Permasmilo in Milano!

I have been smiling for three straight days. The structure of my face is probably starting to change...like the dimples that were already the tell-tale signs of my Italian heritage are now growing at age 26. Yes, 26 - I had a birthday last week, and I need to write all about that. But I am living a dream right now, so please, don't wake me up. Italy is like the ultimate seratonin stimulator. I stepped foot on Italian soil on Monday, and Mamma, per favore, don't ever make me leave...

OK, so even museum attendants are laughing at my goofy blissful smile. It's like I don't even realize that I am flashing a full set of teeth with my bottom lip dropped a centimeter or so because this is now my permanent state of being. Everywhere I look, I feel like I am ogling at a child with a helpless look of bliss, like "Yes, you are impossibly beautiful, and you have bewitched me."

MILANO! What an incredibly fantastic, remarkable place. Milan does not get even close to the love and praise that it deserves from foreigners and Italians alike. It is my absolute favorite city in Italy to date. The thing about cities like Rome and Florence is that they have a larger quantity of artistic, cultural and architectural treasures when compared to Milan, and so tourists tend to pass Milan over. Also, Milan is the economic center of Italy, so it usually gets described as a place for business, fashion and ordinary life, but not much else. These two points - having few tourists and no extraordinary agenda - are exactly what makes Milan such an amazing city. It's real - the authenticity and real people are everywhere - but it is still absolutely gorgeous, charming and culturally rich.

I landed in Rome on Monday afternoon and took a train from the airport to the city's central train station. I was mildly groggy and underslept and therefore kind of spacey, and I had to figure out how to buy another train ticket to get to Milan. It was hot, and the afternoon was getting late because my baggage took forever to appear, but then, that deliciously mouthy language starts tickling my ears from every direction. And I see a gorgeous, tan ragazzo walking by in designer sunglasses and looking like a million bucks, and I am not looking like a million bucks but he is still checking out my sorry ass, and prego, my day is looking up! And now that all of these Italian words and Italian men have wetted my appetite, I realize that I am absolutely starving and need to eat something stat. And then, the perfect lunch finds its way to me: barley salad with chicken, tomatoes, corn, carrots, fennel, celery, parsley, garlic and extra virgin olive oil. The ingredients were as fresh as you can imagine - and all of this, in a train station! The Italians have their priorities straight.

I am dozing on and off on the train ride, and whenever my eyes flutter open, the Tuscan countryside flashes by before me. I drift away again peacefully and happily because I know that whenever the train shakes me out of my slumber, the countryside will still be there. At one point I open my eyes and realize that all of the other eight passengers in my eyesight are also dozing peacefully. All of us, together. Logically: it was time for siesta, after all.

I am gathering my things as I prepare to depart the train in Milan, and a woman sitting diagonally from me, across the aisle, smiles and asks me where I am from. She then asks me if I am a dancer. I smile and answer, well, I used to be...but how did you know? And she says, you have beautiful arms, very toned and strong. I used to be a dancer too, so I know. Yes, I can see, you are very strong! And I smile to myself and agree - yes. I am strong. I can embrace the world.

I make my way to the metro and there is a Roman God in Dolce & Gabbana tighty-whiteys greeting me and welcoming me into the Milanese public transportation system. And then, as I exit the metro, the same Roman God bids me farewell, and I climb the stairs with my backpack and the warm night air blows my hair back and wraps Milan around me, and everything feels so right.

I then meet my amazing, incredible host Pope, friend of Jen and Cragin. Pope is so good at hosting "VIP American guests" that he should be on the payroll for the Tourist Bureau. I am so so lucky to be in such good hands!

When I hear Italian coming out of people's mouths, rolling off their tongues, the words lounging around the open mouth before the tongue clicks or the lips close and then open again so the final vowel can be sung, I feel so freaking good. Hungry. The iaggios and iammos and ienzas. My mouth starts to water. I need to know what they're saying, and I need to feel what it's like to say those words. I have a huge crush on the Italian language.

