There really is nothing like Italian fashion. From Dolce & Gabanna to Armani to gold shoes and mohawks, they got it covered. From pre-teens to single folks to (my personal favorite) old folks, Italians got it all.
To start with the young guns, one only has to stay in the piazza for a short time or any popular street. They will always be roaming in hoards and extremely loud. There will be at least 3 of them, males and/or females, wearing white pants. Some will have a gel'd mohawk or just bangs, Others will be wearing shirts that are written in English but don't make any sense. For example: "Lettuce is my religion" or "New York's Ugliest"
The singles always provide good laughs. The guys will be wearing the super tight shirts and jeans that are way over the top. (I'm all about the skinny jeans look but there is a fine line between jeans and nut-huggers) They could be fat and outta shape but somehow, this outfit does wonders. You can also smell these cats from a mile away. I think its a combination of three things: very strong body wash, followed by a spray deodorant and finally massive amounts of cologne. On the other hand, the single females don't stand out too me that much. You can never tell who has a boyfriend, or who is even open to the idea of conversing. There are a lot less welcoming than I had anticipated. No lie, I have gotten more attention from guys than girls. That's not to say I haven't got attention from girls, but, um, I'm just saying...
My last and most favorite groups is the seniors. Now, this isn't meant to be too critical as I understand I will one day be a senior myself but I got to draw the line somewhere. Firstly, with the men. I will say my problems are very minimal, if at all. They always have a nice tie and sweater on usually accompanied by a jacket and scarf. I will say that they could do with a little bit more color. They are less adventurous in comparison to their young male counterparts. I'm not saying I want to see pink sweaters and purple ties but I will say cut back on the Tim Burton black and gray, ya digg.
And now, the old women. I got nothing but love for old women. I don't even think its even PC to clown on old women at this point. However, I cannot pass on this one. I can confidently say that at least 93% of Italian old women wear the same brown mink coat and that s*it needs to stop. Whether its sunny and 60 degrees outside or rainy and 30, these women will roc this coat. (Now this is a common thing amongst all Italians. They always think it is freezing outside. It is never cold or a little wet, always freezing. You can go outside and see folks with scarves over their mouthes and Soviet Union Soldier hats. I have been chastised extensively for wearing shorts on my way back from the gym) Moreover, the jacket makes the women look like they are getting attacked by a 400lb Grizzly Bear. I went to the grocery store today in jeans and a sweatshirt and saw 3 women with the same brown coat. Standard issue. I don't even know where they get them. I have yet to see them for sale in a store. Its like there is some Italian law that if you are a woman over 60 you need to have this coat. Its a right of passage-like a Bar Mitzvah.
Now don't get me wrong, I love the Italian fashion. There is nothing wrong with looking nice and taking pride in the way you present yourself. I must also give a huge amount of praise to the Italian women who wear stiletto's while walking on cobble stones while smoking a cigarette and talking on the phone. If you want to be impressed look no further than these women.
Don't believe what I say? Come to Italy, grab a caffe and people watch in the piazza.
Then come talk to me
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Sunday, March 2, 2008
PARTY-PT.2
I knew I was going to be drinking a lot. I couldn't refuse a drink from anyone. If someone offered me something, to take a shot with them, or just share a beer, I was in. I mean its my twenty first, right?
As my two American dudes came through, I knew things were going to get started. Firstly, Nick, was wearing a plaid shirt with shorts that are hard to explain except he defined them as his "Woody Harrelson shorts. From White Men Can't Jump" After he said that to me I knew that was going to be a great night.
Within a matter of minutes, the place got flooded with folks. The Americans arrived in sets of three and the Italians arrived, what seemed to be, in one giant group. I was posted over by my Ipod and the speakers with the hard alcohol while the Italians had the kitchen and the wine.
Italians are more into sipping the wine, talking about their respective soccer teams and cites, cigarettes, and the art of plucking eyebrows. Americans on the other hand want to get drunk as quickly and violently as possible while dancing furiously. I was going back and forth between the two groups. I would get the occasional random Italian guy who obviously came for the free drinks and well dressed girls but decided to wish me a happy birthday.
It seemed like folks who I never saw drink before were going after it. Ivan, whom I used to live with, decided it was his birthday and was pounding vodka like he was a soldier back in WWII. I had seen him drink wine only but he was nuts tonight. I think he was feeling some of the American girls. I think Andrea was too. Shit, I know I was.
At one point, Francesca and Vittoria told me to kill the music and they called for everyone's attention. Then everyone sang happy birthday to me and my close Italian friends presented me with a present. It was a jersey and shorts of the local pro basketball team called Fortitudo. It has the year the team was founded and a giant eagle which is their logo. Super fresh. They also got a disney card that has Belle and Cinderella on it that says: "You're marvelous!" in Italian along with a picture of me after I got hot pepper in my eye. (That was a disaster. Can't speak of it)
As I was heading back to the Ipod, these four Italian girls came up to me and said Happy Birthday and introduced themselves. They were friends of Luigi's. They asked me if they could choose the next song so I gave them the Ipod. At this point, you had to turn sideways and almost do the Robot to get through the crowds. It was packed. Before I even reached the other side of the room the music stopped. Folks were yelling for me. I headed back to the Ipod and it was frozen. Then, all the songs got deleted. These girls had manged to f*ck up. Big time.
