Realm: Domestic Subrealm: Italians
Jul. 30th, 2005 08:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
choco_froshOn Josh's landlord, name NOT withheld:
My landlord is called Joe. Joe is generally a very pleasant landlord: when something goes catastrophically wrong (e.g. you lock yourself out of the apartment...) he makes sure your problem gets solved (unlike some landlords I can think of. ahem.) And when something is mildly annoying, he generally also fixes it...although it make take a few months, as in the case of a refrigerator light, or the wasps' nest in the window of the back hall. But these are trifles.
Unfortunately, the same workaholic urge to improve his property that moves him to install and revarnish wood floors in this house, and that led him to build the patio out front, is now leading him to comply with fire codes by installing a second staircase to the third floor. Site for said staircase: the space previously occupied by the closet in our front room. As an additional consequence, we had to move everything out of one side of the said room, although this DID have the salutary effect of getting me to clean out my desk MORE than 48 hrs before departing for Germany. And the apartment was filled all afternoon with large Italian guys knocking holes in the walls. They'll be back on Tuesday. They might even build that staircase.
Of course, I missed most of this, since I spent most of the afternoon at the going-away party for the revvy reverend Matt Lincoln. St John's North haven is losing him for six months, as he goes on sabbatical to Iona and various other interesting parts of the world. St John's, (though actually less so this party) contains a substantial fraction of enormous, extended North Haven Italian families, who got disaffected from the Roman Catholic Church and found a spiritual home with the local Episcopalians...at least for the purpose of getting baptised and married. (But being used thus is a hazard of life for Episcopal clergy...as in the joke about the bats). But anyway. Food, folks, and silly speeches by the senior warden.
In fact, most facets of life in the New Haven area are dominated by Italians. It's not just our landlord-cum-drywall-installer: there are old Italian guys sitting outside our local grocery store talking animatedly in something that was a Sicilian dialect a century ago, and has since evolved in the classic fashion of isolated populations. The Mayor's DeStephano, the congresswoman's DeLauro, and New Haven claims to have invented pizza as we know it (and has several local restaurants who fight over who first created it, and scads whose clientele is prepared to assert that they have the best pie in town.) The culture is changing, as the Italian-speaking generation dies out and Curry places come to outnumber Pizza joints and high-end Wooster Square restaurants, but for the moment, this remains very much an Italian town.
Oh, and my sister-in-law's ex has mob connections. Distant. That's more of a West Haven thing. ;)
My landlord is called Joe. Joe is generally a very pleasant landlord: when something goes catastrophically wrong (e.g. you lock yourself out of the apartment...) he makes sure your problem gets solved (unlike some landlords I can think of. ahem.) And when something is mildly annoying, he generally also fixes it...although it make take a few months, as in the case of a refrigerator light, or the wasps' nest in the window of the back hall. But these are trifles.
Unfortunately, the same workaholic urge to improve his property that moves him to install and revarnish wood floors in this house, and that led him to build the patio out front, is now leading him to comply with fire codes by installing a second staircase to the third floor. Site for said staircase: the space previously occupied by the closet in our front room. As an additional consequence, we had to move everything out of one side of the said room, although this DID have the salutary effect of getting me to clean out my desk MORE than 48 hrs before departing for Germany. And the apartment was filled all afternoon with large Italian guys knocking holes in the walls. They'll be back on Tuesday. They might even build that staircase.
Of course, I missed most of this, since I spent most of the afternoon at the going-away party for the revvy reverend Matt Lincoln. St John's North haven is losing him for six months, as he goes on sabbatical to Iona and various other interesting parts of the world. St John's, (though actually less so this party) contains a substantial fraction of enormous, extended North Haven Italian families, who got disaffected from the Roman Catholic Church and found a spiritual home with the local Episcopalians...at least for the purpose of getting baptised and married. (But being used thus is a hazard of life for Episcopal clergy...as in the joke about the bats). But anyway. Food, folks, and silly speeches by the senior warden.
In fact, most facets of life in the New Haven area are dominated by Italians. It's not just our landlord-cum-drywall-installer: there are old Italian guys sitting outside our local grocery store talking animatedly in something that was a Sicilian dialect a century ago, and has since evolved in the classic fashion of isolated populations. The Mayor's DeStephano, the congresswoman's DeLauro, and New Haven claims to have invented pizza as we know it (and has several local restaurants who fight over who first created it, and scads whose clientele is prepared to assert that they have the best pie in town.) The culture is changing, as the Italian-speaking generation dies out and Curry places come to outnumber Pizza joints and high-end Wooster Square restaurants, but for the moment, this remains very much an Italian town.
Oh, and my sister-in-law's ex has mob connections. Distant. That's more of a West Haven thing. ;)
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no subject
Date: 2005-07-31 12:48 am (UTC)For those of us who are not Episcopalian, or who are not exposed to Episcopalians frequently enough to have heard the joke: what?
The joke about the bats
Date: 2005-07-31 12:59 am (UTC)The Methodist, Presbyterian and Episcopal pastors were sitting around after the local clergy meeting drinking coffee. The conversation turned to bats in the belfry - the literal ones, that is. The Methodist said, "Yeah, they're driving me crazy! I went out there with a BB gun but all I got was a bunch of holes in my steeple." The Presbyterian said, "Me too! I caught a bunch, drove them out into the country, and they beat me back to the church." The Episcopalian smiled enigmatically (Episcopalians are good at that) and said, "You guys are making this WAY too complicated. I used to have a bat problem, but it's all taken care of." "How, how?" the others clamored. "Oh," said the good rector, "I just baptized and confirmed them, and I haven't seen them since." (OR: "I only see them on Christmas and Easter."
Anyway, I always point out that my life has always been entirely controlled by Italians: they sell me my food, fix my car, and rent me my apartments.
And the mob may not be only in West Haven; Alex Chandler's uncle Pauly packs pistols under both arms, including at family Thanksgiving dinner.
- Grace
Re: The joke about the bats
Date: 2005-07-31 06:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-01 03:15 am (UTC)