Every view down every street in Milan is so pleasing. A lovely curve. Perhaps a row of scooters. A window sill bursting with flowers. A grandmother on a bicycle. A beautiful young woman, fashionably dressed, eating gelato. Grandiose neoclassical architecture. Men in suits talking on mobile phones, laughing. Little girls in party dresses.

I have been to some incredible museums so far. The Pinacoteca di Brera was breathtaking - in particular, I stared at Bellini's Predica di San Marco for fifteen minutes. I was positively enchanted by an exhibit of nineteenth century sculpture at the Palazza Reale, especially Bartolini's La Fiducia in Dio and Canova's Danzatrice con le mani sui fianchi. Also, I saw a really cool exhibit that replicated Da Vinci's The Last Supper (because I didn't reserve months in advance to see the real thing) that used lighting techniques to create various effects and dissected different parts of the fresco on a separate projector. Today I went to the Ambrosiana Gallery to see Raphael's The School of Athens.

In a rare flat moment at lunch, I was whisked right back into euphoria when the owner of the restaurant, Papa Francesco, laughed at my last name and invited me around back to speak English with his friend in America over video chat on Skype. The friend lives in Queens and vacations in Florida, and the two of them have been friends for thirty years. After a minute or two, I was part of the family! I left with a "ciao bella!", kisses from the staff, and such a warm heart. I stepped back onto the street and decided to put Andrea Bocelli on my ipod. Walking around Milan while listening to Nessun Dorma was probably the most delicious dessert I could have ordered.

Sending molto amore from the Old World...baci! Katie

BonnaROO

It's a Cajun term that means "havin' a good time."  

Describing Bonnaroo as a good time might be the understatement of the year.  An exhilaratingly utopic carnival for grown-ups might be getting a little warmer.  And wait, where are the grown-ups?

My mental preparation for four days of amazing music and fun began with a gorgeous drive through the countryside of Illinois, Kentucky, and Tennessee.  While driving through Mainstreet, USA in McLeansboro, IL, my troublesome front undercarriage/bumper started dragging for the 27th time.  I pulled to the side of the road so that I could get out of the car and try to bend the plastic upwards to prevent it from dragging one more time.  I hear a "Hey little lady, it looks like you gotta problem there!" from two forty-somethings in overalls and trucker hats sitting on their porch, hanging out in rocking chairs.  "You need some help - let us give you some!"

Before I know it, Dennis is walking up the street to the local mechanic to get some wire, and Gary is inviting me into his shop so that I can "sample the goods."  The goods?  Gary owns a wine supply shop in one of the only two "clean" counties in Illinois, where it is illegal to buy or sell alcohol, and so people make their own in their basements.  And to make your own booze, you need supplies.  Fermenting bucket? - check.  Bottle brush? - check.  Having car trouble? - no problem.  A shot of homemade cider beer to take the edge off your afternoon? - thank you sir!  I love the internet: I found Gary's website and can check up on the business periodically.  My one regret:  not getting to meet Gary's partner Jim, aka "The Wine Daddy."  I am so intrigued.  

I got to Manchester, TN and was greeted with ginormous hugs from friends Alex and Jeff, who took me on like a little sis and hooked me up with press access for the weekend.  I am so lucky.  I am going to keep on trying to send positivity and love into the world and will see what comes up.  Good things have been having their way with me lately.   Everybody's happy.  

The first band I saw at Bonnaroo was MGMT, where I was hanging out on the side of the stage with the festival organizers and various artists performing that weekend.  I just cannot get sick of "Time to Pretend."  Found my two lovelies from home, Jen and Rebecca, and then proceeded to run around the festival like a kid with too many lollipops seeing Nicole Atkins (Feist on Broadway), The Felice Brothers (good-time Americana), Vampire Weekend (Peter Gabriel in Nantucket-Reds on vacation in Jamaica) and Lez Zeppelin (hot-as-hell lipstick lesbians playing Zeppelin covers).  The Lez frontwoman has killer pipes, and the entire band is f-ing good.  

