Stereotypes (part II)

***Continued from Part I***

In part one, we have explored how stereotypes may often be the result of over simplistic analysis and unrealistic fantasies, which are unlikely to be met in real life. In this new chapter, I would like to assess the nature of the Italian men and how they can be categorized. Specifically, we will analyse the Neapolitan men as they are my prime source of observation. Like Neapolitan ice-cream, they come in three flavours: Lo Scugnizzo, il Macho Latino and il Figlio di Papa'. The fist category is what we will call, for ease sake, the "Scugnizzo"literally rendered into English as "Street urchin"; traditionally this term acquires a completely different meaning, however, we shall utilize the word "scugnizzo" to describe a category of Neapolitan men characterized by the following qualities: scugnizzi are incurable 'grown up kids' who generally tend to despise higher education, people in authority and all that law and knowledge encompass. They make a cult of their outward appearance: all of their clothing items are carefully selected in the respect of the latest trends and their hairstyles modelled upon the newest fashion - paying no attention to whether a certain style will suit them or not, neither to if the cost of the item may cause them to go in debt or even steal. Their image is identifiable amongst many: gel hard hair, structured like an engineering master piece (ideally sleek flat side parting and spikes at the back); piercings (generally one diamond on the left year); over-powering after shave fragrance, big labels tops, trousers, shoes, coats. They drive brand new scooters (most likely stolen) and listen to neo-melodic Neapolitan music or techo/house - loud. Tendencies to chauvinism, violence, rudeness, sleaziness and illegality. Expressive and extroverted emotional outbreaks to be expected. However, it is to be highlighted that the "scugnizzi" can be tender lovers, respectful sons and responsible parents, able to live by "honour"...whatever it takes.
The second category is every foreign woman's dream, il Macho Latino, the super hot, perfect body, sexy talking bold, daring and reckless ultimate manly man. Il Macho Latino, like his scugnizzo cousin, places a great deal of attention to his outer persona. Every item of clothing is indeed chosen with maximum attention to detail, tailored like a fitted glove to accentuate and valorize every secret of manly charm. Labels and brands mean very little compared to how something is supposed to make him look. The Macho Latino's, like their Barbie sisters, do not give much importance to their "inner beauty" - they may read about philosophy, history and poetry but that's because, of course, history has proven that it always works to pull. Jewelry is worn like a winning prize, with pride and arrogance, the more the better. The gym becomes a real sanctuary of beauty and beauty parlor's their weekly confessions. The Macho Latinos are witty, handsome, proud, self-confidence yet often lonely, shallow and dissatisfied. Commitment is,for obvious reason, not an ability on the Macho's list. Does it need to be?
Last but definitively not least is the "Figli di Papa'" category, the "Daddy's boys". Life has been fine and dandy for them: they come from a good, often excellent household. They have attended the best schools, lived in the best homes, eaten the most delicate foods, travelled the globe, speak several languages, wear fine clothes, go to university. Their summer attire consists of white linen trousers, striped white and blue shirt, blue pullover over their shoulders, designer trainers, big sunglasses, golden tan, golden Rolex, soft long-ish hair gently blown away by the sweet sea breeze as they sit onto their boat. Characteristics? They have everything, but rarely comprehend the value of what they have. They can be sleezy strong of daddy's money ~ not knowing that money doesn't always buy everything.

When Stories and History Meet

"Aurevoire, Big Luciano!"

