Bailey Alexander: The Europhile

Glenn Greenwald ponders two establishment journalists' attitude towards Israeli aid.

Is using aid to Israel as leverage becoming a mainstream idea?  Glenn Greenwald explores the taboo topic by cross referencing Friedman's inconsistent column with Joe Klein's piece in TIME.  Friedman, of course, is too coy to carry his thoughts to their natural conclusion so Greenwald does it for him but GG's surprised by the harsh and realistic tones of both columnists.

Lee Daniels digestivo; "I'm a little euro, homo and ghetto."

Benissimo, certo, after listening to the NPR interview with Lee Daniels my appetite's been sufficiently whet, like an aperitif, it is certainly time to see his movie called Precious.  

Here in Northern Italy, the local digestivo consists of one part soda, prosecco and Campari with a slice of orange or lemon and that's how it felt listening to Sig. Daniels speak, he's so utterly charming, enticing and refreshingly authentic. I'd no idea what the next question would inspire in this guy, how he'd relay a chapter of his life, a family member, a situation, he was so eloquent.   He inspired the mind to wind back to former lives and times. 

In my 20's I found myself directing fashion shows for a nightclub on 1st avenue.  My clients included the Broadway market, Pike Place market and a couple of retail corporations that allowed me to get very creative, infusing rap singers with drag queens and once I found 'drag', before the 'craze' began in Seattle, I got it.   They just started showing up at my fashion shows and immediately I knew there was a show I could write specifically for them, which I did, with success. 

Drag is such a gorgeous art form when done well and these performers captivated my imagination. I think I launched a career or two and even inspired a well loved modern dancer to come out with his 'alter' personae, a gig I caught last time I was in Seattle.  Unfortunately my particular esprit didn't match the savvy of the 'night club' scene and one show in particular where we opened for Rupaul turned me completely off.  It had nothing to do with the performers but rather the local promoters.  To make matters more complicated, AIDS was everywhere and after holding hands in the hospital and attending funerals the timing inspired a foray back into the 'business' world.  

But while I could partake, I did enjoy, watching them apply layers of character, reviewing their closets at home, listening to the older ones I couldn't entice back into business share their tales of live shows and fabulous acts, I suppose it's no coincidence I would go on to recruit and become an advocate for another fringe type, 'the techie'.  I'm glad I was there before either went mainstream. 

But what I recall most vividly was a conversation I had with one of the performers after a long rehearsal.  While driving him home he said,  ''honey, you've no idea how hard it is to be black, a fag AND a drag queen," he laughed but that moment was so sad and no, I've no idea but he did provide a snapshot and he shared his story, as much he could. The other two black performers had managed successful careers in the arts but 'Paul' struggled and last time I saw him he was working at Nordstrom's, laughing, spritzing me with some tester perfume.  And times have changed so much in the past 20 years, it's fantastic but rather amazing when I step back and review time. Time is on the gay and lesbian side, even if tolerance is not.

I was deeply touched by many things Lee Daniels' had to say about his family, his culture, his reality and how the times dictated something entirely different.  I may have lived a parallel life to this young and brilliant director but I can relate to the topics indirectly as I've done a lot of non-profit work towards eliminating domestic violence, I learned as I grew to know and understand the black and gay drag artists in my shows and I've certainly seen how we still must side step around closet cases which is one of the saddest facets of our modern lives. 

Every time some soul is oppressed the world loses out, unless they prevail, as does this particular "Precious" and listening to Lee Daniels' candid manner of addressing some of the most brutal aspects of his life; jail bound brothers, abusive fathers, violent neighbors certainly inspires an inspection of movie times for "Precious"....in Milan perhaps....

Merkel's Sturm und Drang; Issues addressed, Hopes dashed

Italy convicted 23 secret agents, challenging the CIA's extraordinary renditions.  Odds are the agents may simply be issued new passports but the world is paying attention, the statement has been made.  As I said in previous posts, Italy does it differently, that's why they adroitly pay off the Taliban chiefs to keep their troops safe.  It's Berlusconi's way and say what you want about Silvio's 'art of the deal' making ways, I'm not sure he'd have his hopes dashed as did Merkel.

Italians taking care of their own corruption and why we should be grateful Murdoch has to sue Silvio

I'm so tired of the world suggesting Berlusconi's the 'most corrupt' of them all.  Blair, Bloomberg and the rest have all been deeply complicit in their own media mind control.  Their ambition to stay in the limelight so blatant, overt and corrupt in and of itself.

Venice...

This weekend la serenissima breathes as the tourists clear out...took some pics, funny ones with fake papillons and casino entrances insisting 'no guns', 'no umbrellas' allowed....enjoy...

 

Thanks to friends, travel and social media...

...I've enjoyed a lovely birthday and it's only half over; received kisses from Dutch n Swedish friends, kind wishes from the isle of both Malta and New Zealand, lovely, wonderful notes from Paris, Rome, London and from across the pond, old friends from NY, Chicago and Seattle sent their very best, forwarding them in advance to arrive on time.

tony blair update; non merci, non grazie, nein danke.....

Pics of Albatross chicks and 350.org; poluting our planet out of existence.

 

Edith Sitwell and Mata Hari; Eccentric women worth reading and watching...

