Sometimes...

... all you need is a pick me up...



A reminder that when it all becomes a bit too much, there are always cartoons!

"Milan, darling. Milan!"

oh well

Two amazing videos I have been obsessing over for days

A question about the future

I don't want this to be a serious post, but I think it might be in the end. I am a little tipsy, in an unusually warm late-September night, and pondering about the future. And since the great majority of readers that stumble on this blog are my kin, I feel rather enticed to the idea of a good banging session. Plus, I need to get it out of the system, and the Internet is just perfect for a bit of global ranting.

Let me beging by saying: I was screwed. Not in the fun, lubed-up manner that we have all become accustomed to and that we all (some secretly some less) love. Nay. I have been screwed in the professional manner that is unpleasant, grating, humiliating and rather annoying, especially when the artful perpetrator was allowed to screw me not once but twice. The perpetrator is of course JR, the illustrious founder of the H.

I had maneuvered my position quite skillfully, or so I believed. I was to stay in the Southern provinces for as long as it took to consolidate JR's power on this side of the Alps. When successful, I would return to the Kingdom and be given a nice, pleasant castle with a good amount of land, a few lads on it to work, a view of the sea. With the new year, this agreement was to be set on paper and sealed. My return triumphant and my life back in order.

And then, something happened. A glitch in the system. A cat running twice past the doorframe. A deja-vu. I went for dinner with K, Tot T's former flatmate, and discovered why one should never leave the court. You might be fighting valiantly for your king in faraway lands, this is not going to stop him from betraying you and giving the land he's promised you to anyone who cares to ask. Not only did I get the backstabbing treatment, I also got the cold shoulder from his generals. I now seem to be treated like a pariah, and have no way to defend myself or to fight back, simply because I am not there. And even if I were, would I want to? Is this why I joined the H?

At first there was denial, I just could not believe this was happening. Then there was anger, I just wanted to grab someone's throat, wanted to shout and kick and punch and scream. Now there are resignation and indifference. Not only do I not care about this specific land any longer. Not only do I think the land wasn't THAT good after all. I simply don't want to serve this king. Period. In fact, I don't want to serve ANY king in the near, middle or distant future. Monarchies are, if you ask me, highly over-rated. Everyone should be his or her own king.

So here we are. As my conquering of the Southern provinces comes to a near-closure, the moment to decide what do to next approaches. And while before I felt I had the luxury of certainty, now I feel I am returning to a land where I have to start everything from scratch if I want to be my own boss. Trust me, setting off alone on a long and dangerous journey is pretty exhausting, when not outright insane. I've done it once, I have learned a lot, and I am not willing to do it all over again. But I will do it if I find something really worth fighting for. And I know I am good at it. I have proof now. I have achieved in just over a year what no one else has. I am returning victorious, a hero. I now have utter confidence in my abilities and I won't be fooled any longer.

So here comes the question, and the core of the post. When the days start getting longer again, I will be slowly making my way back to the Island, first for a week every month, then for two, then for three. And as I do that, I will need purpose and clarity, lest I go mad after months of passionate and focused work. So what - let me ask you all - should I do? What should I set my brain and abilities to achieve?

There are a few options in my mind, of course. There's carrying on administering the southern provinces, carving out a distant role for myself, with frequent flights back to probe, check and rally. But I cannot have my body in one place and my mind in another one. This is against nature, it'll make me sick and make those around me sick. I want to be back with both my body and my mind.

I cannot go back to the king's castle either. When I loose faith in someone, I never re-gain it. He lured me into working for him with false promises not once, but twice. I am not going to give him a third chance. That would make me, not him, the fool. No, this is a chapter that is closing for me, and sadly so. I loved this job. But we need to move on.

I could drop the weapons and pick another tool. Should I learn how to carve wood? I've always dreamed of making things, not just talking about making. It would be strange though, my brain at rest while my arms work. I don't know that I can do that. I have always associated work with my brain, my body an appendice used to carry my brain from a place to another one. Things could be different though.

I ask you, my friends. I ask you because you know me better than anyone else. Because I think you have insights I do not have. And because I am drunk and feel like posing the question. So give me your answers and let me hear you imagining my and your own future.

getting pretty obsessed

I just hope this time I get to the end!!

Aliens, next door

Seen from above, Cittadella is a quaint Medieval town in the Brenta Riviera of Veneto, some 20 km north of Padua. Its low townhouses speak of a quiet time when this land's sole purpose was to feed the aristocratic decadence of Venice. Its ancient villas, covered in moss and statues, were built by the region's most famous architect, Andrea Palladio, to give a countryside toy to the Republic's rich and famous. So far, so good. As I climbed on the 6:35 train from Milan to Venice yesterday morning, I was ready to meet this idyllic landscape in the deep, scary North-East.


