Italia: Campioni del Mondo!

Every four years, the sporting world as we know it is turned absolutely upside down. No, I'm not speaking of the Olympics, where perfectly acceptable concepts such as "goodwill" and "world community" are mercilessly jammed into our auditory canals by tanned American sportscasters for two weeks. Rather, I am referring to that glorious, gritty worldwide brawl known as World Cup Soccer. If you're American, you're probably as familiar with the great sport of soccer as Europeans are with Nascar, but believe me, soccer is monumentally colossal worldwide. In fact, according to "the internets", the 2006 World Cup stands as the most watched event in all of television history. Wow. It achieved an estimated 28.29 billion non-unique viewers over the course of the brawl, and the final match scored an estimated audience of 715 million people.

Now, what's great about World Cup is this: Pure, raw nationalism rules for a month, with no apologies whatsoever from players or viewers. It is a beautiful thing. Unless you're speaking of the French, who I must single out because they made it to the final with Italy. France did indeed have an excellent team, yes. But like it or hate it, French nationalism seems to be almost universally questioned. Why? Perhaps because in the history of world affairs, the French cannot escape their penchant for the color white, which obviously detracts from stout nationalism. Fair statement? Who can say? On the one hand, the French government did in fact collaborate with their Nazi occupiers in World War II; on the other hand, the common citizens of the French Resistance are the stuff of legend, and should held up in high esteem. And let's not forget France's role in the founding of our great nation, the United States of America.

Anyway, for me personally, I have a problem with French nationalism for a different reason, and here it is: When was the last time the French fans had the internal fortitude to start a 100,000 person riot in a stadium, complete with flying seats, fires and collapsing fences? I rest my case. I mean, the Italians and Germans and Brits do it all the time, and with great ease. (Now that I think about it, I'm not so sure that's a good thing for the Degos, Krauts and Limeys.)

Anyway, in 2006, a blessed year, Italy took the World Cup from the many other capable teams, a list in which I of course include the French team. In fact, as I said before, the final match was between Italy and France, and it will not be soon forgotten. The final started with each side scoring within the first 20 minutes, and from there on, it was a topsy-turvy ride to the penalty kick shootout, which Italy won, 5-3. Si!

Before the shootout, the match was tarnished when France's excellent player Zinedine Zidane headbutted Italy's Marco Materazzi in the chest and was subsequently shown the red card and sent back to the City of Lights. The French press whined--shocker, I know--that Materazzi insulted Zidane. True, he did, but let's get real: trash talking is often part of the psychological match, and not just in soccer.

In 2006, the World Cup was held in cities throughout Germany, and they put on a fine show for the world in the Berlin final. Plus, you have to hand it to the Germans--they know how to riot. It was the first all-European final since Italy won the World Cup in 1982. It was also Italy's first world title in 24 years, and their fourth overall, putting them only one behind Brazil, widely regarded as soccer specialists. Sadly for the German fans, their team did not win the cup, and that is a shame. But the most important thing to Italy, to Italians, and to you, my wonderful Blogiorno readers, is that Italy gave France das boot in Berlin, triumphing in overtime, as no doubt wished for by our pal Pope Benedict, and perhaps even ordained by THE highest power, our Lord Jesus Christ, Who reigns supreme.









Ciao! We'll see you in 2010 in South Africa!

Beauty in Italia

*** Disclaimer: This entry is an observation of different perceptions of "beauty" and is "tongue-in-cheek", designed to prove that Italy reigns supreme. It is not meant to demean anyone, but rather to showcase Italian beauty, inside and out, and how Italy views beauty, as opposed to how America views it. Obviously, there IS NO "most beautiful" person in the world. But since People magazine is obsessed with this topic, here at Blogiorno I don't want to fall behind, seeing as how my readership rates are about the same as theirs, give or take the population of a few continents. Anyway, there is no need to send me email about the sins of lust or idolatry; please, this blog entry is not about that at all. For you gals, you know how you have late-night slumber-party talk where you opine over Johnny Depp, Brad Pitt and Jack Black, often imbuing them with impossibly perfect character, demeanor and hygiene, without actually having any evidence? Okay then. I think I've covered everything. Now, onward with the beauty, cara amici. ***

Every now and then you see the headline on a magazine whilst waiting to purchase your groceries at the supermarket: "The Most Beautiful Woman In The World..." Typically, this headline is accompanied by a twenty-something-year-old girl of ridiculous proportions, computer-enhanced liquid-blue eyes and golden-highlighted hair. Such a headline is, of course, somewhat silly because a claim like that is completely subjective. Who makes these decisions about who THE most beautiful woman in the world is? Why do they feel so bold and free as to announce it to the world? I would really like to know. And why do various magazines differ on who THE most beautiful woman is? One would think if it were that certain, then all of these high-quality magazines (e.g., GQ, People, In Style, Truckin') would reach the same conclusion.

