Kevin Costner, MacGyver la la la

Week something... 5? 8? God, who knows. It's all so long ago now.

Venice continues to (mainly) delight. I have started to join the throngs of mainland peoples who love to hate this water world. Paninis for lunch, pizza and pasta for dinner, tourist traffic, siesta, attitude, dog poo, walking and walking and walking. I read a tourist blurb the other day that said 'there's no better city to get lost in'... I'm still deciding whether I agree. The social events have calmed since the two lynch pins have departed for home amid tears and long goodbyes. Memories of Venetian summer camp a la Dirty Dancing style abound.

Have now had a big dose of art after my two days off and have enjoyed my own quiet company. The Giardini, where the national pavilions are, is mediocre. Some pavilions are to be seen to be believed. I imagined some were tongue-in-cheek and then read the blurb or spoke to someone else and reclassified those assumptions. Although I enjoyed some of these exhibitions, the whole nationalist approach is a farce - kind of like that patronising 2000 Olympics egalitarianism where some poor bugger from Equatorial Guinea had to swim 100 metres in 4 minutes flat in front of a roaring public. Call me wiffy, but pa-lease. Some pavs in the gardens are good though: Poland, Japan, Hungary to name a few. The bitter cold in our own pavilion is bone crunching and it's only going to get worse. We're fully suited up, even in midday sun. It looks like a shed in Canberra and by golly and feels like one.

Arsenale, the large dock area of Venice is where the curated aspect of the exhibitions are and it IS good (thank god). Took me about 4-5 hours to complete but it was well worth the wander. Lots of cutting commentary on diplomacy, war and education that was right up and in your face political. Craps over Sydneyesque apathy. Arsenale had some accessible pieces too, a large six screen installation of long takes of strangers in the street saying 'I will die' was oddly but obviously fascinating. African pavilion had some terrific stuff although I did note that some (most) were from the diaspora. Contributes to the nationalist, race stuff again 'spose.

In the non-art world I've made some large steps to comfortability paramount of which has been the discovery of my local supermarket and finding it open - *gasp*. I knew it was around there somewhere, must have had its Venetian cloaking device on. Once inside, its modest baby-blue appearance is dissolved by terror. My inner golden-citizen rallys against the que jumping and elbows-out mentality of its visitors. It's the kind of place where there are 12 types of breadstick but no type of vegetable peeler. Was miffed to find that Australia has been bereft of Ovaltine Muesli - how very dare they! A staple now of my Euro-diet. The check out chick had a moustache and if i dared asked for bags i think i may have lost my front teeth, and alas I wasn't packing fast enough and my broccoli was belted into a corner by the wooden divider. Pronto, pronto.

I found Calle della Morte yesterday, the Street of Death. It's around the corner from the only square well in Venice on which is chiseled 'for priests only' in Latin. It looks more like a whipping cube than an aquaduct. Thinking of sculling a bottle of prosseco, with water from the well and then running down death street. Stay posted to hear what happens.

In the same area, locals told me that they were having an argument about which building in the campo was the oldest: that one - mid 11th C and that one, maybe 13th C, possible earlier. Pft.

With the excuse that we needed to hoik catalogues between the exhibition sites, Diego took me in his boat from the top of the giardini, in front of Giudecca, down the grand canal and all the way to Palazzo Zenobio (about 30 mins). It was awesome. His lagoon boat (which is flat bottomed) didn't like waves because it doesn't have a keel thus also providing ample opportunity for him to show off his impressive seamanship - choosing to chase, turn into or head into the 'waves' of the passing vaparetto traffic. I held on white-knuckled. Seeing the grand canal from a mini boat is much more awe inspiring. Lots of glitz palazzos, secret frescoes, hidden bits: ornate lights, fire engine boats, scary faces.

Horrendous Italian television is living up to its name. With a programming budget which must consist entirely of long-winded game shows and reality karaoke there's not much to watch... god, that sounds really familiar?! And because everything is dubbed in Italian there's no opportunity to enjoy American media-washing. Re-runs of Scooby-Doo and MacGyver are schlocky and funny and helping me learn the lingo (albeit from a time well past). Some classic Italian TV moments:
1) Kevin Costner dancing with the wife of a crippled man who always wanted to entertain the idea but thought Kev would be up for the job. Everyone cried
2) Manga actually making more sense in Italian than in Japanese or English
3) Watching the family Karaoke show which featured about 15 boy and girl models in tiny swimming outfits clapping out of time and swaying in opposite directions. Rationale for their presence unclear

Have been finding faster and faster ways to go places and have become much ruder when i want something which is helping me fit in. Gotta go and be butch / techy now. Have had lots of opportunity to clean projector filters, change lights and blah blah. Actually kind of fun.