WebJournal - The blog will set you free

WebJournal - The blog will set you free
News of no interest whatsoever except to very close and patient friends and family members and maybe people with no life

Wednesday, April 09, 2003

My blog about yesterday evening:

Back from my dinner at A.'s. Mmm ... I know he's going to read this so I can't write a scorching report. Fortunately I don't need to. Really. It was a remarkable evening and I had a good time. It was also a bizarre experience of sorts. It felt both familiar and alien.

On one hand most of the guests were Italian and that in itself is both familiar and alien. The whole diplomatic/journalist/yuppie scene is both familiar and alien, too. It is familiar because I was raised in Italy and carry an Italian passport (albeit an expired one) and feel very much at ease with Italians; the scene was familiar also because I was raised in that kind of environment and because quite a few of the people I know, including my family-in-law and, to a certain extent, my own husband, still mingle in it. But then again I have not really spent a lot of time with Italians in the last 10 years and Italians are a very particular bunch. The dress code, for instance: fortunately, at the very last minute, when I was ready to leave work to go home, shower, change and get to the party, a little voice inside my head told me to play it safe and dress up for the occasion (to dress up is a relative term and I dressed up as much as a notorious bum like me can do). Naturally, the affair was way way way more formal than anything I've experienced since coming to NYC. You can easily spot an Italian male no matter how big the crowd. He's the one with the brown shoes, the spotless suit and the quirky cockiness (mind you, A. is a welcome exception to this despicable yet true generalization).

Although it felt like the kind of world with which I am very familiar it is nonetheless the world I have consciously left behind quite a while ago. It's the world to which my father belonged.

The play-by-play: I walked in and, not knowing anybody except for the hosts, started talking to the person nearest to where I landed: a very attractive older Italian lady married to a German journalist with the New York Times. She reminded me of the old socialites from my own country. She talked non-stop, mostly about family trees and the likes. She knew her pedigrees. After a while she tried to get me on the war subject. She threw in a few virulent anti-war remarks that I chose to ignore in a very obvious way. Nothing like staring back in silence to steer the conversation to something else. A young and friendly couple joined us but when the discussion started turning to books reviewed in the NYT and obscure European movies, a bleak fear of impending boredom invaded me - I knew the opera and Shakespeare in the Park were probably coming next - and I swiftly turned to my left and started chatting with somebody else.

Amazing how I had absolutely nothing in common with the lady. She loves Morocco, the deserts and the glaciers. I tried Morocco twice, was never able to stay more than a few hours. Hated the place. Deserts are my idea of hell. No electric outlets, no WiHi, no nothing. Glaciers I like, but my experience at the Perito Moreno in Argentina taught me that contemplation is not my thing and that a couple of minutes staring at a wall of ice is more than satisfying to me. Anything over a couple of minutes is profoundly irritating. Anything over five minutes and I want to kill myself and whoever dragged me to the stupid wall.

Then again, on my second round with the older lady we somehow started talking about her husband's health (he has recently spent two months in the hospital) and then my husband's health and then the miracle happened: she softened considerably and became very warm and caring and there we were, bonding on our human condition. We did indeed have something in common. Ailing husbands do come handy sometimes. Beautiful thing.

The guys to my left were talking about people they knew and about where they had done their MBAs or their Ph.D.s. Here again, I am the kind of person who does not have much reverence for formal education. I tend to think that the real movers and shakers are usually not formally trained and I am suspicious of classical education. The Bill Gates, the Steven Jobs, the Tony Robbins of the world are usually high-school or college drop-outs. My view is that colleges tend to churn out well read employees which is fine if an employee is what you want to be. You can also get a renowned MBA and work with a bank. It's an exciting life where you get to count the money of the entrepreneur who never got to college.

One of the guys reminded me of somebody from way back, so way back that I do not recall who it is. He had an underlying fragility to him that was very endearing, like a kid trapped in a man's suit.

I also spent some time talking to a very kind German (I think) girl. She is married to a beanpole of an Italian (he too was friendly). I can't remember who, but somebody in his family was married to a prominent Uruguayan politician. Such a small world.

Anyhow, I stayed over after most people had already left, as I mostly do. It's usually when the fun starts. And it did. I had a good time listening to this giant of an Italian man who vaguely resembled JFK Jr. (emphasis on vaguely, mostly the hairline and the hair) regaling us with stories of supremely luxurious cashmere sweaters, gloves and coats. I now know that several thousand dollars can buy you a super-duper sweater made of the very first down shed by a goat. I also know that you can have a completely hand-made suit, hand-made even in its most tiny details. I now know there's a waiting list for $30.000 coats. I learned the perfect time to go for the kill at a sale. I also learned that Hermes has this one guy in Paris who designs the windows of every single Hermes shop in the entire world. The most enjoyable part was watching the JFK Jr.-hair-look-alike's enthusiasm for an otherwise pretty lame subject. How passionate can you get about cashmere? Then again, my friend Pam is passionate about textiles too. She would glady visit the textile museum in D.C. on a daily basis.

The important thing is that I enjoyed myself (special mention to the fine wine and the great food). I love people watching. Sometimes I catch myself drawing cartoons of them in my head. Not mean spirited caricatures but just sketches of the way they sit, stand, talk.

Last but not least, C., A.'s wife, is really vivacious and spontaneous, as unpompous as you can get. I like that in a woman. In fact, I like that in a man, too.

11:06 PM

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