The Independent asks whether Mata Hari was she a double agent meant to disappoint and exasperate both sides, alas, no one really knows...files to be released in 2017 may assist but the mystery is so much more fun and inspires another eccentric, Edith Sitwell and her poem about the 'great Popinjay'

Dawn Powell on Gore Vidal, "not to be fit in any fashion"

Sig.Vidal's sun is setting and he may be grieving for a circle and country long gone but while we overlook Lignano this October eve his views prove as probable and prescient as ever.

I love Vidal, read him often, but must rely on Dawn Powell's acute observation circa '54: "Something of a Disraeli, a high patrician like Solomon in judgment and philosophic power with wit, poetry and music.  Not to be fit in any fashion, but will outlive them all, like the great ones."

Discussing de Chirico up north while watching Gomorrah down south

Mio marito skidded in from Geneva as did an old pal from Seattle, Ian Mcfail, visiting while in the midst of his adventure having a Giorgio de Chirico authenticated at the foundation in Rome.  I bestow all the de Chirico energy as I've posted about friends with their own originals.  Either way, Ian has a pretty spectacular collection for your purview if interested on Facebook. 

Even though the cold winds have arrived and the men have left it still feels like la dolce but now I'm alone and Zurich and Milan remain one week away, it's time for new film. Fortuitously enough, upon picking up my MacBook Air from the techie hospital in Venice I located what mio marito suggested I see and I say there's a reason we've driven thru this commune, quickly, without dropping in for a caffe macchiato, rather than stay for a tour.

Travelling to Trieste, coffee capital of the world

My guy insisted we go to Trieste as we'd never been before...the city was grand, all Austrian Hungarian architecture on full display, not to mention a million sailboats.  As if I hadn't see enough, alas, the Barcolana was in full swing, arguably the largest sail race in Europe, some sort of casual crazy race of families and somesuch, who knows....but it was lovely.  Generally i post my own pic but someone else posted the onlyh one worth viewing
 

Venice; La Serenissima...

 

A basket of currencies to replace the greenback

Per previous posts the US dollar is in dangerous demise worldwide.  According to the Daily Telegraph meetings are being held in France and China and Brazil with invitations to all the players except the Americans.

Robert Fisk in the Independent reports on 'China's extraordinary new financial power – along with past anger among oil-producing and oil-consuming nations at America's power to interfere in the international financial system – which has prompted the latest discussions involving the Gulf states'.

It makes me wonder if this will finally push the British into accepting the Euro. It could happen, we just watched the Irish buckle up their economic seat-belt by ratifying the treaty.  If they hadn't experienced such a financial crash, right after benefiting more than any other EU entry, they might have voted differently, but this is different world order, one that'll see the devalue of the dollar really start on its way.

Sexual Relations with Letterman and Polanski

Somewhere along the yellow brick road I lost the desire to impose morality on other people. Godot arrived, advised otherwise and once again I live in the land where love, sex and skin is everywhere, therefore overlooked, almost irrelevant, especially here in sunny, laissez faire Punta Faro marina in Lignano Sabbiadoro. 

So many syllables, must be the close proximity to Germany, either way I find I'm thriving in my temporary lifestyle. No one is as surprised as I, now more than before as I'll soon be in Milan or Zurich. My existence inspires the mind to be utterly quiet at times, decreasing the energy of my personal existential angst.  The days may be spent online or addressing the remaining issues on the boat but the nights are so still with solitude my body' becomes little more than a sliver, a slice nestled with a hammock within a womb serenading me to sleep.  I'm awaken either by silence surrounding my life or the dogs demanding it's time to go above for a sec, that's why it's called the poop deck.

Lisbon Treaty: Second time's a charm, Ta's trump.

Astonishingly enough the Irish have ratified the treaty.  Now for the tricky bit, positioning the EU presidency.  Position's open and we all know who's campaigned the loudest.  Merkel's vote is the most decisive, obviously, and like many Europeans they'd prefer anyone but the 'brand' that is Tony Blair but if she can lobby her candidate in the foreign high representative slot, maybe the rictus grin will be on display center stage. 

 

"Brands" are often empty suits but lonely hearts are the real deal

Rarely does the concept of 'branding' live up to its own hype.  Therefore it comes as no surprise that now the world has less money to spend on the concept it conjures up fairy tales such as The Emperor's New Clothes rather than any desire to acquire or buy into a 'brand', super or less than.  

Rarely does the concept of 'branding' live up to its own hype.  Therefore it comes as no surprise that now the world has less money to spend on the concept it conjures up fairy tales such as The Emperor's New Clothes rather than any desire to acquire or buy into a 'brand', super or less than.  

Uh-oh, Professor Higgins was a no show at Sarah Palin's debut in Hong Kong

Apparently the Alaskan blogger gave hundreds of financial big-hitters at the CLSA Investors' Forum a less than spectacular performance. In fact, a couple of US delegates walked out saying, 'it was awful, we couldn't stand it anymore'. Robert Fisk, in The Independent goes two steps further when writing about listening to Eliza in China.  His opening lines, "Grotesque, unprecedented, bizarre, unbelievable".  Ouch.

Happiness is...

...on the decline for women according to a study on HuffingtonPost.  Maureen Dowd, who's never pretended to be happy puts on her own spin.  I like Dowd, she's bitter and a stereotypical NY'er and very good at her job. I begrudge her nothing, she's honest.

So what happened. Quello che è successo? This study started in the 70's when women were 'officially' allowed to find their independence, but let's not discount those that did prior to permission, in fact, the one's I know seem relatively content, but let's review the Study and play along.

