It’s glucose-6-phosphate dehydrogenase deficiency season in Rome

24 May

It is!

See, that’s why you read my blog. So you can get the medical education you missed out on.

No, seriously. This is something I hadn’t ever heard of until I moved here. Every year, right around the end of April/beginning of May, you’ll start seeing signs printed out in Word and taped to grocery store entrances, that look sort of like this:

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Yes, indeed, my dear friends, you always know fava beans are back in stores when the stores begin to post warnings about it. That’s so people with glucose-6-phosphate dehydrogenase deficiency—that’s favism to you and me (an X-linked recessive hereditary disease, for all you Mendel’s square people out there)—can be forewarned and therefore forearmed. But don’t take it from me, take it from Wikipedia:

G6PD deficiency is closely linked to favism, a disorder characterized by a hemolytic reaction to consumption of broad beans, with a name derived from the Italian name of the broad bean (fava).

I’m not going to make fun of favismo. That would be rude, insensitive, and just downright wrong. I’m not here to make light of a genetic disease. I am simply an observer whose birthday is May 1 and therefore has a particularly strong link to fava beans.

So if anyone ever asks you before you reach for that ginormous green bean, “Ma non hai favismo, vero?” you can respond, “Beh, in realtà si chiama carenza di glucosio-6-fosfato deidrogenasi, ma comunque grazie, no.”

You can thank me later. Oh and BTW, don’t forget the pecorino romano. xoxo

Oh Gawd. Please warn the pretty people in L.A. about favism, will you?

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Would You Like to Have Them Like This?

16 May

Ok, folks. Here we go. I don’t know what’s going to be more graphic about this post. The fact that I actually have to type the word “pantiliner” (cringe) or the fact that I have to subject you to a pair of boobies that are inflated to bursting capacity with the excruciatingly awful headline: “Would you like to have them like this? I’ll pay for them!”

Lord, have mercy on my soul.

Salvaslip

This is NOT what I wanted to see as I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes this morning and opened this brand new box of feminine end-of-monthly-cycle (also known in Italy mysteriously as “my things” – le mie cose) protection product.

Now, this brings to mind how I could probably write an entire post questioning the etymology of why menstruation in Italian is referred to as “my things” and how it’s possible that a woman can simply say Mi sono arrivate as in, “They’ve come to me” and that is like some weird code phrase that really means “I have my period.” However, I will leave that for another titillating future adventure. Because, no. Today I really want to ask my faithful public how it is possible that Velluto Salvaslip (Velvet? Really? Who was the marketing genius that green-lighted that brand name, BTW?) is running a sweepstakes in which the lucky winner will receive €6,000 for their “new look” a.k.a. as listed in the ad “breasts – butt – nose – lips – tummy”

HOLY EFFING SHIT, people. I mean, pardon my French, but are you effing kidding me? Wow. I didn’t know that we had reached this level of terrifying superficiality around here. No, seriously. The blood is running cold in my veins.

“Just send in 3 barcodes to participate in the drawing.*”

*see complete rules at www. sweetwipes. com

OHMYGOD. What’s worse? The fact that I have to read through rules about a plastic surgery sweepstakes? Or the gag factor inherent in the fact that there’s a website out there called SWEET WIPES DOT COM?

Oh Mary mother of God, pray for our sins.

I’ll try to type in sweetwipes.com without breaking into a fit of uncontrollable creepy laughter. Ok…I’m going in. Cover me.

NOOOOOO!

No.

No, no, a million times NO! Why didja have to go and show a half nekkid buxom woman with yellow dotted lines drawn on her plastically modified body?

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“Would you like to have a body like this? I’ll pay for it!”

Oh, look! On the website they helpfully add that you could also have your hips or eyes “remodeled.”

In the fine print it says if you don’t opt for the plastic surgery you could use the €6,000 in “beauty treatments.” Whatever that might mean. Frankly I don’t have the patience or the inclination to read through the entire downloadable PDF file of contest rules and regulations.

