The following is a satire and should be interpreted as such:
When I told my professor at Università per Stranieri di Perugia (University for Foreigners of Perugia) that I am learning Italian so I can conquer and colonize Italy, she laughed. The good news is that they’re unsuspecting. The bad news is that we Americans may be a little late – at least half of my class was sent by the Chinese government. But let’s be honest, we’ve always known that it would come down to a contest between the Chinese and us. Perhaps Italy – the former home of the one of the greatest empires of all time – is the most appropriate battleground.
I won’t lie and pretend that this contest will be easy. It will certainly take a good amount of American ingenuity to undermine the sheer numbers that the Chinese can offer. Luckily I have it in spades, and fortunate enough for me there is a far greater language barrier between Italian and Chinese than there is between Italian and English. Just the other day we spent (read: wasted) thirty minutes of class while my teacher tried to explain the word fetish to one Chinese man who alternatively described his family, his government, and finally his dog as his fetish. The topic was eventually dropped.
Although with respect to the language barrier things have been going pretty well, I won’t pretend like this mission has been all wine and cheese. In fact I would say it’s been down right dirty work bringing culture to these Italians. For one thing, they clearly have no concept of dog owner responsibility. There’s shit everywhere. And although they keep their homes immaculately clean, personal hygiene seems to be an afterthought. At least this is what I’ve gathered from the time I’ve spent in the discotecas, where the only redemptive part of the experience has been the abundance of American music.
Life here truly is a mixed bag. For every McDonald’s I’ve seen there are at least twenty pizzerias. And while I’ve explained what I call the Second American Civil War (East Coast versus West Coast Hip hop) as best as I can, they still sing “limon-cello, limon-cello, limon-cello,” over the chorus of Wiz Khalifa’s “Black and Yellow.” I shake – not bob – my head every time it happens. Further disgraceful is their inability to properly pronounce Kanye West’s name.
But despite the obvious difficulties, I’m working harder each day. Fortunately I’ve been inserted in the heart of the system: I’m living with six Italians. They all seem very nice – almost human at times – but I won’t let their hospitable front deter me from my goal. Instead, I have taken to using them as a resource of information that will be invaluable as the infiltration begins. I also like to think that my roommates are kind of the guinea pigs of the future American acculturation process. By the time the boots hit the ground they should already know all about cheese steaks, and countless useful facts about New Jersey. As for a conflict when we invade, I don’t think it will cause us much trouble. The Italians have never won a war.
Well, that’s all for now. More to follow as I continue unearthing the subtleties of these strange and mysterious people. Next up, an in-depth analysis of the bidet system: urinal, or water fountain? Stay tuned!