By now everyone in the global community has been bombarded with images of the, undiscussedly, greatest Tenor of all times, "Il Maestro" as he was known, "Big Luciano", the Italian opera singer Luciano Pavarotti, sadly departed yesterday morning in his villa in Modena, Italy. From the BBC, to La Repubblica, Le Monde and other news agencies from all over the globe have grandeously celebrated and reverently mourned what El País describes as "A divine voice that has been silenced" . I get the impression most people expect us to mourn. After all we are Italians, right?: we are bound to be emotional, extrovert and overly expressive. I have sometimes tried to detach myself from the stereotype, but as I heard the news yesterday and re-watched some footage of Pavarotti's career several times, I became sad. Pavarotti represented, with his voice and international involvement, a positive image of what is beautiful, precious, rare, unique about our Land. He was an icon, a pillar. Like "the Olympic Torch", carrying the flame of sportive spirit across the world; like the Eiffel Tower in Paris reminding the French about their heritage, the "Big Ben" in London, Clocks in Switzerland, Clogs in Holland, Guinness in Ireland, "Big Luciano" was an institution for my country, and we all loved him like as if he was a member of each one of our families. We grew up watching him singing at every significant event of our lives - every new year's day, at midnight, the opening of the Olympic games, the "Pavarotti & Friends" charitable events. Music was his life and his music accompanies every Italian like the soundtrack of our lives, passionately stroking the most sensitive cords of our spirits, pride and love. Now that he has gone, exactly two days after Gigi Sabani, an iconic representative of Italian comedy and television for over thirty years, it's like as if a brick had been taken out of an old castle. Even though its base stands strong of ancient values formed and reinforced throughout history, it's most intrinsic beauty has been robbed of a precious element and we sure will miss you, Big Luciano!

Ruth

Meet my friend, Ruth.

She is petite, but has got the heart and the fierceness of a giant. She is the one and rare example of a woman who lives by ideals, abides by heartfelt morals and loves unconditionally. She does her utmost for people, infuses passion and enthusiasm in every job and cherishes friendship in a way I have rarely seen anyone do. She is the kind of friend who makes sure you get a card in the post on your birthday, who rings you from a coach in Croatia to check up on how you are doing, who cries when you tell her you are moving on somewhere else. I love Ruth. Ok, she does talk A LOT and she is a wee brain-box, but I wouldn't change her for the world. She is our Ruth. That's why I feel so terrible I forgot a very important birthday of hers! Ruthy, if you are reading this: HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY! I know it's a little late, but it's truly heart-felt. Love you lots, buddy. xx

Shattered.

Throughout my life, I have always had it in me to be a contestant, a rebel. Not necessarily 'burning my bra' in front of the masses, but always being inquisitive and, somehow, argumentative about various issues. I am of the kind of watches telly and argues-out-loud with the news reporter because he is 'talking bullshit' or vivaciously criticise the ref in an important football match I am not even at, responding on my mother's behalf when my sister is playing 'spoiled-brats' and similar.. When I was in senior high especially, I was rather obnoxious and arrogant. I even made my Faith an occasion for constant 'Bible Bashing' and verbalised debates. My all time favourite was biology, ethics and philosophy classes - best ones for open discussion. I even took it against Darwin, the Papacy and Sigmund Freud. In fact, the latter was a special target for mouthy me. I despised his theories, made his arguments a joke and bull-eyed his distressed personality. These days I like to refer to my past behaviour as 'teen-age arrogance'. As you all know one of my favourite topics is 'pantha rei', the issue of change. I feel I have changed. A lot. Having worked with troubled teens, children from disadvantaged backgrounds and people in general for quite sometime, I have grown to appreciate some more expert and wiser words from others, like Freud, for instance. One of his theories suggests that our adult behaviour is, to say the least, influenced by our upbringing. Don't get me wrong: my upbringing has been close to idyllic, perfect, dare I say. What bothers me the most right now is what my teachers said. Teachers, instructors, professors of life. I often reflect on whether most of the academic profession is totally in the wrong job. Frustrated, middle-aged, dissatisfied academics who take it onto their students through mental humiliation and lack of sufficient stimulation. My classical Greek lyceum professor, for instance, who seemed to find an incredible sense of satisfaction in humiliating me in front of my whole class by saying I would have never achieved anything in life, that I was a nobody, that I was mediocre. Isn't it weird how, at the eve of a decisive step in my life, those are the words that are resounding in my head. I not stupid, not smart; I am mediocre. I have often reflected on that woman's cruelty and often wondered whether she was a, pardon my French, b!*$%# or the only person who ever really saw right through me. I am shattered.