Let me just leave you with this, incidentally, that I found while browsing vintage ads today, which happens to be one of my many Internet time-wasters hobbies. (I graduated with a degree in advertising. Yes, they issue those.) Lest we forget that the stick-thin body wasn’t always the ideal of beauty, check out this post that reveals how vintage ads encouraged weight gain and curvy figures.

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But: sweet wipes.

Seriously, folks. You think you’ve seen it all, and then you get a website called sweetwipes.com.

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Roman-style Security System

16 May

Walking by an apartment building around the corner from my house this morning, I see this sign generated in Word, printed out and taped to the front entry gate:

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Note – Don’t close. Door broken.

Are you so loving this?

Why didn’t they just write: “Dear Criminals: Our building’s front door is broken, and for unknown reasons we aren’t getting it fixed, at least not anytime soon, so instead we’ve printed out this sign instructing all residents to kindly leave the door open for you. You’re welcome.”

Oh, sigh. Rome, you’re so silly sometimes.

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Tram 8 Depot Moves to Piazza Venezia

9 May

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You do realize that someone actually got hired and paid to design a logo for this, do you not? The mind boggles.

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Subtitled: The shitshow formerly known as Largo Argentina/Via Florida/Via della Botteghe Oscure

I swear to God, the passage is so limited crossing Via delle Botteghe Oscure now, that there was this American middle-aged couple last week that caused a major scene. Husband, overweight and majorly grumpy, starts yelling at the TOP OF HIS LUNGS (because clearly the entire area is cordoned off by metal fencing and frankly it’s confusing even for us locals to figure out how to cross the damn street now… they’ve even placed traffic cops with whistles there to help people figure it out) “I DON’T KNOW WHAT THEY’RE FUC£$(£) DOING HERE! I’M TRYING MY BEST! YOU’RE NOT DOING ANYTHING!” Poor wife. So embarrassed. All the locals nearby start staring. (Who’s the jackass yelling at his wife?!) The traffic cop lady starts blowing on her whistle like our lives depended on it. A local points to the couple. The lady traffic cop goes “SO?!!? Move it! He can scream as much as he wants!”

Oh, Rome, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

So, Largo Argentina is my stomping grounds. (I really just wanted an excuse to say stomping grounds. That’s fun.) I’ve always worked around this piazza and am happy to say so, because clearly I love this square. The gelato. The coffee. The coffee again. And again. The pizza. The theater. The dude named Amadeo who draws chalk murals on the sidewalk, and even merited a Part 2, for God’s sake! Let’s face it folks: I can’t get enough of this place.

By now, unless you’ve been living under a rock, or Roma Nord, you’ve probably noticed that all hell has broken loose around Largo Argentina, due to the expansion of the 8 tram to Piazza Venezia.

Yes, you read me right: ATAC, or rather should I say Mayor Alemanno and his crew, a.k.a. la giunta, decided to extend the 8 line basically THREE BLOCKS. Isn’t that how far 450 meters is? I can’t find any explanation as to why, except that apparently the original plan was to get the 8 tram to head up Via Nazionale and on over to Termini, which is where the 40 Express bus takes people. See, now, that would have been nice. So, I’m a bit confused about the whole thing, but then again, what isn’t confusing around here when it comes to city politics? (Note: mayoral elections coming up at end of month! Brace yourselves! What’s that, you say? Already accusations of corrupted vote-buying? Oh, stop it now! Not here!)

Instead, we get the depot moved a few blocks over to Piazza Venezia, where mystical fortune tellers the city says that it will provide a connection to the much-ballyhooed Metro C.

Shall we go there?

You see, my friends, the Metro C is like a desert mirage. You believe it’s real, you see the signs that say behind there, work is taking place, archaeological investigations, whatnot. But no matter how far along you go, it never really appears. 2020, here we come! It’s only eight years away. Miracles can still happen.

