Italiano

Costantinos, Moretti and Montepulciano Abruzzo

Sagre de lla porche tta Italica

We join Mirella and Costantinos who invite us to the 41st sagre de lla porche tta Italica - pork festival, dude! The celebration in a 14th century village in Abruzzo , central Italy, inside Gran Sasso e Monti della Laga with its mountain peaks and rolling hills. The center piaza surrounded by ancient buildings and, of course, a towering cathedral with Jesus Christ looking down upon us lesser mortals. The celebrations last four nights and we are here for the finali - a band sets up to play local favorties while picnic tables fill the open spaces. Ours next to a group of teens who giggle and flirt while an older couple, maybe 14 or 15, demonstrate seniority by suggesting their intimacy.   Flames are lit along the church and alleyways while stalls set up by regional butchers who carve their roasted pig for sandwiches (pork+crusty white roll, nothing else though Madeleine does put ketchup on hers to the consternation of Costantinos). Each competes for for the honor of migliore. It feels like a college campus the night of graduation.

I amuse our table with my various interpretations of Italian and two handed gesticulations learned from Bru. Mamma, mia. As Sonnet says, "you out-crazy the Italians." One would never find this spirit in England and I like it.

Summer Seaside

We arrive Sunday to Tortoreto, Italy, on the Adriatic side, for a simple late summer holiday.  We stay at the Hotel Capitano, who knows us from last time, and 30 years ago when Sonnet's family spent several summers in this beach-side town, which retains its charms from yester-year.  Roberto picks us up at Pescara for the 45 minute drive from the airport; though late, he offers to make us spaghetti while AC Milan v Juventis on the television.  The hotel staff remember the bambinos from when they were about four inches smaller, and Eitan endures some cheek pinching in that awkward way of every 11-year old.  The men kiss three times which is a custom I like.

Madeleine: "You do not speak Italian."
Me: "I do. It's second nature."
Madeleine: "Mom does dad speak Italian?"
Sonnet: "If he says so .. . "
Madeleine: "Say something in Italian then."
Me: "Like what?"
Madeleine: "Say 'can I have some ice cream.'"
Me: "Scoosi ice-a cream-a por favori."
Madeleine: "That is hardly Italian, Dad."
Me: "How would you know? Unlike me, you don't speak Italian."
Madeleine: "Say something else."
Me: "Roberto tell-a Madeleine I dis-i Italiano. Grazi bello. "
Roberto:
Me: "See? I speak so fast he cannot understand me."
Madeleine: "Mom is that true?"
Sonnet: "Whatever Dad says honey."

Madeleine And The Pooch

Almost two years into the dog and Rusty has proven himself to be a success : sure, he craps five or six times a day, scratches himself in front of our guests, jumps on everybody and occassionally pees on the kitchen floor. Sonnet generally hates Rusty but puts up with him too.  On the plus side, he gets me out of bed in the morning for a sunrise run or walk; follows me about the house silently, making himself comfortable wherever I am; is loved by the kids and gives us a lot to laugh about (Eitan: "Look, Dad, Rusty is licking his balls! Ha, ha, ha!").  As Roger likes to say about a dog:  worth its weight in middle-age therapy.

Madeleine gets full credit for pushing the dog through. Without  her persistence, it would not have happened. Now the pooch is part of la familia.

Katie In Spain!

Katie spends the last week in Espanol with her Harvard undergrad thesis advisor Bill, who she has remained friendly with all these years, and Susan, pictured, with sexy camera. Katie tells me they are in parc gruel, " with tilted pillars and building walls that aren't flat and straight but rather organic shapes -- designed by famous kooky beautiful Barcelona architect Gaudi." Sounds about right.  Barcelona a favorite city though I have been only once.

Summer Days

On Sonnet's initiative, we visit a wonderful exhibition at the Tate Britain displaying black-and-white stills of London from the 1930s to 1980.  The only requirement : the photographers non-British, looking at the city anew. I recognise many of the masters - Bill Brandt, Henri Cartier, Robert Frank, Dora Maar, Irving Penn - but my favourites by those I do not know, like Al Vanderberg's '75 shot of an inter-racial couple or Dorothy Bohm's photo of a portly dude dressed like Sgt Pepper at the Petticoat Lane Market, East London, in  the 1960s.

I, of course, have my trusty 7D and try to take e a few useful snaps using the tricks from my other-day class.  Digital cameras include everything when the only thing that matters, other than composition, is aperture and shutter speed (ISO, too, but in the good old days of film that decision also taken care of). My Pentax K1000 genius : fully manual with a light reader.  Load film, adjust two settings. Shoot. Moe's Nikon F2 the first Nikon with the reader attached to the camera : I took it to Africa in '89 when my family visited Kenya, Malawi and Tanzania where we climbed Kilimanjaro.  A photo from Uruho Peak, 19,341 feet above sea level, adorns my parents living room (back then the glacier, on the inside of the volcano, yet full and a remarkable unexpected surprise upon reaching the summit).

