Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘Italy’

Tonight I am going to cover a subject that means quite a lot to me.  I am Italian and from New York thus I have a very deep rooted attachment to clothes and looking my best in them.  I see way to many people in today’s society discounting the role being well dressed plays in life.  What you wear is a direct reflection of you and you should be proud of every aspect of how you put yourself together.

I am going to share a small rant story.  I am at work finally at the end of my peak dinner rush.  Keep in mind that tonight I had both a catering event to help with and my own meal over at the Mexican restaurant.  I know, an Italian chef running a Mexican restaurant sounds a bit preposterous.  Then again so has been my entire life.  I get to sit down on a milk crate behind to kitchen and check my phone to see if any ladies are chomping at the bit to see me tonight.

As usual nothing of the kind, such is life.  I don’t blame them I guess.  I mean I was way more attractive when I was a failing professional surfer working at a gas station who barely had a pot to piss in.  I really don’t get that expression.  I mean if your poor there is always something to piss in and who pees in a pot anyway.  I would just take a piss in the bushes or behind a dumpster or something.  That is technically my guest bathroom at the palace.  Actually the pharse dates back to colonial times when there was not plumbing.  People had these little pot type things that they would do their business in at night and then dump them out in the morning.  Hence the phrase “pot to piss in”.  I love useless knowledge, don’t you.  We all know Kooky Kyle does.  He is like the fucking encyclopedia of that type of shit.

Where was I?  Oh, the text.  My new roommate whom has barely lived in my place for three weeks texts me “I borrowed your pea coat….bla bla”.  This particular coat is my favorite to wear when I dress up.  It is not cheap, although I got it for a deal and since I walk about a mile and half down town it is key to looking my best on said walk.  If I feel styling and put together on my way to the club it translates down to my demeanor in the club as well.

Dude takes the coat with out my permission and in my book that is very disrespectful.   Shoots if he asked I most likely would have lent it to him anyway.  More then one person has benefited from my extensive wardrobe.  I was at first furious.  It took some deep breathing and meditation to calm myself down.  Then I thought about it further.  Dan is a Californian and mostly besides LA and San Francisco the whole lot of them do not really know how to dress.  I mean the guy is always in khaki’s and shades of blue color button downs when I see him.  He looks like he should be on the Banana Republic catalog or something to that effect.

Realizing this I figured he just may not have understood just how much clothing means to fashion oriented people.  As a result did not fully understand the severity of the offense he was committing.  Shit maybe he got excited when he saw just how flashing my wardrobe is and was overwhelmed becoming light headed and not thinking “hey I should probably ask Chris before taking a jacket this sleek”.  Could have been worse.  He could have grabbed my custom made Armani suit or dabbled in my shoes.

I will reiterate, I am Italian.  Where do you think most fashion originates from?  That’s right Italy.  There is not any Milan in California. Sorry folks.  In the US the hub of high fashion is New York City.  Now I am not saying I am the most stylish person out there, but to be honest the only thing that keeps me from being just that is budget.  If I had rapper money believe me my wardrobe would be out of this world.  Heck I might just throw an outfit away after I wore it so that I would never have to be in re-runs.  I am also a bit insane.

Ever since I was a child having decent clothing was instilled into me by my parents.  My dad always wore nice shoes and explained a good pair of shoes said a lot about a man’s character.   When I made my first communion my mother had my suit custom tailored for me.  It took two days of measurements cause I was so hyperactive and I hated her for it.  I will tell you this I was one of the best dressed kids at that service.  At my conformation my sponsor and I coordinated purple suits,but in a classy way, not too guido.  When I go shopping for clothing it can take hours.  My friends have stopped going with me for that reason.  I think my mother is one of the few people I can shop with.  Italian men and their mothers is a topic I am not about to cover in this blog.

Now I need to mention that I am not saying that a well dressed person can’t be a creep.  What I am trying to say is that how you present yourself shows how you want to be perceived.  If I go out in stained clothing and torn up shoes it mainly says I do not give a fuck.  When you look put together people look at you with a sort of admiration.  “That guy has it going on”.  Most people say I over dress and I always reply, no you just under dress.  If we all went around naked it would not matter, but since that has yet to come to pass, and I admit I would be the first to jump on the all nude all the time band wagon.  It may not go to well with my current profession and the sanitation code, but in general I would have no problem giving up on clothing all together.

Even at work I try and keep a style about  me.  My chef coats are of an angled cut at the neck which suits my body type.  I picked a hat that enhances my out fit and I always, always wear pleated pants.  You may be reading this right now and be thinking “man this guys is one of the most vain people I have ever listened to ramble on about bull shit”.  In my opinion its not vanity my friends, but self respect and respect for others around me.

Read Full Post »

Well on day one Lisanti went into the Wild.  On day 3 Chris Lisanti got fucking wild at the Wild Cat.  Its only fitting that I started Day there at the Kitty.  Last night, gay night was especially gay.  I am pretty sure with the exception of my friends Mark, Adrienne (not my ex-Adrienne) and maybe a handful of other people everyone was playing for the other team.   At first I was taking things in strides. I was a little bummed about how the weekend played out getting blown off by that chick I mentioned in both the surflog and yesterday’s blog “Busy Bee, Spring Break Day 2“.