Although I will give kudos to Metro B1. That is so Roman. Three extra stops, took SEVEN years. Seven. I’m not shitting you. (Pssst, come close! Did you know that there’s even a Metro D that’s been planned? Stop laughing! It’s not funny! Ok, they abandoned that folly last year. But still…)

Anyhoo, what does this exciting construction project that’s been going on for nearly a year now, bring us good citizens of Rome? Well, lots of noise, for starters. And a whole hell of a lot of traffic congestion. And confused bus riders who can’t tell from which day to the next where their bus stop is going to be moved to.

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But, look! Lookie here! I see three benches, too!

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Ok, fine, so they’re fenced off. What of it? The point is that they made the effort. And one day, those benches are going to serve an important purpose, I feel certain of that.

I dunno, folks. They talk about this exciting new “pedestrian area” in front of the theater, and I’m like, and? What are we going to do with a cement paved area in front of a whole lot of nothing? With no shade, no benches, and no worthwhile shops or services to speak of? I mean, they just paved over the old tracks where the 8 used to turn around to go back the other direction. BOH.

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It’s fun to complain, though. Complaining, bitching and moaning, free expression of totally unsolicited opinions: it’s all good sport around here. Love it!

So I just thought I’d throw in my two cents.

If traffic is an issue, why don’t we just use more of the city’s Bikesharing program?

Hey! Now that’s an idea! Now we’ve got our thinking caps on!

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Oops, never mind.

But, who cares, really? We’re in Rome! Let them eat gelato! I was so confused by the construction fences they’d set up the other day around my office, that I had to go back the other way as one end of my street was completely closed off. After this crazy detour, I found myself, oops, coincidence of coincidences, near enough to Gelateria Corona to just “pop in.” Holy CRAP. People! They have honey with chili pepper (HELLO!) and licorice with raspberry. Get on over there!

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Pre-Cooked Mediterranean Diet

22 Apr

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This billboard asks “Have you got 2 minutes?”

Why, yes–yes, I do. Why do you ask?

Because “try the new AIA sausages. Pre-cooked and ready in two minutes.”

Tagline “Dakota. And eaten.”

Folks, can I ask you something?

Do we really need pre-cooked sausages? Do we not have the requisite time anymore to actually cook our food?

I dunno. This isn’t your nonna’s Mediterranean diet.

Oh and BTW? Took this one a while back in the supermarket for my pal Katie, who is very fond of offal.

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Now you can have your offal in a can. Doesn’t that just make it so conveniently portable for those times when you need your tripe on the go?

Simmenthal being the quintessential “meat in a can” company. The Italian equivalent of Spam, if you will.

And can I tell you how much I love that Wiki defines tripe as “a type of edible offal from the stomachs of various farm animals.”

It kind of gives new meaning to the phrase mystery meat, does it not?

Although, technically speaking, are the stomachs of various farm animals considered meat? Perhaps not.

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More Words and Phrases They Never Taught You in Italian Class

21 Apr

italianlearning

Not that you’ll ever need them. But, here is some random nonsense for you. Just because I love you *this much* …

1. So the other day I was thinking about the totally useless words you might hear once every couple years. Like spleen. Consider yourself fluent once you know the world “spleen” in Italian, right? Here you go: milza. Say it with me: “MEAL-zah.” Ahhh, now doesn’t that feel good?

I thought it meant gallbladder, to be perfectly honest with you. But no. That’s cistifellea. Which I can assure you, in twelve years in Italy, I have never needed. Not a once. Although, I have also heard it referred to as colecisti. This is my life.

2. Or what about con i controcazzi? Have you ever heard this phrase? Try looking it up in Google translate, I dare you. They won’t give you anything, not even a literal translation. That is what I’m here for. Because this is useless trivia that you need to devote some brain cells to. You could say to someone “Tu sei uno proprio con i controcazzi.” Literally we’d be saying “Wow, you’re really someone with the against-cocks.” I know, right? Makes no sense. But, you see, “cocks” as a colloquial expression has a great significance and contribution to make in the Italian lexicon. We need cazzi like we need to breathe. Just trust me on this one. (Yes my vulgar double entendre humor is entirely intentional. I’m not as ingenua as you thought, now am I?)

