Restaurant Day arrives in Zurich!

It’s the 19 of May 2012 and getting up at the first light of a promising day, I just grab a yogurt: we have a big, long, fat day in front: RESTAURANT DAY first time in ZURICH!

I find this is sinply a great idea. One of those things that alike couchsurfing or bookcrossing, just makes me believe in human nature again. Ah sorry, but I did not tell you yet how it works. So basically you register on the website and decide to turn your flat into a restaurant: choose what to cook, a opening time and a price and that’s it, people you don’t know will just come to eat at your place. Isn’t it awesome? Since I take things always quite seriously, I came home from work with printouts ordered in an opening time sequence: I am going for a marathon!!! Obviously being the first time I attend such event, I want to get a good feeling of it trying out different places, and thanks God I got some  good stomach company! (anyway I don’t have friends on diet, or better, people on diet are not my friends!) First stop at 12.00 me and Neil we go to discover what a “folzschnitten” is. I tried to google it, but the results weren’t satisfying, so I need to see it with my own eyes, or better my taste buds want to! We arrive in a lovely garden with benches populated by young couples with kids. The table cloth is a long drawing sheet where we can express our creativity (the 2 years old kid next to me is with no surprise a much better artist) coffee is good and the dish is yummy (Neil particularly impressed by the rhubarb that comes with it). Most important is that everyone is just very friendly so we enjoy the chat. We move on to another sweet pit-stop with tasty cakes (one above all the florida key lime pie) great: plenty of new ideas for my own cooking challenges! Then we get Mark on board and move to apero time in the garden. Two great chefs as hosts serving gourgeous stuff and fresh lemonade! And untill here we get the company of Nina and Jonas: reporter and photographer witnessing this day (their plan is even more ambitious than ours: 12 stops and biking in between!). 19.00 and it’s time for tabouleh! In this flat they took seriously the restaurant concept with 3 nice little tables like in a small trattoria -Herzig! After a second pit-stop we close this day with a visit to the Ron’s Trattoria (it’s actually thanks to Ron if I discovered this initiative! http://www.ronorp.ch): we are too late for the spaghetti, but we get a free painting exposition, music and the beer cost simply as much as you want to give!

The great b-side effect of all this wanderig and eating is actually getting lost and discover new part of the city I have never been to! I can go to bed with a nice feeling: mankind is generous and open, good job Zurich! And who knows, maybe at the next date I am gonna open a restaurant too!

http://www.restaurantday.org

a look at 2011 with redroom

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2011 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

The concert hall at the Sydney Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 22.000 times in 2011. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 8 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.

Click here to see the complete report.

stasera

Che serata perfetta per scrivere. Che luce c’è qui sotto casa mia, con questo campanile che si staglia contro un celeste pastoso. Un celeste che durerà pochissimo, perchè già lo scuro mantello cala da sopra e diventa notte. Caldo al punto giusto, finalmente.

Per testimoniare che si puo scrivere anche senza pensare. Davvero. Le mie alternative erano comunque: piegare il bucato, mettere a posto fatture o guardare la tv.

A volte vorrei che il mio pensiero fosse cosi avanti da collegarsi wireless e postare direttamente tutte le frasi che ho in testa.

Sapore di estat, ma è solo il ripieno, la scorza è ancora tutta primavera. Pioggia appena asciugata dietro l’angolo. Stivali che ancora non ho deciso di mandare in licenza per quest’anno.

C’è qualcosa nei volti delle persone in questa piazza, che aspettano il tram… c’è un sentore. C’e persino una coppia che si e seduta sulle sedie di plastica bianche davanti alla chiesa e sta bevendo un bicchiere di vino che si è portata da casa. Quando non si ha un giardino, la città è il tuo giardino. E questo giardino sembra fatto apposta per far pascolare i miei pensieri. Che bella serata. Esattamente al confine tra giorno e sera, camminando su questo sottile e fragilissimo limite. La condivido solo con voi.

funny marketing

Coming back from Cardiff recently, I was impressend on how funny advertisments can be in other countries. Why are we so boring? In italy is just about showing boobs, if you can show boobs even to promote an adhesive pasta for dental plate, sure you’ll see it.