Alas, it is not that simple. In fact, for the magazine editors it surely must be an incredibly complicated selection process, accompanied by complex opinion polling (i.e., their teenaged sons and daughters) and perhaps even intense, personal wining and dining (i.e., courtesy of slippery L.A. and NYC agency execs). Ironically, however, it is the ever-changing, subjective nature of the bold periodical statements which allow me to contrast them with the following universally objective announcement:

The most beautiful woman in the world is from the great country of Italy, and that woman's name is Monica Bellucci.

Ms. Bellucci is an Italian model-turned-actress, who can actually act quite masterfully. She is perhaps most well known as Mary Magdelene from "The Passion of the Christ", and she has appeared in the two most recent "Matrix" films. Of course, she has also appeared in numerous Italian films. She is probably the most well-known Italian actress in Italy.

If you look closely at the photograph of Monica Bellucci, you'll notice a few things:
1. She has no blonde highlights. 2. She is not 18-25 years old. 3. She weighs more than a cantaloupe. 4. She does not roast in the sun but has natural--and untattooed, thank God--fair skin. 5. She is the most beautiful woman in the world.

On that last point, note the use of the word "woman". Ms. Bellucci is a woman. "Of course she is," you may perturbedly say, perhaps as you embarrassingly recall the Maxim magazine your heathen roommate slid onto the counter whilst purchasing tough actin' Tinactin and the family-sized bottle of Albertson's rum in the plastic container. (Please recycle.) Ah, but let's juxtapose her with a few of the shamelessly self-promoting, headline-grabbing females of late: Paris Hilton, Lindsey Lohan, Britney Spears, to name a few. Does anyone really consider any of these to be actual "women" in the course of random conversation? Probably not. They are usually referred to as "babes", "hotties", or "girls". But make no mistake about it: they are merely pretenders. They are not women.

You may also notice that Ms. Bellucci breaks all of the traditionally held ideals of what makes one attractive in the American market: She is a dark, classic Italian beauty, she appears to eat food and, in fact, she is well over 40 years old.

On her age, a special note: In Italy, a woman is considered to be at the peak of her womanly powers no earlier than age 30. As she reaches her thirties, forties and fifties, she is considered to be at her most beautiful. I applaud that way of thinking, and this makes sense to any rational, thinking person.

So once again, the Italians have it right, and American "culture" has it wrong: a woman cannot be considered beautiful until she begins to mature, inside and out. If time is kind to her in that process of maturation, she becomes more and more beautiful. But it isn't about just physical beauty; Italians also know that as a woman matures physically, so she does emotionally, mentally and spiritually. Thus, "beauty" takes on a completely different meaning in Italy, and, in my humble opinion, a much deeper meaning.

Therefore ladies and gentlemen, God, Italy and Blogiorno give to you The Most Beautiful Woman In The World, Ms. Monica Bellucci.

Bravo! Buona fortuna Signora Bellucci!

Spaghetti Alla Carbonara...Manga!

Hello again my friends. I would like to share with you one of my favorite Italian dishes to make. I've read that this pasta recipe comes from the Lazio region, which is where Rome is. I had this dish in a hotel in the town of Orte, Lazio. They used a touch less egg, perhaps 2 instead of 3...at least, I think so...it is kind of hazy-slash-dreamy to recall because the hotel owner's daughter, who served us, was a real Italian beauty with dark hair, large, dark eyes, light skin and a no nonsense way about her. Mamma Mia! After serving us and others, she and her equally-as-beautiful mother sat off to the side and watched in amusement as a group of Italian men cheered a soccer game on the television, several of them inebriated out of their minds, but happy as Liguria clams. Classic. Anyway, uh, back to the ingredients...ummm, where were we? Eggs...oh, yes, you might experiment. Two eggs work, but three makes it totally deggadent, har har.


Spaghetti Alla Carbonara

2 tablespoons butter
1/2 cup diced bacon (I use Pancetta instead of American bacon)
1 garlic clove, peeled
14 oz spaghetti
salt and fresh ground pepper
3 eggs, beaten
6 tablespoons grated Parmesan cheese
6 tablespoons grated Pecorino cheese (use all Parmesan if you can't find Pecorino)

Melt butter in large, heavy pan, add bacon and garlic, fry gently until browned, then remove garlic from the pan.

