Easy Life
So, in Turkey, mostly a Muslim country, they have restrained the time when one's allowed to buy alcohol, regardless of the fact that 90% of people living there claim to have never have had a drink in their lives.
In Toronto, Canada, I went to an Indian restaurant. I got in and the waitress asked me if I was thinking of having a drink with my meal. Dumbfounded, I asked why she wanted to know. She explained that I couldn't sit in the Veranda if I was going to order a beer with my meal in order to avoid young people ~ passing by ~ seeing me having a good time and thinking they'd do the same once they'd be grown up.
If I wanted to have a beer with my Indian meal, I would have to sit where I was not facing the street.
In fact, in the whole city of Toronto, one can't buy any sort of alcohol in supermarkets. One would have to go to a place on the outskirts of Toronto, marked XXX, where winos hang around; and one would need a car to get there.
I did manage to find a place near-by selling wine. I bought a bottle of San Giovese for $CAD 10,00.
The same bottle of wine costs me 1,0 Euro at the local supermarket in Milan, Italy. You do the arithmetics.
Then, I got back to Milan. I went to the local supermarket and overheard fourteen-year-old kids talking on their mobiles to their school mates trying to decide what kind of booze to get for the end-of-school party: " Okay then, a bottle of Vodka; some beer; some Cranberry juice; Martini; Prosecco; Negroni, and some Pineapple juice should do it, yeah?"
Go figure....
Friday, 14 June 2013
Will there ever be a day when women will truly be equal to men?
As I follow the news I can't help but reflect that so many things are just the same all over the world.
I remember my grandmother telling me to always walk keeping my gaze downwards; to smile without showing my gums, and to keep my my mouth close or I'll eat flies ~ difficult thing to do with swollen adenoids.
In fact, my grandma deemed me too pretty not to be morally deformed by it.
My parted lips were obviously a cause for concern as was my sitting by the window in modern-days London, England, in a Georgian house belonging to a white upper-class Anglican family.
" Don't you EVER make me catch you again sitting by the window looking out on the street. My, people will think we are running a brothel in here!"
So I can't help but reflect:
Is Western society really that different from what we like to consider less-evolved ones?
Isn't it time things changed? It is, after all, 2014....
I remember my grandmother telling me to always walk keeping my gaze downwards; to smile without showing my gums, and to keep my my mouth close or I'll eat flies ~ difficult thing to do with swollen adenoids.
In fact, my grandma deemed me too pretty not to be morally deformed by it.
My parted lips were obviously a cause for concern as was my sitting by the window in modern-days London, England, in a Georgian house belonging to a white upper-class Anglican family.
" Don't you EVER make me catch you again sitting by the window looking out on the street. My, people will think we are running a brothel in here!"
So I can't help but reflect:
Is Western society really that different from what we like to consider less-evolved ones?
Isn't it time things changed? It is, after all, 2014....
Tuesday, 24 July 2012
Running and Exercising in general
My ex husband introduced me to running back in 1984.
As any good Italian girl would, I put on my best outfit and set off with an astonished Canadian professional-league, Hockey Player (Aka my ex), Armani model and later actor, to run around the Castello Sforzesco in Milan, Italy.
Although looking great, I soon realised that having started smoking at fourteen, I could just about make it to the first lamp post.
Needless to say, the ex was laughing his head off, both because of my outfit and my lack of performance; or maybe due to the combination of the two factors.
The most valuable thing he taught me was that Italians have no idea about casual dressing, in fact they get it totally wrong.
This has proved right many years down the road.
Abercombie &Fitch in Corso Matteotti, Milan, a shop my son and my ex wouldn't set foot in unless somebody was threatening to shoot them, is probably the tackiest place one can find in Milan.
At the door, naked male models from the waist up (I'd rather have the opposite), and girls in skimpy dresses.
Where's your dignity man!
Still, everyday there's a queue as long as what used to be the one to get into The Amnesty in the late 80s.
This all proves my ex right: Italians have no taste when it comes to casual dressing.
Back to the main subject.
Since 1984, I have been running - on-and-off - for the best part of my life.
Eventually I came to realize that I was spending so much time either running around Hampstead Heath in London, U.K., or at the gym, that I might as well make money out of it and became a successful personal trainer.
I quit the job when caring about the cellulite on someone's thighs, together with having to remember the date their children had the violin concert exam, somehow crashed with the real problems I was going through in my personal life.
Yet, as my ex-husband - and nowadays best friend - always told me, if I had been born in the U.S. I would have become a professional athlete, so I kept up what, by then, had become a passion, albeit a selfish one (yes, another one), of mine: exercising.
