It's Not About Politics

 For the second time in 8 years, the United States has elected Donald Trump to be our President. This time, of course, was significantly worse, as Trump won both the popular vote and the electoral college after his former staff members stated he was a fascists, a want-to-be dictator, and who is advocating for the forced removal of people he deems to be illegal immigrants. In the meantime, the people around him are advocating for a nationwide abortion ban, but also a nationwide ban on women traveling across state lines, have taken strong anti-LGBTQ positions, and have advocated the use of the military to put down protests.

Now, I say all this because I know a lot of people have viewed this election through the lens of normal politics. And, of course you have, because media outlets like the Washington Post, the New York Times, CNN, etc., have spent the past 10 years sanitizing what Donald Trump has been saying. They correct his grammar, try to make his nonsensical statements make sense, and then utilize the "both sides" approach to make his statements sound like politics as usual. They aren't.

No, Donald Trump - or rather the people around Donald Trump - want to actually hurt people. A lot. The last time Trump was President, he scooped up people seeking to legally immigrate into the United States into camps, and tore children from their parents. Immigration lawyers were literally having to represent children as young as 18 months old in immigration proceedings. To date, not all of those kids have been reunited with their families. The reason to do this was simple - to be as cruel as possible.

So, it is not beyond the question that a President who as absolute immunity, like Trump, who no longer has people around him that will contain his worst impulses, will expand his cruelty to whomever displeases him. And, as he has shown in the past, he will take actions against the families of those who displease him.

In that sense, my despair isn't about politics. It's not about the government pursuing the wrong policies, or imposing taxes I don't like. Politics is fun, rollicking, and free-wheeling. It's backrooms and deals, and walking door to door and designing nasty hit pieces you will never use, and sign wars, and chants and songs and ribbons and buttons and America at its best. None of my despair is due to my team losing.

My despair is about the people who will be hurt. My friends who are transgender, my family members in the LGBTQ community, my neighbors whose skin color isn't the "appropriate shade," my daughters who will have no legal rights soon enough, and for my community. People are going to get hurt. Families will be torn apart, and people will be sent to prison for not fully backing Trump. My despair isn't about politics, it's based on an honest fear about the future.

For those of you who fall into the "other categories" - start making your escape plan now. At minimum, plan to get to one of the blue states. But also plan on leaving the country. If you don't already, get a passport, and save up as much cash as possible for your getting out of Dodge ASAP fund. And plan 2 or 3 different routes, just in case. 

For those of you who think you are in the clear, remember that your safety and well-being is only guaranteed if you are useful to Trump Administration. This is true for all fascist regimes. If you find yourself on the outs of what's useful for any reason, your life will be forfeit. For your sakes, I hope you remain useful or are lucky enough to not be affected. I doubt it though.

On that point, it is likely that JD Vance will attempt to kick Trump out of office by way of the 25th Amendment. When that happens, be very careful who you support. The winner of that conflict will punish the supporters of the loser.  

Going to Sicily - Rumination on Immigration and Loss (Part 7 of 7)

Understandably, my last few posts were retrospective. But here is where I want to think about the future. The contacts I made last month are the sort of contacts that would be unforgivable to forget. So, what can I do about the future?

Obviously, one of the next steps is to try and make visits to Troina and Sicily more often. As I said, flying from the midwest or NYC is definitely easier than flying out of San Diego. Luckily, I am often in Chicago thanks to my wife's family. And she wants to go to Ireland next. With Catania being a relatively short flight from Ireland, we could do both, possibly. I think she'll like Troina. As will my other daughters when they get old enough.

Next, I want to make sure that each and every person we met in Sicily knows they are welcome to come to visit us. While most of you, if you manage to come out this way, stop in New York, I would suggest you come and see me in San Diego. At minimum, you too can experience the strange sensation of traveling thousands of miles to see land that is almost exactly like the land you just left. While you are here, I owe several of you pizza and lots of drinks. Luckily, we plenty of breweries, wineries, and distilleries to assist in that endeavor. Also we have tacos, which you must try.

