Let's Go Bucs!

I realized last Friday, as I was sitting there enjoying the Bucco game at PNC Park with my family, that the only true point to doing "The Wave" at a baseball game is merely an indirect form of the crowd expressing their complete and utter boredom and disinterest in what is going on in the game at that point.

It started off a little weak at first, late in the top of the 8th inning when fans began to realize in between yawns that the score was still 0-0 and hopes of anyone scoring anytime soon were looking slim to grim.

Then, from a far off corner along the 3rd base line we saw a glimmer of hope in shaking off the sleepers about to form in our eyes, the slightest hint of The Wave was forming. Yes, some calisthenic entertainment was about to come my way. This was even better than the seventh inning stretch. I got to stand up and sit down while flapping my arms gracefully through the air countless times and then got to sit down and watch the effects of it swirl around me like a funnel cloud before it made its way back to where it was my turn again to take part in the oh-so-strange, yet oh-so-entertaining tradition.

For a second there, I had my own "wave" of nostalgia wash over me when I began flapping my arms for the second time as if I were auditioning for a part in Angels In The Outfield. And for another second I almost found it a reasonable gesture to be flapping my arms as if calling for angels to come save the Pittsburgh Pirates from yet another horrendously embarrassing season. (Don't get me wrong, still love you guys and will keep going to the games.)

Not only does The Wave give me the opportunity to stretch my cramping legs, but it also gives me the chance to exercise my vocal cords a bit. Since Lord knows the last few innings have been so dull that I have only muttered a few words to a family member to the left or right of me, when the wave comes curling my way, this means I get to also make that little "Woooo" noise that the rest of my seating section chimes in with me.

It's typically a shame when The Wave dies down, there are usually a few dedicated souls, God bless them all, who try and savor the last few bits that are left and continue to do it for at least five more extra rounds than need-be. But hey, whatever it takes sports fans, keep on waving.

We will always have Italy.

I am still there. Mentally, metaphorically, theoretically; but not literally. It didn't take long to fall in love with. It was easy to part with because I had to. But now, sitting back at home, in the states, all I can think about is that place.

Italy. People ask me how my trip was and I respond with an enumeration of typical words like fun, amazing and awesome. But they cannot do it justice. I took hundreds of pictures. Some of my friends took thousands. And even they will not do it justice.

Its authenticity almost gives you a feeling as if you have landed not just in another country, but on another planet. It puts America to shame when you take the time to realize how wasteful our economy is while you walk through the ruins of when Caesar reined, or step foot into the church built atop where Peter was believed to be crucified.

It also reminds you of how economically savvy they are when you see women in stiletto heals, decked out in a business suit, weaving in and out of traffic on a moped on their way to work with their briefcase strapped to the back. Or the endless row of Smart cars lined up along the streets you walk through that look like a riding tractor would barely fit driving through.

You look at churches (or duomos, as they call them in Italy) that took 600 years to build in the 14th century with little to no technological assistance. Today, because of technology, we can build things and blow them up quicker than it takes me to type this post. There is no such thing as artifacts unless its a dinosaur bone uncovered in the desert, and our definition of antiques are the silver spoons and oil lamps handed down to us from our grandparents, which eventually find there way to a storage bin in the attic until a garage sale takes place.

The pace of life they choose to set is relaxed enough to enjoy lunch and your glass of wine while looking out over the country side; yet it is still fast enough to get things done and make a living somehow, someway.

I can't even remember what I had for lunch yesterday.

Wine is a delicacy. It is their pride and joy. Red wine with lunch and dinner. White wine with cookies...at least that is what they say. I am more of a white wine drinker myself so I indulged in about 20 bottles of Pinot Grigio throughout the week for breakfast, lunch, dinner, with cookies or with friends.

We drove through the country side, between the mountains and the ocean, and squeezed down small alley-ways to get from one place to the next. We walked, and walked and walked and walked.... No wonder they can eat all those carbs and still remain thin. We rode on a boat across Lake Como, shopped all day in Milan, bought leather in Florence, wine in Tuscany and souvenirs everywhere we went. Oh, yeah, and we did play a little soccer here and there.