Six hours later I was trying to hitchike my way out of it, shaking with fear.

The North-East is the site of Italy's second economic miracle, the one that started in the 1980s and turned a fomrerly depressed region (Veneto) into one of Europe's richest regions (in GDP per capita). Scores of former farmers started opening little workshops, then factories and warehouses, and before anyone noticed, they were churning out most of the goods designed and sold in Milan under the "Made in Italy" label. This - to make just one example - is prime Benetton land.


The deep North-East has long lost its agricultural identity. What were once endless cornfields feeding polenta to the workers of Turin and Milan's factories were soon turned into rows of industrial production sites. And as the cash started rolling in, farms became houses, houses villas, and villas palaces. But the inspiration did not come this time from Ancient Greece's classical lines, but from Vegas and Dubai. From those plastic cities of the world where sudden wealth pours into a formerly deprived area. The result is - to putit mildly - an anthropological and architectural collapse.


As I sat in the back of the car driving me to the meeting I was supposed to attend, I stared out of the window, progressively more nauseated. Warehouse. Bloated villa. Cornfield. Factory. Bloated villa. Cornfield. Factory. Warehouse. Cornfield. Bloated villa. On and on and on for miles.


Thankfully, the guys I was about to meet were the exact opposite of this lunar lanscape. Lago Design, cool, urban, intelligent and the most celebrated thing to emerge out of Italy's design world since... well... a long time. Not just their furniture, but also their factory, something you'd expect to see on an Alpine lake. And their personality, the kind of people you'd want to get drunk with and talk to until the end of the world. I was instantly seduced.


Once the meeting was over, I was dumped with my fellow traveller along a busy road, waiting for a bus that would take me back to Padua, and from there to Planet Earth. The bus was 30 minutes late. Hitchiking was useless, drivers glanced at us with the suspicion of the paranoid schitzofrenic.

When the bus finally arrived, I shivered when I noticed it was full of 15 year olds returning from school. But when I climbed onto it, I was even more shocked. The kids - about 40 of them - just sat silently in the chairs, or stood holding on to railings. The bus was quiet as a church. The kids LOOKED normal, but I have never, EVER been in a bus full of teenagers in my life without feeling my ears bleed. This is when I realised they are all aliens. Most of them climbed out of the bus before Padua. Their houses where along that busy road, grotesque villas fenced by their fathers' factories. Born into a trade. Dead before reaching their 18th year.

This is when I seriously wonder about the future.

Obsessed with Robot Chicken. Really.

A 3 act play

Act 1

Tot T leaves Milan after 3 months of absolute fun. Tot A decides not to plunge into a deep, dark depression (which as Tot C always explains can only be fought with large amounts of gin).

Act 2

Tot A embarks on a number of distracting and self-improving activities:

1. Chinese language course.
2. Physical activities in the gymnasium.
3. Business dinners to raise cash for the f*cking H*b.
4. Healthy eating (chili tofu, right?)

Act 3

Tot A gets drunk on large amounts of gin and cries incessantly from 8 pm to 1 am. Gets taken to hospital and sedated. Wakes up with massive hangover.

The End

Things that could happen in paradise: 1

Breakfast next to him:



Breathtaking.

Blame

Blame is something that gets thrown around quite a lot, but never like in this case does it deserve to be put on someone. That someone is going to go back to NYC very soon, so has no consideration for the damage left behind him.

This is what I was forced to see tonight:



Now, for those of you who might wonder why this has happened, one has to go back a few years, to a time when the Gay Blades were so cool, even I was posting about them.

And so it happened that, on their European tour to showcase their new genre - Death Indie, errrrr.... - they stumbled upon a small city in Northern Italy. No, not Milan. That would have been ok. Instead, it was the execrable Idroscalo, a swamp surrounded by cheap brothels and disco bars some 20 km outside Milan:


I was forced to drive there - stone sober of course, given the increasing police controls on Italian roads - and stand in the midst of a few retarded teenagers waiting for Gay Blades to come on stage.

But before we could be delighted by them, a... how shall I describe it... a thing that produced noise went on stage. Their personality was that of a crayfish in an expired Pret sandwich. Their music sounded like a 1000 babies clubbed to death. Well, maybe I exagerate a little. But they were on all accounts a torture. Their name: Manetti. You just saw their video, and I am sure you are still in pain because of the experience. Now imagine 45 minutes of it.

Moving on to the Gay Blades, after a promising start, the New York duo - as they constantly reminded us between one song and another one - discovered (or invented?) Death Indie (because Indie had to die before living again, apparently). As you can imagine, it was a mixture of embarassement and discomfort. Especially because they were perfoming to an audience of 14, one of which was a guy on a wheelchair, another one a strange man that had stripped to his undies and another one a retarded teenager, who got told by the singer at one point: "Shut the fuck up!" Who does that, honestly?

