La Voce Italiana According to Me

I am a female singer.  I am not a man and not a tenor.  I still sing Neapolitan songs.  Contrary to popular belief, being a tenor is not a requirement for singing Neapolitan songs.  Being able to sing is a requirement, preferably with a voice that is not painful to listeners.

There are Italians who can’t sing, but there are so many who can sing that most of the world thinks all Italians can sing.  We prefer to leave non-Italians to their illusions in this matter because this particular stereotype can be good promotional material for those of us who sing professionally or own restaurants.  There are many Italians who have done other things with their lives that have nothing to do with singing.  We are grateful to Guglielmo Marconi for inventing the radio, to Antonio Meucci for inventing a telephone about 5 years before Alexander Graham Bell got to it and to Leonardo da Vinci for inventing a bunch of things that don’t work but show what a genius he was.  I won’t mention Napoleon Bonaparte.  He started out Italian, but ended up French, which is okay with the Italians because they don’t want him, anyway.

Nobody cares if HE can sing or not.

Where was I?  Oh, yes.

I have a pretty large repertoire of Neapolitan songs and, like most singers, I love to show off.  Most of the time I do this in socially acceptable ways, such as in front of an audience that is expecting it.  On the other hand -- consider this a warning to anyone contemplating knowing me -- I might burst out into O Sole Mio or Torna a Surriento at any of the following times:

1.                   While waiting to be seated in an Italian restaurant.  I did this once.  Really.  Nobody asked me to sing.  It was not that kind of restaurant.  The people I was with wanted to kill me first, then hide.  I was singing well, too.  Some people just don’t appreciate my efforts to bring joy to their lives.

2.                   In my apartment.  This is safe, as long as I don’t have angry neighbors descending on me with torches and pitchforks.

3.                   On the street.  See No. 1, above.  If I am with people at the time, they will probably speed up and pretend they don’t know me.  In that case, I can stand there, sing and let people give me money.  I haven’t tried this yet, but there is a first time for everything.

Neapolitan songs are fun to sing.  They are Neapolitan because (1) they were composed by Neapolitans and (2) they are in Neapolitan dialect.  For those of us who studied standard Italian, this is a challenge.  Neapolitan dialect is to Italian what Jamaican Patois is to English.  If you have ever heard Jamaican Patois, you know what I mean.  Only a real Neapolitan can sing that dialect right.  The rest of us can only do the best we can with it.  We don’t care.  We sing it anyway because, as I said, those songs are great fun, even if you are embarrassing your companions in public.

I am not the first woman to sing Neapolitan songs, and I won’t be the last.  There’s no reason why male singers should have the best songs, just because most of them were written by men from a man’s viewpoint.  If anyone is looking for reality, I can’t help them, but if they are looking for someone who can sing the pants off Core N’Grato, complete with high notes and molto emozione, I’ll do it, even if there are two or three tenors present, hyperventilating because they think I have no business singing a first-person song about a man who loves a woman who can’t stand him and that one of THEM should be singing it because they are men.  To this I say, “Deal with it.”  If you want reality, watch the Kardashians on TV.

In the meantime, maybe I’ll travel to the nearest Little Italy and look for a restaurant.

Tenor Getting Attention

The Ancient Deities Support Society and Dysfunctional Family Primal Therapy Group

I have also posted this on HumorOutcasts.com.

I have an unfinished novel that I plan to finish eventually.  I don’t know when this will be.  It will be sooner if I don’t get sidetracked with other projects.

In the meantime, I thought I would have some fun with a few of the minor characters.  Here goes.

Welcome, everybody to the first meeting of The Ancient Deities Support Society.  I am SO excited that Mum decided to form this group and to make me the leader.  The life of an ancient deity in the 21^st Century is not easy.  My name is Hebe, and I am a goddess.

A minor one.

Who said that?

I did.

I might have known it was you.  I can smell the wine on your breath all the way over here.

You always had the biggest nose on Olympus!

(Laughter)

Dionysus, I told you to leave my daughter alone!

(Whispering and snickers around the room)

Oh, Hera, I cannot do that.  Hebe is such a … how do you call it … spoiled little snob.  All those boring emails she sends to us!  OOF-AH!  And now you make us come to this meeting!  Managgia!  And don’t call me Dionysus!  I am Bacchus!

I will ignore everything you say because you are drunk.

(Sounds of “Ooh!” from other attendees)

And you are the son of a whore, you … you … Italian bastard!

My mother was not a whore!  My mother was a saint!  She was loved by a god – your father.  I am your brother, you little idiot!

MUMMY!!  Make him stop!

It’s alright, Hebe.  There, there, Dear.   Don’t cry.  Just pretend he isn’t here.  You’re doing fine.