Sarko, Silvio and the devastatingly handsome M de Villepin

Former Prime Minister de Villepin vs Sarko begins in the courtroom that condemned Queen Marie Antoinette to the guillotine in 1795.  Let us hope a better fate for the tall, elegant poet.   The trial will prove a dicey proposition for de Villepin to win but if Sarko loses, he'll look much worse in the long run.  I've cut and pasted an article from the Independent  but having lived there and listened @ Chez Bay as the French address their topical, political issues, it's hard to pinpoint the 'chatty classes' for the French are chattier than most and love the nuance, to shift their perspectives and play different angles.

The alleged backlash against Berlusconi is even more nuanced.  I met some Italian feminist while living in Rome but they were mostly Professoressa's, and as this article suggests, the feminist movement emanates most specifically from the universities, but we'll see and I'll try for my own 'case study' up here in the North. 

The French women have come a long way and represent several places of power in both the government and corporate sector whereas the Italians have seen Silvio elect the most beautiful, not necessarily the brightest women for office and places of prominence.  Two similar and yet entirely divergent cultures.  Alors, still my favorite joke; what do you call an Italian in a bad mood, a Frenchman.

Swearing and Cycling, equally enjoyable sport.

I've adapted easily to this new routine, this sporty, cycling life, filled with fresh fruits and veggies.  I'm even doing Pilate's on the bow of the boat in the morning sun using the same large rubber matts we used to view the stars on midnite watches, no longer missing my Pilates machines stuck in storage.

Life's pretty healthy and organic. I'm meeting my laid back neighbors, working on my Italian, enjoying the rhythms of their arrivals and departures as they come to putz for an hour, take the family out sailing for a day or escape back onto the dock alone for a peaceful overnite sleep, winking my way, offering a quiet 'ciao'.  How can one not luv the Italians...

Oh dear, Glenn Beck dictates the discourse...

Last night I downloaded several podcasts and sat back for a long listen.  Initially it was inspiring with some pundits wishing to end partisan politics but quickly the discourse descended into base vitriol with policy sifted effortlessly into cyberdust. 

When conservatives like Auberon Waugh and his Etonian brethren of a certain era issued vituperative remarks they maintained upward mobility because they were played as farce, a spoof, until the winds changed tack and libel laws inspired Mr. Waugh to write seriously, which he did, about wine and travel rather than Lord Goldenballs and Nora Balsoff. 

MADI, Mother Nature and Antonino Morocutti's Memoirs

One of the benefits of a 'liveaboard lifestyle' is close proximity to mother nature.  You become much more aware of everything, including oneself while in close proximity to mother nature. Everything you do and use is inspected on a base level and I've become even more weather obsessed than ever.

As much as I may love this time of year, this climate, this place and the variable weather, the perspective shifts dramatically aboard a boat when the skies open up with thunder and lightning, if only to accentuate the drama...this is Italy, operatic et al, so I suppose one must be careful for what they ask as the answer may arrive and collide in one's cockpit, located not so conveniently on top of one's cabin, quite suddenly, as it did aboard MADI.

While sailing we saw so many stars...

Still Life of a Liveaboard

Option A was to stay in the Malta flat in that heat and that air with transportation via mio marito's motorcycle or 60 yr old buses blowing billows of black smoke. 

Option B was to become a liveaboard within country club environs with transportation via my nice new white bike and golf carts with personal drivers.

Option B is working out really, really well.  In a month or two we'll decide upon a country to call home, permanently, or as much as a nomadic European and an obliging europhile can call any home permanent.For now, we domicile in a divine space with the most breathable, fragrant air and nature as surround sound.  Venice is but a half hour away, Vienna a pleasant train ride.  Lignano Sabbiadoro is Italian style infused with German competence; molto bellissimo, tranquillo, perfetto.  Option B, brilliant.

Architectural sonatas as performed by Rome, Austria-Hungary, and Tito

We parked at ACI marina in Pula, our last stop in Croatia.  The views were spectacular, if not extreme.  At first we have the Imperial grandeur of Rome, a lovely coliseum, if not thee coliseum.

Food, conversation and the kids tour their twenty-third.

Simple fare; fish, white wine and local water have been super for the diet and waste line for both me and my guy but finally we enjoy fries and a meat platter, wonderful stuff.

Here are the kids, Colette and Godot visiting country number 23...I'm thinking a book perhaps as I have pics to prove...this idea is teasing and tempting the commercial mind to coincide with the less than lite stuff. Hey, wait, I forgot, Colette was born in Australia, she's been to more continents than I....

 

While life is still bare of clouds, chatter and things that don't matter...

Weather channel's insisting we stay at port another nite lest the Bora winds get the best of us so I've time to post pics from Mali Losinj.  And si, oui, scenery's still drop dead gorgeous.

Walking away from the coastline, like the town before, the views transport my mind back to Northern California near my birthplace, where the lovely stucco homes are protected by elegant palms...then a home or two ago in Rome, even the Azores make an appearance, then time rewinds and I'm transported to Seattle, distinctly PacNorthwest territory with its deep pine forests  

Dining along the pines, beneath the bridge of sighs

A block from the marina we dine along the pines, just beneath the bridges, modeled after the Venetian 'bridge of sighs' where convicts were allowed their last divine gasp of the most feminine, the most pure city of them all.

