in transit

Back in the U.S. but not settled. I have eaten lots of Thai food. I have also read some books I had waiting for me, including Beppe Severgnini's La Bella Figura: A Field Guide to the Italian Mind. More to come on what's happening with me, but for now I leave you with a near-perfect description of my apartment in Milan.
While describing the problem of mammoni and young Italian's difficulty in finding a house, Beppe writes:

...the compromise is utilitarian yet poetic. Many young people create an all-Italian (my house: all-Italian, all-male, except for one...me) melting pot, in apartments where a graduate from Milan (R, the intern/slave for a gossip news agency, and he's actually from Gallarate) lives with two students from Bari (just one student, also from Milan) and a sales rep from Rome (solar energy engineer from Abruzzo)...These are places where spring-cleaning is put off until October (my fault on this one too), food is stored in the freezer (pre-cooked meals from mamma), pasta with tuna is cooked in a dozen different ways (A's specialty is with olives as well), and a glass is raised for every celebration because it costs too much to go out for a drink. (Gassata and gin anyone? Or would you prefer a glass from the Vinbox?)

Wrong side of the bed...

Woke up this morning, swung my feet out of bed, and splashed into about a centimeter of water. My whole room had been flooded by the radiator. Sometime in the night, the little lamp we had clamped to it had turned the knob that releases water, beginning the deluge which trickled out of the kitchen and perfectly under my door.

I woke up my valiant roommate Richard (Riccardo), and together we spent a half-hour wiping up water with towels, rugs, and tablecloths and wringing them out in buckets. Finally, the room was relatively dry, and I thanked roomie profusely. Un po' incasinata, but things were improving.

Having a mild case of disorderliness, I had let my two winter coats fall on the floor from the chair they were hanging on, and now they were soaked. So I put on my thrift coat I got in Florence to face the January day. This coat is, however, way too long for my bike. I had almost made it to Zappa before it got sucked up in the brakes, stopping the wheels and almost sending me into traffic. I pulled over and got down on my knees, spending twenty minutes on the side of the road trying to wriggle it out and enduring the confused sguardi of the more functional adults who passed me. Ended up tearing it to get it free. Oh well, it only cost 9 euros, and it makes me look like an old lady anyways...

At last, when I finally made it to school, covered in bike grease and my sanity barely in tact, I had a good story to tell the kids. Who needs dignity when you can make teenagers laugh.