The Death of The Elephant (or Berrie Bonds)

I am guilty. I have not written in a while, but I swear I have a good excuse. Quite simply: I had to wait for some stuff to happen. But these past two weeks have yielded some good stuff, so here is what's been goin' on:

Valentines Day was fantastic. For a holiday that is impossibly overrated in America, it is almost pleasant here. No big hooplah, not giant teddy bears, just a few hints from the lingerie stores and florists and thats about it. This being the first one Jo and I have had together, I did take it a little more seriously though. I scoped out the most romantic restaurant in town, even the right table for the evening. We get all snazzy, take the bus into town (high heels can be a bitch on the cobblestones) and stroll into a half empty, fully candlelit love palace of a restaurant. We are greeted with the brilliant smile of a young hostess, who innocently asks for the name of our reservation. A quick but easily decipherable conversation takes place between Joann and this girl. A conversation which ends with Jo giving me a little smirk. The boyfriend of the year did not make reservations for Valentines Day dinner. To be fair, it seemed as if this would not be a roadblock, I mean this city didn't even seem to notice that this was International Love Day (or so Hallmark has ingrained in my head). Jo is giggling as we walk away, but I am a little ashamed. And the next half an hour doesn't help. We walk into restaurant after restaurant, osteria after osteria, and are consistently laughed at for not having a reservation. I know these poeple are laughing because, c'mon who doesn't make a reservation for tonight, but I feel like they are laughing at me. I become mildly enraged (to cover my embarrassment), but we move on. We find a nice little restaurant just of the Piazza del Campo and enjoy a very nice dinner (the highlight being an Angus Carpaccio with White Truffle). Lubed up on wine and sated from the fresh meat, we head to a new pub called The Tea Room. This place is a find. Completely hidden away but packed at all times. They have the most extensive tea menu I have ever seen and will actually make us real cocktails, which I enjoy. I finally get a my first Bourbon and Ginger Ale in Italy and could not be happier about it. At this point our feet are killing us from the special occasion high heels (well, I had sympathy pains) and we head home completely satisfied with our first Valentines Day together realizing it is entirely possible and almost a certainty that we don't need a special day at all to be in love. Valentines Day seemed normal. I think because we have had so much practice.

School has started...for both of us, actually. Joann has nearly finished her month long accelerated Italian Grammar course, which she breezed through and has begun the real classes at the Universita Di Siena. She is (very happily) being challenged and learning a ton from these classes. I am mainly excited because she no longer has to go to school five days a week, but rather three. More time for us to hang out...this is a good thing. I have started classes as well. I learned of some free Italian language classes at a community center and have started to attend. The place is called Corte dei Miracolo (center of miracles). This logically leads me to believe that this is where Jesus of Nazareth chose to study (sometime between the ages of 18 and 33)...I mean its the CENTER OF MIRACLES, an obvious choice for he who is called I Am. This is both exhilarating and discouraging. The former because its almost as cool as telling people that Dave Grohl (Nirvana;Foo Fighters) went to my high school (fact). It is however discouraging because something tells me that no matter how much progress I make, I will likely not be the most accomplished or revered student to study here. (Corte dei Miracolo supports none of the above speculation by the way). Honestly, it is a really good class. It is filled with people of all ages from numerous countries, whom all speak better Italian than me, but are very accepting. I, we, are learning a lot every day.

We went to our first soccer game. Siena vs. Torino. It was so much fun, but freezing. Once the sun sets on the stadium it is close to sub zero. The match itself was only mildly interesting, but ended in a 0-0 tie. We cheered mightily for Siena, and in the Torino section for that matter, which it turned out can be life threatening, but we survived. Soccer (or Calcio) here is a religion, and sundays is when they go to church. At around 3 pm on any given Sunday, every cafe is packed with screaming fans who live and die by their team. It is fun to participate in this, but I don't quite know how to curse properly in Italian yet, so screaming during the matches is out of the question thus far.

I played soccer...well, calcio. If you can believe that. My fat, lazy ass got out and played with some friends, all of whom are Brazilian or Italian. The conversation on the walk to the field went something like this:

Flavio: Jay, you are about to play with the best in the world. The champions. Italians and Brazilians.

Me: And you will soon know why American soccer is not respected.

But something amazing happens. I HOLD MY OWN. It should be said that this is not a full soccer field, but rather a thunder dome of calcio made for 5 on 5 action and caged in. It is, of course, in the backyard of a church, and literally looks like it would be a place to play in EA SPORTS FIFA STREET 2008. Its perfectly worn and dirty and run down. The game makes me feel involved, more than I can say for any sport I have played since 7th grade. I run, I pass, I shoot, I SCORE...an own goal, I run some more, I nearly puke, and then...I am chalking this one up to my lessons at Miracle school...I. JAY ZIMMERMAN. SCORE. A. GOAL. And it wasn't trash either...full on legit. I was glowing. We finish up and my new friend Daniel and I decide to go for a beer. This is when he informs me that he has been recruited by FC ROMA (one of the best soccer teams on earth) from his home in Brazil to be groomed for their starting squad. Needless to say, he was taking it easy on us out there on the field. Either way, I am very pleased with my performance and need to celebrate...and thats where Jerry Lee Lewis comes in.