I also would like to help the Troinese get in contact with people here. For instance, both Southern California and inland Sicily face water shortages due to drought. And while San Diego has more than its fair share of problems, our water has been managed shockingly well. In the last bad drought, which lasted over six years, our reservoirs were at 90% capacity when the rains finally came. In addition, and this goes out to Guisy and her father, I have a friend in Elizabeth Harris who used to own several bakeries. A Cross-Atlantic cultural exchange could be mutually beneficial. Or not. But I'd love to help exchanges like that.

That's long-term of course. In the near term, I can take advantage of the fact that San Diego and Troina have similar weather and vegetation. For instance, I mentioned that we ate cookies that had a "fig" filling. That is not actually true. The filling is made from prickly pears. The kind that grow wild here and can be found in every grocery store in Southern California. I am going to make vastedda more often, and think of seeing all of you. 

Going to Sicily - Rumination on Immigration and Loss (Part 6 of 7)

 If you will note based on the title, I think I am going to stop this series as seven posts. This post will be about my visits with family, and the next post will be about my hopes for the future. 

To reiterate, my daughter and I travelled to Sicily, and flew into Catania. We managed to get some sight-seeing in, but she was very jetlagged. I, weirdly, was not. After a day in Catania, we drove out to Troina. I would not recommend anyone drive in Catania if possible, but if you do, you will know that you can handle just about anything. 

Upon checking in, I was told by the front desk that I had an appointment to meet the mayor at 11 a.m. the next day, that I should absolutely not miss it. I was also advised to contact Basilio Arona. That evening I learned that driving in Troina at night can be a bit harrowing, and managed to scrape up my rental car when driving through a too narrow corner (I had about 1/2 inch of clearance). But with the help of locals, I managed to make my way up to the square, and saw the World War 1 memorial with the names of people we were sure were relatives. 

The next day, the professor arrived. As I noted earlier, Basilio is the town's historian, and absolutely passionate about Troina and it's history. As we talked, he provided me with a booklet describing the family history, who my great-grandparents' family members were, and who were surviving members of the family. And then he confirmed that, yes, a number of my relatives died in World War 1, including my great-great-uncle. 

As an aside, the history of World War 1 makes it absolutely clear that the Italian officer core, particularly the generals, were completely incompetent and got millions of their countrymen killed. This was done through multiple FRONTAL ASSAULTS on Austrian entrenched positions IN THE ALPS. But, again, my family were peasants, and probably disposable in the minds of these incompetent buffoons. My great-great uncle died in the Battle of Caporetto.

Now, we finally made it to the Troina town center, and got to visit the mayor. Now, I had no expectations of this meeting. Having worked in politics, I assumed that it would be a photo op, and a handshake. But given my luck with mayors (hi Todd!), I should probably have expected more. What we got was a family reunion overseen by Basilio Arona and the mayor, Alfio Giachino, and the entire city council. This was a not a short meet and greet either, but a legit two hours of the mayor's time, followed by lunch, and seeing the homes of my great-grandparents. 

And while there was a language barrier, these individuals were definitely our relatives. You know how I said that my oldest daughter was the most Italian looking? As it turns out, my assumption was wrong. I saw my middle child's face in a number of my Sicilian relatives. And her eyes, and those of my youngest daughter, are definitely Troinese. 

Had the trip ended at that moment, I think I would have been happy. This was the moment of connection that all of us had traveled all the way to Sicily to have. And while we were complete aliens (my Italian pronuciation and grammar was judged highly, but my vocabulary is bad), this was a place we can go, and point to a house and say, we are from here. This is where we are from, and these are our people. A family trauma that has begun to heal.

But, of course, we did more while in Troina. As it turns out, one of my cousins and his daughter own a bakery called "La Bonta del Fornaio" - which translates to "The bounty of the oven." On Saturday evening we went to the bakery to meet with our cousins and try the local delicacies. Of particular note were the cookies made with a "fig" filling (more on that in the next post), and cannoli made with a baked shell instead of a fried shell. Absolutely delicious. 

