It’s our second Thanksgiving in Italy. Really do miss those feasts at Casa Spera, not to mention the “turkey days” of my youth. With my three brothers home from college the house would be packed. My friends and I would play tackle football in the grass all afternoon, building up a giant hunger and then, oh, that first bite of mashed potato!

This year, we’re going with a different fowl. Collette and Rolfe brought us a big jar of French-made confit when they were here back in August. We’ve been waiting for an occasion to make cassoulet. We invite Josh and Audrey, Roberta and Michael. The Packers are playing The Lions at Ford Field in Detroit and we will stream the game through the Internet. Since the kickoff is 1300 hours, US time, we will be able to watch live. The Pack is having an awesome year. We listen every week on Internet radio and it’s been a thrill. Larry “The Rock” McCarren, ex-Green Bay lineman, is the color commentator on Packer Radio and we love this totally partisan touch. Brett Favre is playing brilliantly, setting records every time he walks out onto the field. We might even have a little bit of a running game with this kid who wears Dorsey Levens’ old number 25, Ryan Grant. Michael and Josh are football fans, so I’m sure they’ll dig watching the game, too.

One problem, we need kielbasa for the cassoulet and, as far as we know, this type sausage does not exist in the Italian universe. Rosa tells us of a Romanian butcher in a working class section of Verona called Golosine so we hop the bus and head on over. The place is well-kept and clearly doing a good business. They have exactly what we need, though under a different name. Thank goodness for immigrants! The proprietor is facinated by our American-ness, seems genuinely puzzled that we would seek out his particular wares. We are treated to a pranzo’s worth of samples, buy a great bag of meat and a dozen bottles of Romanian beer.

Lawren makes a brilliant dinner, cassoulet and steamed rapini, “Nanna’s Rolls” and toasted almonds with cranberries and apples. Josh and Michael are psyched to watch some real, rock ‘em sock ‘em football. Apologies to the vast majority of sports fans worldwide, but calcio just doesn’t do it for me like the NFL. Best part is, Packers kick ass. Ryan Grant, #25, runs all over the hapless Lions and Brett is looking as sharp as in his best years. Playoff bound? Methinks yes.

Josh and Audrey’s old roomate, Vera, invited Lawren and me to a meeting of Scala Colore. Its a colletivo of designers and artists who’ve been meeting for the last three years, Verona cats around our age or younger. They do projects funded through the city; public shows, art events, printed matter, workshops. Currently, they’re organizing a Verona submission to the 2008 Turin Art Festival, which will be held in June.

Really a cool group. At last, some Verona hipsters! We’ve been in and through various scenes since coming here- Le Dame Dei Cani (the Dog Ladies), the Rough Boys of La Carega (Charlie, Ugo, Fede, and Lucca), the Eastern European scene of Rosa’s family, even the expat Americani (Josh, Stephen, and Driscoll P.), but we have yet to hang with a big group of young artsy fartsies like these, with their beer, butts, and unshaven jaws. At one point during the meeting, several of them peel off in a group, returning ten minutes later twinkle-eyed and a notch more loquacious. Let me be clear- the Scala Colore members are working, or else they’re deep into school. They’re serious. We’ve seen their samples and they are pretty slick, pretty talented- could be a great opportunity, working with them.

The meeting is raucous and fun, if hard for us to follow at times. Everyone’s in full slang mode, talking all at once, slinging jokes back and forth. There are two Fedes’, a guy who describes himself as ‘il buffone‘ (‘the fool’), a cool chick named Elisabetta with whom we strike up a chat, and a soft-spoken fellow named Mirko who claims to want to buy something of mine after I give him my cards- we’ll see about that. Lawren and I have to introduce ourselves to the whole group in Italian- che paura!

It’s been said of Italians but I’ll say it again; they love to talk, love the sound of their own language. As a result, a discussion requiring one hour will easily take two and a half.

I’ve sent out a slew of inquiries to illustration agents in the States. One by one they’re rejecting me, or else they just don’t bother to reply. Have made and given out hundreds of my image cards, here and by mail to the US, hoping to drum up some XMas business- so far, not a peep from anyone. Also discouraging is this little deal with the gallery on Via Oberdan, Galleria Meridiana.

I first went there with Mariella, way back in May, and they were interested in holding some of my work. Naturally, it took me some time to crank out new material and it was in September that I finally placed a strong series of Gum City pastels at the gallery. So far, there has been neither sale nor inquiry. I know the art market, really all markets are low at this moment- Italy is barely holding on economically, even here in the North. But what bums me out is the fact that, every time I pass by Meridiana, my work is nowhere to be seen. I gave them my cards and they’re not out. They tell me they plan to show my work in this little window space nearby with a couple other cats they represent, but it never happens. It’s like these guys don’t think it’s worth their time to give me a push.

I know the world does not revolve around my humble pictures. At the same time, I have to believe I hold the power to rise above the noise and be special. Seems to me, these days, I’m falling short in my attempts to engage the larger world, feel myself getting head-trapped.