Mirabilandia

As always, keeping it classy

It’s summer. It’s hot. You really need a breeze…so why not get one on a rollercoaster? If you are on your way to Six flags over whatever, Busch Gardens, Cedar Point, or (here in Italy) Mirabilandia the question becomes what to wear? Well, it’s still hot…so probably not a parka. And, there are wet rides…so maybe something meant to get wet. Oh how about a bathing suit! Awesome idea! Then if we get wet, it’s all good.

 

This was the first bathing costume I saw when I entered the park.  It was terrifying.  What you can’t see in this picture is his fanny pack… err um, manny pack?  Waist murse?  Cod piece with handy storage areas?  I don’t know.  What does one call that fashion atrocity from the 90’s?

Starting them young

This is a smurfy example of the daisy duke for men or man dukes.

This look was all over the park. He has a shirt, he has shoes, where are this man’s pants? We went to see the coolest amusement park show ever. It was stunt cars/ trucks/motorcycles. At the start of the show they had a couple audience members down on the track and eventually get them to dance. There was a guy wearing a t-shirt, shoes and a blue banana hammock in front of the world throwing out his best club moves. Lord have mercy. It was an international version of that crappy cable show, Pants off Dance off.

On to the women (All the male readers breathe a collective sigh of relief)! 

Besides showing a couple of well built Italian chicks walking through the park, the girl on the right is showing a trend on Italian beaches I haven’t seen elsewhere. The trend is to tie a standard halter bikini top in amazingly creative ways to avoid tan lines. I am going to need to do a whole post on this, but I am totally lacking photos to do so. Sounds like I am going to need to go to the beach!

Just because you have kids to take around the park is no reason to put on proper clothing.

see?

In fact, the kids can just run around topless. 

I am pretty sure the backpack is going to give you some funky tan lines lady.

This was my favorite backpack though. Here is this lady in her Mom shirt and Khaki capris with “Angerfist” on her bag. Angerfist is the name of a hardcore techno/DJ Dutch dude. I’m sure she is a big fan.

Bathing suits and bags were not the only fashions of note. Nope. There were also some pretty awesome shoes.

Who doesn’t say, “I’m going to an amusement park. I am going to be walking a lot…maybe riding some wet rides…I think I will wear my rhinestone strappy pumps.“?

Or, “It’s 105 degrees, where are my black boots?”

I suppose fashion should not be viewed at amusement parks, carnival and festivals the same way it is in the rest of our daily activities, but still:

A manny pack AND a murse? Have you people never heard of cargo shorts?

Playing for Pizza

 

Ever hear of an author by the name of John Grisham?  He likes to write conspiracy theory books about lawyers in the south.  Although highly entertaining, after a few of his books I can barely separate one plot line from the next.  Every once in a while he pops out a book that goes against his established formula including one of my all time favorite books, The Painted House.  A couple years ago he decided to mix his formula up a bit and write a standard Grisham book, but set in Italy with a broker/lobbyist rather than a lawyer.  The resulting book, The Broker, was published in 2005.  It was followed two years later by Playing for Pizza, a short novel inspired by his observations while researching The Broker. 

Playing for Pizza isn’t deep or philosophical. It is an entirely entertaining fish-out-of-water story about an arrogant American football player who goes from a fat NFL life to playing for the Parma Panthers, in Parma, Italy for meager compensation. It is a feel good story where ego is swapped for loyalty and love of game/life reemerge surrounded by beautiful architecture and plates of pasta.

All that feel good stuff aside; it is a story about American football in Italy. Know who plays for the Ferrara Banditi, the local team here in Ferrara, Italy? Husband. That’s who. The Banditi are a flag team and the average age is…well, not young. There are two father/son duos on the team. There is tackle American football here as well, but Americans who played college…or HIGH SCHOOL FOOTBALL (really HS?) are not allowed to play. Just as well, every time Husband plays tackle ball there are serious injuries involved. Turkey Bowl anyone? 

The Ferrara Banditi

Husband playing Flag Football

Yesterday was a triple header for the Banditi.  The day started in typical local fashion.  Everyone arrived at the meeting spot 15 minutes late then we all had coffee.  Love it.  We caravanned to the field two hours away, passing through a bike race.  I mean we drove right through it. 