At present, I'm running at the "Montagnetta" in Milan, Italy, an under-estimated heaven in this city of cement.
I get great pleasure from looking at the the outfits of some of the fellows runners I meet on the way but, mostly, I am astonished at the gadgets and, most of all, at the expression on the faces of the runners; they simply haven't got it.
Running is an art. A form of meditation where, finally, we can open our minds and stop creating thoughts in our heads. When thoughts can come and go freely, or not come at all.
All that is required is to listen to one's body and being in tune with one's energy level which vary from day to day.
There are times when you will run fast, others when you will run so slow that you might as well walk, but that's not the point. The point is to lose oneself in the act of running, to effortlessly observe the surroundings, to feel at one with Nature.
The expression on your face should be one of Serendipity, your shoulders should be low and totally relaxed, your neck should be feeling no strain and your steps should be those of a panther strolling easily through the Savannah, ready to sprint when so inspired.
Lastly, the aim of the whole enterprise of running should have nothing to do with weight-loss or toning up - which are just to be considered as welcome outcomes - and all to do with being in the moment, thought-less and worry free and, most of all, TIMELESS!
Timeless, or the ability to live in a time-less zone is what exercising is all about, no matter the sport one chooses.
Hence, throw away those use-less gadgets that tell you how many calories you're burning, how fast you're running, whether your heart rate is above or below the ever-so-sought after 60%, and just set up to enjoy yourself and live in the real dimension of time that our every-day-lives are always trying to steal from us.
That's what is all about,
You can do it!
As any good Italian girl would, I put on my best outfit and set off with an astonished Canadian professional-league, Hockey Player (Aka my ex), Armani model and later actor, to run around the Castello Sforzesco in Milan, Italy.
Although looking great, I soon realised that having started smoking at fourteen, I could just about make it to the first lamp post.
Needless to say, the ex was laughing his head off, both because of my outfit and my lack of performance; or maybe due to the combination of the two factors.
The most valuable thing he taught me was that Italians have no idea about casual dressing, in fact they get it totally wrong.
This has proved right many years down the road.
Abercombie &Fitch in Corso Matteotti, Milan, a shop my son and my ex wouldn't set foot in unless somebody was threatening to shoot them, is probably the tackiest place one can find in Milan.
At the door, naked male models from the waist up (I'd rather have the opposite), and girls in skimpy dresses.
Where's your dignity man!
Still, everyday there's a queue as long as what used to be the one to get into The Amnesty in the late 80s.
This all proves my ex right: Italians have no taste when it comes to casual dressing.
Back to the main subject.
Since 1984, I have been running - on-and-off - for the best part of my life.
Eventually I came to realize that I was spending so much time either running around Hampstead Heath in London, U.K., or at the gym, that I might as well make money out of it and became a successful personal trainer.
I quit the job when caring about the cellulite on someone's thighs, together with having to remember the date their children had the violin concert exam, somehow crashed with the real problems I was going through in my personal life.
Yet, as my ex-husband - and nowadays best friend - always told me, if I had been born in the U.S. I would have become a professional athlete, so I kept up what, by then, had become a passion, albeit a selfish one (yes, another one), of mine: exercising.
At present, I'm running at the "Montagnetta" in Milan, Italy, an under-estimated heaven in this city of cement.
I get great pleasure from looking at the the outfits of some of the fellows runners I meet on the way but, mostly, I am astonished at the gadgets and, most of all, at the expression on the faces of the runners; they simply haven't got it.
Running is an art. A form of meditation where, finally, we can open our minds and stop creating thoughts in our heads. When thoughts can come and go freely, or not come at all.
All that is required is to listen to one's body and being in tune with one's energy level which vary from day to day.
There are times when you will run fast, others when you will run so slow that you might as well walk, but that's not the point. The point is to lose oneself in the act of running, to effortlessly observe the surroundings, to feel at one with Nature.
The expression on your face should be one of Serendipity, your shoulders should be low and totally relaxed, your neck should be feeling no strain and your steps should be those of a panther strolling easily through the Savannah, ready to sprint when so inspired.
Lastly, the aim of the whole enterprise of running should have nothing to do with weight-loss or toning up - which are just to be considered as welcome outcomes - and all to do with being in the moment, thought-less and worry free and, most of all, TIMELESS!
Timeless, or the ability to live in a time-less zone is what exercising is all about, no matter the sport one chooses.
Hence, throw away those use-less gadgets that tell you how many calories you're burning, how fast you're running, whether your heart rate is above or below the ever-so-sought after 60%, and just set up to enjoy yourself and live in the real dimension of time that our every-day-lives are always trying to steal from us.