Thankfully, we had boules (bocce, as the Italians call them) to distract us. I won, of course.

Back from the Tuscan trenches...

Here I am back, after 1 whole month of Tuscan warfare! Well, I cannot really say it was anything like war. In fact, quite the opposite. The only thing that reminded us of a war was the English Patient party (see below), which frankly only had the costumes and the partying like there's no tomorrow to bring us back to WW2!

What were the highlights? So many, and so hard to chose amongst them. Here are some, not necessarily in order of importance...

1. Wine, food, more wine, more food!


Let me say, we surpassed ourselves, cooking for hordes of people - especially at the time of the EP party - while always maintaining rather high standards. And when the hordes were gone, and we were joined by S and A, we really did surpass ourselves, with old favourites like chocolate chili cake and tagliatelle al ragu', but also with new experiments like friggitelli al sale grosso and aspic ai fegatini. And we explored a number of vinyards, both in Maremma and in Val D'Orcia, including a rather grandiose one designed by il maestro Renzo Piano himself, La Rocca di Frassinello,


although if you ask me I still preferred a small one by Montalcino, run by women only, Casato Prime Donne!!

2. Babies!


Lots of them! All lovely of course, in many ways the best part of the holiday, always entertaining and wonderful, although at times not terribly likeable, especially when screaming at the top of their lungs. My solution: an army of Chinese nannies who will be in charge of education and discipline, so I can do all the fun, playful bits and they can hate China for the rest of their lives (China can take it). But to Francesca, Filippo and Giovanni, a huge thank you for being the most lovely children in the world!!

3. Romance!


For some, but not for all. In fact, lots of it, although I am sure she will make no mention of it on her blog. Too shy, she says. But a new girlfriend is not something that will go unnoticed for long. So expect more updates, particularly since this one is a celebrity in her own right (she deserved someone with equal public status, I say!) and terribly cool too...!

4. Lottery!


We made several (piss poor) attempts at winning the lottery, which at a whooping EUR 147m was the largest ever in the world (I think). In the end, the winner was some poor soul not far from us, in the North of Tuscany, who is by now surely regretting his actions and would like to donate everything to us. That's why I urge him (or her) to contact us, as we have the best plans for a future of happiness (including starting our own vineyard, see 1)!

5. The "Everyone's an English Patient" Party!


Also dubbed The Best Party Ever. Let the pictures speak for themselves, and those of you who didn't make it start buying tickets for next summer!

So you've been wondering...

There is no point me apologizing any more. Maybe blogging is no longer my medium. Maybe I just need something more... physical, emotional, connected, whatever. Thing is, I just didn't find the time and space to blog over the last month. Ok. And tomorrow I am about about to leave for what will be a month long break in the Tuscan hills. Yeah. You heard me. Yeah.

So what have I been up to for the last few month? Well, if you have been following Tot T's blog, you know pretty much everything there is to know.


There was a smashing Glasto. There was bunnies in the sky. There were Blur, Bon Iver, the Ting Tings, etc.


And then there was London, Berlin and more Milan. Berlin in particular was slightly weird, although rather beautiful.

There was finally the signing of the lease on the upcoming Hub Milan, which was a painful and frankly unbearable thing, with this horrid hysterical woman making who unfortunately owns the space making my and everyone's life miserable and difficult for weeks. Until we caved in to her capricci and signed. And as for Nov 1 it will be ours!


Then, over the last few days, I have been super-busy planning and running a massive but pretty amazing co-creation event, something that I am not sure I can explain but which involved lots of sitting on the floor, sticking colourful post-its on walls and drinking copious amounts of beer.


So here I am, poised for Lady V's arrival and for the summer to properly begin. I am so excited I might actually explode!!!

Home, here I come!!!!

Poised and pissed (off)

Am in a horrid state probably still due to Glasto comedown and having to return to Milan which frankly now does no longer interest me or amuse me. Plus that flatmate of mine blowing a nice date we had here, one of a few diversions from the usual Milan scene. Needless to say, am furious.

But then, again, I am also poised at the idea of going back to London tomorrow to perform the sacred duty. While others have their spirits high, I personally have very little hope, which is why it might actually work this time: the female who is in control is going to allow the 1 determined soldier to push on through and break into the oval vestibule.

So we'll see how it goes. Don't expect updates soon, or stories of any sort. There will be a total embargo this time for superstitious reasons. Yes, like all couples we have caved in to the unnecessary and will now start looking away contemptuously every time THE subject is brought up by others.