Back to Football!  This was sort of a big day for the Banditi because if they won two out of the three games they would be in the playoffs.  The team was expected to win games one and three.  Game two they were playing the league defending champs.  The Banditi were not so much favored in that one. 

The first game went great.  Husband had brought along two American buddies for their first ever Ferrara football experience.  I can’t wait to hear how they were feeling today.  The team had it all together.  They played well and posted a W. 

One of the two action shots that came out (game 1)

The other one (game 2)

The second game, the one against the defending champs…wow. It wasn’t pretty. It was like watching a tv show where some things were slowed down and others ran at a faster speed. Unfortunately, the things that were unnaturally slowed down were the Banditi and the unnaturally speedy elements were provided by the team in red. The whole team was made up 17-21 year old genetic hybrids. There was this girl who played defense against the quarterback. She was like a damn spider monkey that had been trained by gypsies. It was unreal. He would barely get the ball back into throwing position and she had already pulled not one, but both of his flags and checked his prostate. If this chick worked as a pick pocket, she would be independently wealthy in under an hour. Unbelievable. I’m not sure, but I think on one play she had a little extra time and Zoolander-ed the qb’s underpants. She was that good. Oh and the other players didn’t suck either. If one of the Banditis missed a pass, they got it and ran it in as easily as playing catch. I stood slack jawed on the sidelines the entire game in awe of the beauty that was the red team’s game. It didn’t stop me from trying to derive plans to derail them, most of which started with, “okay, we get a keg of beer…” The Banditi did not post a W on this one.

The third game was supposed to be a W with the Banditi being the clearly superior team. Well, I mentioned the outstanding skills of the lady in red from the last team, this team that played in Brocos colores, also had a lady of note. She ran by one of Husband’s American buddies not once, but twice. The second time for a score. She wore the number 69 and fellows; she gave but did not take. It was touch and go for a while, but in the end the Banditi pulled off a W securing their place in the playoffs. Way to go! There are still six games left in the regular season, but having the pressure off is not a bad thing. An even better result than a spot in the playoffs was Titus getting to see the game played live. He really seemed to like it. Here, watch Titus Football.

There were four teams yesterday and round robin play. The teams were all so happy. Everyone really seemed to be there for the love of the game. I wouldn’t call it a spectator extravaganza, but it was more than entertaining for me. More entertaining still was the ride home when Husband’s leg started spasming while he was driving. I laughed despite myself yet again.  

Matthew, Titus and Eva passed out water, but Matthew was clearly the most dedicated water boy.

On the way home we stopped and ate dinner.  Pizza.  Thanks for the Idea Mr. Grisham.

Buskers

I love how the guy in the wife beater and wings set up shop in the handicapped parking spot. 

The Buskers Festival here in Ferrara is a crazy treasure trove of alternative lifestyles highlighted in a respectful and very fun way.  This year is the twenty-fourth go-round of this craziness which strings street performers from one end of the city to the other.  All-in-all, there are only twenty performers/groups hawking cds out of guitar cases; though you will see passionate potheads set up along the festival’s borders playing guitars and spinning yo-yos.  I have no idea how many street performers apply for these spots, but a lot of the performers from this year were also present last year.    

String Quartette...and a guitar

Complete with their own interpretive dancer.

Huge sound from two instuments. 

I could have listened to them all night!

This group is straight out of the Good Morning America scene in Get him to the Greek

Rob Zombie's side gig

Even the dog can't be bothered

These guys had cool shirts and sang Elvis. Nuff said.

Who doesn't want Skittle colored hair?

It's Magic!

 Honestly I was really glad to see this chick again this year (her name is Spring) because last year she was scary anorexic. This year she only looked anorexic.  Much improvement.

This instrument is wild!  It has twelve strings. 

He doesn’t seem to strum it and the sound is amazing.

The Brass Babes...and some awkward dude on drums.

This dude dropped his fire sticks no less than six times per song. 

He was hot even if his skills were not.

One of the most unique one man bands:  This Australian guy used a procession machine for beats which he controlled with his hand/foot.  He then switched between didgeridoo, alto sax and some sort of electric clarinet.  Wicked

This was it.  She stood there. Yep.  Riveting.

Again, this was it.  She stood there. Yep.  Riveting.

This one sort of danced.

Over the course of nine days, 304 shows will be performed by more than 1,000 artists from 34 different nations.  You like all the numbers don’t you? 

