Day#2

We end up waking up at 3.30 with much of our disdain. I could solve to sleep more, but my father, slightly unrespectful of other's sleep, keeps on talking and complaining about why he can't sleep and blah blah blah. My tireness saves me and I immediately fall back asleep for about two hours more.

I go out for breakfast. That should really sound weird, but I confess I never drank a coffee from those big plastic glasses, so, why don't try it out?
I ask for a cappuccino and a croissant (way too easy, except for the fact that we say "brioche") and start drink..hey, I can't understand how to drink from it!
No holes, no pressure points, nothing. And all the people around me drinks as it was the most natural thing to do. Well, not for me maybe!


So I just remove the cap and drink it as it was a coke. For sure that's NOT a cappuccino. Please come to Italy and I'll let you drink what IS a cappuccino. You won't forget. A whole different story.

I have a walk before meeting back my father and, out of my will, I find myself at Times Square. Wow, that's impressive. I mean, that's really nothing in reality. Buildings, lights, shops and people. Nothing having more than 80 years, but stunning anyway. Maybe we saw it on tv too many times, making it a "must see" place. Who knows. I enjoy anyway my walk there. I like cities for this reason, though.

My father joined the others of the Terramia group (the one we joined to come here) for a brief "briefing" and warm up in Central Park. Now, the group, leaded not by an unknown guy, but the one who, 25 years ago won the Marathon a couple of times (him) calls a "warm up" what, for a normal person, with a normal training as my father is a running for their lives. So, as soon as they say "let's go!", they rushes away as they had some mad dog chasing their heels. And my father has just to keep on running at his rhythm.
Plus, it's not really a good idea to go for a jog without eating nothing than a slice of bread with marmalade. As consequence, he feel weak and sick, overtalkative (I heard him saying "I don't know if I will run on Sunday", to which I promptly replied "WHAAATTT????", this makes him immediately change his thinking) and sleepy.


Before going back to hotel we have to go to Jacob Javits Center to pick up the number and other marathon things. We're pretty lucky cause not many people decided to do this key operation. The woman at the desk call my father "Albert" when checking his passport. He laughts at her.

Then we decide to take a look at the Empire State Building.
Now, call me ignorant and you'll be right, but I ALWAYS thought that the ESB was what actually was the Chrysler Building. It looked so familiar.
Anyway. There's a long queue just to get into the building. A queue that lasts just for 10 minutes.
"oh good" we think, unaware of what's waiting for us inside there. Queues, queues and queues.
Queue before the security control. Queue before the tickets. Queue for the picture (heavily photoshopped, we didn't buy it). Queue to get into the elevator. But just to 80th floor!
We then decide to open a door and go by the stairs on the remaining six floors. Then we reach the top!

What a sight! And what a lot of people there. It looked like the time we went over the chapel in Rome. So many people that it's hard even to look outside. But when we do it, the sight deserves the two hours of waiting. Camera out and pictures to every direction. Far away there's the Statue of Liberty (that we're visiting tomorrow).
So Cristian put his butt over Empire State Building too. Oh Oh.

I decide then to leave my father at the hotel and take a look around. Camera-freem hands in pocket and mp3 overloaded with Death Metal, I go around by myself, thinking that:

a) I never get lost
b) the guide-guy told us "if you're lost, just ask a cop, they're friendly with tourists".


The first shop I get in is something I actually looked for on the internet before leaving: A guitar shop.
Oh my.
Oh MY!
The heaven of Fender basses. Oh My..
Too bad I'm not there for a Fender. I'd like something different, since I need more strings for my equipment, but the sight is really stunning. I'd stay hours just looking those pieces of art.

Anyway, I get out of there and head to a shop that many people suggested me: B&H.
It's not that common here to see a Jewish dressed like a...Jewish, you know, the little hat, long beard, glasses (it seems ALL of them has some sight problem) and those two long hair on their head side. But here, here is totally another story. I never saw so many of them in a row.
I wonder, why they all look the same? Really, they all look the same. Same hair colour, same clothes (but this must be due their religion..) same beard-type. If it wasn't for the badge saying their names I could think I talked to the same person all the time. Weird.


Anyway, that's a preview visit, since my ideas about what I need are still not clear, so I leave and go back at the hotel where my father surely recovered from his sport-coma.

He did. Looking a human being and not as he wrecked from the Titanic like a couple of hours before.
We decide to have dinner. A friend of mine suggested a place called Friday's. Now, I thought it was ONE place. Not a whole chain of restaurants. But that's another story.
This place looks really nice and the people there is friendly and speaking a slow-enough english.
My father choose french fries and nothing more. He's not hungry yet. This jet-lag is playing bad tricks. I have two hamburgers with onion rings. Ok, I can't kiss any girls tonight but that's ok.