"Shaddap You Face!"

I felt we can all always do with a little 'cheering up', a short moment of happiness and positive, worry-less thinking. So here it is a little gift of """"Italian""""" joy! This song makes me smile every time I hear it - likewise I pray that it manages to bring a wee smile onto your faces as well. And to anyone who doubts us, mocks us, for any thought that hunts us and makes us sad, lets implore that emotion to "Shaddap You Face"! (Hey!)

Stress Valve

Hi. I know I'd said I wouldn't have written until after the exam...but I am studying so hard and being so secluded from any form of social interaction that I am beginning to feel like a pressure cooker that is about to explode. My family and friends are being simply great. They are standing right beside me at this time of incredible stress and pressure, preparing meals, being ever so tolerant of my unsociable behaviour and supporting me in every way possible. So here goes a huge, massive thank you to all of you who are supporting my pursuit of a dream.

I never thought I would, but I have actually started missing the blogworld a little. More than I ever thought possible, writing here has been an incredible 'stress valve'. Whereby a journal often becomes self-indulgent and unresolved, writing one's thoughts for public display appears to be ever so much more cathartic. I have also realised how some of the people who read this blog regularly have surprisingly become people I feel I know, I may have a connection with, friends. And like we all miss those who are dear to us when they have gone on holiday, moved out town, or have been to busy to keep in touch, I have missed you. So here is another wee 'hello' and a 'thank you' for the person you are...to me as well as to the world. Ah! Feel better already! Biochemistry: here I come again!!!

Only a Temporary Interval..

Dear all,

We are currently in the full of summer here..yesterday was actually "Ferragosto", Mid-August, (originally a religious festivity). We are experiencing a rather pleasant hot weather which makes a change from the unpredictable English summer weather. Even though I have been spending some quality time in some of the most beautiful locations on the southern Italian coast, enjoying some of the most exquisite cuisines in the world and drunk some of the best coffees and wines, I have been rather busy studying, preparing for a very important exam on September 4th. So this post doubles up as an apology for my seemingly lack of interest in the blogword, and a brief 'farewell' to the days when I will be a little bit more relaxed to find something to write about that does not involve eukariotic cells, chemical relations, physics and you name it! Good-bye and see you soon!!!

Facing the Demons

When I was seven, a little girl found the skeleton of a homo-sapience lying on a beach somewhere along the Northern African coast. An archeology enthusiast back then, I was totally thrilled by the news and sat closely by the telly in order to see the presenter unveil this remarkable historical discovery. Little did I know at the time that putrefied skeletons are not much of a pretty sight and I spent the evening being terrorized by flashing images of the once cave man. At night, I reluctantly waved my parents good-bye, made my way upstairs and walked into the darkened bedroom. Lying in bed I kept on being haunted by those images I had seen earlier on the screen. I shivered, I was scared then, I vividly remember, I sat up in the middle of the bed, turned my wee side table lamp on and gave myself a little declaration about why I shouldn't have been afraid of a dead man. For a dead man cannot do me any harm; same reasoning went for beetles, who are too small compared to me, ghosts, insects, animals, monsters and all sort of creepy creatures. The same reasoning goes for most things still now. Guess in many ways Faith has helped me exorcise a lot of fears and made me a much braver person. Time changes us, man, doesn't it change us. I have now returned to an old reality, to the things I loved and I had forgotten I did, to the places I always liked, the mentality I could never embrace, the people I disagreed so much with, but never felt adequate enough to confront. Now a much older, hopefully wiser, woman I face the world with very little fear. It doesn't mean that I have the answers to everything, nor that I am fearless or invincible. It is just that with the light on, even in the middle of the night, it becames much easier to face monsters, demons, life.