Since neither ChatGPT nor Kings League arouse my curiosity, I continue to feed my spirit with entertainment as classic as going to the theater. The day before yesterday, World Theater Day, the president of the Association of Theater Companies of Catalonia (Adetca), Isabel Vidal, gave good news: public attendance has recovered after the shock of the pandemic and theaters are half full 60% of the locations.
Last week I went to the Beckett room to see Les maleïdes, by Sergio Baos, a work with a very original approach to talk about what is going on inside the family: an abandoned grandmother, mother and daughter, illuminated, each one with his wound. But I won’t tell you more, go see it and may the theater audience figures continue to rise.
At the end of the performance I wanted to try the pizzeria on the corner. I’ll take a couple of slices, I thought, but in the five minutes of waiting I heard the handsome pizza man speak Catalan, Italian and Spanish and I stayed. On the label of the Ichnusa beer, brewed in Cagliari, the four Moorish heads of the Sardinian flag appear. When he brings the pizza slices to the table, I ask him where he is from. From Sardinia. And I, who have already gotten nervous, tell him absurdly: “Look, I eat beer.” “We use five cereals for the dough.” Another point for the Sardinian pizza maker.
The place is called Guinizelli and to continue the conversation I ask him if it’s his last name. “He is a poet of the twelfth century.” I didn’t know whether to pass out right there or wait to go outside. While I’m charging I google the poet and it turns out to be a precursor of the dolce stil novo in which Dante would excel. Next to me, an older tourist couple asks the handsome pizza man for advice on what they can visit. And he, in magnificent English, recommends the Museu d’Història de la Ciutat. That’s already for note!
As long as there is theater and poetic pizza chefs, don’t look for me asking questions on ChatGPT or entering Twitch.