Also, took two diversions to some of the extra special bonus tents that make Bonnaroo so special.  One was a huge disco, where the DJ was mashing up MIA with Biggie:

The other was the Rock-Star Karaoke tent, where Jeff did his world famous rendition of Bell Biv DeVoe's "Poison" and picked up groupies along the way:

Friday morning is when I kicked off my caffeine diet.  I do not know how I kept on my feet for so many hours throughout the next three days.  First was a strong set by Steel Train.  Jose Gonzalez, an Argentine folk singer who grew up in Sweden, was just plain gorgeous (in every regard). Next I ventured into the New Orleans tent, which was so cool that IT CAN ONLY BE DESCRIBED IN ALL CAPS, and which became my stomping ground for the rest of the festival.  They essentially built a jazz club in the middle of Bonnaroo with air conditioning, Abita Purple Haze and absolutely delicious Cajun food, along with incredible music from the club scene in NOLA.  Big Sam's Funky Nation extended me a warm welcome.  FEMA:  Fix Everything My Ass.  Big Sam:  now we're talkin'.  

Stephen Marley and clan were dope, especially the adorable four year old who was waving the Jamaican flag around during Buffalo Soldier.  The Swell Season were so sweet - I wish that I had seen their entire set.  The Raconteurs killed it as always, except that I still think that Jack White wrote better songs when it was just him and Meg...

Back to the NOLA tent where I saw Anders Osborne upon recommendation from my dad (impressive), who was the sickest, nastiest guitar player I have ever seen up close.  Damn.  Then, the M.I.A. hipster tribe dance party.  Then, a "nice" "shower" and nap time before more Anders and then the most important event of the weekend:  My Morning Jacket.  

The swells, the rain, the glow stick wars, the sly smile you exchange with a stranger...like, this whole thing feels soooo good....

I'm not sure how much more I can say, or how much more I remember.  Basically, if you haven't seen MMJ live, your life could be better.  

Saturday:  I can't keep listing every damn band I saw, but Mason Jennings played irresistibly simple folk (which sounds even better from the side of the stage) and B.B. King was even more legendary than I imagined.

  

Also, I detoured to yet another Bonnaroo idiosyncrasy that was SO DAMN COOL.  It is called the Silent Disco - DJs spin club music which you can only hear if you are wearing wireless headphones - and so everybody who walks by just sees a bunch of people dancing around in complete silence like they're out of their minds.  You think to yourself, "I want whatever they're having...", and then you actually can without needing to kill any more brain cells than you already have over the past 48 hours. 

 

Levon Helm (from The Band) and the Ramble on the Road - awesome.  Zappa Plays Zappa - ridiculously cool.  My daily 9PM shower and nap - so awesome and ridiculously cool.  Chromeo - super fun and kind of obnoxious.  Lupe Fiasco - my new favorite hip hop artist.  Kanye West - such a freaking chump.  

Sunday had two major highlights.  One was seeing this 22 year old kid named Trombone Shorty at the NOLA tent - hot DAMN!  I have never seen someone play the trumpet and trombone like that - circular breathing that went on for minutes and minutes.  His style is like a jazz/funk/rock hybrid.  His cover of "Let's Get It On" was delicious.  His cover of Green Day's "Brain Stew" had me three feet in the air.  

The second was getting to sing karaoke with a live band.  Yup, that's right folks - I get to say that I performed at Bonnaroo.  Tramps like us baby!

More about Sunday:  Solomon Burke had so much soul.  He also had two back-up singers who tended to his every need, i.e. bringing water, removing his tie, wiping the sweat off his brow after every song...

Rogue Wave sounded great.  Allison Kraus and Robert Plant played an amazing set, which was way more Bluegrass Belle than Zep.  Hanging out with high school friends Jen and Rebecca, and getting to introduce them to Jeff and Alex, was so special. 