Croatia arrives as advertized; drop dead gorgeous

Cruising the Caribbean was culturally diverse with its islands of French, British and Danish descent and sailing from Seattle to Desolation Sound was deeply pretty, pristine and clean but Croatia, well, it has castles, cathedrals and 'bridge of sighs' kind of architecture via Venice.

From the immortal lettres a la Jim Carrey, this place is absolutely B.E.A uuuuuuutiful.  

Capitano brings us into Marco Polo's birthplace in Korcula

 

Back in the land of fashion and food

Still floating in Otranto, taking a breather prior to sailing across the Adriatic to cruise Croatia and then enter La Serenissima.  And why not, this town is quite the party, it could easily rival the Edinburgh fringe festival for eclectic music and entertainment, at least by square mile. 

Otranto may be tiny but performance art, jugglers, musicians absolutely swarm the place at sunset.  After dinner when back on the boat we listen to latin, techno or italian female crooners carrying their sound across the water to MADI and no one hangs out better than the Italians, basta cosi.

So I must give thanks to the gods of fate for allowing the quality of the food and fashion to pronounce its style in color and variety once again.  The pasta and fish equally fantastic and discussed and loved upon arriving at the table with just the right amount of fuss. 

By day the Otrantini bronze at the beach and by night the walls of the castle and the boardwalks compete with sounds and visions for everyone to enjoy.  Otranto took us totally by surprise, what a welcome and perfect reprieve...

Anchored out near Otranto's Castle.

How fabulous is that!  Quite, in fact, but not without its multiple tasks, bruises, abrasions, work and lack of sleep, some of which we've received back, but do need much more, svp. Gosh, had to edit prior post, a rarity, but it was written as if waiting for the lift.

Mi dispiace, allora, we've arrived. Even Godot. So here we float, situated at the Eastern most proper tip of Italy; Otranto.  Madi is anchored alongside Otranto's castle, ready to stay steady for a day or two, maybe three if something breaks, which something almost always does, just about everyday, when you're sailing...

Here's a beach perspective of Madi with the red Tinker tramp hugging her port side.  The Tinker, the world's only inflatable/dinghy/sailboat.

Robert and the Tink dropped me, C, n G at the port to see if there might be room at the inn, there was not, so I ventured into the town to find shops where we could buy other stuff to fix the other stuff that broke. 

Unfortunately, when I walkietalkied my taxi service my chauffeur wasn't any too happy to see me as the engine had broke en route so we were towed by some awfully nice Otrantini back to Madi.

I didn't mind, I was whistling and rowing happily enuf, enjoying rare and real exercise but kindness is something too precious to push away...   Gosh, I didn't even play walkietalkie as a kid but it was fun, if silly, but silly's good...sleep's even better....   

After a nite out w/the Genovesi we set sail to Santa Maria di Leuca

The Italians aboard the lovely 50ft beneteau with passarelle boasting black lights (tres chic), on our port side suggested we hit the well known fish joint across the marina.  They'd just spent two months sailing along Croatia and had much news to impart and we're listening as that's our next destination.

We met Allesandra, (pictured above) Michele, and Giacomo to enjoy the first proper meal I've had in too long...once again, all is right in life as some invisible magician orchestrates that food and wine simply appear, course after course, et.

Allessandra's one of those cool chicks from Genoa who works in Milan and speaks some English and likes to party, so we do. The cigarettes, cigars and camaraderie float down from up North and play surround sound for the night.  We may no longer smoke but its outside and just fine as Allesandra tries to seduce me into dancing into the nite, but I'm spent.

Her father, Michele, is the kind of Italian that exudes an ease with life; retired, content, happy to hang with his daughter and friend, and cook, Giacomo. Allesandra's twin brother is far away, in NY, learning English and Economics. I'm pretty sure I'll see Allessandra again and it's so nice to have to speak Italian, struggle though it may be after three years in Parigi.

When the pasta arrives, I can taste the Italian herbs.  The volcanic ash is at work and the cows have been sung to in Italian so the food is simply bettah, so there.  I can practically channel Paul Giametti in Sideways, identifying the grape within the Italian white wine butter sauce. Colette and Godot joined us at the table, we're all so relaxed, unfussed.

We set sail from Crotone at 8am, sailing at 15 knots until noon. This time I'm channeling my grandfather back when he used to sail one of his many mistresses in the san francisco bay, of the inanimate/yachting persuasion.  The waves and wind hid hard.  By mid afternoon, everything calms down, we then pull out the deck chairs at 6, have a cocktail and peacefully enter the harbor of Santa Maria di Leuca at 10pm and anchor out. 

So here we are, at the southern most tip of the heel, dello stivale, in Santa Maria de Leuca....

 

A bit of a slog, allot of bliss, but we're back...

...in the land where the coffee tastes like milkshakes and the pasta is al dente, finally! Benissimo!!!  Such a process this exercise of sailing.  It took some time to prepare. First I became at one with MADI.  Cleaned, bleached, waxed and varnished her back to life: packing along bits of Italy, France,Gore Vidal and  Dawn Powell to keep company. Provisioned for a coupla days but Maltese fruit, like the little banana, lasts little longer than a day.

Nav station, pilot house in order and V-birth stashed and organized

  We're ready to set sail...

6 hr watches, mio marito prefers the night, I the day...our times overlap, we all catch the sun rise and set along Sicily.

W'ere so blissed out, our thoughts focused on nothing other than the stars exploding, the sun's moods, life's so nice a dragonfly joins us 12 miles out from the coast along the Ionian Sea.