The best example is that famous commercial about silicon for shutters and house frames where there is a nice lady sleeping totally naked, not even covered with bed lines, since the house is so well isolated there is no draft at all coming to disturb her sweet dreams!

In the German speaking countries it’s all about quality and carachteristics of the products, it’s all so descpriptive, they are so precise, even all the commercials about medical stuff tell slowly and with well pronounced words the counter-indications (while in Italy they just cut it short in one indistinguishable, conglomerated-all-together squeak, and then, of course, straight to the boobs again! even for mediactions? come on, you know me and writing by now, right?).

So my welsh bottled water had a tag that said:”Better when chilled, as indeed we all are!”, then I bought some makeup that has one whole side of the package covered with this convincing speech: “Made by a unique British brand. Worn by those who refuse to be everybody. Bring a room to its knees without saying a word. Each of these glorious colours make a statement that’s as individual as you are. Highly pigmented, these lasting colours ensure all-night intensity.” Emphatic ah? Kind of almost scary the power of this little box in my hand. Surely if you are not really good in how to use it the result might become devastating. Sort of drag queen effect? Defenetly the room would look at you though…

All thirilled about my theathrical new look, I then bought a pair of jeans just because on the tag was listed the versatility of this piece of art-cloth. I quote: “Good for: hot nights out, speed dating, shimmy killer heels, curled up on the sofa, crazy karaoke, office strut.” Wow! I am gonna rock, I feel like I want to buy the whole shop here! See, this is inspired shopping!

Funny things that happened i marketing but the did not mean to be: Pepsi’s “Come alive with the Pepsi Generation” was translated into “Pepsi brings your ancestors back from the grave”, in Chinese.

read more here.

 

bis-sex-tile year, 29th February 2012

Today is a day which does not really exist. Is matematically the sum of some spare hours and minutes of our past 4 years life. Is like preparing a dish with left overs. In the end of course put all in to the oven and it can result in a great thing (like an italian pasta al forno as my grandma used to do, for example)! Is a magic day somehow. Is the collage of forgotten pieces, instants that we did not live, moments we forgot. And here we put them all together. Is a great patchwork of emotions, potentially. But how many of you thought of it in these terms? Today I tried to condense a lot of emotions in my day. Especially I looked back at those neglected minutes. I sat and stayed in silence. I felt. I heard. I experienced. Then I collected all of it. Is like when you postpone something for long, which finally you have to face. Maybe is an effort at first but then is a relief. All those discarded feelings, and hours, and inner voices I ignored. All here today. The last 365 days actually where quite dense of those. All ghosts which are not scary anymore, no pain, no regret. Page turned.

I was reborn on February 29th.

CURIOUS RANDOM FACTS ABOUT:

Wikipedia told me that in Ireland women may propose marriage only on leap years. I discovered it too late, now is already 22.24 and I did not find a husband. Fiuuuuhhhh I can give myself another 4 years! That’s a great excuse.

Only in Sweden, the year 1712 had also February 30th. Now someone explain me how did they do it. And also when did they cancel one normal day so that they could catch up with the rest of the world afterwords. But above all: WHY?!

Anno bisestile thanks to the Romans means litterally a year where the 6th day (before the March calendae, so In February) is repeated twice (bis), and they used to put it after the 24th.

Best wishes to all the leapers today. A very special and loud Happy Birthday, which may count for 4.

If you ask me, I elect 29th of February the international day of bi-sexual people. Don’t look at me: is in the name! Even though tolerance should be celebrated a bit more often…

Futura

Oggi mi farei proprio un bel pianto. Uno di quelli ormonali, illogici. E tutto il giorno che c’ho sto groppo. E poi mi veine voglia di scappare. Io che quando sono triste prenoto un viaggio.

Io che sono sempre piu convinta, senza ogni dubbio, che la tristezza e i sentimenti struggenti sono il vero motore dell’arte perchè se guardo a questo anno passato tutte le volte che le dita hanno toccato la sabbia sul fondo, ne hanno pescato qualcosa. Ma quando si galleggia in superficie c’è molto meno da raccontare, forse pare così perche è tutto più banale.

