For the of love peace and all things intelligible- stop listening to Bob Dylan.

Anyway- here is a little rant by John Adams on pop culture:

I’ve been up for an hour an a half. It’s 10:30 and I’m still not out in the amazing Italian sun window shopping or reading. I’m sipping my burnt espresso, watching another episode of South Park and thinking about what I really should be doing today- printing out scores for my presentation on Tuesday and double checking the score for my string quartet. We haven’t had a rehearsal yet and it’s making me a little nervous. There were a lot of issues I wanted to work on, and I really don’t think there will be time. It will be interesting to see what happens.

That’s enough boring for this morning.

Behold:

I have written a little poem in honor of The Annoying Orange.

I am The Annoying Orange
I will judge you
I will call you fat
I will make fun of your name
And the color of your skin.
I will question your mother’s fidelity
I will taunt you.
My words will get under your eyes
And rot your very core
My laugh will cut you.
I will warn you that death is right behind you
But you will not listen
And that is why I will laugh as you sit
On that bloody chopping block
And die.
I have no soul
I will spit my seeds of hate on your grave

(he he he heh heh heh he he he)

In the past 24ish hours, Mack-inz-eh, Steve and I have gone through 1 train strike, 1 camp out at McDonald at the Florence Train Station, many juice boxes of wine and 1 bagpiping-for-money adventure. Early this morning, we caught the 6AM train to La Spezia where we wandered around, went to a large Italian fish market (no fish for me- it’s official!) and then hoped the train to Cinque Terra. It was terrifying- they laughed, I cried and now all is well back in our hotel rooms at the early hour of 10:30.

More to come!

-ekb

I’m not going to go back and read what I’ve said about Cortona so far- so if I happen to repeat myself, get over it.

I am so thankful that I started my tour d’Italia in a small town. And I mean a small town. If you spent one long day in Cortona, you just might have enough time to hit the museums, a majority of the shops, stop at the Duomo eat at one or two restaurants and fit in as many espressos and as much gelato as needed. I loved every minute there- even the long, uphill walk from Hotel Oasi Neumann into town. If you go to Flufluns, order the pear, walnut and gorganzola pizza- but do NOT order the house bianco frizante- (or however you are supposed to say “white sparling wine”) just get an Orangina and call it wonderful. I heard Preludio was great, but a little pricey (Disclaimer: Cortona is not expensive. Pricey in Cortona would be considered cheap in Rome.) There is a market with clothes and fresh fruits and freshly slain wild boar on Saturdays and an extensive flea market on Sundays. I am still swimming in images from that flea market. Ivory pipes, vintage hand coffee grinders, WWII gas masks, beautiful and expensive pocket watches (I examined one and it seemed justly priced), piles of decaying books, hand-written orchestra scores by some dead and frogotten composer, tunisian bagpipes, piles of beads and sunglasses… it was awesome. I hope Pavia has something similar to offer. The food was great, the company was always wonderful and the music couldn’t have been more perfect for this festival. The competition was friendly, the conversations were lively and the laughter rang out into the cool, Italian night air. That is, until the hotel put up signs saying that no more glass bottles were allowed on the patio. Ooops.

********************

Are you satisfied with your experience at the Cortona Sessions for New Music? YES
Would you recommend the Cortona Sessions to friends and family members? YES
Are you planning to attend the Cortona Sessions next season? YES
On a scale of 1-10 (1 being very dissatisfied and 10 being very satisfied), how would you rate the directors and instructors at the Cortona Sessions? 11

I am sitting at the Rivoire Pasticceria in Firenze, Italy. Yes, sitting. It is 8:41, my travel buddies have gone into the Ufizzi and I have time to sit here and enjoy my 6,50 Euro cafe duppio. Lovely. I have been waiting to do this since my last visit to Florence about a week ago. I could see the smaller copy of David except a delivery truck is blocking my view. A gutsy sparrow just tried to sneak a bite of my brioshe. My waiter brought me crème instead of jam- and I am very glad he did- this is wonderful.

I guess I should work my way backwards. Yesterday, we (Stephen Bachicha, McKinzie and Kristen) got up early to get in line to see Michaelangelo’s David. 2 espressos, 1 pair of shoes and 4 hours later we made it into the museum. If it weren’t for the David, I think I would have hesitated paying the 10 euro to visit. We put out purses and bags through another scanner and with hard-earned tickets in hand, we make our way towards the main event. Kristen and I turn the corner and gasp. We’ve all seen pictures of the many parts of David- but together they do not even begin to sum up into a greater whole. He is magnificent. He is 14?? Or maybe 13?? We try to put awkward proportions aside (I’m talking about his giant feet, people. C’mon!) and imagine that he is a little older so we can enjoy him with a clear conscience. He is 17 feet tall and on a large pedistal and I wish I could see his face. You can clearly see it from the groud- but from higher up- the angle of the sculptor- he no longer looks brave- he’s scared. His nipples are hard and the veins in his forarms pulse with blood and adrinaline. I can’t imagine it would be any other way after killing a giant.