I was determined not to let the instance turn me to depression drinking.  Then boredom kicked in and around 1am with no real prospects cruising around the club Wild Cat Adrienne said “Get a shot with me”.  I am on spring break after all and have not really gotten hammered in a long time.  I’m lying I got hammered on Friday night with this UCSB graduate school chick I met.  I thought I might be able to pull her, but then she was kidnapped by her friends in the last minutes of last call and taken home to Goleta.  Goleta chicks are near impossible to bring home and visa versa.

Its a solid $30-50 cab ride, pain in the ass bus ride or long, long walk (trust me I walked it once) home for both parties.  Rule of thumb downtown: if she wants me to come home with her and it is back to Goleta I pass and when I try to bring them home to the Mesa it is usually the same effect.  Its just too far, thus the best one can hope for is digits and shoot for a follow up date.  I got her number, now I just have to decide if she was worth giving a call.

Man that got off track.  Anyway, Adrienne and I got a round of Fire Ball Shots (whiskey).  Now I don’t drink whiskey because for whatever reason whenever I do it brings out the worst drunk I can possibly be.  I get angry, emotional,  and crazy in a scary way.  Everyone who parties knows there is no such thing as doing one round of shots no matter how drunk you are.  They are addictive.  There is something about the bartender pouring your choice of poison into those little glasses and the looks on your face and those around you.  Everyone knows that you are on a one way ticket to being out of your mind.

Yeah, one round led to three, the last one taken at last call.  That my friends is the last thing I remember.  What happened after that is beyond my reasoning.  I went to black out town, population me.   This time there was no Kooky to help me put the pieces together.  Somehow I managed to get my jacket from coat check and sign out my tab.  I also managed to walk home, but barely I think.

Fast forward to 9:30am.  I woke up on the floor of my apartment directly adjacent to my front door to a text from Lindsay about if I wanted to surf or not.  I was fully dressed, jacket, shoes and all.  My pants were torn at the knee and the hip and I had a few bruises on my body.  I assume I must have fell down a few times on the walk home, but that is speculation, anything could have happened for that matter.  I checked my outbox/inbox of my phone to see if I sent or was received anything.  Apparently I sent Wild Cat Adrienne a very incoherent angry message, which I apologized for and she was cool with.  That was the only lead I had and she had no recollection of anything after that last shot either.

Whatever, I am still alive.  Since I was up I got changed and decided to go for a surf and it was a good thing I did cause Rincon was breaking.  It was tiny, waist with the occasion chest high set through the Cove, but it was flawless.  I mean oil glass and running down the Cove perfectly.  Some how despite being a bit messed up still I surfed exceptional.  I am talking a top notch backside performance anyone would be proud of.  The crowd was myself and about ten other people.  I was super stoked for the session.

From there I had just enough time to scarf down another bowl of cereal and run to class or nap time as I like to call it.  Unfortunately we had to do group activities in class cutting into my sleepy time.  It was fun and I found out about this cool jazz show that went down tonight of which I have just got back from.  On another note before I get into the show I think this will be the last semester I am going to spend in the Culinary program at Santa Barbara City College.  The program is very unimpressive to me and I just feel that I am wasting my time.

Instead if you remember back to a few blogs ago I mentioned something about how I really wanted to go cook in Italy.  That is exactly what I am going to do.   There are a few different culinary schools out there that offer intensive three month programs where I can earn a master chef certificate in Italian and European Cuisine, a stage 2 sommelier certification and a pastry and baking certificate.  Basically I will do in three months what will take me at my current rate years if ever at City College.  The last five weeks of the program I am required to cook in different restaurants all over Italy.

Who knows maybe I will even meet a nice Italian girl and bring her back with me to America.  There will be more on this in blogs to come as I figure the whole thing out.  It is about time I do something positive for me for a change.  I think a break from both the Wild Cat and Santa Barbara may be good for my health.

Back to the jazz show.  This girl in my group mentioned she was going to a jazz show at Soho, my all time favorite venue to listen to live entertainment at in Santa Barbara.  I took the stage there once myself and all I can say is that it was one of the best sound stages I have ever performed on (check out the blog “About Last Night” for more on that performance).  I asked her about the event and it turns out it was at 7:30 that evening.

I cruised and my buddy was working the door so I got in for free.  Turns out all the cats were local and they burned.   The majority of the cats on stage were so hot they had me hooting and hollering the entire time.   As it turns out they do these “Jazz Jams” as they call them every few weeks at Soho and anyone is invited to play.  The next one is April 2nd and I will guarantee that they will be joined by jazz saxophonist, Chris Lisanti.  I can’t wait to get up and blow with those guys.

I am even more stoked that it is a fairly regular thing.  Hopefully they like my stuff and invite me back to play on other occasions.  I guess I am going to have to do some heavy woodshedding over the next two weeks.  They had another saxophonist with them and he was exceptional, but in a completely different style then I play.  the group was ironically very “West Coast Cool”, where as I am definitely “Harlem Eclectic”.  West Coast Cool is a style of jazz that is more lay back and relaxed such as Wes Mongomery or Bill Evans.  Harlem Eclectic is more in your face hyper active like Sonny Rollins or John Coltrane.

That brings me to right now sitting here on my couch under my leopard blanket putting the finishing touches on this piece while Alfie lounges in felicity on my lap.  Goodnight everyone and stay tuned tomorrow for more Spring Break action.

I am sure I can find a bar just as gnarly as the Shitty Kitty in Italia.

Read Full Post »