A brief walk after dinner along Times Square and we go back at the hotel.


TV is quite strange in America. Really. I thought that Italian TV is really bad. And still think that. But American tv goes really close.
Take in example the election day.
There were several spots about New Jersey candidates (Christie and Corzine) and those for NYC new major. Bloomberg, Thomson and Daggett.
Well, they all said THE SAME THINGS.
"More jobs, less taxes, less waste". Everybody could have said that, cause everybody SAID that.

Plus, and this is the biggest difference between American TV with the Italian one, they really mudded their opponents without any morality.
In example.
Christie said "Corzine had the highest unemployement rate, raised the taxes and wasted one million dollar". Could you figure out what Corzine said in his spots?
Exactly the same.
And the same happened for Daggett, Bloomberg and Thompson.


Here's different. Berlusconi says that the left-wing are communists and want to enstablish the reign of Evil with him as saviour of our beloved motherland. Maybe we're more surrealistic.

On tv there's baseball. A sport that, along with football, I never understood. But we soon get quite touched by Yankees Vs Philly (I think my father secretely supports Yankees) but, after an hour asking each other "why he had to go out?" we both fall asleep as dead pigs, waiting for our visit to the Statue of Liberty.

And tomorrow is another day.

Yes! I'm back!
I wouldn't say "finally", since I enjoyed my trip very much and liked all the things I saw.
I'm still a bit confused about eating, sleeping and all the things usually connected to jetlag. I'm writing a full "story" and still have to join all the pictures I took (about 700..I think).

All I can say in advance is that New York (I won't talk about USA for obvious reasons) is somehow something I expected when talking about sighseeing and that famous "skyline", but when talking about people, habits and "clichès" that becomes a different story.

I knew that was an impressive concentration of lives and words and somehow made me change my thinking about a big city like that.

Anyway, I need to re-organize my thoughts, clothes and (mostly) pictures. It will take a long while.

It's nice to be back, though.

So Cristian, how would you say "yes" in English?

"hmmmm" [shaking head vertically]

And what about "no"?

"hmmmm" [shaking head horizontally]

And what about "thank you"?

"Just say 'grazie', smile and show your palm" [even if I thought about that time that I taught my colleague how to say "good appetite" and it began with F....]

And what about "hello"?

"just say 'hey'.."

So, my father is ready for conquest the new world. Does he need something else?

In the meantime back to italian things.

It seems  the band..no, the guitarist, forced for including Spellbound by Lacuna Coil in our set. Good enough the song is quite easy to learn and, for his conceirning, he saw that the guitarists use a 7-strings guitar oh oh oh.
So having a string less them makes me feeling less alone now ah ah ah.
Anyway, tomorrow we're going to try it out and see if Excitodream vs Lacuna Coil is a victory or a drawn match (no, we never lose).

And also, the apartment I had to visit today. It wasn't possible to go there because the owner had some problem and blah blah. Not that bad. I wasn't in the mood and had many things to think about.

Writing a list of things and their minimum prices here, in example. Then I can compare it with prices in USA and see if my suitcase can host some further "things".

And also. Will a phone like mine work in USA? And will a phone purchased in USA working here? (that's hypothetical).
And what about credit card? I'm not going to use it extensively. All the people I know that have been in America told me that "americans use credit card for everything!"

Oh really?

I just used it...four times I think. And that's more than enough for eight years of "partnership".

I think my new-old camera has a terrible problem.
You know, as a car that doesn't move, or a pen that doesn't write, my camera doesn't shot pictures.
Let's put it like that. I shot for a week pictures all around and what I got is...nothing.
Nothing but a long, blank, empty and useless strip of film.

In the meantime I really need a power-adapter for my european devices in order to work in americaland...

And my father's getting really nervous...

Sitting on the dentist's chair is indeed a very intimate moment. How many people looks inside your mouth on purpose?
Looking into people's mouths is kind of a timeless taboo. Men look at women everybody-knows-where and women too. But when somebody says "I look at eyes, this, that and mouth" we don't really think "oh this one stares directly deep inside there..". Not very realistic, right?
Lips are the last border where our eyes usually stop. Staring at people while talking or eating directly into their mouths is something our morality immediately comes into play ordering us to STOP doing it. Because is wrong. Because it's disgusting.