On the 3rd day we tie up at Porto Vechio Crotone, in blessed Italy as the cute kids whiz along the marina in their vespa...

Alors, with the Italians and French flanking either side, we're happy and secure....time to drink some milkshakes, wake up and explore the town prior to setting sail towards Otranto tomorrow...

Persephone's myth, Malta's archipelago and sailing away from Calypso's imprisonment

We'd hoped for Sunday but Monday's just fine by me.  One should never, ever challenge the weather gods or the gods of fate when setting sail long distance. 

So, now tis time to bid adieu to persephone's myth near Mdina, to 7,000 yrs of Maltese history and all that jazz. 

A good entrance and exit is key, to any country, we think.  Would have loved to sail away on Muv's b-day, but that's why we create pictorial blessays.

Escorted by my grandfather in their home in San Fran, Muv walks towards her betrothed, the man she would marry for some 55 yrs...

 The second is her last sketch, outlining her own exit; with style and strength; 

My biological realities, so much in evidence this past week as I spoke for the first time in 2 decades to my daughter.  We'd emailed and I'd provided the background to particulars surrounding her unique birth.  Even though she boasts a double degree from Univ of Washington, she opted to become a dancer in New York, a young women that proves both delightfully fierce and artistic, making her way into an all female dance company in the big city.  I sigh with wonder. I may have given her up for adoption while at University so long ago, but her DNA plays a part in placing her in the space in which she lives today.  The fact she studied in Argentina, speaking Spanish, simply completes the biological bookends, Basque et al.

Magic and mystery abounds, almost always.

So tomorrow, this time, when we set sail towards Sicily I'll pray to Calypso, documented as the first feminist, Homer's character of 2800 yrs ago that lived on the isle of Gozo, not far from Malta. 

I've never been in danger of placing a mirror to the nymph's mistakes but departing this patriarchal island and entering a more matriarchal spirit is more than a bit symbolic.

And if Muv was a bit proper, funnily enuf, she luved nothing more than painting La Nu.....

.

We stayed in a cave in Basilicata.

John Hooper@The Guardian has a great article about Matera, a place of caves where people have been living since Paleolithic times.  This place, in Basilicata, in the south, was surreal and a must see for anyone that wants to see what most others don't while living in or traveling throughout Italy.

We didn't stay in this hotel but one similar, in a cave, with a lovely bed, phone and candles.  Prior to falling into a blissful sleep our eyes hung off the window perched high above as the church bells rang and then silence, still, complete silence, like I've only heard in the middle of the Atlantic provided surround sound.

Hopefully I'll hear the same kind of sound on this sail to La Serenissima...

Hamburg teases with dreams of green; a view from their window.

One of the highlights of having a sailboat is meeting new friends along the dock.  Here in Malta, Manuel Marina to be exact, we met a cool couple from Hamburg, Knut and his lovely wife Birgit.  They park their baby across from Madi and come to Malta several times a year to sail the Med. 

Last weekend they came for a sail to Sicily, giving me advice, sympathizing while leaning back and laughing as I varnish in the high heat, then kindly offer a good beer or two aboard their boat before they see me melt my way home. 

Per their promise, they then went home to tease and please me, keeping me posted of news, weather and local environs up north.

Here's a view from their window; a gorgeous garden, a jungle of beauty they call their backyard in Hamburg.  I sigh with wonder at what their eyes see, green with envy...

'bis bald', 'a presto', 'a bientot', soon...

 

Monday to Sunday countdown to sailing away....

Because I felt landlocked for so many months, this simply serves to enhance the elation I'm beginning to feel. Big Time. To see the ETD exist within this week, to decide the date of departure lives on top of my beloved Muv's date of birth simply makes it all the more meaningful.

We're just ripping thru our lists of lists.  The apartment is closing down nicely. We've inventoried the entire boat, serviced the engine, fuel filters, genset, fixing the sump pump, water-maker, servicing the outboard engine that sits on the back of our little red 'tinker'.  We're fixing stuff that need fixing, and stuff always needs fixing on a sailboat, but it's actually fun work, 'cept for the heat.  The humidity makes it feel like Hades, if it weren't so hot we could spend twice the time on MADI.

We're networking for crew, creating websites to outline the itinerary; http://www.madi.altinger.com and I'm just luving MADI...scrubbing, bleaching, applying teak oil and varnish to her everyday and each hour I work aboard my ticket to freedom I reacquaint myself with the past and the transatlantic voyage that brought us here 8 yrs ago.  I find clothing worn once upon a time, letters, notes, documents, books and phone numbers that gently rewind time and remind me of the blessed past that lived back then, as well as the future that awaits our new home, culture and way of life.

For the first time in years, we're gunna be cruising some of the most beautiful places on earth.  We did the Caribbean a decade ago, bought MADI and sailed from San Fran to Seattle.  We've cruised up North from Seattle to Canada many times....serene, green beauty and waterfalls surround, we were lucky to live there and sail up North. 

Back to the present and the gift that shall be Venice.

Yes, soon, La Serenissima but before, we can cruise Croatia's Dalmatian coast...it's supposed to be unspoilt and something else... the coast and Dubrovnik, one of the legs along the way...

The next/new 'American Revolution'; let the silly/scary season begin.

Re recent protests, I thought the revolution would arrive in the form of a financial one. I thought the flavor would have a whiff of 'for the people' rather than 'for the corporate interest', via les lobbyists'.

