n i g h t i n g a l e s h i r a z / blog
Monti Maddonnina

june 2023
january 2023
december 2022
september 2022
august 2022
july 2022
january 2022
november 2021
october 2021
september 2021
august 2021
july 2021
june 2021
may 2021
april 2021
march 2021
february 2021
january 2021
september 2020
august 2020
july 2020
may 2020
april 2020
march 2020
february 2020
december 2019
october 2019
july 2019
june 2019
may 2019
april 2019
march 2019
february 2019
january 2019
december 2018
november 2018
october 2018
september 2018
august 2018
july 2018
june 2018
may 2018
april 2018
march 2018
february 2018
january 2018
december 2017
november 2017
october 2017
september 2017
august 2017
july 2017
june 2017
march 2017
february 2017
january 2017
november 2016
october 2016
september 2016
august 2016
july 2016
june 2016
may 2016
april 2016
march 2016
february 2016
december 2015
november 2015
october 2015
september 2015
may 2015
march 2015
february 2015
january 2015
december 2014
november 2014
october 2014
september 2014
august 2014
may 2014
april 2014
march 2014
february 2014
*april 2013
*march 2013
*february 2013
*january 2013
*december 2012
*november 2012
*october 2012
*september 2012
*july 2012
*october 2011
*september 2011
*august 2011
*july 2011
*june 2011
*may 2011
april 2011
march 2011
april 2010
march 2010
february 2010
january 2010
december 2009
november 2009
september 2009
june 2009
may 2009
february 2009
january 2009
december 2008
october 2008
september 2008
august 2008
july 2008
june 2008
may 2008
april 2008
january 2008
december 2007
november 2007
october 2007
september 2007
august 2007
july 2007
june 2007
may 2007
april 2007
march 2007
february 2007
january 2007
december 2006
november 2006
october 2006
september 2006
august 2006
july 2006
june 2006
may 2006
april 2006
march 2006
february 2006
january 2006
december 2005
november 2005
october 2005
september 2005
august 2005
july 2005
june 2005
may 2005
april 2005
march 2005
february 2005
january 2005
december 2004
november 2004
october 2004
september 2004
august 2004
july 2004
june 2004
may 2004
april 2004
march 2004
february 2004
january 2004
december 2003
june 2003
april 2003
march 2003
Recontextualizing Your Woohoo

From an article at Advertising Age this month, on the perennial Jeff Dachis (not my first love, not my first crush, not even my first boss -- this, ladies and gentlemen, is My First CEO):

"Heís the perfect entrepreneur in that he had the wealth of experience but also some very valuable scar tissue," Mr. Pacitti said. "To me the most successful people have done well, but theyíve also faced challenges. The ones you want to back are the ones that learned the right lessons along the way."

Some days.  I still miss the wonderful world of 107 Grand.

[nightingaleshiraz] [?]
[Via Marco Aurelio, Roma]
[mercoledž 25 maggio 2011 ore 21:01:08] []

Travel Writing, Tangled Webs, and Tantrums

Under the category of thoughts that could be Facebook status updates (and would be, if I didnít think it were passive-aggressive, because THIS, of COURSE, is not passive-aggressive -- not at ALL -- oh, NOOO...):

Dear Reader.  If you are a liar.  If you think itís okay to "fib," to have "selective memory."  Then please, please, please letís not do anything together?  Letís not be friends, letís not chat once in a while.  Letís not do a glass of wine in Monti, or a coffee at the Blue Bar.  Letís not even exchange the occasional email.  And letís not -- for the love of God -- have me entrust you with something I care about.

[nightingaleshiraz] [?]
[Via Marco Aurelio, Roma]
[martedž 17 maggio 2011 ore 22:00:08] []

Five-Hundred Words an Hour

you could write poetry.  you could write.

give yourself an hour a day.  (itís five-thirty-four.)


the girl walked into the sandstorm.  the mall.  the bowl of soup.  the mountain of unreconciled trash.


my mother visits.  she asks for carciofi alla giudia.  and mussels.  and pasta, please can we have pasta tonight.

at Stefanoís winebar on Via Ostilia, you can hear Cutting Crew: i just died in your arms tonight.


outside, things move slowly on the Celio.  slope-nosed men in jean jackets (collars up).  itís May these days.  and every afternoon these days, feels like it was made for a picnic.  i can make lists, i can re-work the budget, i can catch up on email.  or i can write.

i can also make rules (unfortunately): i write for an hour a day.  i write nothing unless itís on this PC.  and if i break that rule, then the next hour of writing is devoted to transcription.  punto e basta.  or something like that.

what do you envision?  three days a week of work.  two days a week of teaching.  and an hour of writing every day.  the words sound so presumptuous.  every day.

people ask where i work, i tell them that i used to work at FAO, but that i recently resigned.  i am prouder, of saying this, than i was of saying "i work at FAO" (when i did).  itís funny what makes us tick.  my brother, my mother -- they would never understand this the way that i do.

but at least this time, and maybe.  my mother seems to get a little bit more.  she seems to get that i know, i have decided on the things that are important to me, and that -- while she might have chosen differently, done differently in my stead, she can see that i know *myself* and i am right about recognizing *my* values, and what i want.  that what i want might be wrong to her, wrong or skewed or silly.  but it is what i want, and i seem to know it really, really well.  and i am good at getting what i want.



a maremanno passes: a dinosaur-sized powder puff on a slow Roman walk.  they are so big these dogs, you cannot ever remember to look into their faces and say hello.


for some reason, i remember Beth Ann Fennellyís vision, of that train compartment somewhere between Sicily and somewhere else.  knees interlocked liked what? like something wonderful in a picture in my head that i cannot pull up the words for, but wonderful.


itís shakerato season, and i have not had one yet.  itís okay.


you know whatís really sad?  whatís really sad, is how excited i am, about having a working computer again.  i cannot get over how beautiful the black type looks against the white WordPad page.  i love this font.  i love the way the cursor flashes patiently, like a perfectly straight, ever-opening automatic door.  thank you, Mamma Carlotta!


(itís five fifty-eight.)

[nightingaleshiraz] [?]
[Via Marco Aurelio, Roma]
[lunedž 09 maggio 2011 ore 18:00:00] []

Exercises in Handwritten Heartiness

How many words.  How many raindrops.  How many dust motes, how many bowls of butterfly pasta, how much muthaf*cking sunlight.

[nightingaleshiraz] [?]
[Via Marco Aurelio, Roma]
[lunedž 02 maggio 2011 ore 21:45:08] []