2001: A Space Odyssey

Just to get started, let's explore the vast topics of Sicilians, cinderblocks and summertime. The alliteration incorporates, not only some arbitrary nouns, but matters which I feel require substantial attention to examine the properties of culture, cement and the seasons. Sicilians are a special breed, created by the whirlwind of civilizations that have inhabited the Mediterranean region for hundreds of years. It fosters a sort of life that can only be experienced with the wisdom acquired through trial and error, dumb luck and some not so dumb luck. My bloodline can be traced back to the island of Sicily, which can explain the emotional outbursts that define the nature of my family in general, as well as the appreciation for artistic tastefulness in everyday life reflected by their elegant fashion and charming home decor. I can feel that natural need within my to grasp life and wring out the flavor for all it has to offer. The sicilians are a mixed breed, they relax and take lunch breaks that are longer than the work shift. They much prefer to have a good lunch and sit back to talk about futbol rather than push for extra commission. The North, on the other hand is a different story. They are more industrious and hard-working, just like those Germans and Northern Europeans, eating their schnitzel and wearing lederhosen. Damn those indefatigable Northerners with their fast-paced lifestyle and determination to better themselves with "hard work". Don't misunderstand that I am completely American, first and foremost, and pride myself on the tradition of self-reliance and hard work to make your own wealth in what was once the land of opportunity, (more on that later) but the ember deep within me (although that could be my acid reflux) yearns for the lax and tasteful style that captures the essence of my lineage from generations ago, before Ellis Island and the Godfather and guidos and wise-guys and tough-guys and guineas 'whos talks like-a dis! EYY!!' Hey, let 'em be, they're not botherin' me. I haven't even been off the continental plate that North America sits on, but when I can visit the country of my family's homeland, I will breathe in the architecture and absorb the essence and scents and flavors that drape over the ancient monoliths and churches and statues that stand in partial ruin from civilizations that exist in 10th grade World History as a combined perception of the textbook, teacher and student, I will eat the food with such satisfaction I can only imagine that I will cry. But look through some tourist's photos and look for the natives. What are they doing? They are sitting at a table outside some cafe, sipping on a cappuccino, laughing at the silly tourists with sneakers, fanny packs and cameras who are taking pictures to remember a trip they never really went on. I hear my friends talk about their trips to European countries and browse through pictures on Facebook as they lean on the Tower and wave at a small metal box being held by their parents while they stand in the presence of some of the greatest architectural achievements from some of the most amazing civilizations to have existed on the planet, my heart drops to think they could fly over the Atlantic Ocean just to say they've been somewhere without realizing they never really were.