But then, who are the people?  Are they the older, confused, quasi racist kind that are easily incited by FOX and Limbaugh?  The really racist guys who's brains were broken when Barry became Prez?   Are they the young, activist kids that helped elect Obama?  Are they the 'liberal media', or the propagandists on the right, the progressive bloggers, moderates or what? 

Who are we, 'the people' in America, anyway? What faction of the 350 million souls deserve to have their voices heard above the rest? Can Paul Giamatti save any of these cold souls?

I dunno.  All I do know is that America's prosperity has hit a speed bump. The paperwork is confusing and the verbiage verbose, the litigious environment obvious and overwhelming, the christianists too easily co opted in their righteousness. The precious media vent their agenda, no longer independent, capable of separating fact from fiction or opinion, partially due to the pressure to entertain, or so they say.

The country's diversity is finally and widely represented.  This would be great for we're adroit at assimilation if anything, but now that people are losing jobs, security, maybe, not so great.

America stopped arguing towards the middle long ago but now they not only resent but seem to detest outside advice.  There's an extra dose of bitterness mixed into those pockets of anger and protests, it's overt and valid, even if the arguments are anything but.

So be it, let the silly and very scary season begin.

Dinner parties vs Brightwork

I've been at it for three straight days and several more to follow, and even if the art of varnishing proves beyond my skillset, I have to admit, the process feels not too removed from entertaining friends. 

Putting on a five course dinner for 8 is a cinch for me, as I've done it often, and enjoy every single aspect. Varnishing MADI, in this weather, at 4 hours a stretch, requires manual, strenuous, effort, and though the details may differ, they both require major doses of preparation, known methodology and creativity.  And this time around, I've decided to work work with mahogany colored varnish and clear satin to finish, we'll see, so far, so decent.

The time line may vary; varnishing takes days and weeks, whereas a dinner party or luncheon takes less than a day, if you plan well, including shopping, table and flower arrangement, outside of the 4-6 hr meal. It's not for everyone, but I enjoy the relaxation of the preparation almost as much as the meal and company itself.

Previous experience is key, research is always necessary and a clean base of operation allows for steady parts to fall into play, dictating ease and less effort when improvisation is needed, which is almost always.  Even if I miss giving the odd dinner party, I quite like this varnishing exercise for now.  The heat, not so much, the ability to love MADI, allot.

Brightwork may be an individual sport from front to finish and dinner parties rely upon your guests ability to sing for their supper but they both give me an absolutely immense sense of satisfaction.

Speaking of inspirational....

Lovely notes via cyberspace this am from the US and Italy. 
This pic of Fort Penante, in Limone, Piedmonte.

Movies and Michael Powell; A Matter of Life and Death

I thought Les Chaussons rouges lived at the top of my list of Michael Powell films, alas now, it's A matter of Life and Death. 

So whimsical, allegorical, cinematically creative, and yet, so serious.  All about the emerging relationship btwn the US and Britain circa 46-7, just when the UN was shaping itself up for the future.

This Movie.  This movie makes me think and dream.  Mischievously gorgeous actor Marius Goring and romantic leading man Roger Livesey compete for divinity and take complete control even though the two central characters, played by David Niven and Kim Hunter are supposed to take center stage and represent the 2 countries, respectively.

Marius is anything but Mephistophelean as he plays the French 'Aristo' who lost his head in the revolution. However, rather than appear the sinister character for whom we all know to collect souls, Marius simply collects my heart and plays the part for laughs, even though it's all about life and death and chess and so much more.

This movie. All about revolutions, debate and how the US and UK should unite through marriage for the sake of modernity. Enuf of all that imperialistic nonsense!  Let's move on from the narrow, isolationist ways of America, let's move on!  And let the nations begin to get along, svp?

Such is the kind idea of time.   And what about a perfect accent.  For the first time we have an actor, Marius Goring, providing the perfect French accent.  How odd and adroit and refreshing, he even giggles in Gallic.

So inspiring, what with all its visionary delights, fluidity, fantasy and painterly ways, the matter of life and death allows us to dream and debate and wonder whether love does conquer all....

Anywhere, elsewhere, but here...

Everyday I enviously trip upon some weird and variable weather pattern, anywhere, but here.

For instance, in parts of Europe there's lengthy cool periods interrupted by short but sharply felt heatwaves...in Seattle there's major heat this week, in New York, it's drizzling throughout their mid summer season.

Oh, would I ever KILL for some weird and variable weather! For the past 3 + months it's been raging between 33-39 Celsius which feels like a 120 degrees, compounded with the kind of constant humidity that weighs on the mind and saps me of my ability to write, think, breathe, drink an iced glass of white wine with any pleasure.  It makes me pray for the day that I may leave this tiny, isolated town that is making me go gently mad.

This trend towards going bonkers is aided by the Maltese and their desire to blow off fireworks from 7am to midnite. Almost everyday, we hear pointless, loud, jarring explosions somewhere, for no reason at all, other than some imaginary saint, maybe.  Beer festas, camping trips and constant fireworks fill up much entertainment.

I need to be anywhere but here.

Yesterday, en route to the marina that parks MADI, I passed British shops and pubs, walking atop long stretches of dust ridden sidewalks sans a spec of shade.  These mean streets along the lovely Med have not been cleaned for months and the Sirocco winds keep coming.  Unlike Rome where a light layer of dust came along just every now and then.