Full stop. Now go back to whatever you were doing.

Inspired

2 boys, 1 Milan

There has been plenty of romping around town these days, in preparation for the moment when we practically leave for 2 months. Yes, our Milanese time is rather short, so we're bound to make the most of it while we can.


First and foremost, Tot T has turned into a thief. He first confessed to me to "never, ever getting over stealing a candy from a shop at the age of 6", when he was forced by mother Lynne to return it (half chewed?) and apologise to the slumping teenager who worked there during the afternoon slots. Then, as if by miracle (and thanks to the intervention of a few large G&Ts), upon stumbling home he eyed a row of green rococo pillows lining a barfront not far from la casa.

Needless to say, before I could even realise, he grabbed one, shoved it under his t-shirt and walked home with the grin of a mouse who's eaten all the cheese.


The pillow has been named Madonna (the Pillow) since she too has a tendency to snatch stuff, mainly babies. Only the following morning, did the full reality descend into Tot T's brain. Yet, after a few protests that sounded very much like Adam's recriminations against Eve after HE ate the apple, he decided to adopt Madonna the Pillow, which is now as inseparable from his bum as... well as... erhm...


Other remarkable events include going to the Mix LGBT Film Festival of Milan, conveniently located 200 yards from la casa. The homosexuals have been spilling onto the square opposite Il Piccolo, the main prose theatre in Italy, for days now, moving in synchronicity to the sound of thumping house music and ready to face muscle-crunching squeezes through the theatre's narrow doors in order to see the likes of Antartica by Yair Hochner


or The Way I See Things by Brian Pera.


We, however, were not so lucky in our choice. We believed the hype, ignored all those alluring pictures of semi-naked men (what were we thinkink?!?!) and chose to go see Sally Potter's new flick Rage.


I rarely regretted a cinematic decision so much. In just under 100 minutes, Sally and her accomplices Judy Dench, Jude Law, Dianne Wiest, John Leguizamo, Simon Abkarian and Steve Buscemi bore us to death through an infinite series of interviews to fashion people involved in an obscure and silly series of events, which may or may not represent a conceptual metaphor for the meaninglessness of life.


It was one of those circumstances when you know there are a lot of intelligent people who've given too much thought to producing something terribly obscure which makes them feel all terribly interesting, but which in fact is a load of rubbish. Next time, I am sticking with the films advertised with naked men on the front.

Finally, we're doing the rounds of our local restaurants, in search of the perfect meal. Our luck in this chapter took a sharp dive when we trusted Time Out's recommendations and ended up at Ol's under the false promise of candlelight and large platters of meat.


What we actually found were thousands of teenagers and tweens (pre-teens) running around in packs, and heavily sweating waiters and waitresses from India and Eastern Europe respectively struggling to contain their enthusiasm for the end of the school year. We were also seated next to what appeared at first a stag night, but later appeared to be a motorcycling club for boys in their 30s. Much beer was drunk. Many references were made about loose women. And so on.

What next? A real fashion show? Thank god it's Friday and we're off to Tuscany for the weekend... as Tot T's clan descends onto Italy. Expect many more stories...

Byzantine

If I were to write something about Italy today, I would write this article. Absolutely spot on. And - most importantly - containing the word I have now started using on a daily basis every time I slam my face into the reality of this topsy-turvy nation: Byzantine.


Indeed. Italy has now officially become the New Byzantium.

Everyone's Doing It

Yep. Apparently he's the hottest ticket in town. And he's still not shown his face in bloody Milan.

Eating holes

So far, my eating experience in Milan has been very sketchy. Not having much time - or will, to be fair - to discover the best eating holes in the city, I simply let myself be dragged from place to place by my Milanese friends. The experience has been mixed at best, although it did uncover what was my favourite restaurant so far: La Madonnina.


So far. Because tonight young E. took Tot T and me to a place literally next door: L'Osteria dei Poeti. There are several around Italy, it seems, but few sport such an exquisite selection of cross-regional delicacies.

It all started with a selection of affettati. One in particular caught our attention for the peculiarity of its name: coglioni di mulo, donkey's bollocks.


It came with squacquerone, a traditional fresh cheese from Romagna, which was served with figs mostarda from Cremona, which we incidentally discussed yesterday.


We then moved on to meats of various sorts, including a rather elaborate filet fold, stufffed with crescenza, radicchio and covered in quite a lot of cream. Not for the faint hearted. Something rather like this:


To finish things off, we opted for orange and chocolate sponge cake, and large glasses of grappa barricata.


In a word, excellent. But we barely scratched the surface of the long list, which included excellent cheeses from all over Italy and snails, my favourite small edible pet.

We'll be reserving table 9 for the next 3 months...