Cook spaghetti in salted water until al dente, drain, add to bacon. Stir well and remove from heat. Add eggs, a pinch of pepper, half the Parmesan and half the Pecorino. Toss until eggs turn creamy, then add remaining cheeses. You might put over heat again, but be careful that the egg doesn't start to cook too much. Add a touch more salt and pepper if desired. Toss again and serve. (Serves 4.)

Enjoy this rich, GUILT-LADEN dish!

Short Story: All Is Right With The World (Tutto E Adatto Nel Mondo)

pioggia a Firenze
Originally uploaded by aabitia.

Hello again my faithful readers. (I thank you for that loyalty, by the way.) So far all of the entries in Blogiorno have been "commentary" in nature. I sincerely hope you have enjoyed them as much as I have enjoyed authoring them. However, as you may know, there are other avenues down which a writer can travel in his "literary journey". To wit, fiction. Now while I do not consider myself a fiction writer, I decided that it would be an interesting exercise to write (and actually finish) a "short story" for Blogiorno. I have done so here. I would sincerely like to hear your thoughts about it; however, if you will kindly permit me, I would like to enumerate a few "ground rules" to keep in mind as you share your thoughts with me and the blogging world:

1. Please be honest.
2. Please be polite.
3. If you cannot be polite, please substitute "colorful" words with socially acceptable ones.
4. Please be as accurate as possible, as this will help me create more of "my art" in the future. Example: Instead of, "you suck man", you might more accurately state, "I did not actually read your story, as it necessitated an extra precious click of my mouse; said clicks are normally reserved for online gaming. After evaluating the title of your story and finding it lacking [any mention of girls with AK-47s], I respectfully navigated away from your blog".
5. You may not refer to the main protagonist as "Vinnie" or any disrespectful iteration thereof.

Influences: One, actually--John Cheever. I personally like his writing quite a lot, and while some might consider his work to be outdated (he wrote from the 1930s to the 1970s), I say he's one of the best ever at short fiction. My favorite work of his is "The Country Husband". Really excellent.

*** Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The main character is an amalgamation of many people, real and imagined, and my observations of them. Finally, while there are intense thematic and spiritual elements in this story, they are by no means "correct" or even reflective of my personal beliefs. Again, my friends, it is fiction and should be taken as such. See? Now you don't have to send me an Angry-Gram. ***

The title of this short story is "All Is Right With The World" (or, in Italian, "Tutto E Adatto Nel Mondo").



Download the PDF here

Is God Italian?

Michelangelo's God, Sistine Chapel
Originally uploaded by aabitia.

In light of recent religious events which focused world attention upon Italy, that is, the passing of John Paul II and the election of the replacement Pope, Benedict XVI, in a sealed room in the Vatican, some interesting questions come to mind: Is God Italian? Does He like Italians more than Americans or other mongrel peoples? And if virtually the entire world is locked on St. Peter's Square for a week in April, does that mean that Italians have a lock on God, or at the least, "un punto speciale nel suo cuore", a special place in His heart? The answers to these questions are, in my opinion, based upon a bit of current fact, a bit of history, a bit of Biblical knowledge, a bit of Roman Catholic doctrine and a bit of old-fashioned Italian pride. (Yes, I do not mean to shock you, but Italians "got it" and they know it, so much so that they don't need or even care to show "it" off...unlike Americans, who try and fail so very miserably, that they end up looking like the ostentatious-yet-ineffectual narcissistic twits that they actually are.)

So, let's take a brainy ride my friends. Yes, I know, this is America and we don't like to use our brains, but really, this should be painless. Nevertheless, please stay seated at all times...oh, and keep your hand on your wallet.

First, a bit of Catholic doctrine, to establish just who the Pope is. I've learned that Catholics believe that the Pope is the "Vicar" of Christ, meaning that he is the physical representation of God on this earth. And if you watch most Catholics' reaction to the Pope, you might even gather that they may view him as divine as well. So where does the Vicar live? Why, in Italy of course. Ah, but purists (or wop-haters) would protest that Vatican City is in fact not a part of Italy at all, but a small "country" within the country of Italy. While this is technically true, I think it's splitting hairs. To get to the Vatican you go to the country of Italy. I mean, what IS a "country" anyway? I don't know, but I'm fairly sure you have to have an "international" airport to qualify as one, complete with a Food Court. And the last time I was at the Vatican, I didn't see no Chick-Fil-A eatery tended by a gaunt, yellow-eyed man of dubious origin, nor did I see any Boeing widebody--or worse, Airbus--planes taxiing down St. Peter's Square.