So I decide to find myself a reprieve and dip inside to say hi to Mike, a nice Maltese guy that owns the local hardware store where I've made the odd nautical and home purchase.  I told him the floor fan I bought no longer boasts a middle speed.  I use it to spread the air conditioned space for maximum effect as I prefer minimum fake air.  He says, 'bring it on back, I'll fix it'.  But somehow, lugging the floor fan 5 long blocks in reverse, in this heat makes me queasy.  

We chatted. He relayed how hard it was to start his own business, garner trust and gain security in the hood.  He told me about his wife and two kids and how they have everything in common, including 80's music style parties and U2, whom they saw in concert recently, in Dublin.

So i unloaded back about how me and Malta couldn't agree on a single thing.  He concurred and was bemused and confused why any non-Maltese would like to reside in a place that takes care of their locals first.  Their locals are almost all connected by family as practically everyone's related to someone here on the island.

There's probably a reason less than 400 Americans live on this island. This is the kinda place that people come to 'check out', 'hang out' and 'tune into' their own kinda retirement.  Rome was remotely similar and provided some of the same kinda sensations but it also boasted the most affordable and consistently delicious pasta dishes on the planet.  Simple, fine wine was found everywhere and that world weary city was absolutely as grand as Paris, albeit in a completely different way.  But I was bored because I didn't want to teach English or be a guide and that was about 90% of the jobs available to expats, and mio marito was traveling up North for biz as that's where most work occurs in Italy.

So we're moving to Switzerland, where people are dead serious and there's the illusion that work awaits.  I'm delusional enough to dream of the illusion of work once again but as delusional as I am, some of my dreams do come true.  

Anywhere, elsewhere, but here...

And. My less than light mood has been amplified by the fact I've made more visits to the emergency room in the last two weeks than I have in my entire life.  Three to be exact, all due to a local eye allergy, or Blepharitus , as it's better known.  I suppose it's official; I'm allergic to Malta, which is somehow poetic if inconvenient as I must wear my eye glasses all day, which I hate but must wear as I'm legally blind in one eye and need assistance.  They don't stay on while I'm on the Pilates machine, so this simply lends to more frustration towards basic maintenance.

But existing within an acute bubble of boredom does have its benefits; like yesterday for example, I had an epiphany; MADI allows me to escape.  So I must love her more.

Here's a picture I took aboard MADI last winter while sailing to Sicily.  This may be my favorite angle, sailing and drifting away from Malta, which I'll do for the final time, in approximately two weeks. 

This pattern of escape either suggests a cowardly or curious personality, possibly both, preferably the latter.  Or maybe I'm simply reflecting my fellow residents talent for survival as the only way I can survive emotionally, psychologically and aesthetically is to escape Malta and MADI is key to this latest flight.

In 2002, we sailed away from the States aboard MADI. I was inspired to leave a place I loved and experience the European dream, so I did. And now, I can escape and flee Malta, which I hate because me and Malta were never meant to be.  As the warm and kind Maltese like to say, 'you either love it or hate it'.  Si,certo, c'est vrai.  I hate it.  I've time to leave and head up north, via Venice, aboard MADI.

Don't get me wrong, I completely understand why my guy likes this place.  He's the foreigner that loves Malta.  He has a motorcycle, a sailboat and young, fun Maltese guys to crew and enjoy a can of the local brew, Cisk with, I get that.

But, unfortunately, we need to work.   We've invested our precious monies into Malta, however, fate was fickle and less than kind.  The heat's unbearable and one can't wear Issey Miyake in this weather.  At 45, I've learned to acquire my own sense of style.  I've received the blessed nod from Italian and French women in the know, and Malta is not the place for me to wear my style with any comfort or innate sense of joy, which is what I feel when I wear my Issey Miyake.

The heat's not only impacting my ability to dress the way I like to express myself but it's hindering my newfound pledge to provide MADI the TLC she demands, desperately.  I would love nothing more than engaging in the gratifying experience of manual labor, of varnishing the exterior and applying oil and upkeep for the teak and holly interior.

Not in this heat, I'll dabble late evenings this week but with deep apprehension.

Alas, I did not need to persuade mio marito to flee with me, why just this morning he relayed details of his his lovely motorcycle ride from Cannes to Limone and within two days he's visited Zia Ada again in the hospital in Cuneo and immersed himself in the local gossip and political intrigue that abound among the family contacts. 

Soon we'll both be there or somewhere thereabouts...it's so time to sail away...

anywhere, elsewhere, but here....

Concentric circles as we prepare to sail away once again...

I'm pleased and proud to announce the furniture is selling nicely, sofa and chairs disappeared quickly, quite possibly due to less than stellar bartering skills.  Shelves, screens and drawers are still scattered about, waiting for a pair of eyes to fall upon and wish to acquire...

But wouldn't it pretty grand to have MADI sail into Venice with her Italian inspired spinnaker billowing in the wind, heading home for good. 

Well, that's then, but this is now, so prior to fantasizing about our imminent August itinerary, all attention must be spent addressing acquiring quotes as many of MADI's pieces need servicing prior to sail.

Mio marito and his motorcycle exited up north for one industrious week, skidding onto one very large ship, via Palermo and Livorno and he's now safely and happily ensconced in his favorite place in the universe; Limone, Piedmonte.  He'll hit the local and request my documents be sent from Malta to complete my application for Italian passport, then he'll drive down around and check out some of the marina I found while researching and calling ports stretching from Barcelona to Genoa.  I tried diligently but multiple languages were beyond my linguistic reach, proving far less than fluent.