I was feeling great. Had the drinks in the system, just got a great present, and things were going smoothly. Now this. I took the ipod and retreated to my room to figure things out. Sure I was worried about the party and how it would go downhill without music but, to be honest, I was more worried about the 6 Harry Potter's I have on tape and how I might have to kill someone at my own party.
I plugged the ipod in the computer, hit restart and waited. Windows welcomed me, I was told my virus protection had expired and I was in "immediate danger" and then Itunes came up. And then, it all came back.
I unplugged, walked back out the party and felt like Wayne and Garth: GAME ON!!! From there the party continued until about 3 in the morning. Folks were still drinking and, to my shock, all the tuna sandwiches were gone. I noticed there were three huge bowls of homemade sangria. I knew we didn't make those and went to find Luigi and ask him what the deal was. It turned out that nobody came to the party at #18. They threw in the towel and decided to bring all their alcohol to our party. DAMN.
As folks were parting I got all the words from the drunks. "Great farty, rappy birthday!" And then there were the people who say if I need help cleaning up tomorrow, to call them. Uh huh. Sure. They just get credit for the offer when they know damn well they wouldn't come back and help tomorrow. I think I would have preferred someone to say "Wow. Your place is f*cked up. Its a mess. And you know what? I'm not going to help you clean up. Peace" Now that would be real.
After everyone left me and my Italian guys (and girls) stuck around and just gave a recap of the night. The place looked worse than Alicia Dantzker's bedroom. Some folks got real ambitious and started sweeping and mopping right there. Twas great. I said goodnight to everyone at 5:05 and headed off to bed.
Happy Birthday, Mr. King
As my two American dudes came through, I knew things were going to get started. Firstly, Nick, was wearing a plaid shirt with shorts that are hard to explain except he defined them as his "Woody Harrelson shorts. From White Men Can't Jump" After he said that to me I knew that was going to be a great night.
Within a matter of minutes, the place got flooded with folks. The Americans arrived in sets of three and the Italians arrived, what seemed to be, in one giant group. I was posted over by my Ipod and the speakers with the hard alcohol while the Italians had the kitchen and the wine.
Italians are more into sipping the wine, talking about their respective soccer teams and cites, cigarettes, and the art of plucking eyebrows. Americans on the other hand want to get drunk as quickly and violently as possible while dancing furiously. I was going back and forth between the two groups. I would get the occasional random Italian guy who obviously came for the free drinks and well dressed girls but decided to wish me a happy birthday.
It seemed like folks who I never saw drink before were going after it. Ivan, whom I used to live with, decided it was his birthday and was pounding vodka like he was a soldier back in WWII. I had seen him drink wine only but he was nuts tonight. I think he was feeling some of the American girls. I think Andrea was too. Shit, I know I was.
At one point, Francesca and Vittoria told me to kill the music and they called for everyone's attention. Then everyone sang happy birthday to me and my close Italian friends presented me with a present. It was a jersey and shorts of the local pro basketball team called Fortitudo. It has the year the team was founded and a giant eagle which is their logo. Super fresh. They also got a disney card that has Belle and Cinderella on it that says: "You're marvelous!" in Italian along with a picture of me after I got hot pepper in my eye. (That was a disaster. Can't speak of it)
As I was heading back to the Ipod, these four Italian girls came up to me and said Happy Birthday and introduced themselves. They were friends of Luigi's. They asked me if they could choose the next song so I gave them the Ipod. At this point, you had to turn sideways and almost do the Robot to get through the crowds. It was packed. Before I even reached the other side of the room the music stopped. Folks were yelling for me. I headed back to the Ipod and it was frozen. Then, all the songs got deleted. These girls had manged to f*ck up. Big time.
I was feeling great. Had the drinks in the system, just got a great present, and things were going smoothly. Now this. I took the ipod and retreated to my room to figure things out. Sure I was worried about the party and how it would go downhill without music but, to be honest, I was more worried about the 6 Harry Potter's I have on tape and how I might have to kill someone at my own party.
I plugged the ipod in the computer, hit restart and waited. Windows welcomed me, I was told my virus protection had expired and I was in "immediate danger" and then Itunes came up. And then, it all came back.
I unplugged, walked back out the party and felt like Wayne and Garth: GAME ON!!! From there the party continued until about 3 in the morning. Folks were still drinking and, to my shock, all the tuna sandwiches were gone. I noticed there were three huge bowls of homemade sangria. I knew we didn't make those and went to find Luigi and ask him what the deal was. It turned out that nobody came to the party at #18. They threw in the towel and decided to bring all their alcohol to our party. DAMN.