Our favorite little bar, The Dublin Post, has decided to host a Rock and Roll night. Complete with Jerry Lee Lewis cover band. This is very exciting to me. We meet up with all of our friends at one of their apartments to pre game and head on over to the packed bar. I am in no shape to drive a car, but am fully prepared to steer this party straight into a frenzy. We grab a bottle of wine and head to the front of the crowd. In seconds we are dancing like madmen, swigging a bottle of pinot with the band and just having the time of our lives. It is packed and it is sweaty and it is loud and it is perfect. Somehow, in the mix of everything, my friend Heraldo's greaser wig has made its may to my bald head and I am being beckoned by the lead singer to join him. Thanks to Joann. I cat call the crowd until they are chanting my name, fists pumping and dancing on the tables....and I proceed to belt out the greatest version of Earth Angel that I could muster. As I canted the last bars of that really amazing song, I fall back into the waiting arms of my friends and become (likely) the first person to crowd surf this little Irish pub. It was an amazingly fun night.

I get an email from a close DJ friend of mine from New York, DJ Berrie...he is going to be spinning in Florence this week. Jo and I decide to take the hour long bus ride to Florence to see our first "American visitor" and have an actual night out at a club. Something we have not done since we arrived here. We arrive early in Florence and are able to have a full day to explore more of this amazing city. We do something Joann never did when she studied here and climb to the very top of the dome of the Duomo. This is a feat. It includes hundreds and hundreds of steps in tiny stone spiral staircases, but the view is worth the trek. It is breathtaking up there. You can see the expanse of Florence, it is actually quite large, and all of the landmarks from up there. We spend a few minutes soaking up the view and breathing in the thinner air before we climb back down. On the way up the stairs you make a little pitstop IN the dome and see the frescoes up close, which is really cool. When I mean up close, I mean you see the brush strokes of this masterpiece. And the way the dome was painted it is a scene that is all hellfire and brimstone on the bottom and then the characters and scenery rises into a heavenly depiction as the dome peaks. The references of the ascension into heaven from the darker base of hell is obvious, but in a twist that seems entirely too un-catholic, there are more people depicted in heaven than in hell, and its mostly animals and children residing with Lucifer and co. Either way, I find the hellacious creatures more intriguing and am lucky to get better pictures of them (Cerberus and skeletons and the like). From the Duomo we stroll around only half-shopping, until that is we stroll into the right store. We mutually decide that we have to take a gun and once and for all kill the elephant that has been residing in our room since we arrived.

Joann buys her first pair of shoes in Italy.

They are quite nice and it is a good feeling to have this first step behind us. We stop by the real church in Florence, Gucci, for a minute to tease ourselves then head back to the hostel for a quick nap before dinner. We meet up with Berrie and his manager for dinner at, of all places, Acqua Al Due (see the Florence blog). We are excited to return to this really great restaurant. This time around we decide to try the Blueberry steak, instead of the famed balsamic variety that we enjoyed so much last time. Gabriela, I am sorry to say this...but it was just as good, if not better. I never thought steak and blueberry sauce ("A1 and Blueberries" as DJ Berrie described it) could be so damn scrumptious. But it was and we were truly happy with the meal here once again. We were now ready to hit the club and start our night out on the town.

Its true that we were spoiled by the clubs in New York and Miami, and are probably too critical of the quality of clubs here, but this place turns out to be kind of nice and will draw a bottle-service guzzling band of American exchange students, so it will feel like home. Having grown up a little now, I see how close to being socially unacceptable college students can be, but the night goes smoothly. As usual, Berrie plays a set that has the room in a frenzy of dancing, drinking and erotic rubbing. The place is going nuts for this kid. I resume my managerial post (force of habit) behind Berrie in the DJ Booth...and decide to grab the microphone. It may not have been the right thing to do, but it seemed appropriate at the time and Berrie was into it, so I went ahead. I was every New York City radio DJ I always hated, but was truly enjoying myself..."DJ BERRIE IN THE PLACE....PUT YOUR HAND UP FLORENCE, WHERE YOU AT?"...as with most things I do, I cringe in hindsight, but have no regrets.

So that pretty much brings up up to date. We will continue with school and I am getting closer to finding work, but not closer to not being deported (yet).

Until the next.

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