string theory

Today I had one of the most bewildering experiences since working in Milan. And it is so bizarre I need to recount it here in detail, lest I forget it when I am in my late 60s.

I get summoned by this reputable design professor at an equally reputable design university in town. The reason? He has a project for me, but needs to tell me face-to-face.

I arrive around lunch time, entering his studio with a younger professor I know personally and who has been invited to witness the meeting. He asks me to close the door firmly. I comply and sit down next to him.

"I have been a very fulfilled man in my life, sexually speaking - he starts - I have been married 3 times and at 65 I am proud to say I can still please my wife, who is 25 years younger than me".

A little drop of sweat fills my forehead.

"Yet - he continues - at my age one needs some... how shall I put it... perks. Which is why I have invented something that I wish you to bring to the market".

The younger professor looks at me in complete shock, although I try to avoid his glance because I fear I will just burst into laughter and blow it all up. The elder professor produces a black string from his pocket, and with a few swift movements he ties it into a sort of noose.

"You see - he shows me wrapping it around his thumb - the string acts as a cock-ring, but doesn't feel as uncomfortable and it can be adjusted as one pleases. No more one-size-fits-all solutions. And this only costs a few cents"

I recover from the initial shock, point out how he could market his "invention" and promise a thorough investigation when I am London (Milan certainly isn't a place where his invention would go down well). He grins and pats me on the showlder.

"Here, have the string. It's not only old men like me who need it to avoid taking Viagra. Young men like you can enjoy it too".

I thank politely, slipping the string into my pocket with a little shiver. Sadly, as I search my pockets to take a picture of it for the blog tonight, I realize a friend I was telling the story to earlier on has taken it with him. Clearly the string is far more attractive than I had imagined...!

To the cock-ring market: get ready to meet your fate!

experimental idleness

I am sitting here, late in the evening. Although I have a flat now - not a pretty one, but one that does the job - I have no internet connection there, thus I feel removed from the world and have to download everything I need before I go home. And I love this place at night, no one in it, just the gentle humming of the photocopier and the occasional voice of a Chinese neighbour telling her kid off. Chinatown is an odd place where to live, yet it feels so perfect in this alien city. Being surrounded by people who speak and write a language so incomprehensible to me makes me feel at home in this city, where those who speak my language are the ones I mostly don't understand. Nothing personal. The gap is just too wide. The habits have hardened. The ideas are set and we all think, underneath, we are right and the others are wrong. There is very little place for sympathy at this time of my life. I don't feel as passionate as when I was 20, and I don't feel as wise as when I will be 60. I am caught in a limbo of experimental idleness, content with what my brain has accomplished so far, rarely willing to be pushed out of my ideological comfort zone. Do I really know what I want? Do I really know what I believe? Does it matter, in fact? Can a sense of infinite possibility co-exist with a sense of finite accomplishment? If it can, 35 years is the perfect age when to feel this strange contraddiciton.

counting

I seem to be spending a lot of time counting these days.
I count the days before I can get back to London.
I count the days I have left before heading back to Milan.
I count the number of planes I have to board every month.
I count the time gaps between trains and buses that will take me to an airport.
I count the times we are forced to move in and out of our new home.
And I count underwear and tshirt I have left before running out in my 1-bag based existence.

But one thing above all I count: the days separating me from meeting this little one.

Shhhh...

It's been yonks, my darlings, since I posted, but who cares? There were lots of things that happened, and went unreported, but after all isn't life just a long exercise in forgetfulness? Nonetheless, I now feel like posting some pics in response to Tot T's ones. What a careful recorder he is. I doubt I'll ever manage that. But some images from this summer are well worth remembering. Oh what a summer this has been...

War

Now you'll get what you asked for.

In the end...

... it was indeed a triumph of our times. More people than at an Arsenal match. More empty bottles at the end of the evening than after a Bananarama concert. And more interesting and intelligent people gathered together than present in the rest of the country (mum included!).
Truly spectacular.
Now, where was that plane ticket...?

Coming up

First, there was Milanese uber-style. This - dear reader - is indeed where I work. Or at least, part of it. And so far, so good:


But on Thurday, this will happen:


Mainly because we are planning to light up the room with teacandles in paper bags. Duh!

Honestly, this launch party isn't coming too soon. We have been waiting for it for MONTHS. But now that it's closing in on us, I am really feeling a detached sense of otherness. Almost as if all this were happening to someone else. Myabe I just lost my mind in this topsy-turvy place... or maybe my body is just craving gin...

Subsidiarity

Subsidiarity is, ideally or in principle, the idea that a central authority should have a subsidiary function, performing only those tasks which cannot be performed effectively at a more immediate or local level

This, in the words of Wikipedia, is my contribution to the last weekend, alongside a steady and guiding hand in stopping you-know-who from turning tables and derailing (sorry Le Duc) the whole process.

It was one of the most intense moments of my life. There is little I can say to describe it. Those of you who will be unfortunate enough to hear me talk about it will be bored soon enough. But for me it was a life-changing experience. Something changed inside me. Something strong emerged, which I didn't know was there. Something that made me feel a man.

