The most elegant level of dress shirt in America is white. In Italy, it's light blue. Pack classy.
An American would be scandalised by the inconvenience of buying or renting a house without a kitchen (and by that I mean no counters, no cabinets, no sink, no stove, no NOTHING). And, indeed, this American was scandalised and inconvenienced. For MONTHS.
An Italian would be scandalised by the inconvenience of buying a house with someone else's kitchen choices in it. Or any choices, really. When you move out of an apartment in Italy, you have to take out even the light fixtures and toilet paper roll holder that is cemented onto the bathroom wall OR ELSE. Che palle!
In Italy, drinking alcohol in public places is a fundamental human right for persons of almost all ages. And really, how could you properly enjoy the stars, the ill-lit Roman ruins, the breeze, the night air, your cigarette, the guitar stylings of the local communists, or the sunshine in the piazza if it were otherwise?
In America it is strictly illegal to drink in public, because the sight of adults drinking alcohol could hurt the teen market for heroine.
If you see one or more small children mercilessly abusing (physically, emotionally, and verbally) what appears to be an elderly bystander - a person so ancient and infirm that not only do they appear unable to even think about running away, but they also seem utterly incapable of self-defense, DO NOT become alarmed and interfere.
The venerable relic you see being kicked in the shins by the trash-talking tot is not some hapless stranger, but the child's own grandparent. They are also the primary caregiver of the child, owner of the child's parents home, and in the running for primary breadwinner for the child's family, too. But don't spend too much time pitying their lot. Teenage Italians outgrow this penchant for violent rebellion and get on quite well with their elders (possibly because not everything they want to do is illegal), while the sweet little five-year-olds of American grandparents are saving all the fun for later.
Italians are the masters and commanders of small kitchens, and not just because of what they do there (master and command), but also because of an invention that GOD KNOWS WHY has not reached America. You people in the suburbs will think that there is a good explanation for this (SPACE), but having lived in New York City, I assure you that there is not.
In an American kitchen, you have the sink, the cabinets, the countertop, the stove, the oven... And then next to the sink you have THIS:
...which, if you are a normal human, is more like THIS:
In Italian kitchens you have the sink, the cabinets, the countertop, the stove, etc. But next to the sink you have THIS:
So, just to make it clear, you have:
This V. This
And that is because those kings and queens of the Bella Figura, those masters of disguise, those crafty kitchen craftsmen (the largest exporter of kitchens in the world is Italy), above all their kitchen sinks, have THIS:
Despite the power of the information age, there are some brilliant inventions that have not yet made it from one side of the global village to the other.
One thing that has not yet made the journey back to the Old Country is the Crock Pot. Americans tend to be humble about this time-saving device, but they shouldn't be, because this is one major area of "suck it, Italy." This small, inexpensive, low-voltage work horse of melt-in-your-mouth roasts conquers your nastiest kitchen adversaries (like whole chickens and squashes) with slow, steady, and irresistible power that WILL NOT burn your house down. And, more importantly, the things that come out of it taste identical to the ones you spend eight hours standing over yourself, admiring the shiny yellow exterior of your Le Creuset. Which is shiny because, let's be honest, when DO you spend eight hours standing over it? Ain't nobody got time for that.
Compare the level of human engagement.
America v. Italy
Ok, maybe I am exaggerating. Slightly. But Italians, who are not ideological about food as long as it's good (and who work, too, for heaven's sake! just not for pay, but that's a whole other post...), would be a great market for you, Crock Pot. And now you have even been advertised on this very prestigious blog. Time to cross the pond.
While Italians generally get the kudos for being the more artistic, poetic, and in all other ways romantic race, there is at least one area where Americans win hands down: store names. Consider the following list of American eateries and stores:
Compare these with the Italian equivalents, taken from signage near my house:
And then there is my personal favourite, the Italian organic supermarket chain and overpriced equivalent of the American chain "Whole Foods," is:
Telling it like it is...
Avoiding faux pas for the Italian tourist in the United States.
Despite the fact that I cannot answer general grammatical questions concerning my mother tongue, this much I do know: that, unlike in Italian, adjectives in English are NOT interchangeable with nouns.
This rule should be strictly applied when it comes to the topics of race, class, and ethnicity.
Your use of "Jew man" and "a Japanese" are likely to start things off on the wrong foot. No one has any sympathy for racist bigots like you, especially not horrible, foreign ones that probably only came here to steal our jobs in the first place...
Italian tourist in the Midwest:
"I was so excited to be in America for Thanksgiving. I thought it was supposed to be this big feast. Instead it was, you know, your average sixteenth birthday party."
American tourist, surveying the ruins of Pompeii:
"It could be nice here. I don't understand why they don't clean this place up."
I'm an American living in Italy and making gross generalizations about it.