Of the Bloody Hot summer in Bloody Polluted Milan
It's summer. Officially so. If it were just a matter of season names, I wouldn't complain, but it's also a matter of heat. It's torrid, humid, hot and outrageously sunny. It's 32 degrees out there. For those of my readers that aren't familiar with Celsius degrees, 32°C equals to roughly 90F. Ok, 90 might seem a lot but not that much. After all, there are places where temperatures range in the 100's. Well, if you believe so, you should come to Milan in this season. It's not only 32°C or 90F as you prefer. It's also 90% humid. It's also still: no wind, no breeze, not a leaf moves. It's polluted. So polluted that the sky doesn't look blue but gray, with a hint of brown. Add that there is no sea, no lakes, no rivers. No water, in fact (agriculture is in crisis already). It's crowded with bloodthirsty mosquitoes (whose bites I am allergic to) that mistook my arms and any other visible part of my body for an airport. And, if you think that after all this is not so different from NYC in August, just add that we don't have air conditioning. The thermometer in my bedroom indicates a bloody 33 degrees in this moment. All I have is a fan, and it does little more than blow hot air against me. Luckily, I have air conditioning in the office. It pays to have a job sometimes. Not only in the literal sense, I mean.
Look: I hate the summer. I hate long, sunny, hot days when night comes too late and lasts too little, I hate to wear as little as decency allows me to and still feel so hot that I wish I could tear my skin off and let my bones refresh (because, as everyone around me knows very well, I am a skeleton covered by an extremely thin film of extremely white skin - other fanciful addenda like "muscles", "tendons" and such do not seem to belong to my genetic pool). On my right arm, a damn mosquito has left two different marks: one is approximately 7 centimeters wide (or 3 inches). The other instead is growing as a protuberance of scary size. This, because I am allergic to their bites. In fact, I hate mosquitoes hardcore. To hell with biodiversity! I once read a book written by a Nobel Prize that happens to be clearly insane, he was protesting a race of spiders insisting that eight legs and six eyes are too much of both. Well, I tell you, six legs, two eyes and a bloody sting to suck your blood off your veins is too much already. I would be extremely happy to squeeze the last mosquito and bring their useless species to extinction. Unluckily I was told there are hundreds of billion mosquitoes in the world and I tend to get tired very quickly during the summer. I would probably give up after killing the first two or three billion.
When I try to imagine the worst feelings of the world, they all begin with a sunny summer day. I am slightly photophobic. For those who never heard this word, it means that my eyes are slightly over-sensitive to light. Direct, intense sunlight makes my eyes burn and cause the explosion of capillars that make me look like a frenzied vampire. Not that I have anything against vampires. In fact, I love vampires. Vampires are gorgeous: only thing is that I am not one. I just look like one, which scares the wits off most the people I meet without giving me the pleasure of sucking them dry.
I am not particularly fat. In fact, my weight is appropriate for a girl my age and my height. That means, a normal girl, not one of those revolting anoxeric skeletons that surround me in this country. In fact, girls I am attracted to tend to be athletic, with nicely shaped biceps and shoulders, straight backs, fit legs and generally toned body: a-la Jennifer Lopez. Precisely the contrary of the generally appreciated type in this bloody hot country. I like self-sufficient, independent, intelligent, witty women with a taste for their good health and no need for a man at their side. I like them self-confident, courageous, strongly feminist and emancipated. I love them talking face to face to men as equals, proud of their selves, uninterested in gossiping about other girls and much less men. I like girls with guts.
Italians, instead, like Adriana Lima.
Adriana Lima makes me vomit. I hate her. I hate her stupid face. I hate her stupid TELECOM ads (I also hate TELECOM but that's another story). I hate how she looks like a sulky teen. I hate her poorly trained body, I hate the pictures they portray of her. I find her utterly annoying, disgusting, revolting, whenever I see her on TV (and it happens often) I feel the urge to zap to another channel. It's the same urge I feel when I see the face of the Pope. It's not just her. By the way, I don't know her. I only know her body and how ads portray her, and this is what makes me puke. Perhaps she's an intelligent girl (I seriously, SERIOUSLY doubt an intelligent girl would sell her body like that, but then again, who knows?). I hate that girls plan their aspirations on the revolting model of Adriana Lima. Sometimes I wish the Telecom ads showed a more athletic woman (Jennifer Lopez?) meeting men in a bar and blasting their balls off with Kalashnikovs or Uzis. A bit gory but I would have a damn lot of fun watching it.
Whatever.
I will close this post because it leads me only to feel worse. Not only I am hot but now I am thinking to that horrendous creature Adriana. I'd better go watch Kill Bill. I need blood now.
Sayonara, amigos.