And how many of us would allow our significant other to look at our teeth or whatever we have in there? Not many of us, right?
Mouth is our way to communicate with the world but also the most secret place our body has (and, if you're thinking to another secret place...well...you're right, and somebody showed it can hide several things, watches, rings etc...Pulp Fiction teaches..but we're into a different..hole...today...) and I really don't envy dentists who have to deal with that every given day.
Sure, they are used to and, after a while, they don't see "teeth" or "gums" but "6th" "7th" or "fillings". They just give a name to something rotten, destroyed and broken, making it looking a bit better, or at least "standable" at their eyes and personal resistance.

If you had to choose, what would you do? Dentist or surgeon?
Considering the absolute impossibility of a death under dental surgery and the, let's say, 20% of chances of death of the patient for a normal, routine, surgery. What would you do? Arguments about wages, prices, money and bonus are not allowed... 
Cutting the patient with your scalpel or drilling his teeth with his eyes pointing directly into yours?

I don't look at my dentist when I'm there. I prefer not to watch and just close them. My dentist anyway is a kind person. He has all the good things a dentist should have.

1. Calm. Nobody wants a sadistic-looking guy who get overexcited when seeing a drill.
2. Smily. Yes, there's no need to be serious when me it's enough.
3. He looks like somebody I know. I always do comparisation with people. And he looks like him, Emanuele Umberto Reza Ciro Renè Maria Filiberto di Savoia. Descendent of the royal family. He would have been the king, if we didn't opted for the far less exhausting burden of being a Republic, in other words.

But my dentist is far more funny.

And more. I bet most of you prefer a male dentist. I tell you why.
Whatever you are, woman, man or both, a male dentist would be the best solution and, even if you aren't a closet misoginist, you'll agree with the fact that your unconscious will cheer up when seeing him greeting you at the door.
Why I say that? Well, several reasons.

A male doctor is supposed to be prepared to see everything. Not that a female dentist won't. But we'd prefer to show our weak, dirty and disgusting meanders of our mouths to a man. Disgusting a woman is something bad. Kinda "oral gentlemanship" with good peace of all the hidden (unvolountary) meanings behind that.

A man wouldn't chit-chat with friends saying "oohhh, there was this sexy gorgeous woman at the studio on thursday morning and she had walrus-like teeth!".
Perhaps, involountarily, a female-dentist would tell her friends about that "living greek-statue on her chair having The Reign of the Rottens into his mouth". People are people.

Do you prefer a male sadistic dentist or a female one?
Hundred percent male! When a man acts like that it goes just 90% of his sadisticness. A woman will go straight up to 150%. No way then!

And, with this, I want to assure all of you that I'm not a misoginist, since I went to that studio thinking that the female doctor (the Head of the studio) would operate on me.

Plus, I was brought up by a harsh feminist...

Post in italiano dopo tanto tempooooo!!

Permettiamo solo al dentista di guardarci in bocca. E' un dato di fatto questo, vero? La bocca è l'ultimo dei tabù. Lasciamo che le altre persone guardino come siamo vestiti, che scarpe abbiamo o che taglio di capelli c'è sulla nostra testa, ma nè noi, nè loro, osiamo oltrepassare le labbra e guardare in bocca agli altri.
Perchè è brutto, "non si fa" e fa schifo.
Il disgusto è quello che la fa da padrone. In fondo non c'è luogo più segreto del nostro corpo che non sia la bocca (e se pensate ad un altro buco..bè, posso dire di essere d'accordo...ma non è di questo che parliamo ora) e, paradossalmente, è ciò che ci serve a comunicare col mondo.

Le cose quindi sono due. O i dentisti sono guidati da una sana e samaritana passione per il lavoro che fanno, oppure sono guidati da una sana e consapevole libidine per il denaro facile.
E non posso biasimarli. Quante sono le vittime di innesti o otturazioni dentarie rispetto a quelle di trapianti di cuore o semplici appendiciti?
Perlomeno non c'è il rischio di trovarsi in bocca il rolex preziosissimo del chirurgo alla fine dell'operazione.
Che poi, una cosa è guardare un dente marcio, una carie nera come il petrolio o banchi di tartaro spessi come la banchisa polare. Un altro è parlare di "abluzione del 6o inferiore con otturazione". Sentite la poesia?

Un'altra cosa. La preferenza verso dentisti maschi è evidente. Sia per gli uomini che le donne. Perchè un uomo? Bè. questo non andrà a spettegolare con gli amici dicendo "c'era una ragazza bellissima con un dente marcio e spaccato..", mentre siamo sicuri che, con le amiche, una dentista parlerà sicuramente di quel bronzo greco a cui in settimana ha devitalizzato un dente conciato come una cloaca maxima. Sono persone anche loro.

