Milan & Prague: Dueling Banjos

I'm gonna try to sum-up Milan before it completely vanishes from my memory:

Milan — an industrial city. Practically every street corner, building, and avenue resembles (almost to the letter) any mid-level city in the U.S. (i.e. Kansas City, Cincinnati, New Orleans, Atlanta, Sacramento).

Italians do not like Milan for much the same reason. They say it in no way depicts a "true Italy" or an Italian way of life.

Therefore, my pre-apologies for an experience in Milan that is in no way romanticized.

My week there was all work, business, and regimented. 'Though I had much more time and opportunity to see the sights of Milan than i had in Rome, Milan sadly boasts few attractions (The Duomo, and museums, museums, museums). Other than fine restaurants, it is a city of business; one of their main ones being fashion. And lo and behold, as The Cosmos would have it, I was there during Fashion Week!

Initially, I was extremely excited by this. But only for the most selfish of reasons (I hoped to be discovered). But that porcelain dream quickly dissolved when I spotted my first model on the subway: Tall, bony boys with lanky hair and elongated torsos in tow of angular women in shapeless tops; both with eyes either too large or too small for their heads. — I just didn't see the fascination with them nor the attraction and appeal.

You know how they say gymnastics at an early age can stunt a child's growth? Well, somehow I felt the same was at play with these creatures, yet differently. Since they never took gym class or played sports or did anything athletic, that the unbalance of this evidenced itself during the growth-spurts within their teenage years. And so while they matured vertically, they didn't mature horizontally as well; resulting in waifishness and child-like facial features — like a toddler on stilts.

And somehow this is beauty.

Then I saw the entirety of their careers flash by, many of their successes exhausted the very hour of it's celebration. And then all I could feel was an enormous pity for them.

This all happened within seconds, mind you.

And my blue feelings towards the "models" only seemed to strengthen as the week wore on because they were EVERYWHERE. Tons of 'em.

Now onto the Show...

Teatro Franco Parenti is the best theater I have ever been to. It has at least five theaters within the entire complex. And an Olympic-size pool in the back that they're renovating so they can turn it into — what? — A theater! A theater you can SWIM in! I love it!

The whole place is a labyrinth of play spaces, wooden stairs, white hallways, and grey offices. Our first day there, I snuck off to do some exploring and found the stage of my dreams: It's small, intimate, raised; equipped with chandeliers, red velvet chairs, scenic flies, projection screen, exposed rigging, and the simplest lighting plot.

I've decided that I'm manifesting working/creating at Teatro Franco Parenti for the rest of my life (It is done).

During the week, we played to packed houses (300+ a night). Our audiences loved me, thankfully. And after our last performance, one of the theater's producers came into my dressing room to congratulate me, saying (and I quote) "I love watching you. And I personally find your performance brilliant." I expressed my gratitude humbly, and asked his name...

"Frederico." He replied.
"Well, its very nice to meet you, Frederico."
"Frederico Parenti." He continued.
"Oh!" I gasped.
... Yup, you guessed it. I was just complimented by the son of the theater's founder.
  After quickly lifting my jaw off the floor, I easily snapped into networking mode, and told him that I'd gladly work at their theater again in a heartbeat. He seemed to understand what I was suggesting but instead suggested that I study at the Dance Academy of Milan, oddly enough, what with all my acrobatics in the show.

Also, I'm certain he was hitting on me.
Italian men, thankfully, leave you little reason to doubt such things.

Now onto Prague...

I'm not gonna miss Milan much (with the exception of Teatro Franco Parenti). But Prague made me miss all of Italy... hardcore.

Prague is... is... is... um... pretty.
There are castles. And the architecture for Every. Single. Building. is a work of art.

 

 


But honestly, I feel no love here.
I almost wish I had done this tour in reverse. 'Cause Italy is like a human heart: messy, bleeding, red, and the seat of all emotion. Prague is like the perfect human hair-do: pretty, well-done, artful, perfectly coiffed. But really just masking a bald landscape.

Don't get me wrong. I don't hate this place. I just don't love it. And I promise you I won't miss it.

The women are gorgeous flawless ice queens. And the men are... not. At least not to me.
Yeah, I know they're supposed to be one of the top regions of the world for birthing the most beautiful boys, but honestly, I don't see it.

They're too pretty, scarless, and hairless for me (see "model" rant above).

International Staring Contest

Everyone here stares at me... Long and hard. And I'm talking about from blue-haired grannies to blue-eyed babies. And I know it has nothing to do with my race because there are other black, brown, and yellow people here. And the black people here are BLACK. — So really, I have no idea why I get the looks. But it doesn't phase me. I just stare right back at them as I'm crossing their immaculate streets until they turn away, having silently made up their minds about me.

I know I carry my own brand of magic wherever I go... But really?

At Present

I am ten minutes away from my last day in Prague. Then I have a 24hr layover in Milan (nothing exciting. I'll be far from the city, sequestered in a hotel airport) before I'm back in the United States. Beyond that is my future... A veritable sea of possibilities.

I have no shows scheduled to begin rehearsals... Yet.
No home to call my own... Yet.
No money flow... Yet.

Just words on the wind.
And visions in my head.

I'll in many ways be returning home to a blank canvas with a palette of new colors. What's next is news to me.

But of course, I'm no stranger to this (he says with a knowing smile and a twinkle in his eye).