As folks were parting I got all the words from the drunks. "Great farty, rappy birthday!" And then there were the people who say if I need help cleaning up tomorrow, to call them. Uh huh. Sure. They just get credit for the offer when they know damn well they wouldn't come back and help tomorrow. I think I would have preferred someone to say "Wow. Your place is f*cked up. Its a mess. And you know what? I'm not going to help you clean up. Peace" Now that would be real.
After everyone left me and my Italian guys (and girls) stuck around and just gave a recap of the night. The place looked worse than Alicia Dantzker's bedroom. Some folks got real ambitious and started sweeping and mopping right there. Twas great. I said goodnight to everyone at 5:05 and headed off to bed.
Happy Birthday, Mr. King
Saturday, March 1, 2008
PARTY- PT. 1
Classic. Epic. Crazy. Whack. These are just some of the words to that can be used to describe one of the world's favorite past times. Likewise, there are a bunch of synonyms: rager, ripper, shindig, fiesta, and my new favorite: banger.
As my 21st birthday just passed, I had a little gathering at my spot last night on Friday night. My boy Luigi suggested we throw it together so we would have a good mix of Americans and Italians. Who am I to turn down the prospect of meeting new Italians? On the same hand, my Italian boys were giddy to meet these American girls.
Luigi and I headed to the supermarket in the early afternoon. I was going to only buy alcohol but L insisted we needed some food. Alright. I can hang with that. Folks get hungry on the late night and after drinking. He picked up numerous bags of popcorn, potato chips, and tuna. Tuna? WHAT?!
He explained to me that tuna and mayonnaise sandwiches, on white bread, was the standard at Italian parties. Everyone loves them and everyone eats them. I was already dropping bank on the booze and now I gotta pitch in so people at my party can smell like low tide? Ah shit.
I picked out all the hard alcohol: vodka, rum, and limoncello. He took care of the wine and we did the beer together. Our bill was something big and we used a cart to transport all of our goods. Now I had already sent out an email to everyone in my program so that was taking care of. As we were walking to our apartment, Luigi and I noticed signs posted everywhere that read : "Grande Festa, Stasera #18" (Big party tonight)
Our apartment is 22. Some other jerk asses were having a party, too. Ah shit. I had told Luigi to not invite people the day of because if people catch wind of the party to far in advance you end up with guys named "Shook", "Mitch", and "Knife" showing up.
As we unloaded the alcohol and subtly showed off to our suite mates, I went into my room to contemplate the outfit for the night and make sure the camera was fully charged. I took Bob Marley's advice: "Don't worry about-a-thing, every little things, gonna be alright"
As the playlist was being finalized, I gave some last minute directions to some folks and hopped in the shower. Although there was only 6 guys and 1 girl in the apartment, we were excited. Ready. Ready to get drunk. Ready to party.
All the food was out on the tables. All the drinks and plastic cups were there. The music was on. And, around 11:15, the calvary started to roll in...
As my 21st birthday just passed, I had a little gathering at my spot last night on Friday night. My boy Luigi suggested we throw it together so we would have a good mix of Americans and Italians. Who am I to turn down the prospect of meeting new Italians? On the same hand, my Italian boys were giddy to meet these American girls.
Luigi and I headed to the supermarket in the early afternoon. I was going to only buy alcohol but L insisted we needed some food. Alright. I can hang with that. Folks get hungry on the late night and after drinking. He picked up numerous bags of popcorn, potato chips, and tuna. Tuna? WHAT?!
He explained to me that tuna and mayonnaise sandwiches, on white bread, was the standard at Italian parties. Everyone loves them and everyone eats them. I was already dropping bank on the booze and now I gotta pitch in so people at my party can smell like low tide? Ah shit.
I picked out all the hard alcohol: vodka, rum, and limoncello. He took care of the wine and we did the beer together. Our bill was something big and we used a cart to transport all of our goods. Now I had already sent out an email to everyone in my program so that was taking care of. As we were walking to our apartment, Luigi and I noticed signs posted everywhere that read : "Grande Festa, Stasera #18" (Big party tonight)
Our apartment is 22. Some other jerk asses were having a party, too. Ah shit. I had told Luigi to not invite people the day of because if people catch wind of the party to far in advance you end up with guys named "Shook", "Mitch", and "Knife" showing up.
As we unloaded the alcohol and subtly showed off to our suite mates, I went into my room to contemplate the outfit for the night and make sure the camera was fully charged. I took Bob Marley's advice: "Don't worry about-a-thing, every little things, gonna be alright"
As the playlist was being finalized, I gave some last minute directions to some folks and hopped in the shower. Although there was only 6 guys and 1 girl in the apartment, we were excited. Ready. Ready to get drunk. Ready to party.
All the food was out on the tables. All the drinks and plastic cups were there. The music was on. And, around 11:15, the calvary started to roll in...
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