Perso

Bad news. Another fellow has lost his bird… this time it’s a little grey pigeon.

It shouldn’t be too tough to pick him out among Venice’s massive flocks of little grey pigeons though. He walks with a limp.

Large and in charge

Lording over the Carnevale festivities this year is a giant winged lion topiary. He towers over the stage in a fool-the-eye formal garden that sprang up Friday night in the Piazza. His golden eyes see all…

Tonight he watched as a half-dozen couples (a few of them decked out in their best blue jeans) danced the tango to taped music.

(yawn.)

I believe Casanova is turning over in his grave.

A confetti conspiracy

Carnevale 2009 began Friday evening, and early yesterday morning I noticed something a bit odd when I opened my shutters and looked up and down Calle dei Fuseri. As usual, the pre-dawn streetsweepers had brushed away every single cigarette butt, scrap of litter, and soda bottle. Clean as a whistle. Yet there was still a dusting of vividly colored, high quality confetti all along the calle. Hmm. Strange…

As I have mentioned here, my street is a major artery between San Marco and Rialto, lined with many shops and other businesses. It’s no secret that these enterprises rely heavily on the income from this busy tourist season. Was it possible that city fathers had planted this false evidence of street festivity to encourage and enhance the Carnevale experience for the tourists who would soon be making their way along this route? Sort of like using breadcrumbs to trap pigeons??

I had to get up early this morning and check to see if my hunch was right.

Yup. There it was again! Spic-and-span streets all around Campo San Luca, made bright and inviting with that very same confetti, sprinkled in a far too regular “random” pattern. “This way to the fun!” it seemed to be saying, “Follow me!”

It made me wonder…

Who is appointed to do this secret scattering task? And what do you suppose is the amount of the confetti allotment in the annual Venetian city budget? (For that matter, what do you suppose it is in New York City?!)

Friday the 13th

I realize Carnevale season is upon us. But it’s still very weird to see Hallowe’en costumes in the shops just a few weeks after Christmas.

What, I want to ask these know-it-all Venetians, have ghouls and goblins to do with a pre-Lenten festival? How exactly does Jason’s goalie mask fit in?

Melancholy

(Is that not one of the greatest words in the English language? It always leads me to think of Holly Golightly explaining the difference between “the blues” and “the mean reds.”)

Sometimes things happen to me here that aren’t exactly blog-appropriate. Not even blog joke-appropriate.

Currently I find myself wrestling with something very personal that probably should have come up back when I was about 20 years old or so. My own fault, really. I came here seeking to discover some things about myself, both as an artist and as a woman. And Heaven knows I have! I guess I was just hoping to discover...
prettier things.

I cannot say more than that, but I can offer you this old chestnut:
“Be careful what you wish for because you just might get it.”

Updates & corrections again

Last year I reported that frittelle (Venetian fritters sold only for Carnevale season) come in three versions – plain or filled with pastry cream or zabaglione – plus a mini version called a rossato. This year I have also seen them filled with whipped cream. And! (Are you sitting down?) Tonolo in Dorsoduro now has a frittella di mela – a perfect apple fritter. Does it get any better than this?

I have had some additional input on the phrase, “Fai la brava!” According to my friend "M," it can be something you say to a child, i.e., “Behave yourself!” When I mentioned that to another friend, "R," he said yes, but when you say it to an adult, it’s could mean something more like “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. (Wink, wink!)"

A few wrote to ask for a translation of the subtitle on the TV frame of the new POTUS Obama that I showed here (Yes we can!, 21 January). It gives me great pleasure to do so. It reads “…and that is how changes happen in America.” Magari! From his lips to God’s ear!

The clementine count is now up to 265.

Grey day, blue night

February 2nd already. Call it what you will: Candlemas, the last day of Christmas, Groundhog Day.

I see that Punxsutawney Phil, America’s official groundhog, clearly saw his shadow up at Gobbler’s Knob this morning. Six more icy weeks of winter in the U.S., it would seem. (And yes, I do sometimes miss these quirky, uniquely American things like furry ol’ Phil’s prognostications.)

There’s no groundhog here in Venice, but I’m sure our pantegane (big, big rats) couldn’t possibly have seen their long-tailed shadows in the grey gloom this morning, and that must mean spring is on the way. I have mixed feelings about that. Even as I shiver in my Chinese silk longjohns, spring isn’t something I’m looking forward to. But it is inevitable.

Meanwhile, I wistfully look at these blue fairy lights, the last bit of Christmas still shining in town, and I wonder, as I so frequently do… How does the time go by so fast here?