I need to tell you about a football club that died and refused to stay dead.
Not metaphorically. Literally. On May 4th, 1949, a Fiat G.212 aircraft carrying the entire Torino FC squad crashed into the Basilica of Superga, just outside Turin. Thirty-one people died. The team that had won five consecutive Serie A titles, the backbone of the Italian national team, the greatest club side Europe had ever seen, was obliterated in an instant.
Read MoreMy wife and I have a new Friday ritual. We sit down to watch Pluribus. Phones off. Lights dimmed. No second screen.
In 2025, this is an act of rebellion.
Modern television is terrified of you. It assumes you have the attention span of a caffeinated goldfish. Netflix front-loads every plot point in the first five minutes. Cliffhangers hit every seven minutes. The editing is so frenetic the show itself seems to be having a panic attack.
Read More“Bon sabbo à tutti! 🏴 !” (Happy Saturday, everyone!)
I recently moved to Italy, specifically to Liguria, where Genoa sits like a scarred sentinel watching over the Mediterranean. This afternoon, December 20th, I stood in the heart of the city to witness the Confeugo. It is a ceremony of fire, prophecy, and linguistic ghosts, and it forced me to look past the postcard version of Italy to something much more abrasive and real.
Read MoreHave you seen the new Santiago Bernabeu?. It is a technological marvel. It has a retractable pitch that hides in a cave. It has a 360-degree screen that makes Las Vegas look subtle. It generates money with the efficiency of a Swiss bank.
It is also dead.
Marc Augé coined the term “Non-Place” to describe spaces of transience. Airports. Supermarkets. Hotel chains. Places where human relations are suspended and you are defined solely by your credit card limit.
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