Wait. Then again. Don’t take my word on it. Just ask Antonella Clerici, who expressed this concept best on live television.

But frankly, if we really want a native speaker definition, let’s consult Yahoo Answers, oh wise source of all knowledge. Domanda (question): “Cosa sono i controcazzi?” (What are the counter-cocks?)

I controcazzi sono il di più, quello che ingigantisce la definizione di c..azzi. esempio vai a comprare un automobile nuova, il venditore ti descrive gli accessori base come c..azzi e gli optional come controcazzi. Quindi ti sei appena comprato una bella Automobile con i C..azzi e i Controcazzi. Ciao

The counter-cocks are something more, something that enlarges the definition of cazzi. For example, go to buy a new car, the dealer describes the base accessories to you as the cocks, and the optionals are the counter-cocks. Therefore, you’ve just bought yourself a nice car with both the cocks and the counter-cocks. Ciao.

Um, thanks, I think?

Personally, I prefer PaulfromItaly’s definition here. “Cool ass” As in, “he’s a cool ass player.” Yes, I think Paul has captured well the spirit of the counter cocks.

3. Or what about here in Rome, they say this thing when they want you to calm down, they say: Stai manzo! And then, laughingly, if you’re a native English speaker, they sometimes tell you, “Be beef!”

Yes, this is not normal. I agree. But in any case, be beef means the rough equivalent of “chill.”

No! OHMYGOD even Urban Dictionary has caught on to stai manzo. I am truly awed and at the same time humbled by my vast knowledge of international phraseology.

4. Or… hmmm. How about when they tell you Stai in campana! which is literally “Be in bell!” Or they say Devi stare proprio in campana “You really need to be in bell.” It’s like “be careful, watch out, be on your guard.”

5. Then there’s di coccio, as in “Lui è proprio di coccio.” Coccio is like terracotta pottery. Usually this phrase is accompanied by someone knocking on their head, or on the table, to indicate how hard it is. So it means they’re hard-headed or stubborn or even stupid. Not made out of crockery.

6. There’s also the always popular Me sto a tajà (Roman), which is like English “I’m cutting up” in idiomatic terminology, see definition number 5 here.

There you go folks: six for the road.

Now, go forth and talk about your spleen, and the spleens of others. xoxo

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Italian Radio in Sign Language

14 Apr

MusicaAiSordi

You know, people dog so hard on poor ol’ Italy. No jobs for people, esp. young people. Corruption, bureaucracy, blah blah blah blah infinite blah.

I’m no exception, although I try to keep my laments as lighthearted and fun-poking as possible, because I chose to live here and I love my adopted city with all my heart.

Well folks, look. I’m here to share (via this week’s Vanity Fair) some nice news about a group of 20-30 somethings here in Rome doing something really cool.

Radio Kaos Italy is a Roman radio station on the Internet that was founded two years ago with the aim of providing music to the deaf through Italian sign language (in Italian “Lis” lingua dei segni italiana).
On their website you can see videos of songs dubbed into Italian sign language.

They’re seeking official recognition of Lis from the Italian government, through an appeal launched on Change.org. The Vanity Fair article notes that international sign language is already recognized by 44 countries including Iran and China.

I found it totally eye-opening (although I shouldn’t have, but I did) to read the quote in the article from the group’s appeal to the State, where they mention how they can’t communicate with doctors when they go to the hospital.

Little huge things we take for granted.

The Vanity Fair article has sparked some action already. The President of the Senate, Piero Grasso, wrote a letter to Vanity Fair saying that he’s going to propose a law to make Lis an officially recognized language. In this link on the Vanity Fair site, there’s even a video with a mini-lesson in Lis.

On the Radio Kaos Italy website they have a news item about their subsequent visit to the Italian Senate.

The group has a petition on Change.org which sparked the action in the Senate. As of now they’re still just over 21,000 signatures away from their goal. You can sign from anywhere in the world, so in one click you can help them reach their goal!

DJ Drastiko from Radio Kaos Italy during the visit to the Senate regarding their petition to make Lis an officially recognized language.

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