God is My Mechanic, (and Not Such a Good One, Evidently) · Jul 26, 05:58 PM by James Martin
God does not lack for spokesmen these days. If you channel surf long enough, you’ll find maybe a million or so people on the idiot box who know what God wants and who have been entrusted by Him (in secret, of course) to take care of things, often using murder and mayhem to achieve those goals.
Now God has been put in charge of breaking washers and disrupting fuel lines on Southwest Airlines jets. Yes, in a fishing expedition to limit liability for mechanical failures that delay aircraft, the high-flying bozos at Southwest have quietly defined mechanical failures as “acts of God.” If we don’t cry out in protest, they will be able to say, “our cobbled together piece of garbage can’t fly and we’re not responsible, so you’ll just have to sleep in the airport until we find some duct tape and bailing wire. In case you’re wondering about the cause: God did it! Nah nah nah nah nah nah!”
Speaking for God used to be called blasphemy. Today it’s business as usual. That’s sad, isn’t it?
Read and weep: Southwest: Breakdown is now an act of God
Italy Travel Toolbox
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You Packing Right? · Jul 18, 05:55 AM by James Martin
Europe on Five Bad Ideas a Day takes an interesting look at European travel (and packing for it) before the groundbreaking work of Arthur Frommer’s Europe on Five Dollars a Day encouraged “normally provisioned” folks to take a crack at Europe on a budget—and well in advance of the day that airplanes became huge, lumbering buses for the masses to cross the pond in, too.
Despite the occasional urge to travel with a sterling-silver paper stapler or mink-covered beer-can opener like Temple Fielding did in his day, the Frommer method of travel, with its “freedom from excess baggage” philosophy, seems normal today. Steamer trunks full of the things we have at home are out, and carry on roll-abouts stuffed with a few changes of clothing have become the norm.
I’m wondering though if the “less is more” philosophy has gone too far. Every available corner of the internet seems stuffed with the deleterious promises of bliss based on saving a whole $5 or so on your $3500 vacation. I don’t even read them any more. Do you?
Sure, I go to the open air markets and occasionally load up on bread and stinky cheeses to eat for lunch. I don’t do it to save money though, I do it for the sheer pleasure of it. I do it because I’m often stuck in unfortunate places where “cheese” denotes a kind of chemical slurry of orange matter produced in a laboratory and ending up with a shelf life of several millenia. Hurray! (but mostly for salt, which is the primary flavor of the stuff.) I do what I enjoy, not what someone tells me saves money. That’s idiotic. We work our fingers to the bone, why not take pleasure in a vacation? Besides, the stuff the locals eat is usually better, local, and cheaper than the stuff they cobble together for tourists.
As Frommer recommends, I pack light. But that’s mostly because I do not go all orgasmic over dressing in a particularly frivolous and personal way—so why not do less of it? Clothing, to me, simply covers the body parts people usually report seeing to the local constabulary on account of they’ve been told their brains will turn to mush if they see too much of God’s creation, a point that nobody has successfully proven but stands as one of the most commonly agreed upon lies in the entire universe.
But should you pack light? That’s the question. If you really think you need that 14 pound Mongolian mink-handled meat cleaver, why travel without it?
Go ahead. I’m not the packing police; I’m not going to stop you.
That’s airline security’s job.
A great read: The things we no longer carry (portable record player, anyone?)
The Allure of Flying · Jun 29, 03:49 PM by James Martin
I’ve just flown from Frankfurt to San Francisco. (Yes, my arms are very, very tired.)
Something got me to wondering though. Hear me out on this. The seats in steerage suck, airplane food sucks and can be deadly, the kid in front of you doesn’t suck, he screams and drools, usually over the back of his seat and, by golly, that drool stream is guaranteed to head toward you and your expensive seersucker a good 99% of the time. And you’re going to be on that plane an interminable 11 hours.
So why in heaven’s name do people at airports pop up like weasels when boarding is announced and immediately rush to join the crush to be one of the first 200 to get wedged into that uncomfortable, reserved seat? Is there a prize for this I missed hearing about? Sure, there are a few people dragging carry-on bags they can’t lift an inch off the ground no matter how hard they try who just have to get on the plane first so that everyone can stand behind them while they try fruitlessly to clean and jerk 200 pounds of crap into the overhead bin. I understand that. People are idiots. I learned that in kindergarten.
So I figure if you want to have people rush to do something completely idiotic, charge them a grand or so (that’s $1000 for you foreigners) then stand back and watch the fun.