Madeleine non-plussed by the exhibition BTW so I ask her to find a favourite and she goes straight for the print of ten stray dogs looking balefully at the camera. Her heart is large.

The King

Eitan Self Portrait

Eitan experiments with grapefruit juice in his hair.

I've had a pretty good lesson in human nature. It's more important to try to surround yourself with people who can give you a little happiness, because you only pass through this life once, Jack. You don't come back for an encore.
--Elvis Presley

Golden Gate Bridge

Normal Distribution

Any MBA knows that in many natural processes random variation conforms to a particular probability distribution known as the normal distribution, pictured.  It is also called a "bell curve".

I think about this on the last (painful) mile of a three-mile race this morning : 15 years ago I won "The Media Challenge", a 3-miler in Manhattan's Central Park.  Today, I am probably one standard deviation ahead of the mean at or ca. 84% of the 300 or so runners. My time of 20 minutes about four minutes slower than '94.

The bell curve catching up : I can no longer jump into a 5K or 10K and expect to be competitive simply, because, well - why not?  It is difficult to re-calibrate times from years ago and I have yet to consider myself a "master" runner. Somewhere in me there are some best times left. Otherwise what's the point?

But today's race for fun and, anyway, I am ten kilos over fighting weight.  I don't push into another gear towards the finish instead happy to finish with some dignity (Rusty drags me along the first mile and I drag him the second half).  All in all, all good.

First Phone

Madeleine gets a mobile and somehow, just like that, we have a second adolescent in the house.  Her response: "whoopie!"

Madeleine sends me a text: Hi dad ;)
Me, that evening: "To think, I received your very first text."
Madeleine: "Actually I sent one to mom first."
Me: "Wow, I got your second text. .."
Madeleine: "I sent one to Eitan. And Zebulon too."
Me: "Was I in the top ten?"
Madeleine: "And Zakki. Oh, and Auntie Katie. Plus I sent mom three texts before you. And also Marcus."
Me:  "Well good to know you were thinking of me any way."
Madeleine: "Sure, Dad. I am saving everybody into my phone."
Me:
Madeleine: "What's your number again?"

Bake Off

Our fabulous friend Diana, whose husband Simon introduced me to Kayaking, spends the afternoon with Madeleine baking (says our gal: "It was really, really fun. We made the best sponge cake"). The last time it was bagels and before that, home-made pasta. Diana from NY and spent some time in Los Angeles as the food critic for the LA Times. More recently, Diana acepted to the UCL (University College London) Drama School for a degree in puppetry. We love this.

Eitan sells Madeleine his old goalie gloves, a bouncy ball, a poster and his wristband for 90p. Madeleine notes "I needed the goalie gloves."

Camera 101

Since I take a bunch of photos, many of them crap (see below), I attend a one-day photography course an Wimbledon.  In this shot I practise depth of field - the black dude pretty buff for 12 inches.  Thank you mom and  dad for the perfect birthday present.

Madeleine: "Is Google the Internet?"
Me: "No, Google is a search engine. You can put anything in the little bar and Google will take you there. It's how you enter the web."
Madeleine: "So Google is the web?"
Me: " No. Imagine a spider's web. . ."
Madeleine:
Me: "Everything inter-connected. And Google is like a door."
Madeleine: "A door to a spider's web?"
Me: "Well, no, but it's one way to get connected."
Madeleine: "To Google?"
Me: "Yes."
Madeleine: "And the Internet."
Me: "Yes."
Madeleine: "So Google is the Internet?"
Me: "Let's start over."

Madeleine: "Ollie had his mobile phone hacked and they locked up his games and music and stuff for 40 years."
Me: "No, way. Is he going to wait that long?"
Madeleine: "No. But he had to wipe out everything and start all over."
Me: "Disaster."
Madeleine: "I'll say. It's dangerous for a kid."
Me: "You bet it is."

Rush .. .

.. . hour. When I go into town, usually a couple times a week, I avoid the peak times, like now, pictured at Waterloo station. Mortlake station, where I begin my journey, rarely offers a free seat which means 25 minutes standing next to the dude who reads the paper and the mum who taps on her iphone. Sometimes I arm myself with a coffee and do some minor work on my bb.  Or I watch sprawling urban London go by : in Clapham there are rows of undulating terraced houses ; at Queenstown, the Battersea Power Station. And always the Thames.

Waterloo the train terminus and the commuters walk with purpose, usually to the Underground for Green Park or The City or who knows ? Waterloo station enjoyed 91 million passenger entries and exits from April 2010 to March 2011, easily busiest railway point in Britaiin; the station one of the busiest passenger terminals in Europe - it has more platforms and greater floor area than any other in the UK (but Clapham Junction has the largest number of trains). It is the terminus of a network of railway lines from Surrey, Berkshire, Hampshire, South West England and the south-western suburbs of London.

Old Friend

This sequoia about 5,000 miles from its natural habitat.  Me and him both baby.