(I just reaized that my brioshe has jam IN it. That poofy crème is for my espresso… oooops!)

Like the statue, our groups proportions were off- 4 hours in line for 1 hour in the museum!

The day before we walked along the river, looked at shops and bought paper trinkets from this VERY old woman in a small paper shop. I now have a clever triangle-shaped book mark (it fits on the corner of the page- like a hat) that reads in flowery caligraphy “Here I fell asleep.” On the back is pasted “Firenze” and I think it was cut out of a magazine or newspaper- I love it.

(There are now two sparrows on my table staring at me and stealing sugar bits on my plate)

We went to several markets and bought limoncello, fruit and 2 kilos of faro (an ancient grain that Steve and I had on the wine tour… but that will require more backtracking which will happen later). Kristen found some satisfactory leather gloves and I was disappointed to find out that the pink and lace fingerless gloves I wanted were for driving and not scootering. Le sigh. I didn’t want to buy nice gloves and then ruin them by reving up the Scooty-Puff Jr. I bought a cashmire scarf instead. It is off-white with pink line drawings on one side. No tassel-y fringe-y stuff! I guess I can be satisfied driving with a scarf trailing in the freakishly hot Arizona wind vs. having sweaty palms in leather scooter gloves.

I spent the previous day in Rome, saying good-bye to Leo and Alberto, the desk guy who had invited a few folks up to the terrace for Peroi the night before. Leo Hurley, one of the composers from Cortona, and I stayed in a hostel in Rome for a few days following the close of The Cortona Sessions. I think about a third of us went to Roma after Cortona. Leo and I waltzed all over the city making up broadway songs about the birth of Fruitissima (again, all will be explained in good time) and taking Dead Pictures.

(That damn bird just took my napkin! What the hell!!)

“What are Dead Pictures?” you ask. Dead Pictures involve one person suppoedly taking a picture of sometime- a monument, another friend, a ferral cat, a huge plastic watch- whatever. But in the picture, someone else is playing dead- on a bench, on the groud, in a chair, slumped over a rock- doesn’t matter. The whole thing turns into a morbid game of Where’s Waldo. I have already posted some Dead Pictures on my flicker account [remember to post link!!!]. I hope we are the only people in the world who has a series of Dead Pictures in the Pantheon… and the Vatican (it’s in the city, not in the tombs, so stop gasping and go a head and giggle).

Before we entered into the world of the Dead Pictures, Leo and I spent hours of the previous day chasing a statue. We spent 4 hours (I see a theme…) walking around Rome looking for Bernini’s the Ecsstacy of Saint Theresa. We had two maps- one had the location incorect and the other did not have the chuch listed at all. After 3 hours of asking- and no one knowing what the hell we are talking about- we go into a useum. We needed a break from the heat and a nice 5 Euro museum seemed like the best place to go. However, the search is not over. After staring at the ceiling for a bit, we ask several people working in the museum, “Uh… Doh-veh la statue della Saint Theresa… Bernini…? Dov-eh [insert name of correct church here]?” As we exit the gallery and go to the gift shop- as we are about the leave the one place where someone- surely someone- must know where the hell this statue is located and still no one can tell us- we find the answer. The chuch is not even a 10 minute walk from our hotel. We giggle. The giggles turn into outright laugher and hurried thanks of “Gratsie mill-eh!” The church was stunning and the statue is one of the most moving works of art I have seen here. We saw it again the next day.

I think it is time for me to do some window shopping and then sit down to read. Jeanette (another lovely person from Cortona) gave me a copy of Catch-22 and I am determined to finish it before my trip is up!

Keep reading (more to come…)
-e

8AM
We are taken into The City. We are given a ration of tokens to buy food and the possible black-market weapon. We are all under cover, hoping to not expose our lack of knowledge about the culture or language of this place.
We make our way to the museum. I am astounded. Some of us at The Cortona Sessions had parents that also fought for the cause and they guide us around the museum. We are speachless as we see the products from earlier cilivizations- people who did not know internet, electric violins, nuttella, iPads, or those really big plastic watches.
We are exhausted from the trip, and after a meal of tidbits found on the side of the road, we head back home. That is what we now call the compond- home.

DAY 5

We meet with all of the leaders for various training sessions. Although our areas of expertise vary- some of us are skilled in very different techniques. There are those who practice, high, shrill battle-cries that warn us of the oncoming enemy and encourage us during battle. These are mostly the women, but it does not mean they are not fearce fighters. Some of us write out detailed strategic battle plans and research our opponant. We must be very clear and precise, lest our armies turn on us for lack of planning and knowledge. Some of us are skilled in heavier weaponry- with explosions so loud and powerful it will make you cower and weep.

DAY 6

6PM
We are ready. We have trained hard. We have worked and discussed battle plans until the early hours of the morning. Only adrenaline and instant coffee from the beverage robot keep us going during the day. But tonight- we will sparr- we will yell- we will set loose some of our deamons. It will be a night of glory.