Pumpkins and devils and Poncherello! Oh my!!

Ciao Bloggisti!

 

Just got back from a party with 20 preschoolers inside a cramped pub. And yes, that was the SCARIEST Hallowe’en I’ve ever had! But at least the kids had great time. Hallowe’en is relatively new to Italy but I’ve noticed that every year it’s growing in popularity. My son actually went trick-or-treating tonight. And to top it all off, some teenagers poured flour all over our gate and entrance because I didn’t open the door. Nice. How did they know I love to bake?

 

 

But not everyone here is in the spooky spirit. A girl in my daughter’s class didn’t attend her pumpkin and witch-themed birthday party because their family “doesn’t celebrate Hallowe’en”. Her mother explained to me how their priest is against this American celebration of witchcraft and all things evil. Then the other day the girl told my daughter that people who like Hallowe’en love the devil. What in the what?!? I almost did a spit take when I heard that!

Who knew that a simple holiday could cause so much pain and suffering? And yet this got me thinking about my own Hallowe’en agony. It happened many years ago and it’s something I haven’t shared but I think I’m ready now. I need… closure.

Picture it: Scarborough, circa 1984. I was super excited about the Girl Guides Hallowe’en party that evening. Even if I only had one stinking badge and feathered hair, I was going to wow them all with my amazing costume. I thought about something made out of a cardboard box, like a giant Rubik’s cube or a package of Kraft Dinner. It was going to be ironic and it was going to be AWESOME. That morning over breakfast I gave my father detailed instructions about what I wanted and how he could make the greatest Hallowe’en costume the Metropolitan Toronto area has ever seen. I could see his mind working and I was positive that I was going to be the corrugated belle of the ball.

I practically ran home from school to get ready for the party and, of course, to see my costume. When I walked in the door and didn’t see it waiting for me in all it’s boxy glory the living room I felt a sort of pang. I couldn’t quite place it, but something didn’t feel right. I called out to my father, asking him where my costume was. He came down the creaky stairs slowly, carrying something that looked unlike anything I’d ever seen before. Would that I could have unseen it! But, oh lord, it was too late!! He held in his hands my little brother’s CHiPs helmet with what seemed to be a paper beak, eyes and feathers glued to it. “Dad! What… is … that? And where’s my costume?!?” He proceeded to tell me that there was no boring Rubik’s cube for me. Oh no! He made his darling daughter a one-of-a-kind, 100% certified original “POLICE BIRD” costume. “WHAT THE HECK IS A POLICE BIRD?!?!?” He then started to explain how he didn’t have any boxes nor time to go out and get one. So he got the brilliant idea to make something so absurd, so nonsensical even Lady Gaga would be embarrassed to wear it. I mean, what kind of sick mind would morph Erik Estrada with a winged beast. Seriously, it was that awful. And I was going to walk into the Girl Guide party with that “thing” on my head. I was going to answer the many “What are you supposed to be?/Are you mental?” questions that were bound to come my way. Yes, I was a pariah and eventually had to leave the GTA (ok, the continent) to find a man. But it’s true what they say, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. And this “police bird” flew like an eagle, baby!

 

Hope you all had an awesome Hallowe’en!!

 

Bollywood cleans up good!

Ciao Bloggisti!

Just a quick post to share an ad that clearly shows how “masala” Italy is becoming:

Hmmm….

In case you’re wondering what they’re talking about, it’s an engagement party and the South Asian woman offers ginseng (?!?) while insulting the Italian in-laws, expresses happiness that she’s going to have grandchildren (“I become grandma!”) and, as one does at these occasions, starts singing about cleaning products. Of course.

Big Mac, Filet-O-Fish, Quarter Pounder, French Fries, Icy Coke, Milkshakes, Sundaes and Apple Pie!

Ciao Bloggisti!

I was about to go to bed but decided to go on Dlisted for one last dose of dirty gossip. BIG MISTAKE! Now I’m going to have nightmares of Pharrell Williams dancing inside a Paris McDonald’s, begging for apple pie at six in the morning. And no, I’m not on drugs. But thanks for asking!

If you don’t believe me, have a look for yourself:

Now, I love Pharrell but that song & dance number was a superfail. And unimpressive. I mean, this is a man who’s worked with Madonna and all he got was “just breakfast”.

Poor guy! Who can blame a traveller for craving a taste of home while in a foreign country. Us expats can relate to Pharrell’s predicament. I once cheated on my beloved Tim  Horton and ate a stale Burger King donut in Milan because I was just that desperate.

I’d love to hear the bizarre cravings you’ve had on holiday or while abroad.  Have you ever sung for your supper?

Oh, and if you’re interested in “just breakfast” take a look at my friend Pickle Pea’s blog. I want that toast now!

 

One more thing before I forget, I just wanted to announce the winner of the giveaway. It’s NYC/Caribbean Ragazza! Congrats and I hope you enjoy the book!!

Cavolate!!!!!

Do not adjust your monitors, people. You are not having an alphabet acid flashback. This is an actual clip of long lost rapper Coolio performing a modern version of the Volo dell’Angelo in January during Carnival celebrations in Venice. This, my dears, is a prime example of what I adore about Italy. The economy is in a slump, the government is in tatters, the garbage situation in Campania is tragic but rest assured, Italians will always do something so head-shakingly absurd to restore my faith in this nation. These are the WTF moments of insanity that I like to call cavolate (pron. ca-vo-lah-tey). Literally, it means in the manner of a cabbage (?) but it’s just a nice way of saying in the manner of a dumbass. And the dumbass artistic director of the Venice Carnival decided it would be a super idea to invite a has-been gangsta rapper to do the prestigious Volo dell’Angelo (Flight of the Angel). It’s one of the oldest Venetian traditions dating back to the 16th century, where a man (originally a Turk) would climb a rope to the top of the bell tower in St. Mark’s square and then perform acrobatic feats from the tower all the way down to the loggia of the Doge’s palace. The acrobat would then offer the Doge flowers or poetry. Poetry such as “I’m a loced-out gangsta, set-trippin banger, and my homies is down, so don’t arouse my anger, fool!” Apparently the Doge was cool like that. God I love this country!