Yes, Mummy.  As I was saying, the life of an ancient deity in the 21^st Century is not easy.  My name is Hebe and … never mind.

Snort

Just ignore him, Dear.

This is boring.

This group has been set up to offer help, support and solace to any of us who are experiencing difficulties in this modern age.  Who would like to be the first to share?

I had great difficulty to get here and am now having difficulty to stay awake!

Shut up, Dionysus!  You are disrupting the meeting and making it hard for everyone else!

(Someone shouts, “You tell him, Hera!”  Everyone else giggles.)

Bacchus!  I am Bacchus!  I live in Italy now many centuries.  I grow the best Chianti in the world and the second best olive oil.  I don’t like my Greek name anymore.  And you want to make this group only to keep track of us and make us miserable!

How would you like to be hung by your feet from a cloud?

How would you like me to tell your husband Zeus what you were doing with those two cabana boys last summer?

I wasn’t doing anything with anybody!

I know.  But Zeus does not know that!

(The room explodes in laughter.)

That’s it!  I can’t take any more of this!

Where are you going, Young Lady?  Come back here this instant!

I’m going out for a beer!

How to Talk to People in Europe Without Sounding Like a Stupid Foreigner

“Foreigner?” you say.  “FOREIGNER?!  I’m an American.  I am not a foreigner.”  Well, I have news for you.  When you are in other people’s countries, you are the foreigner.  You are playing in their yard.  And, as eager as they are to accept the money they figure you will throw around like rice at a wedding, they probably think of you as being one small step above pond scum in the evolutionary chain, especially if you act like a jerk.

One way to avoid being a jerk is to learn at least something of the language of the country you are going to visit before you go there, unless you plan to spend the entire time clinging to a tour group.  In that case you will all be doing things en masse to irritate the locals,* so ignorance of their language might come in handy as a convenient excuse for whatever annoying thing you have done.

Learning another language is not easy, and it is true that a little knowledge can be dangerous.  If you attempt to communicate with Europeans in their own languages, it is important not to end up saying something obscene, stupid or senseless.  You will also want to know when you are being insulted.  Here are some examples:

GERMAN

1. To an American, a small brown sausage is a “hot dog.”  The Germans don’t see it that way.  To them it’s just a grilled sausage, or Bratwurst.  Now, if you translate “hot dog” directly into German, you get heisser Hund.  You will get a strange look from a German street vendor if you ask for a heisser Hund, though, because you have just asked for a sexually aroused dog.†

2. The same principle applies to people.  If you tell a German, "Ich bin heiss," you are announcing that you are horny.  What you are supposed to say is, "Es ist mir heiss," or “It is to me hot.”  You have to talk like Yoda when you are speaking German.  It’s weird that way.  Of course, if you have met a really sexy German and you want to make your intentions known, you can say this wrong on purpose, but it isn’t advisable.  The German language isn’t very romantic, even to Germans.‡

3. Germans sometimes refer to an American as an Ami.  This is like an American calling a German a Kraut, only in reverse.  The word Ami is often paired with other words to give it emphasis, notably the word Scheisse (“shit”).  If you hear a German mutter Scheiss Ami, he is not declaring his undying love. 

ITALIAN

1. The Italian word for “fennel” is finocchio.  It is also the insult slang word for a gay male.  Therefore, if you are ever shopping for fennel in Italy, it is probably better just to pick it out yourself or point.  This is not to be confused with Pinocchio, the wooden puppet with the long nose.  I doubt if anyone in an Italian vegetable market will be selling long-nosed wooden puppets, but you never know.  It’s best to be prepared.

2. If an Italian is looking at you and saying any of the following things, you had better run as fast as you can, get ready to defend yourself or smile and pretend you are too stupid for him to bother with: 

            figlio di puttana (“son of a whore”)

stronzo (“piece of shit”)

schifoso/schifosa (“male dirtbag/promiscuous woman”)

puttana (“whore”)

cretino/cretina (“male idiot/female idiot”)

Va fa in culo (“Put it where the sun doesn’t shine.”)

This is only a partial list.  Italians are very eloquent, and they don’t mind a little exaggeration and invention when they are useful to get a point across.  To add to the expressive value of their words, they often accompany them with intricate hand gestures.  Italian hand signs have been recognized all over the world as a language of their own.

This ends today’s lesson.  If you have any questions, feel free to ask anyone who knows the answers.

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*European tourists have no right to feel superior.  They do irritating things in groups when they visit the United States, in addition to being lousy tippers.  That’s a whole other subject, though.

†Don’t laugh.  I once knew someone who did this.

‡There must be something there, though.  Germans are still having babies.