perch on them. for a transplanted new yorker, where pigeons equal flying rats, this is grossness.
milan is much prettier than people said when i told them i was going; the standard comments of it's industrial, it's fashionista central, it's ugly, it's cold, etc., are only partially true. the streets are narrow and the cars are smaller. some important differences between men here and in nyc are noted below:
- polo shirt collars are turned up, which i snickered at initially, but not find kind of hot
- pants are worn at the waist, not hips, so that you can't tell if he's just hung like a horse or suffering from penis cleavage
- everyone is wearing lacoste shirts (or is it izod? with the alligator)
- guys are way way cute
Zooey put out his tongue and gave a subdued, modified Bronx cheer. "Phooey," he said, and resumed using his razor. "Phooey, I say, on all white-shoe college boys who edit their campus literary magazines. Give me an honest con man any day."b a c KMrs. Glass directed a long and oddly comprehensive look at his profile. "He's a young boy not out of college yet. And you make people nervous, young man," she saidmost equably, for her. "You either take to somebody or you don't. If you do, then you do all the talking and nobody can even get a word in edgewise. If you don't like somebodywhich is most of the timethen you just sit around like death itself and let the person talk themself into a hole. I've seen you do it."
Zooey turned full around to look at his mother. He turned around and looked at her, in this instance, in precisely the same way that, at one time or another, in one year or another, all his brothers and sisters (and especially his brothers) had turned around and looked at her. Not just with objective wonder at the rising of a truth, fragmentary or not, up through what often seemed to be an impenetrable mass of prejudices, clichés, and bromides. But with admiration, affection, and, not least, gratitude. And, oddly or no, Mrs. Glass invariably took this "tribute," when it came, in beautiful stride. She would look back with grace and modesty at the son or daughter who had given her the look. She now presented this gracious and modest countenance to Zooey. "You do," she said, without accusation in her voice. "Neither you nor Buddy know how to talk to people you don't like." She thought it over. "Don't love, really," she amended. And Zooey continued to stand gazing at her, not shaving. "It's not right," she saidgravely, sadly. "You're getting so much like Buddy used to be when he was your age. Even your father's noticed it. If you don't like somebody in two minutes, you're done with them forever." Mrs. Glass looked over, abstractedly, at the blue bathmat, across the tiled floor. Zooey stood as still as possible, in order not to break her mood. "You can't live in the world with such strong likes and dislikes," Mrs. Glass said to the bathmat, then turned again toward Zooey and gave him a long look, with very little, if any, morality in it. "Regardless of what you may think, young man," she said.
-J. D. Salinger, Franny and Zooey (big j, jim buck, and hounds, thanks for the read)
just arrived in milano, italia. what have i gotten myself into? please bear with the slow updates while i learn.