professore...

Allow me to tell you about our art history professor.

The first day he came in, he had, (this is the Truth) hair just like Kramer, from Seinfeld. All crazy with the one random puff on the top of his head. But he seemed like a relatively normal guy, dubious hairdo, but pretty serious and scholarly.

Apparently the Uffizi releases him from his shell. We’re waiting in line to get in and all we can hear is his mumbling about the “cattivi giapponese,” the evil Japanese. Hmm. He turns to a guy in our class (the first time he’s actually recognized that we exist, usually he is off in his own fog of art or whatever) and says, “Hey, you look just like Joe Pesci” in Italian, then stutters, “Are a-you talking to meeeeee?” (p.s. he doesn’t speak English.) We stare at him, stunned. Who is this man? 10 minutes later, he’s admitting his grand passion for one specific type of music. $10 to anyone who can guess.

Motown.

The man likes Motown. He’s going on and on about the “Cinque di Jackson” and “Diana Ross! Stop! In the naaaame! Of LOVE!” and he’s SINGING in the UFFIZI. He’s singing Motown in the Uffizi.

On the walk back to school, he goes on and on to me about American actors. Turning to me, he says, very seriously, “Frankly my deeeeear, I don’t give a damn.” I wish I could type in heavily Italian-accented English…because it is the funniest thing in the world. He then told me how he was planning to get his hair cut “military style” (this is EXACTLY what he said, in English and everything) and then showed up to the next class practically bald.

Last Tuesday, he opened class with, “Are you a-talking to meeee?” before launching into Donatello and his sculptural styles. Then, the gem of yesterday’s class: we’re waiting around in one of his long pauses (he does Powerpoints and just stares at the slides for very long periods of time. We’re not sure what he’s doing during these long periods of time.) So, he’s staring at a slide. Then he turns to us and announces, “I push the button.” In english. So we look at him. He goes on, smiling slyly. “My finger. Is. On the. Button.” And he is just waiting for praise. He looks so proud of himself. And pushing the button, he turns to the new slide and continues the discussion on Brunelleschi.