Whilst waiting for my data to be processed by my Milanese colleagues, I have very little to do. The power adaptor for my laptop is just one of the many useful items in my suitcase (from whom I am still estranged), which, along with the strict firewall here preventing me from logging in to the computers at Berkeley, rules out trying to do any proper work. Instead, I have proofread everything that has been put in front of me (which took no time at all), and to fill the rest of my very blank schedule have read every last bit of World Cup news, written all the e-mails I could think of, and surfed MySpace to death looking for people I know.
And having exhausted all those proper procrastinatory options, I am now busy with practical matters - paying the gas bill, applying for a credit card, house-hunting... at this rate there is a real danger that my whole life will be organised by the time I get home, rather than the vague shambles that it often resembles.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Non parlo italiano, uso ‘Google Traduco’ (I don’t speak Italian, I use ‘Google Translate’)
In case you were wondering.
La situazione attuale (the current situation)
An e-mail informs me that my suitcase has been found, but it doesn't say where. And I still don't have any work to do, which means I find myself composing increasingly long blog entries just to pass the time...
Francia 3, Spagna 1 (France 3, Spain 1)
The city of Milan, acting benevolently for the vast foreign legion of visitors who do not have televisions, are screening all of the World Cup matches on a big screen in the Piazza del Duomo. Being, as I was, a man with only a single pair of socks, no more books to read and also somewhat at a loose end after dinner, I found myself heading down to the Duomo area (also the main shopping drag in the city) yesterday evening, in order to kill several birds with one stone.
Come 9 pm, with socks and books in store, and despite being slightly delirious with residual jet-lag, I found myself a section of fence to perch on to watch the evening's action. A match between France and Spain sounded too good to miss. Throughout the first half, I swapped pidgin Anglo-Italian opinions with the elderly gent next to me - Thierry Henry was an idiot for spoiling every single one of France's early attacks by sprinting yards offside; Spain's penalty was extremely soft (insert your own 'he went down like a ...' comment here). We shook hands at the magnificence of the French equaliser (realisation dawned at that point that I was indeed rooting for France).
The numbers of Spaniards in the piazza were bolstering as the match went on, and as the second half progressed, they made a decent fist of getting behind their team, 'Ole!'ing away even as the efforts of their charges waned on the pitch. Needless to say, following Henry's sole contribution to the match (falling over, clutching his face to win a free-kick), and Patrick Viera's subsequent header was deflected in, the tide turned in the square, with the outnumbered French, who had clustered in the centre of the crowd, making all of the noise, bouncing around and waving their flags with glee.
Zidane killed the game off a few minutes later, with a neat dribble and finish, and the crowd started to disperse off into the darkness. I can imagine that the French may have been rather late to bed that night; I, on the other hand, was beginning to feel seriously strange from the heat and the tiredness, and staggered off to catch the Metro home.
Come 9 pm, with socks and books in store, and despite being slightly delirious with residual jet-lag, I found myself a section of fence to perch on to watch the evening's action. A match between France and Spain sounded too good to miss. Throughout the first half, I swapped pidgin Anglo-Italian opinions with the elderly gent next to me - Thierry Henry was an idiot for spoiling every single one of France's early attacks by sprinting yards offside; Spain's penalty was extremely soft (insert your own 'he went down like a ...' comment here). We shook hands at the magnificence of the French equaliser (realisation dawned at that point that I was indeed rooting for France).
The numbers of Spaniards in the piazza were bolstering as the match went on, and as the second half progressed, they made a decent fist of getting behind their team, 'Ole!'ing away even as the efforts of their charges waned on the pitch. Needless to say, following Henry's sole contribution to the match (falling over, clutching his face to win a free-kick), and Patrick Viera's subsequent header was deflected in, the tide turned in the square, with the outnumbered French, who had clustered in the centre of the crowd, making all of the noise, bouncing around and waving their flags with glee.
Zidane killed the game off a few minutes later, with a neat dribble and finish, and the crowd started to disperse off into the darkness. I can imagine that the French may have been rather late to bed that night; I, on the other hand, was beginning to feel seriously strange from the heat and the tiredness, and staggered off to catch the Metro home.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Visti e bagaglio (visas and luggage)
After an epic three-flight journey that proved indeed that all roads lead to Rome even when you bought tickets to Milan (long story), I now have:
1) Use of an apartment in Milan for a week
2) A fridgeful of food and cold water
3) A new visa for the US (they will let me back in in a couple of weeks), and
4) No luggage
Obviously, this is a concern, but it can wait till after lunch.
1) Use of an apartment in Milan for a week
2) A fridgeful of food and cold water
3) A new visa for the US (they will let me back in in a couple of weeks), and
4) No luggage
Obviously, this is a concern, but it can wait till after lunch.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Vado in Italia (I’m going to Italy)
I am going to Italy for work for two weeks. Officially, my mission is not to investigate whether it is possible to make corn meal appetising; however, I have to do something in the evenings besides watch football:
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)