Most people that know me know that Law & Order is my jam. Not SVU, or Criminal what have you, or any other iteration or spinoff Dick Wolf dreamt up for the purposes of expanding the brand above and beyond any creator’s wildest machinations. I’m talking about the original. The one he purposed to outlive Gunsmoke’s legacy in the annals of television history. This is a show I can watch repeatedly, love richly, and apparently one I can understand in any language.

There were two American TV shows I watched while living in Italy, both dubbed entirely in Italian. One was Life Goes On (a story for another day), the other was Law & Order. I would sit in the TV watching room in that little apartment in Arezzo tied to my home country by one thing – Jack FREAKING McCoy. His passionate closing arguments, whiskey drinking ways, the soft sweep of such a perfect head of hair, oh, and the Big Apple backdrop, had me homesick. It’s truly what kept me connected whilst over an ocean away.

Now my sister, a lawyer, has told me for years that Law & Order is not the real deal. That it is an inaccurate depiction of the way things work. For example, there are no such objections as “prejudicial”. She says all answers to the questions being objected to are in fact anticipated to be “prejudicial” which is why they are being objected to, but the bottom line is that that answer being potentially problematic for opposing counsel is not a valid reason for the formal protest. Regardless, sitting on that red futon with the cool Tuscan tile beneath my feat watching Jack McCoy passionately stand up and declare “Obiezione!!! Pregiudizievole!!!” … I understood and I felt home.

Through the years, I have put a lot of stock in my comprehension of how our judicial system works using Law & Order as my model to do so. And when I received my jury summons, I was so excited that I’d finally be able to do my civic duty by showing up, book in hand, ready to spend my day with other Atlanta area folks offering their time and life experience in service to their country. I knew I wouldn’t be picked to be on the actual jury. I mean, I wouldn’t pick me and if you’ve met me, you likely wouldn’t pick me either. I was just happy to be there with my fellow Americans, proud to see fair and balanced hard at work.

90 minutes in, I was entering the jury box and taking an oath.

Let’s just say Law & Order is was not.

to be continued …

Adding to The Music Challenge – songs from around the world. Or rather songs that remind me of being around the world.

Italy - I was living in Arezzo, Italy. I was 21, I think, at the time. It seemed like friends and I were at a club every other night. The one we frequented the most was Dolce Verde (Sweet Green). It was a gorgeous club with several different music venues spread throughout the property. It had swimming pools and greenery. Gorgeous place. We were in the main part of the club and they’d been playing whatever Italian pop hits were running the charts. I didn’t really speak Italian. Whatever I knew, I learned while I was there. It was very Lost in Translation – me living in Arezzo. So I never understood a damn thing when it came to the music. Rhythm is universal, apparently, of which I have none. But it was fun dancing to an Italian Top 40 all the same. Suddenly, those familiar words began echoing throughout the room. “Young man …” I was SO pumped! The thing is, I didn’t even really get to partake because I was fascinated by this group of people that knew little to no English whatsoever gyrating and SINGING ALONG word for word to YMCA. These were people that definitely didn’t know what the lyrics meant, let alone what a YMCA was, but here they were, hundreds of twenty and thirty-somethings belting out line after line of the Village People’s most famous number like Aretha Franklin belts out Respect. It was awesome. Whenever YMCA plays to this day, I can’t help but be back in that club watching a bunch of Italians dancing and singing along with an American classic.

30. The Village People, YMCA (1978)

https://youtu.be/CS9OO0S5w2k

Italy (take 2) In the vein of being able to sing a song word for word without actually knowing what any of the words mean, brings me to number 31 of The Music Challenge. Somehow I learned this entire song while I was living in Italy and yet I don’t know what any of it means. The funny thing is, the song isn’t even Italian. It’s like French or Spanish or something? Still reminds me of Italy though, every time.

31. Manu Chao, Mi Gusta Tu (2001)

https://youtu.be/AZ7oROlf5ys

The Netherlands – Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam. One of my favorite airports ever. Beautiful airport. Beautiful city. Beautiful people. That said, things got ugly. I arrived to this song playing on every television screen in the terminal. It also played everywhere else I went in Europe that trip. I had a 20 hour layover for my return home and I swear the video played every fifteen minutes on every TV at every lounge and at every gate. I was so over Train by the time I was flying back to the States.

32. Train, Drops of Jupiter (2001)

https://youtu.be/7Xf-Lesrkuc

England – Just preparing to go to London had me listening to these two songs a thousand times on my ipod, let alone when I was actually there. Now when I hear them, I can’t not think of fish and chips, red phone booths and Doctor Who (for some weird reason?).

33. The Clash, London Calling (1979)

https://youtu.be/EfK-WX2pa8c

 34. Warren Zevron, Werewolves of London (1978)

https://youtu.be/nhSc8qVMjKM

South Africa – The perfect ironic scenario. This song played everywhere while I was there and I laughed every damn time. Seriously.

35. Toto, Africa (1982)

https://youtu.be/FTQbiNvZqaY

Any songs you have to add to the list from your travels?

I took German in high school for the following reasons:

1. When it came to meeting my foreign language requirement, my school offered two choices: German or Spanish. I’m pretty good at hocking loogs but I can’t roll an r to save my soul.
2. I wanted to understand what the Amish were saying about me in front of my back and German was as close to Pennsylvania Dutch as I could get.
3. I enjoy the Chicken Dance.
4. Herr Miller was the bomb.