Like most social activities, it is an excuse to have an adult beverage and, honestly, doesn’t that help one appreciate the art that much more?

Cervia for all my Friends

Yesterday we hung out in Cervia (pronounced Chervia…in Italian, when a c is followed by an e, it is pronounced “Ch”).  Okay class, grammar is done.  Let’s move on to geography.  Italy is divided into twenty regions.  I live in Emilia-Romagna which shares a border with the most famous Italian region for Americans; Tuscany. (Okay, possibly the most famous region for Americans is Sicily.  I’m not sure.  Just go with it). Tuscany is the slice of pie South-west of us.  We have a boarder on the east side of Italy with the Adriatic Sea.  Tuscany’s seaside is on the west.   Are you bored yet?  Anyway, Cervia is a quietly elegant seaside resort town in the northern part of Emilia-Romagna.  Italy is all about the beaches and with more than 4,700 miles of beaches, why shouldn’t it be?

Here is a picture of a hot Italian in a bathing suit to try to keep you interested. 

The trip yesterday was my first to Cervia mainly because there are Adriatic beaches half as close to my house and I am lazy.  Who cares that when I take my kids to Comacchio (pronounced Co-ma-kio because a combined ch makes the k sound) there is trash floating in the water and on occasion I have caught my five year old playing with a large animal bone that floated by.  It’s convenient.  Hepatitis be damned.   

Husband and Marble

Okay, so straight away, the water at Cervia looked almost potable after Comacchio, but our friend wouldn’t go in “that dirty water”.  Our friend, Marble, is Italian.  The Italians have a charming way of liking all their stuff best.  Marble wouldn’t go into the dirty water because it is better where he lives.  Obviously.  Marble lives in the region of Apulia (pronounced a-pool-ya).  Now before you have to go all google search on my post, Apulia is the thin, very stylish heel of the boot that is Italy. I’ve not been yet, so I am totally unable to dish.  Maybe, for the sake of informing you, I will take a trip down there next month and check it out.  Okay, okay.  Don’t beg.  I’ll go.  Just for you of course. 

So to take you on the rest of the acid trip that is my streaming consciousness, I am going to need to get us off the beach for a moment and into a clothing store.  I am short and curvy so buying pants is usually not something I look forward to.  Thing is, last year I caved.  I decided I would go ahead and torture myself with the hope that I would have a smokin new pair of sleek Italian trousers when the day was through.  BAH!  After trying on different styles and different sizes I started noticing a trend.  When the sizes went up, the waist just got bigger.  My waist is not the area I needed room.  It was my thighs.  Here look.  They are ginormous.

ps. Pears are in season

So, I got all annoyed that I couldn’t find pants that fit, ate a pizza, then I got all scientific on it.  I started wondering if maybe as Italian women gain weight, they only gain in their stomachs, leaving them still with long gorgeous legs and tiny little adorable buttocks.  I ran my theory by one of my Italian friends who thought I was nuts.  Not uncommon.  Then another…with similar results.  Well yesterday this buried theory reemerged as I watched the Italian populous stroll by.  After a while I could take it no more.  I snapped some random shots of heavier Italians – you be the judge:

I have loads more of these, but I am too lazy to load them all

and I feel my point has been made.

Okay folks.  I think I may be on to something here.

So while we are discussing fashion and beaches, I feel men’s Italian beach wear needs to be addressed.  I get it.  Speedos.   It’s your culture.  Fine.  I am still going to commentate on every banana hammock and grape smuggler that walks by as well as every pair of daisy-dukes for men.  I can’t help it.  If that makes me completely vapid, so be it.  I think it is more a self defense mechanism.  American men tend to be way less blatant when presenting their wangs in a public setting.  That is my culture and change is…a reason to…commentate.

GAZER!

Bathing suits are not the only cultural difference at play here.  The way beaches work in Italy is drastically different than the typical American beach.  When you go to the seaside, you go to one of the many buildings lining the beach and rent a beach bed and maybe an umbrella.  You do not bring these things, or a cooler of Coors Light.  I know, imagine my surprise.  You also don’t sprawl out on your souvenir beach towel, you uncivilized yank.  Besides chair rental, these places offer snacks and drinks.  It would be uncivilized to miss aperitivo.  They also have kid play areas and courts for sand sports.  Now, as an American, when I think of sand sports involving a raised net, I think of volleyball. Maybe I would say bad mitten if I was pressed for a second sport.  Well, here in Italy they are huge fans of playing beach tennis on such a court.  It is just as it sounds, but the ball can’t bounce.  The first time I saw this in action was last year.  Yesterday was my first time witnessing the (maybe) Italian hybrid sport of foot-volley.  More or less it is a game of volley ball, played with a soccer ball and no hands.  It is unreal.  I am going to try to put in a video of my own, but if I totally fail, take a moment and google it.   I googled one for you. You're Welcome.