 

I am going to leave you all with a picture of the worst tattoo of all time.  Bonnaroo, I love you. 

Signing off, your pimpstress in waiting!  ~Katie

Back to Basics

It's been awhile since my blog has enjoyed my company, and, for that matter, since I have enjoyed the company of my blog.  I don't know how to explain this temporary separation except by saying that I haven't really been inspired to write.  I spent the past month and a half in Los Angeles, developing a normal routine and healthy habits, acclimating to my "old" life, observing what changed while I was away, and deciding what changes I need to make now.  I have been letting these adjustments happen calmly and organically.  However, in the midst of calming down, I made a pretty major decision.  I moved out of my lovely, cozy apartment in Venice, shipped all superfluous items to New Jersey, and moved into my car.  The freedom that this decision has afforded is intoxicating.  I can go anywhere I want to go, and I can make spontaneous decisions toward happiness and self-fulfillment without any logistical weight.  This move might seem extreme, but what seems big is actually small and simple.  The point is that I have less, and less is more.  Back to basics.  

My first move is to drive from LA to Manchester, TN for the Bonnaroo Music and Arts Festival, which starts tomorrow.  I left very early on Monday morning.  It is amazing how quickly I wanted to begin writing again after hitting the road.  Automatic inspiration.  I have had a lot of time to spend with myself over the past few days, and that kind of self-companionship is what set me off on so many provocative roads while I was in South America.  Some things that have happened so far:

Drove 700 miles on day one after two hours of sleep on one large coffee and two cans of red bull.  And an Egg McMuffin.  My body hates me.  

Listened in play-by-play torture as Italy got beat by the Dutch in their first UEFA Euro Cup game.  However, had fun screaming expletives to myself, i.e. VAFANCULO.

Miscalculated the fact that Mother Earth has me losing hours here and there due to time zone changes, and still made it to Salt Lake City before rush hour thanks to one very heavy foot.

Got to crawl around my cousin Carolyn's basement (i.e. playhouse paradise) with her two adorable kids, Thomas and Emelia.  They are the most beautiful, happy, loving and polite child prodigies you might ever have the pleasure of meeting.  Emelia is my four-year-old goddaughter.  She will be an Olympic gold medalist in gymnastics in 2020, and she is already reading.  The DGs make it look easy.

  

Attended my cousin Steve's arena football game - he's the kicker for the Utah Blaze.  I was stunned by the zany dynamics of professional sports in the company of Mormons:  there is no BEER.  Weird.  

Took the road less traveled through the Utah mountains, and then along a rattlesnake speedway through the Utah desert.  Threw the windows down and belted Springsteen's "The Promised Land."  Proceeded to sing Springsteen songs for hours.  I got the radio on and I'm just killing time, baby.  It doesn't take much to make myself so damn happy.  

Decided to throw on the cowboy hat.  Just because.  Yeeeeehaw

Participated in on-air NPR talk.  My take on campaign finance and special interests:  make public financing required.  DUH.  We are spending 1 billion dollars on this damn election.  I know almost 1 billion people in this world who don't have enough to freaking eat.  

I have been playing this game with truck drivers where I drive up along their right side, flash a flirty smile, and then speed away.  Kinda dumb, kinda awesome.  

Getting to know Stephen Hawking, a la "The Universe in a Nutshell," on CD.  I still don't understand string theory, but I am making some progress.  Every time I start feeling lost, I back up a chapter.  Understanding theoretical physics is becoming central to my spirituality.

An observation before bed:  I am starting to understand how to feel peace in solace, and to reject the need for validation, while also feeling an intense longing to connect with others and to love.  This topic will receive further reflection.  

One final note.  Dinner at Applebees:  $12.  One room at the Columbia, Missouri Motel 6:  $40.  Falling asleep while watching Cristiano Ronaldo score goals:  so damn priceless.

As always, much love.  I'll be right back.  ~Katie