Wednesday, 15 February 2012

Water for Italy - Olympics 2020

Italy - The old lady. Italy - A big (and fake) circus. Italy - This heavy elephant.

Today the issue is: "Italy & Olympics".

There is anybody who really thought that Italy can handle everything a world event like the Olympics involves?

You know what? We say in Italy: “You cannot celebrate a wedding eating dried figs.”

I'm wondering if the Romans, Italians really thought that a city like Rome tore to ribbons, reduced into a Swiss cheese and still overcrowded, very dirty, with 2,776,362 inhabitants and only two Metro lines... Well, I'm wondering if Italians really thought that Rome can host the Olympics even without the economic crisis chasing and casting them in a bad light before the rest of Europe, indeed.

Luckily, Italians have Mr. Monti now, who is neither the emperor Vespasiano nor Tito, but just our Mr. Jankowski, the main character of the novel by Sara Gruen "Water for Elephants".

Main newspapers titles read today: "Rome pulls out of 2020 Olympics race. Rome's bid to host the 2020 Olympics was pulled due to economic uncertainty, according to Prime Minister Mario Monti.", and most of the Italians breathe a sigh of relief.

"Lady Elephantaly" can drink her dose of fresh water, eventually.

Saying NO, Monti's opened Italy's eyes again. All we - Sleeping Beauties...

"Tell me, do you honestly think this is the most spectacular show on earth?" asks August to Jacob Jakonwski. "No, it's nowhere near. [...] You already know that Marlena's not Romenian royalty. And Lucinda? Nowhere near eight hundred and eighty-five pounds. [...] And do you really think Otto got tatoooed by angry headhunters in Borneo? [...] The whole thing's illusion, Jacob, and there's nothing wrong with that. It's what people want from us. It's what they expect."

Mario Monti's struggling with Italy as Mr. Jankowski struggled with Silver Star, the disabled horse to be shot. A horse representing the hopes and the pride of an entire community (which is the circus's community in the novel), but also the audience’s dreams. When horse dies, dreams vanish and the magical circus, that circus claiming to be the best in the world suddenly turns into a heap of hay mixed with grunge, a meeting of outcasts and false heroes.
Mario Monti knows that you cannot set up a show with a dead horse (Calabria and other similar regions) pulled by a rope tied to hind legs; with a circus ring like the "Olimpico" Stadium where supporters have to walk to, because often there are too few buses, or no buses at all; he well knows that many artists are not brilliant and charming "Flying Angels", acrobats or Hercules, but only our "sparring partners": Morfò, Acri, Galluzzi, Critelli, Crea, Forestefano & Co. 
Everyone knows, everyone is silent.

He is the vet who does his best to take care of his beasts threatening to bite his hand, though.

"Wake up, Mr Jankowski. You're having a bad dream."

Tuesday, 14 February 2012

Valentine's Gay

After age 35 - a new boyfriend. We're engaged since about 1 year and 2 months, and today I gloat in my new Marlboro Classic's sweater.
Valentine is back.
You well know how I feel about it... Yet, I still wonder that even after age 35, and after 40 & 50, we (you) give more importance to Valentine's day than the general election's. This is what happens in Italy... So I have a new beautiful sweater, that kind made of thick wool, beige and blue colored, with the V-neck and big faux-bone buttons.
You know it's not a happy time for all of us. We all feel the crisis. But in Italy, if you're in love, there, Valentine's day inevitably becomes a new X-mas from which you can not flinch. And so I gave my Valentine's gift to my man too, to Warm Mayor indeed, and I took him to the theater where he enjoyed a lot and where I gained 10 minutes of sleep.
A lot of people, I mean a lot of friends of mine tomorrow will celebrate Faustino's day - the day entirely dedicated to singles (does this exist abroad too?). May be I'll be with them tomorrow, and Warm Mayor'll be by my side of course. I do not want to miss that sense of hope-mixed-despair typical of single people... I miss it a little.

This is also the first year that both I and my dear friend Mrs. Erection are engaged and are not content to enjoy the other's happiness, actually.

When it's Valentine's day everything takes a back seat: the earthquakes in recent days and still plaguing southern Italy; the snow and ice paralyzing the whole country; the blessed spread... In short, all things making you afraid of the Mayan's prediction and convincing you that really this is the right time, that Mayans've hit it.

Then I confront with my brother, who is not only the most intelligent man I've ever met, but today enjoys also the clarity of who's back single recently, despite himself. 
He heartens me: "The Mayans? Do you remember that Mayans were those killing a guy every day, in belief that otherwise the day after sun wouldn't arise?"

Who can blame him?