Io, che invece di organizzare il supermeeting, guardo dalla finestra e vedo il gatto nero che pascola, sempre nello stesso punto del prato, ogni giorno, anche con la neve, e poi mi chiedo: ma quando tra poco arrivano le mucche? E’ per caso lui un gatto pastore? Io che mi faccio ridere da sola.

Io che mi alzo la mattina convinta di non aver bisogno di nessuno e vado a letto la sera che non ci credo piu tanto, perche alla fine sarebbe bello abbandonarsi tra le braccia di qualcuno invece di fare sempre la superdonna.

Mi viene da dire vai a quel paese, non a te, piuttosto a quella immagine di te che abita nella mia mente. Ma poi tu tanto non sai leggere l’italiano.

Io che voglio prendere tutte le decisioni e tutte le colpe delle mie scelte. Io che mia figlia la chiamerò Futura (come nella canzone), o qualcos’altro di strano preso dalla mia lista dei nomi dei miei figli che compilo dall’eta di 16 anni.

Io che sono un po strega e che oggi lo sapevo che quella cosa li sarebbe andata male, e infatti lo é.

Io che poi quando ormai mi arrendo che la giornata va come vuole, mi trovo a stare per dieci minuti a cercare di aprire quella maledetta busta per gli ortaggi davnti al banco del supermercato, con quei due lembi appiccicati e trasparenti che non si vogliono separare e io che lecco dita e sfrego, e strofino, e niente.

Io che mi voglio bene, e che alla fine mi basterò, mi basterò perchè mi devo bastare, finchè il destino si compie, e se non si compie lo faccio compiere io. Finchè arriva Futura.

P. Renner typeface, 1927

I hate S. Valentine

San Valentino was a poor bishop of the 1st century who was beheaded at the venerable age of 97. And that’s all. Even for a martyr he had it not too bad.

Tell me what is there to celebrate today? I truly believe that love is something that does not need a special day to be remembered, cause if you love someone everyday is a celebration, love is everywhere and should be in anything around us. But, the real reason why I hate San Valentine’s day is because is the feast of a minority. Feast days should not be discriminating among human beings!!! Furthermore because singles deserve as much love as the others, or more, even! Come on especially nowadays singles rule the world!

Therefore I frown at all the flowers which will be circulating tomorow increasing the production of CO2 in the environment; at all the chocolate that will be eaten and then transformed in fatty cells in the woman’s tighs so that she can blame him for having given her a sign of this love (in the end I almost could conclude the theory with LOVE= makes you fat!), at all the jewellery that will be bought and then end up unused (cause when you break up you can’t wear it anymore! Believe me and the beautiful pearl pendent with my name hand written by a chinese artisan in micro charachters, which lies at the bottom of my jewel box abandoned!!!). I frown at all this consumption of goods which transforms in consumption of the precious and beautiful and meaningful things which feelings are, in the end.

Yes ok, you say maybe I am just another unhappy sour single… But even as a coupled-person I hated this day. I hate that we need to feel obliged to do something about it, as a social imposed rule.

Whatever! I am going out celebrating with my friends, which are the most important love filling up my life at present time.

reached quota 141 with: “the first of my ex who is getting married”

Here we are. 141 posts. Not bad. I auto-shake my hand mentally. I actually do sometimes weird things like shaking my own hand for real, after I accomplish some great thought… but I am writing now, so need to use my hands to type. Actually only my colleagues and those who know me well, know that I actually type 90% of everything with just the 2 index fingers. And bet, I am super fast! Ops, now everyone knows…

Anyway, 141. I guess this makes me a writer. At least just for the fact of having typed all those characters I am a writer in the true meaning of it. But I like to consider myself a writer also ideaologically. And then, are we writers only when people do actually read us??? let’s leave it aside for now, cause it’s one of those topic like “the tree that falls in the forest does it produce noise if no one hears?”, enigmatic and never-ending-discussion-opener type of thing.