That's what is all about,
You can do it!
Monday, 23 August 2010
Newsletter
Working as a Public Service Interpreter can be challenging.
The other day I had to attend a home visit to an Italian couple who had just had a baby.
Health Visitor: Your baby has sickle cell trait
What the fuck is sickle cell trait? gotta be some kind of blood disorder, trait? is it like trace? like he is carrying the disease rather than actually having it? I glance at the leaflet the health visitor has in her lap and I pick up the latin name for it, Haemoglobin blah, blah, blah and manage to sound convincing when I tell the family, Italians of Bangladeshi origins - thank God - that: "your son carries the gene of Haemoglobin in his blood.
Fortunately the Health Visitor went on to explain exactly what it was or all the poor family would have been aware of is that their child had blood running through his veins!
I trained for the English Law Option, darn it, not to talk about diarrhoea and milk formulas! Where are the Mafia guys I have to translate for at the Old Baily? Where's Marlon Brando?
Anyway, I started work at 9:30 and was done at 10:37 making what most people make in two days, can't complain.
I went to see the new flick with Leonardo DiCaprio, Inception. Total shit. All about living in a reality vs a dream world, the subconscious, planting ideas into it...please! If someone forces me to watch it again I will confess to any crime just to have them shut it off. At the end we are left wondering if we are actually finally in the real world or still in the dream one.
A sequel? Shoot me!
I love you, I love you, I love you. We use this word so easily. Love is about the pleasure of giving without personal gain, without an agenda. It is the ultimate unconditional, selfless expression of one's being. Are you still sure you love me or did you just mean you'd like to get into my....
On TV last night:
"You went to bed with.....?"
"I had to, she's a sex addict".
"She must be!"
Turning down jobs that are badly paid is bliss. People think the right thing to do is to take on board anything that is on offer because there are always opportunities that one may otherwise miss. I think it's selling oneself short. I wouldn't go out with a guy I didn't fancy just because it was on the offering thinking it's either this or nothing, would you?
Full moon in Pisces tomorrow, seriously considering lobotomy, can you tell?
Saturday, 14 August 2010
The Higher Self
I don't believe in things like astrology, god, the angels, extra-terrestrial, various form of divination or others belief systems, per se.
I consider them all methods by which we can access our higher consciousness, or self.
This is because our minds are used to accept something which comes from high above with more ease.
Also we tend to be so untrustworthy and constantly thinking in terms of being better than the other that we dislike and distrust anyone who displays what we call psychic powers not understanding that there is no such thing as personal gain, but that's another blog.
All the above mentioned methods, though, are invaluable in providing us with the tools necessary in order to access our higher self.
Astrology, for which I have the greatest reverence (if I contradict myself here I'm only human and my mind is also a simple one), requires a great amount of study but at the end of the day it's up to the astrologer, having given the planets, aspects, houses and so on a precise meaning, to come to the interpretation or rather, to contact his/her higher self for the message. Thus astrology is also a tool, the more in touch the astrologer, the more inspired the reading.
I love what Abraham-Hicks videos say about just being happy and watch one's thoughts. The whole thing is very controversial and if Ms Hicks were to say those things herself people would immediately find faults and resist the concepts. When it comes from a higher source we are less guarded against it. Yes, we are guarded also towards what we believe in!
The higher self is integral part of each one of us and not at all distant or separate from our body. It's an extension of ourselves, the extra inches tall we want to be perhaps. The more we pay attention, concentrate and focus on hearing what it has to say - through whichever method we may chose or simply by itself - the more it speaks to us. At all times.
Saturday, 27 March 2010
In awe of Italians
I am always very impressed with how highly some people seem to value themselves, I really am.
I was at the London Pirelli's head quarter the other day, meeting up with a successful business man I've known, literally, all my life to say hello as we were both in town and this is what one does.
I wasn't impressed with the premises, by the way, and the receptionist - although lovely -looked like Mortitia while the guy at the door was simply scruffy. Surely the Italians should be aware that we already have a bad reputation as it is in the rest of the world and pay more attention to first impressions? Most likely, full of it as the are and still living on Roman-times' credit, they are oblivious to it all.
Anyway, this gentleman tells me that he's thinking of taking his boat to the Caribbean where he can make lots of money just by chartering people around the islands for two months a year. ALL this guy needs is a woman who's willing to cook and clean for the guests and, of course, look after him too.
This 'lucky' woman will not be making any money as she will benefit enough from the amazing lifestyle as it is! In the meanwhile, this guy is planning to make around 90,000 pounds PER WEEK out of the enterprise and other people's work, while getting laid.
I'm in awe.
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