I return to the ENT as my voice gravelly again.  And me, a salesman.  I see the very capable Mr Ahmed who informs me that he will stick a cable down my nasal passage to look at my voice box.  Unlike the last time, he offers no local anaesthetic nor gel : "I do this all the time" Ahmed says.  "If it becomes too unbearable we can stop." I mean, what's his threshold for pain ? The Indians eat chili's that make the rest of us blow up from agony.  The cable feels like something, well, jammed eight inches into my head and, weirdly, there is a sensation in my lower throat only it is behind my throat. This becomes apparent when Ahmed asks me to count to three and I produce a pitiful gargle. At this point I am sweating and have my answer to the  Lethal Weapon question (Every dude wonders, from the comfort of his home or theatre, whether he can endure the electrocution inflicted on Mel Gibson graphically presented in the movie). I would last 30 seconds.

The good news : no pallops. I may have to do some speech therapy but no need for another operation.

One Mo

Mo Farah takes the 10k-5k double transcending sport (photo Getty Images).  Bolt finishes his career by anchoring the Jamaican 4X100 relay in world record time.  The British net 64 medals including 29 gold. The Underground survives. Even the weather pretty good.  This has been one heck of a games. I am sad to see them end and wonder : what to marvel, complain, discuss and commiserate and bitch about now ?  Back to the Royal Family I guess.

“Our vision is to present to the world, in 2012, the best Games ever, for athletes, for the Olympic family, for spectators.”

--Lord Coe who, in my book, is The Dude of all things Olympics. He made it happen

Dog Days Of Summer

Dad Being Dad

I appreciate the embarrassment I cause the kids being, just, well, myself.  Of course (I presume) all parents humiliate their children somehow but I do take great enjoyment in seeing their reaction when I sing or act like a monkey or some similar such nonsense.  At some point one realises : it just does not matter but for the Shakespeares, it matters a whole lot.  I'm doing my best anyway.

We are in Kew Gardens and Sonnet and I reminisce about summers long past when, to escape the heat, we would visit here in the late evening for an outside dinner under a tree by the sunset.  The kids would crawl about, eat some grass, cry or nap.  Sometimes all four inside thirty minutes.  That was, like, another world.

Football Final - Mexico 2, Brazil 1

Last photo of the Olympics.  This one from Wembley stadium and the men's football final.  Some English dudes behind us pull for Mexico so they can yell "gringo" over and over and over.

Eitan: "I am going to do some chores. For money". [Dad's note: Eitan wants to buy an iPod].
Me: "I am good with that. How about you do the backyard?"
Eitan: "I will do the dusting for £15 and clean all the windows inside the house."
Madeleine: "£15 !?"
Me: "How about £5?"
Eitan: "Then I just won't do it."
Me: "Or you will do it for free since it's a chore."
Eitan:
Madeleine: "£15. Really, Eitan."
Sonnet: "Why don't you think about it a little bit and come back to me with a proposal this afternoon."
Eitan: "OK."
Madeleine: "I can't believe you wanted £15 just to do the dusting."

Jack And Team USA

Jack is a good little dude.  He is over to our place following 6 hours of football camp.

We attend the women's Olympics football final between Japan and the US (the crowd chants: "USA! USA! USA!"). This a rematch of the 2011 championships which the Americans lost to Japan in a thrilling match; this time, though, it is the other way around, 2-1, and the girls bask in the after-glow, running around the pitch with American flags, clapping at us fans (the Japanese cry then the team, including coaches, assistants and back-ups bow, in unison, to the stands).  American goalkeeper Hope Solo spots me in the crowd and winks: "this one for you sexy boy" she whispers.

Madeleine: "Do you think I will get a ball?"
Me: "You mean like from the match?"
Madeleine: "Yeah, I got two that last time." [Dad's note: we were at the UEFA women's club championships at Fulham where Madeleine sat behind the goal box; there was no netting and Madeleine did, indeed, catch two balls.. .which were duly returned to the ref.]
Me: "If there are 80,000 fans what are the chances of you getting a ball?"
Madeleine: "um 1 in 80,000?"
Me: "Good but can you be more specific?"
Madeleine:
Me: "How many balls make it to the stands?"
Madeleine: "I don't know 10?"
Me: "And will they reach the upper decks?"
Madeleine: "No. .."
Me: "Let's assume they only hit the first rows or maybe ten percent. So that's 8,000 fans."
Madeleine: "Can't I just watch Dad?"
Me: "But the balls probably only go behind the goalines."
Madeleine:
Me: "which we can assume is 25% of the lower stadium's circumference.. . so that might be about 2,000 people."
Madeleine: "I really don't care Dad."
Me: "If there are ten balls into the stands, a lot I suggest, what is the chance of a fan getting one?"
Madeleine: "20? 40? Who cares?"
Me: "It would be 10/2,000 or 1 in 200. What's that as a percent?"
Madeleine:
Me: "Is it more or less than 1%?"
Madeleine: "Please, Dad, I'm begging you."
Me: "Pay attention, kid, you need to know these things."
Madeleine: "Maybe you do."

Day 11

Evening session, track and field.

Announcer: "Here's the situation in the high jump. There are three men still alive."
Madeleine: "What!?" 
Sonnet: "It's just an expression."