141. And the topic is love. Once again. Or better the love I don’t have, rather.

One week ago B. writes me an email (and I should specify, it wasn’t to invite me and neither to communicate the news in th first place, was to answer something I asked him. But still, counts. Plus, I like to state that me and B. are in good terms after 3 years apart.) and in between other lines, telling this and that he pulls off that he is getting married this summer!

GULP! The best i can do here is to borrow this from the onomatopeic world of the comic books.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, this has nothing to do with still-open-scars or love-revivals. No, no, no. this is just the sort of things that put the whole world magically on “pause” while you turn head around left, then right, observe and then end asking yourself the question. It is not jealousy, nor regret, neither melancholy, nostalgy, sadness… None of these, all the adjective of the world are useless for once! In my writer’s tool box nothing can help. This is just a mixed feeling. Can’t describe it and also quite fugitive cause it last the time of a twinkle. We can only sum it up in the big interrogative. And the queston is: “AND ME? WHERE AM I???”. (editor’s note: here read as if question marks are in bold 36 pts).

That’s it. We love someone, very much. Then we break up, don’t ven remember exactly when, how or why. we just have a vague list of reasons we thought we listed somewhere on a wall of our mind. And we have our current life in our hands. that’s it. That’s all we have. While someone very important in our past is getting married. And I mean someone with whom we actually imagined several times of getting married. (note that women do actually imagine their own wedding at least once a week, with different partners usually met in the streets, the milkman, the postman, David Beckham smiling at them from the D&G underwear commercial covering the city… and so on. But these don’t count. Only when your partner imagine that with you as well, at least once, then it counts. Cause is the imagination of 2 together. Sustained by love.) And then suddenly (suddenly, what the hell! 3 years have passed of course! And people… But in this fraction of a second semms yesterday) he gets married. Without you. And you wonder where you are gone.

You know. I am honest. I wish for myself this. In this moment more than ever. I wish myself love that doesn’t fade. I wish myself big love again. NOW! I WANT IT!! GIVE IT TO ME!!!     (…)      (-nothing happened… yet. Is just me and the laptop here. Not even my new iphone 4S with Siri application when i express my feelings for him answers back. He is sceptical and most of the time says “I bet you say this to all your Apple products”. He doesn’t want to marry me either. He responds can only look for businesses, maps and traffic in the USA, and that I have to speak US English with him and marriage is not covered by the User Licensing Agreement. CRAP!)

But also I wish B. so. Really. I do wish him all the good things I wish for myself. Cause that’s what we do with those we have loved.

Let me quote Camus: “Non essere amati è una semplice sfortuna; la vera disgrazia è non amare.”

PS.

This clearly opens a season. Approaching 30s and that’s the time for my friend’s generation! I started to be invited to weddings last summer… tic tac… is normal to think about it. Especially after this weekend when I went to the Carnival celebration in Ticino and I was surrounded by pople making out. All over. They were everywhere! For God’s sake!

the hermit crab (la pagura)

I guess critics come with exposure, so I shall accept them normally. I was thinking about that recently, the context is related to some small events I organised for glocals (glocals.com – the expat web community of Zurich and other cities in CH), which apparently are succesfull and beloved… and criticised. It’s funny sometimes to see how people can freak out about stupid small details, but also a bit worrying, if you ask me. Instead of making a fuss about how wrong you think I do it, why don’t you just do it yourself???

I am fine with critics, but I ponder over them and I listen to them, is not that I can say i don’t care.  Anyway wandering around in the land of my thoughts i was trying to find a good metaphor for my state of mind and there, on the beach of my immense sea of fantasy i met a hermit crab! There you go! I am like you.  (Let’s just remember that one of the most famous specimen in history of this crustacean family is Mr Sebastian from the Little Mermaid -Disney, so something to be proud of if you are as wise as him!) I never leave my mobile house of sorrows, thoughts, believes and fears, but I do go out, I exit from it from time to time and look outside. Being a hermit crab gives you the opportunity to explore a bit without getting lost. Makes me feel safe but free. I like to be exposed, I like to be appreciated, i like to be seen, I like to be read (especially). And comments come with it, it’s a fact. But then sorry, today i am just going to bow out, recede into my house-shell and give ground to the criticisers for once.