Now, while JP2 (John Paul II) was Polish, and Benedict XVI is German, wouldn't it appear that, since they live(d) in the Vatican, God has apparently chosen Italy as a place of residence for the number one man down here? The fact that Vatican City is in the heart of Italy, well, it makes the inference inescapable.

So, how exactly did the Vatican arrive in Italy? The answer lies in the person of Saint Peter the apostle, and this is where things begin to get a bit murky and/or controversial. Catholics consider St. Peter to be the "first Pope", though non-Catholics contest the whole concept of a Pope or that such was Peter. Furthermore, some Catholics believe that Peter was even martyred in Rome, again, something hotly debated in religious circles. You can see where this is going: Therefore, for Catholics, since Peter was the first Pope, and died in Italy, the Catholic faith naturally must make its home there.

But why the emphasis on Peter the apostle as the first Pope? Why is his tomb located behind six inches of glass underneath the Basilica, and not any of the other apostles' tombs? And why is he considered by Catholics to be the first Pope in the first place? The answer, according to the Catholic faith, is the passage in the Bible--you may have heard about it...it's a book--where Jesus states to Peter, "You are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church." (This is found in Matthew 16, in the New Testament.) Catholics believe that the "rock" is Peter, while others insist that the rock is Jesus himself and that He was talking about himself. Aha, so this then is the origin of the Pope and the Roman Catholic faith: that Jesus (according to Catholic interpretation) declared Peter to be the rock upon which the Christian church would be based, that Jesus therefore made Peter the first Pope, and that Peter completed his life's work in Italy.

Seems natural then that Italy and Italians may wish to lay hold of a special claim regarding their place with God. There are a few "snags" however...there's always snags, you know. Both Jesus and Peter were both Jewish, not Italian. They ate kosher meals; Italians most decidedly do not. Furthermore, as Catholic Christians and Protestant Christians ascribe to the belief that Jesus is fully God, then the conclusion is of course that the Catholic God is Jewish, not Italian.

This begs another intriguing question: Since Catholics worship Jewish figures who--most scholars would agree--spent the vast majority of their time in Israel, why then didn't their religion just naturally spring up there, making its home there, as Judaism and Islam did and does? Well, maybe it's because the early Catholics realized there was already enough trouble in Israel between the Hebrews and the Arabs, as there still is in the 21st century; where's that Rodney King (Jew?) when you need him, to get on T.V. and tell these people to get along? I mean, to this day the Jews and the Arabs are still doing the big dukeroo, with no end in sight, despite the efforts of JP2, Bill Clinton and Rachel Corrie, the patron saint of all leftist activists (that poor girl). Or maybe the early Catholics just decided that to try to construct the Vatican in Jerusalem amidst all those wild-eyed, dynamite-adorned jihadists would be less than "optimal". Or maybe they just figured out that Italy is a lot prettier than much of Israel, so why not just make Saint Peter an honorary Italian and then make beautiful Italy the centre of their religion?

On that last point, I would have to concede that Italy is, in general, much prettier than Israel, at least today anyway. However, let me preempt the inevitable (and hollow) accusations of "anti-Semitism" by saying that I dig Jews. They're survivors. I like survivors. Furthermore, I also like Hebrew National hot dogs. They're scrumptious, or, dare I say it, "jew-licious". (Oh yes, I do dare.) But anyway, I assure you that no frothing, goose-stepping, classic Jew-hater would ever eat those things, much less put this illustrative picture here.

So I guess that settles it...at least, in my mind. God is not Italian, but is first and foremost a Spirit, as cited in the Bible, and only then perhaps Jewish. Jesus is not Italian, but Jewish. Peter is not Italian but Jewish. And from the familiar John 3:16 scripture which you learned in Sunday School ("For God so loved the world...") we should agree in principle that God has no favorites and loves all people equally...Heebs, Degos, Krauts, Frogs, Coloreds, Crackers, Heinz-57s, everyone; otherwise, this blog entry could go on and on, eventually wrapping around the "internets" several times like a tapeworm, and who really wants that? For any Catholic readers out there, I love you all and have nothing against you, of course. In fact, I'm Christian myself, though not Catholic. Rather, I'm simply doing some "critical thinking" here on some religious points which concern Italy and her place with God.

All right then...see you next time. Meanwhile, go out there and get some Hebrew National dogs with a side of Rotelli pasta salad.

Grazie and L'Chaim!