Typically, I can spot a German from a mile away. Call it a sixth sense (or stereotyping or whatever). Germans wear whatever the hell they want. They do whatever the hell they want. And they say, pretty bluntly, whatever the hell they want. I admire that.

For instance, while I might struggle with wearing socks and sandals – Germans rock the look.

Rock on. (land-der-ideen.de)

Though I might second guess a haircut like this:

German heartthrob Bill Kaulitz.  (coolmenshair.com)

A German wears it like a badge of honor.

They are bold.

Not my favorite Olympic look, but kudos for putting it out there. I mean, c’mon, our sweaters weren’t much better. (AP Photo/Petr David Josek)

They can drink.

Prost, meine freunde! (dmarge.com)

And they must have a sense of humor.

I’ve got nothing. Maybe peed my pants a little… (AP Photo/Markus Schreiber)

One of my favorite experiences with the German culture happened on a small lake beach in Italy. It was just full enough with locals that we could almost reach our neighbors. However, we had a little space where I was. I think it was just me and my friend, and maybe another couple copping a squat down the way. Three Germans walked up with their beach bags and backpacks. I knew they were German instantly. Though they may not have been donning their lederhosen and dirndls, they had the look. The look I’d come to denote as purely German that summer.

I’d been in Italy for a month by this point so I’d come across many Europeans of all shapes, sizes, styles, and ornamentation. I got pretty good at guessing from which country someone hailed. The clothes, bags, shoes, and strut were their dead giveaways.

They set up camp, threw off their clothes and headed to the water. They threw off all of their clothes. I knew it was Europe and I’m no prude, but the thing is – we weren’t on a nude beach. In fact, my friend said it was actually illegal to be nude where we were.

So we watched in awe as the Germans represented their people to a T. Bold non-conformists that wouldn’t give two cents for anyone’s thoughts. Their skinny pasty naked bodies splashed around in the lake for a bit, then they hopped back out and took a seat on the sand. That’s when each of them cracked open their edition of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone.

It takes courage to get naked and read Harry Potter on an intimate beach with total strangers. So here is my attaboy to the folks who beat to their own drum with a special nod to a culture that bangs their drums all day.

What country would you give a shout out to for going against the grain?

My dad used to travel to Italy for business in my younger years. I thought he must have the greatest job in the world to be able to travel to Italy. Of course he’d always tell me travelling for business wasn’t what I thought it was and it wasn’t exactly “fun”, either (years later, I now completely understand what he meant by that statement).

I would look at his pictures dreaming of the day I could walk through Rome or sit in a café in Florence. I was even enamored of the pigeons (the ridiculous amount of disease-ridden pigeons waddling over every square inch of cobblestone streets). So when I found myself living in Arezzo one summer, my plan was to document it all like my dad had done. Full circle, if you will. I had my sketchbook, my journal and my black and white film. Yes, film. I noted everything.

I could go on and on about my adventures there, but I’ll save those for another day. What caught my eye were these little gems taken with my trusty 35mm camera.

Roman Forum

Roman Forum

Roman Forum

Roman Forum

Twelve years and one trusty iphone camera later, I took this.

Roman Forum

I’d created my own full circle. Circles are lovely things. They take us back to the beginning, reminding us of where we’ve been and how far we’ve come. These photos reminded me of how some things change (like resolution), and some things don’t (like ancient ruins in the center of a city). The years fly by in a blink of an eye and sometimes, with a little luck, they circle back around so we have a chance to improve the picture. Seize those moments.  They are few and far between.

What Full Circle moments have you captured over the years? Send me your  photos! I’d love to share them with the world!

Public Restrooms. Not. A. Fan. Why?

Almost like Sochi – every time.

I avoid them like the plague, as I imagine most people do. However, when a girl has got to go, she’s got to go. And that means beggars can’t be choosers.

Public restrooms in the US are bad enough, but at least there’s a familiarity about them. As torturous as they can be, there are relatively few surprises. A few years ago (ok, a lot of years ago), I had the opportunity to live abroad. Spending an entire summer in Italy meant I wasn’t going to be able to hold it all day just so I could use the throne at home. It meant venturing into the unknown. Entering stalls in a foreign land – literally a foreign land. My bum was about to receive a cultural awakening.

So it was a different sort of experience … I did enjoy how many places had a “closet” to enter into instead of a stall. The toilets were relatively similar, not so different from our own. And those “occupied” signs next to the door handles were so cute!

About halfway through the summer, I’d hit my groove. I was basically a resident Italian and my public restroom thing was becoming a thing of the past. So I thought.

One night I was in a club with my friend Lucia and nature came calling. I headed to the bathroom. Unlike the clubs and bars I’d been to in the States, and even most of the ones I’d been to in other clubs in Italy, this particular one had no line. I didn’t think anything of it, really, till I walked in.

It was this large open room. I couldn’t find any stalls. I walked out and checked the door, to make sure I had entered the right room and I had. As I reentered, looking around, suddenly I saw it across the way. There in the middle of the floor was a hole. Just a hole. Surely that wasn’t … I mean, how could this be … the toilet?

I don’t think so.

Yeah, I passed. Didn’t drink another drop and held it all the way home. I don’t regret it for a second.

I will never take-back NOT peeing in a hole in some floorboards in a random dance club in Italy. That’s a fact.