What's on my i-pod today?  Baci mi Ancora which translates to "Kiss me again".  It is a beautiful song, but  THE VIDEO  is what gets me about this one today.  It shows a typical Italian beach as well as man in a suit walking through the corn fields and into the sea.  What's not to like?

Have an awesome day!  I know what I'll be doing - living in Italy...and I know what you'll be doing - whatching you-tube videos of foot-volley.  You're Welcome.

Band of Gypsies

I am a member of a very large tribe of gypsies.  We have some bonafide gypsies in town here.  They generally look like this:

…a stark contrast to the uber style conscious Italian population.

My friends and I are not necessarily shanty town gypsies.  We aren’t even the moving-on-up variety of 16-people-living-in-an-efficiency gypsies.  I don’t have a tin cup, a sign about my poor kids that I’m made to wear in public nor do I have a pimp.  Though, I am hoping to borrow a pimp for the next “dress badly” party.  We are more this type of gypsy:

 Professor Sexy, Me, Debutante, and Girl Crush

We wonder from café to café and shoe store to shoe store.  It’s a tough life.  The true nature of our gypsy lifestyle isn’t our shopping habits, but those related to moving.  Our community has wives numbering in the single digits intensifying just about everything.  While I was in the States this summer getting my Vegas and Redneck on, two of my besties, Professor Sexy and Debutante, moved away.  I could totally go into some sappy girly whine party about how much I care about these awesome girls and what each brought to my life, but instead I would like to focus on what they brought to my house. 

off-cast bathroom products

left over groceries

booze

(no picture available because I drank it all)

the most useless books ever

Come on!  501 Italian verbs?  That is just being greedy.  I have come to find that you can get through two years in Italy knowing seven verbs if you also possess decent charades skills and have no sense of embarrassment. 

The electrical power here is different than in the US so either one needs to buy coordinating appliances or buy and run transformers to use the American versions.  Had I known we would be spending three years in Italy after the nearly three in England, I may have bought some things that weren’t complete pieces of dookie.  As it was, I had a coffee pot I bought off of a lady who was leaving.  It was a really nice looking turd.  Roughly 20% of the water would leak out of the bottom of the machine while the pot was brewing.  Ah, I guess that’s one way to reduce coffee intake, and it only needs to work for another year and a half then I can take it out in a field and go all Office Space on its ass.  It isn’t like they don’t have electronic stores here.  They do and they are fun to go to (I see a future post), but it seems like such a bad value to buy a coffee pot (or vacuum) this close to the end.  So, when Debutante was leaving I pounced on her most amazing, fully functional, RED coffee pot!  I was shameless.  Please come have a cuppa and help me welcome this lovely to my kitchen.

I sort of have a thing for red.  See, I have this super cool red clock hung above the super cool red coffee pot.

I have canisters.

Red teapot, utensil bin, potholders, and menu board…

Oh, and all my cabinets.

I will miss my friends madly, but I will have coffee every morning with Debutante, and not study verbs ever with Professor Sexy.  Right before I ran off to the US, a dear friend, Rah-Rah, returned for a year.  Also, while I was away a new wife arrived.  I’ll meet her tonight as we usher in the buskers festival.  Buskers are street performers and the annual weeklong festival is a celebration of this unique venue and a highlight of Ferrara’s culture.  I imagine the buskers themselves as a band of gypsies.

As fortune would have it, Professor Sexy, Token, and their kiddos are coming through for the weekend.  I am giddy.  I really hope I am able to stash the verb books in PS's luggage ;)

I am a member of a very large tribe of gypsies… and not the band out of LA either.  If you like the latin guitar styles of Carlos Santana, you will fall in easily with Tribe of Gypsies, TOG.  Here is a sample:

 Tribe of Gypsies

Roy Z is pretty amazing, and I doubt he knows more than seven Italian verbs.