No sniggering ladies.

I mean it!!

Poised

I haven't been to Holland in ages. 20 years, if I am not mistaken. More or less. And my return is not - as I once hoped - to take advantage of all the sexual promiscuity and licit drugs the country has on offer, but to engage in a final battle with someone I once trusted and now think is a threat to my own future.

The gloves are off. There will be blood. This is no country for old men (or women for that).

V Day...

You know I love you...
XOXO

Very true

Some characters didn't get their fair mention. To begin with, Jon Kortarena, about whom all you need to know is that he was born in 1985, 10 long years after yours truly:



Then you have, yes indeed, no introduction needed:



As for the third mention, Nicholas Hoult: I am sorry, not really worthy of my blog. That fluffy jumper was just too offputting. And he still looks like a child!!

Ok, one more of Jon then:

A Single Man

Astounding. Beautiful. It made me fall in love with Colin Firth (whom I never really liked). It made me want to live with Juliane Moore (hang on, I AM going to live with her, at least with a shorter version of her character!!). And it made me want to be Tom Ford's best friend.

I will start wearing only black and white from now on.

Wonderful. Already iconic.

And I cannot feel an immense sense of underachievement for not having yet written, directed or produced such a great piece of art...!!! What have I been doing all along? Time to change my life...

Days of shame

It all started with this encounter. The mayor of Milan meets our World Saviour Muhammad Yunus and declares: we're opening a Hub for social enterprises in Milan. General panic follows in the ranks of yours truly. And the next thing we know, we're invited to meet Her Majesty Herself during a tour she's making on Saturday morning of an exhibition on sustainable architecture.

Describing the scene is really hard. Imagine Versailles at the height of Luis XIV's reign. Once a day, a selected group of beggars is let into the King's parlour, where their pleas are heard. The master of ceremony is the personal secretary, a small kind-faced woman hiding a will of steel. She decides who is to enter the chamber, so de facto decides the destiny of the city.

We join a large group of beggars into the museum, some 25 of us. The mayor makes slightly irrelevant comments on what she sees. Everyone nods emphatically, smiling even if there is nothing to smile about. By the time the exhibition is over, we move into the cafeteria area. The entourage moves a couple of tables close together, as the mayor sits in the centre of the display. A waiter comes up and warns no tables should be moved as the architect would become very upest. Everyone nods politely. Such is the power of design in this city.

The secretary points to us. We are the firsts to go. "Who are you?" - blah blah blah. "What do you want from the City of Milan?" - I really don't know what to answer. It's so obvious it almost hurts: you are opening a Hub and there is one already. Can't you just give us the money and be done with it? I mutter something about synergy and collaboration. She nods and says we should speak to so and so. And before we know it, she's speaking to the next beggar. It's all over in a few seconds.

And I feel dead inside, all my principles crushed. And the circus moving on...

the city

Apologies to those of you who speak Italian. Actually, no apology, you should know it by now ;-)

hello world!

It has been so long this almost feels like that moment in life when you are welcomed into the wonderful world of blogging with that ridiculous cry. Hello World? Oh fuck off. No one's listening, dude.

And yes it is shameful, such a long silence, but my life has been rather difficult and I didn't have anything to say. I won't use this as an excuse, however, so here we go with my top 20 list of the 2000s. No, they are not the best. They are the ones I loved. So to Tot F: no one is right!

1. Donnie Darko - no explanation required.


2. The Dark Knight - just mindblowing.


3. The Incredibles - so perfect it almost hurts.


4. Spirited Away - visionary


5. Amores Perros - what cinema should be like


6. Bamako - what cinema can be like


7. Mysterious Skin - painfully beautiful


8. Les Triplettes de Belville - a stroke of genius


9. 2046 - luscious


10. Chicken Run - weightless joy


11. Le fabuleux destin d'Amélie Poulain - a lesson in love


12. Cidade de Deus - a lesson in life


13. La Mala Educación - one of Pedro's best


14. Distric 9 - sci-fi like it has never been


15. Star Trek - sci-fi like it should always be


16. Kill Bill: Vol. 1 - quentin knows his shit


17. Beau Travail - better than brokeback m.


18. Mystic River - a ticking bomb


19. Sunshine - unforgettable


20. Hotel Rwanda - just because

Excited about this too

Kick-Ass

Trailer Park | MySpace Video

Although if I keep staying in Milan I am just going to keep on missing them all...

Chris Garneau - "Fireflies"

I liked this a lot. Inspired by Zelda, clearly, one of my favourite games of all times:

The entry point

Some of your have been vaguely clamouring about my lack of posting. It is of course all because of the fact that I am a VBIP, a Very Busy and Important Person.

This is what I was up to recently:




Yes, basically sitting around and drinking. Same old same old.
In fact, last week was a very important week, the one signalling the entry into the H space and therefore one very big step closer to my return to London.

Now all I have to do is fit it with lots of furniture (pics to follow soon of me being all butch and carpenter-y) and subsequently people.

Easy peasy.

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