Il dentista che si eccita al solo suono del trapano è abbastanza spaventoso, lo ammetto. Ma che dire di UNA dentista? Una donna sadica mi fa più paura di un uomo. Poco ma sicuro.
Chissà che, memore degli anni dell'emancipazione femminile, aggravati dall'avere un premier così amico delle donne (e intendo, amico-amico), questa decida di vendicarsi su di ME, esemplare maschio adulto di homo sapiens-sapiens. Bella prospettiva vero?

Invece no. Il mio dentista assomiglia molto ad Emanuele Filiberto di Savoia. Non ne ha nè la parlata nè la travolgente simpatia ginevrina. Per fortuna.
Piuttosto parla e informa su cosa stia facendo, non mancando di chiedere se senta o meno dolore.

E poi, come devitalizza i denti lui..

As soon as I arrived my boss was there to inform me that the director of personnel, Dr.Grasshopper (let's say that her real name is a correct translation of this word) was waiting for me at her office. I immediately left that place to reach her.

Her office is not really close. It takes 5 minutes by walking. That should give you a rough idea about how big is that place.

When I reached her office, and knocked at the door, her secretary brought me to the Room.

Yes, that room, the one I learnt to know so well during the last ten days.

35 roof panels. 2 lights. 2 wall plugs (a normal one and a shuko one), 1 table. 7 chairs. 35 tiles 60x60 on the floor. 12 boxes. 3 closets with 2 doors each. 2 pictures on the wall. One showing 23 of the future generation of engineers and managers walking on the departure line. On the background, a big Cormorant (Canadian helicopter) taking off. Bye bye Cormorant.

On the other picture, a 129 flying over a plain. Maybe near here. The pilot's face so clear to be seen that he looks smiling at the camera. I'm happy that he's happy.

The Doctor is late.

She's always on late. I wait every time 10 or 15 minutes. Standing and watching all around. And counting things of course. Waiting or, better saying, letting other people wait, is a display of arrogance and supremacy. Showing who's the one with the power and who's not.

Think about it. When you applied for a job, or had to talk to some teacher in a private meeting. They ALWAYS let you outside waiting. And, ironically, THEY fixed the time for the meeting. A mere showing of “muscles”. Nothing more.

Finally she materializes there and always begins the conversation asking “so, how's the last week?”. Rethorical question. She's expecting me to say “oh yes! The last week saw a great improving from me and a total applying at my job!”.

I'm not in the mood to tell her again things I already said other two times. Even my face is not in the mood to “move” and I dumbly look at her without any facial expression. No smiles, no “faces”, no emotions. At first I thought I was playing a part. Then I just realized I was too disgusted, upset and annoyed by all this “circus”.

I surely didn't need to know they were “those who held the knife from the handle”. And didn't need to see how idiot and blindly merciless they could be.

Instead, she communicated that some disciplinary sanction was taken.

I wrote a post about it, some days ago. In italian. So, for those who can't read it I will report the four possibilities I could face.

1. An “official” sanction. Means, a letter saying I could consider myself “warned”.

2. A fine up to three working hours maximum. That means that I would work for three hours for free.

3. A three days suspension. Or up to three days.

4. No calls from them anymore. That means, no disciplinary sanction.

I didn't know what to expect but, when I heard about this further meeting I understood that this last point could be deleted.

So, to make a long story short, I was fined for three working hours. Those money will be “taken” from my November's wage.

Then, both the letter and this girl told me that “they” kept under consideration the fact that I admitted my responsabilities and basically confessed my fault (which was in fact obvious), instead, they let me understand, I could have been “punished” more severely.

I went back to my workplace without speaking.

Back there the situation become possibly more intricated and confused.

First, my boss came giving me his solidarity and saying that he felt betrayed and deceived since he didn't expected such sanction from them. He “confessed” he couldn't say such things to me but, since their (Company) behaviour didn't consider my working attitude (which, by the way, was always more than good) and just randomly punished the first one who committed such big mistake.

Plus, he added that his boss was angry with them too.

They planned for an official sanction (point #1) and nothing more. So, this sudden change and fining a person for a mistake he didn't do on purpose was, in fact, unfair.

And that's me in the middle of this sections' war.

“so – I asked my boss – should I now feel anguished whenever I do my job? Worried that if something will go wrong I'll pay that price and this one too?”

He said that it won't happen. That, considering their “merciless” and underconsideration for me, from now on, finding a “guilty” for something bad happened “could be really difficult”, “you know, all this people going all around, we could be easily confused and cannot enstablish who did that..”

I want to believe him...