Say you wanted to do a video of 500 people jumping into a cesspool full of hungry alligators. You put out signs on the highway saying, “have lots of fun jumping into our rancid and malodorous lake full of deadly lizards!”
How much you bet you won’t get any takers?
Ok, now, you tell people to bring some luggage too big for them to carry, you put overhead bins above your cesspool, you charge people a grand or two while telling them they’re getting a HUGE discount over other cesspools with lesser lizards and WHAM!
Sit back, pop a Heinie, sip, and watch ‘em all jump in the muck with their duffels held fruitlessly aloft. That’d be fun, eh?
Oh, and bring a lawn chair. The process takes a while.
Popular These Days
No Man Is Illegal! · May 25, 05:30 AM by James Martin
I came upon this public billboard as we were scoping out the location of the Questura. That’s the place you need to go in order to submit your final application for your residence permit. When you are in possession of a valid one, you get charged less for utilities, you can buy a car, and you can stay as long as you want, no three months on and three months off sorta thing.
The day after making this photo we got together our portfolios and headed to the Questura in Massa. Even though we had a reservation (which seemed to assume each processing would take a maximum of 4 minutes—hah!), we found ourselves standing in a giant clot of foreigners, mostly Arabic and smoking like chimneys, just outside the door of the “Foreign Office” as they translated the name of the portal (I like it. It makes you feel important just before they make you feel very small and insignificant by taking your fingerprints three or four times, then smashing your palms against the glass of the machine as if the machine was designed to rip the prints right off you.)
Odd, too, was the fact that some of the people had reservation times like 8:45 am. Huh! The “Foreign Office” doesn’t open until 9am. Ever.
So anyway, I got to thinking how interesting it would be if there was truly no man who was illegal. We wouldn’t have to wait pressed up against a door with our papers. We’d be legal; residents of the world. Maybe it would be a mess. Like the wall. But a delicious and colorful mess. Like Italy. My home. Maybe. We’ll see in a couple of months. That’s how long they tell me it takes to process the paperwork.
The EU, The US, and Labeling Genetically Modified "Foods" · May 12, 02:00 AM by James Martin
Coincidence? I’m just back from Madeira and I hear that Madeira has been “allowed” to ban Genetically Modified Foods from its island by the boys running the EU for the industrialists. Good for them. The folks of Madeira I mean.
But then there’s this disturbing LA Times article that outlines the idiotic US position on labeling GMO foods. We’re against it, apparently. The big boys that foist this crap on us don’t want us differentiating natural food from Frankenfood. That would be wrong, eh?
But even if the “food” is exactly the same, do we, as citizens, have the right to reject GMO food? Of course we do. Our “old” constitution offers us a government “of, by and for the people”. The new one offers it only to industries trying to pull lots of GM wool over our eyes.
As I tried to make clear in the comments, it doesn’t matter at all if GMO foods are more or less healthy than real foods (not in a sane world anyway):
If I want to buy a yellow car, but the manufacturer says, correctly, that yellow cars are no different in performance on the road than other cars so he’ll only sell me a red one, that’s nuts too, right? I have the right to differentiate between objects even if they are not substantially different in the way they’re expected to perform. It’s called democracy, and the industrial crap food producers will just have to accept that. Won’t they?
But the idiotic opinion of the jerks that call themselves the “free marketers” is disturbing. Dan writes:
Why do we need mandatory labelling (sic)? If consumers are so opposed to GM food then the market will provide non-GM products just as it does with organics and free-range. Why are the anti-GM groups so scared that the market won’t do this? Because they know they are a very small and very loud minority.
Ok, Danny boy, just how the hell are we to differentiate these free market products if we aren’t allowed to know how they’ve been produced because of laws making proper labeling illegal? How Dan? Do you see the problem here? We’re not asking much, we’re just free market individuals who’d like to have a smidgen of an idea of what we’re buying, goddam it! Isn’t knowing what you’re buying a symbol of a proper free market? Eh, Dan?
And that’s the essential problem of today. The free market has been blasted to smithereens by the notion that we consumers are dumber than sticks and so shouldn’t be told what we’re buying. We just have a responsibility to buy the crap set before us to bolster the economy the financial companies insist on destroying.
I’m outta here. Time to eat some fish. Ugly fish, ugly as the sin of playing with nature for no good reason and from deep in the ocean where the titans of an immoral and idiotic industry can’t get to them.