MARINE DIGRESSION- Rapidly calculating that as a kid in the about 500 hours I spent snorkeling every summer of my childhood, I met a lot of them. Actually there were several summers in which i used to fish lots of limpets (patelle) and then crack them with my nude theeth and either eat them after a little wash up in the salty water or release them open again in the sea, to see all the fish coming and devouring it. Then there were the days of the jellyfish hunting, but not every summer though, cause the moe or less presence depended on the water temperature. Anyway there was a year there were so many that we almost could not swim, or could swim only super vigilant wearnig goggles with goggling eyes inside. And the water was trangely stinging just swimming nearby all those jellys… Then we used to fish them out and bury them in the sand.

For the records – I found plenty of forums that discuss if Sebastian is a loabster or a crab. I obviously decided he is a crab.

http://wwwdubiousyawp.blogspot.com/2009/02/sebastian-crab-or-lobster.html

PS

Saluti ai miei amici marinari di vongole e merluzzi.

http://vongolemerluzzi.wordpress.com/

How to spend it

SUBTITLED: THE MONEY WE DON’T HAVE

Just now, few hours to year end I want to write about this for a precise reason: I wish to ideally kick 2011 in the ass and send it far away in the corners of memory, because 2011 is the year of crisis – and was a bad year for me too not only monetary wise-.

It was a friday afternoon some weeks ago when I was slowly approaching the end of the day, I was tidying up my desk, postponing the filing of millions of papers for the umpteenth time, unable to find the will to do it and just piling them in an overloaded folder, I entered my boss office to check if there was anything else he needed and while wishing me a good weekend he hands me over a glossy magazine: “Laura, something for your train ride”. It was one of those moment when the few remaining hours between me and the weekend start were loaded with all the burden of an intense working week.

After the last effort, I switch off the computer, finally leave the office premises, get on the train and open the magazine. And there I am, with my wavering mood of the friday afternoon, I find myself in front of the Friday edition of the Financial Times which is called -in all fairness outrageously- “How to spend it“. Well there we go, My boss reads daily the FT and also the Wall Street Journal, and even though he is a top manager he is totally down to earth and also the best boss I ever had (let me add, just in case he ever finds out about my blog!). But there I found myself offended also in his name, by the fact that the editorial staff of FT is obviously giving for granted that only people that not only have money but also are disgustingly snobbish read their paper! Moreover this magazine is not a normal size A4 but is more an A3, like a slap in the face of the monetary austerity and is a 62 pages of pure and only luxus goods.

Just after the cover even far before the index there is a 2 page advertisement of a Chanel watch, as big as my face. Follows another 2 pages dedicated to a mobile phone I clearly have never heard of called VERTU (FYI I was trying to find out prices online now and I just can understand they fluctuate between the thousands of euros). Finally after another Louis Vuitton watch we get to the index. In total, out of 62 pages, 12 are about watches, followed by jewels, luxury cognac, clothes, prohibitive holiday destinations, leather chairs and finally a few lines. They even bothered to write down a piece of article!

Well, don’t get me wrong, I perfectly know that the world is populated by rich people too… but lately I happened to notice more and more their big cars in the streets while wondering if their owners do pay taxes in my poor country… Also I think it’s a sensitive time when we reflect on how unbalanced are distributed wealth and power, the rich people are just grasping more and more for themselves, while middle class get poorer. So wasn’t really my favourite reading.

I turned the last page with a smile cause i had no other choice, I assume, unless I win the lottery tomorrow. I am not one of them and I don’t wish to be if this means being the dumb public of such a magazine. In the end I find it quite hilarious and honestly speaking there is even something i would save among their superficial shiny empty contents. There is a good writer, a female reporter who has a very funny and brilliant dedicated column called: “Chronicles of a spa junkie”. Of course she tells stories about places and things we can only dream about. But she doesn’t sound posh. I also wish I was a succesfull writer who gets paid to get scrubbed and rubbed down every second day!

Check it here:

http://www.howtospendit.com/#!/articles/6330-chronicles-of-a-spa-junkie