Whichever way we view our current scenario, it would seem we're not far from where we began when making the transatlantic voyage some 8 yrs ago. We do know oh so much more, and this time we'll end up in a business oriented place like Geneva instead of the historically heavy and world weary Rome. 

We're certainly more connected, we've learned at least a thousand lessons, many of which are emblazoned upon the mind.....and now we'll be closer to family as most domicile in Geneva, Northern Italy and the South of France.

Who knows, I certainly don't, I've long since given up control of absolutely anything but I must say it'd be nice to have a job on this side of the pond, earning euro and exercising complete immersion. 

It could happen, but first this skipper has to email another contact with MADI's particulars prepared by the Captain...."aye aye...."

Cronkite and Carson both spoke for one United State of Mind

Whether or not you're a change agent, classicist or traditionalist, Cronkite's passing, like Carson, makes one pause, pine and ponder just why our country no longer swings back towards the middle.

Tony's media campaign for President of EU

Of course, a few issues at hand.

 1) Job doesn't exist.

 2) Job description hasn't been written; scope, deliverables, any particular need of or reason for
     is nowhere to be found. Must be hiding in the same place as the JD.

3) He's not European.

 But listen, why waste time with tedious particulars when Tony wants to be Prez of EU.

At least Steve Bell makes me laugh about it...

White Men vs The Real World

Obama's Prez, Oprah and Ellen are tv talk queens.  Counties like Santa Clara in California have residents speaking Spanish, Chinese, Farsi and Hindi, basically anything other than English, more diverse than the Metropolitan region of Miami.

How far have we come, baby?

Pompidou in Paris showcases an all women show, finally, the largest of its kind. We've come a long way but nice to note the quote from 1989 by a group of women plastering posters across New York. "Do women have to be naked to get into the Met?"

Makes me grateful but nostalgic, thinking of the predecessor to the Women's Tennis Association, Virginia Slims. 

When I was a kid, I played competitive tennis.  As a ranked player in the PNW you got to be 'ball girl' when Virginia Slims came to town.  I ran after those yellow balls enthusiastically for Chris Evert and Navratilova, etc, it was such fun but not without its odd moments.

Whenever we had a break we'd view the matches from the isles. One night someone came up quietly behind me and asked for the score. She had a deep, 'female' voice and as I turned around I found my 13 yr old face inches away from Renee Richards, the controversial player who'd undergone a sex change.  No wonder I went on to direct Drag Shows in Seattle. 

But I digress.

It's 2009 and we've come a long way....even if I currently live in a country, a member of the EU, where both abortion and divorce are illegal, and unlike all other EU members, abortion is absolutely illegal under all conditions. GO DIRECTLY TO JAIL, DO NOT PASS GO.  Well, at least the women aren't stoned to death.

It simply makes me enjoy the american activists blogs a bit more, like Tennesseeguerillawomen, reminds me of the fight.   I was lucky to grow up around smart, strong women, like Muv, like cousins that became Superior Court Judges, growing up with close friends w/mother who lived on the lists like Who's Who of Women in America. They worked it, not relying upon sexuality, but instead, their intelligence, their femininity, c'est vrai, one works with what they've been given.

Hefner, Lolita and Dorothy Parker's review of Nabokov circa '58

Hugh Hefner acquires serial rights, but I've mixed feelings, like many, after reading so much ado about Nabokov's unfinished work.

Rewinds my mind to the time I read Dorothy Parker's review of Lolita. I'll go back to my portable DP, the other DP and capture some of Ms. Parker's review for your purview.

For Esquire, in '58, she starts by outlining the publishing troubles, in England, Paris, etc, then quotes one review by the English critic, John Gordon, of the London Sunday Express, "Without doubt it is the filthiest book I ever read.  Sheer unrestrained pornography."

Ms. Parker begins; "I do not think that Lolita is a filthy book. I cannot regard it as pornography, either sheer, unrestrained, or any other kind.  It is the engrossing, anguished story of a man, a man of taste and culture, who can love only little girls.  They must be between the ages of nine and fourteen, and he calls them nymphets." 

The middle bits focus on Lolita, "She is a dreadful little creature, selfish, hard, vulgar, and foul-tempered.  He knows that he knows all of what she is.  That the knowledge cannot turn away his obsession with her is his agony.  An anguished book, but sometimes, wildly funny, as in the saga of his travel across and around the United States with her; and in the account of that trek are descriptions of the American hinterlands that Sinclair Lewis could never touch."

Then she heads towards the end with "It is in its writing that Mr. Nabokov has made it the work of art that it is...his command of the English language is absolute, and his Lolita is a fine book, a distinguished book-all right, then-a great book. And how are you, John Gordon, Esq., of the London Sunday Express?"

This, I find, is the difference between reading a 'thrilling modern critic' critique the world  by keeping it average, like Ellsworth Toohey, and reading one writer's adroit review of another, so verily well.

The new N-word, exposing the man behind the curtain and elsewhere around the sphere.

Phil Bronstein notes the irony of Vanity Fair revealing Palin's Narcissistic personality disorder.  Most people could define Palin's personality in a myriad of ways, but almost all would agree she's fierce. Although perhaps more in the order of a Guy Ritchie movie; a fast moving romp with more attitude than content.