Italian Food is Great, But is Portuguese Food Better? · May 6, 11:48 PM by James Martin
After almost two weeks in Portugal, I’m convinced that the Portuguese version of Cucina Povera is at least as good as the Italian one. Make no mistake, I love Italian cuisine. But the same things that make Italian cuisine one of the tops in the world work for Portugal, too. There are great local ingredients, flavorful meats, especially the pork and chicken, and a pride in cooking well.
What makes Italian cuisine so popular and Portugal’s so…unknown? Is it the fact that there are thousands of Italian restaurants in the US and just a handful of Portuguese ones? Or that when people think of “Portuguese bread” they’re thinking of that sweet, squishy stuff you can sometimes get in a supermarket?
The Italian Post Office · Apr 13, 08:17 AM by James Martin
Today we applied for residency in Italy. For that, you get a “kit” at the post office and fill it out to the best of your ability before returning it to the post office and watching the guys put the thing together with all the special stamps and things you’re required to buy. You also must have a visa from your local consulate pasted into your passport or things will come to a screeching halt.
Then you wait. At the end of May we go to Massa to be interviewed, fingerprinted, and hopefully to slide down the slope of the big hill that stands in the way of buying a car and paying regular rates for heating.
But I’m here to talk about the differences between Post Offices in Italy and the US.
In the US, you go to the counter and you get stamps and mail packages. That’s pretty much it. The line moves pretty quickly, considering that there’s not much to do in it.
In Italy, besides getting residence assistance, you can buy a washing machine at the Post Office. No kidding. I picked up a couple of catalogs today. Yep, it’s the PosteShop. Need an espresso maching? Get it at the post office. They ship free if you spend over 75€. You’d think they could afford to send stuff “free” anyway since they’re sorta in charge of the transport biz, but no.
I’m thinking of buying a poltrona massaggiante, a big massaging chair. Imagine sauntering up to the head of the line to ask some poor postal-worker-for-life to lift that sucker over the counter to the amazement of the other 472 people in line. (I say line, but actually there isn’t a concept of a line in Italy. I, of course, argue that Italians are correct in not liking lines (see: Nonlinear Italians) but your typical American is shocked by such a pronouncement, since idiotically standing in lines is a religious issue in America, evidently).
You can also get money at the Italian post office. Then you pay it out. Yes, the post office is where you pay the bills you haven’t figured out how to get the bank to pay automatically.
This, of course, means that the post office, or l’ufficcio Postale, or Poste Italiane is often busy as all get out. Yes, folks will camp out there if they have a heavy package that the person behind the counter has to classify. Often, arguments about shipping cost are the order of the day. Everyone joins in. It’s a sort of sport.
They could make a mint if they declared a 10 minute pausa after every hour of argument and sold gelato. Just sayin’. They do sell Ferrari Laptops. (€1,299.00) though—evidently so you can get your work done zippity fast, allowing you to spend the bulk of the day standing around at the post office waiting to mail a package.
But at least the Italian post office has a web page in English. Does yours have one in Italian?
Ha! Got you there!
——
You want to know what I had for breakfast on this fine day in Northern Tuscany? Well, it’s on our facebook page and 5 people like it. This proves you don’t have to be Guy de Maupassant in the travel writing biz in order to please people, but you should read “Ball of Fat” anyway. It’s the best short story ever written. It’s about a prostitute. There’s food in it. Not real food—that would get messy—but a description of food I mean. And lots of hypocrisy. It’s what the rich are good at.
Germany vs. Italy · Apr 9, 10:39 PM by James Martin
No, I’m not referring to the World Cup or anything with the title. It’s just that I’m in Germany at the moment, and I’m having a hard time trying not to compare the two countries.
Take food, for example. Now, Italy’s grub trounces Germany most days. But then there are all those tasty and seedy breads Germany puts at the breakfast table. They beat those cellophane-wrapped “brioche” Italians put up with all to hell.
Another thing I like is the public transportation system in Germany. No, I’m not talking of the trains and buses. I’m talking about the extensive network of well-marked walking trails and bike paths. They’re everywhere. And people use them.
German fountains tend to be far more interesting and whimsical than Italy’s classics. Almost every town has a few that make you smile, or even squirt the inattentive who might wander near.
But you know what? It’s time to get back to Italy. I’ve eaten enough spargel. Spargel is (mostly) white asperagus. It’s time is now.
I’ve struggled with the incomprehensible language and the words more than 36 characters long. I’ve eaten too many lake fishes from Lake Constance.
What I really want is some lardo.