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Rating: What do I need a GPS for? I've never needed one. I'm going to Gazzada Schianno, not Mexico City. I need to reach a small village in the Varese area of about four thousand inhabitants, roughly the size of mine. I have a trusty and semi-battered street atlas, the result of a series of weekly issues published in 1997 with the Corriere della Sera, what else could I need?
Almost at our destination, Marco S. (not to be confused with the Venetian patron saint) and I, an old friend, stop around 9:50 p.m. at the Brugheria East service station to check the right path of our DeBaseriana day trip, aware that we're slightly behind schedule, thanks to a fender bender near Gallarate that caused us to lose about ten minutes. The kind bartender informs us that 500 meters past the rest station is the Gazzada exit; good, we're almost there. Yes... riding a porcupine.
Like a pimple on the butt, you're overwhelmed by that annoyance, that feeling of acute labyrinthitis that accentuates a condition of psychophysical discomfort, already previously perceived thanks to the sticky perspiration that Minosse's hot tail has caused along your spine while driving. But stubbornness prevails, G awaits you at the pass, and knowing that you were born to suffer and to get back into the game, you claim the glorious Italian tradition of explorers and navigators who used the stars to orient themselves. You are the legitimate heir of those travelers by land and sea. You, who have always wallowed like a boar in the mud, are afraid of a tiny provincial town? NOT AT ALL! Are you afraid you won't make it out alive from that tangle of cobbled paths barely more than two meters wide and swaying like a canoe in pre-Alpine streams? NEVER!
After traversing all possible tracks and expelling yourself multiple times from the town center, you recall that Bible of misfortunes and notions called "Murphy's Law"; things like, "In front of a fork, it doesn't matter which path you choose, you always needed to go the other way" or "It's always longer to arrive than to turn back" and the skein slowly unfolds. "Proceed to the traffic light, then turn right, near the elementary schools". Just the one we needed to take. Now we're on the horse! Not yet. Two meters after the traffic light, I follow the directions and find myself in a dark dead-end alley. Impossible! My eye skips over a group of houses, and parallel to the alley, I spot a wider, seemingly two-lane road. "Could that have been it? But ten meters further?" Even the desire to get angry was fading slowly. The discussions about "Murphy's Law" with my companion close shop at that precise moment, while I skillfully maneuver backward, reach a free parking spot, and like Ulysses in this endless Odyssey, follow the sirens' call that leads me across to the destination.
At the entrance, nestled among fleets of evergreens, the massive villa De Strens looms before me (and don't tell me that De before wasn't entirely calculated) and immediately, like mushrooms, a group of stalls appears. My amusement surfaces when I finally notice the DeBaser one; to welcome me is Him, the Almighty, the DeCano, the Seer, the Guru, the Magician G. During the journey, I imagined a know-it-all university student, daddy's boy, frail and cyanotic, dressed in a light blue and navy striped shirt and an argyle vest, cottoned hair with a side part, elegantly sprinkled with dandruff, whiskey glass bottoms as glasses and an aroma of aged armpit; not at all, I find myself facing a robust man in his forties, possessing a lush mane/beard/all-in-one oxidized brown color like a cattleman from Valsugana in transhumance season, with a virile and pure gaze punctuated by two cobalt blue eyes, a Triveneto dialect cadence, and an official red T-shirt, accompanied by a much younger guy, aka G's brother-in-law; foolish me for shamelessly forgetting the photo on the DeMeeting and reconnecting it all. The pleasantries are obligatory. He even hands me the official T-shirt, in exchange for a generous donation of several cubilions of petrodollars, and shortly after, Darkeve arrives. I inquire about the other maniac who decided to show up at the DeMeeting from Cremasco by night, namely Extro91. "You'll find Extro in front of the stage, he's with a blonde, much more appealing and taller than him" I didn't take long to identify Extro. I position myself quietly beside him and show him the T-shirt, he starts laughing in my face, and that's how we got acquainted. We'd been promising to meet up for months, and the opportunity came perfectly with this event.
What to say? We followed the concert of Dot Vibes, an excellent reggae dub group, and in the end, we joined G at the kiosk. Darkeve was coming and going, sometimes with drinks, sometimes with sandwiches. Between beers and cigarettes, we conversed like old friends on the tribal topics that DeB presents: the fakes, the annoying ones, the snobs, the predictable multiple reviews of albums consigned to history decades ago, the graphic and logistical improvements, so that by messing around on DeBaserian themes and the arcane of the human psyche, we reached one o'clock. But the beauty was right there: "We conversed like old friends". It was the first time we met, and it felt like we had known each other forever. We laughed and had a great time like former schoolmates, like ex-comrades, like childhood friends. In essence, not many bugs were extracted from the nests; or rather, improvements could come, which will not depend on the humble DeUsers gathered in Gazzada Schianno, but from what the mind of G and the scribe Turkish will come up with; there was some indication, but the juice was released drop by drop, because fundamentally DeBaser is there, it's healthy, and it will continue to exist thanks also to debates on fakes, annoying people, snobs, predictable multiple reviews of albums consigned to history decades ago, graphic and logistical improvements, no matter what the detractors say. But can you imagine the honor of being in front of the creator of the internet's coolest site? Can you imagine the euphoria of sharing the same area of vital essence, elbow to elbow with other DeUsers? That night, I had nothing else to ask for. The bother of the exhausting workweek and the nerve-racking search for the place, along intricate and Kafkaesque paths, gave way to a light and paranoia-free return after a few hours spent pleasantly with followers of the magical and irresistible site.
I extend all my gratitude for having the opportunity to continue enjoying myself, getting angry, and being able to express my concepts. I extend all my gratitude to the DeUsers (even the biggest jerk..) to G and DeBaser.
DENGHIU!!!
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