We also had pizza at the bakery. I mention this in a separate paragraph because I did not grow up near my grandparents and didn't get to see them that often when I was growing up. So, the one lasting memory I have of my grandmother was her making pizza on Christmas Eve. This was the family tradition of making and eating pizza every year on Christmas Eve, and so, what could be more fitting for a meeting with her relatives than eating pizza? But interestingly enough, the pizza we ate at the bakery is a completely different style from the pizza she made. And like those of us who grew up in the United States only speaking English, and our cousins only speaking Italian, the crossing of distance has not ended all barriers. But we're closer now than we have been in some time.

The next day, we met with more relatives. This time, it was the grandchildren of my great-grandmother's favorite sister, who my great grandmother named my grandmother after. Here again, we were struck by familial resemblances. Our cousin Elvira was a dead ringer for my great aunt Marie, and her grandchildren (who were with us) immediately started bawling at seeing someone who looked just like their grandmother. 

While there were other experiences, it was these moments that stuck with me. Meeting and being with family, the irrepressible Basilio Arona, walking the streets where my ancestors walked. We are a family somewhat reunited (we still have Argentinian cousins out there).

Going to Sicily - Rumination on Immigration and Loss (Part 5 of ???)

The scene of our great return to Sicily is almost set. But there is one more important piece: social media. As much as I despise a lot of what Facebook does (installing analytics to spy on its users even when they aren't using Facebook, rigging the analytics to incite people to, in at least one instance, genocide, and whatnot), I have to admit that without the connections I made through Facebook in particular, this trip would not be nearly as successful as it was.

The lynchpin to this trip was my connection to Basilio Arona. He is the town historian for Troina, and more. If any of you reading this remember me through the Italian House days at William & Mary, Basilio reminds me a lot of Professor Triolo, but with a beard, and with a deep passion for very specific topics. 

And for Basilio, that topic is the one I've been thinking about since I visited Troina - the trauma and loss caused by the Italian diaspora at the end of the 19th Century and into the 20th Century. For a quick refresher, Italian emigration was more or less around a couple of thousand people annually until the Unification. Then it exploded. All in all something like 16 million Italians left Italy between 1880 and 1917. That diaspora did not affect all if Italy equally. Instead, most of the population who left Italy were from the former Kingdom of the Two Sicilies (which is basically southern Italy). While a good percentage of Sicilians went to the United States, just as many immigrated to Argentina, Brazil, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, and Mexico.*

(*A quick sidenote that may only interest me: in most of the countries where there is a significant population of people of Italian descent, there are tons of restaurants that serve the local version of Italian food. That has created new cuisines, such as Italian American cuisine, Italian Argentinian cuisine, etc. But the one place where this has not really happened is in Mexico. There was an Italian restaurant in Tijuana that created the Caesar salad, but one could argue that restaurant catered to Americans. In terms of everyday cuisine, it does not appear that Italian immigrants made any impact at all).

For a city like Troina, that was isolated in the mountains, where the locals had to work together to survive, the loss of even a few people would have been traumatic. And here, over a million and a half Sicilians emigrated between 1890 and 1917 - roughly 1/4 of the overall population. And that's leaving Italy altogether. There was likely another million Sicilians who moved to Northern Italy. Not because Sicily was a bad place, but because they were destitute. And so, the trauma suffered by those immigrants and their families back home must have been devastating. It is an intergenerational trauma that my family and I share. 

That's why, for as long as I can remember, so many in my family have tried to remember where we came from, who are relatives where, what they ate (or currently eat), and what they wear. In my life, I studied Italian in college, and lived in the Italian Language House for two of my four years in hopes of catching a glimpse of what was lost. And I don't know of any member of my extended family who doesn't do the same.

Basilio's hope, through his Troinese del Mondo Facebook group (it roughly translates to "People of Troina from around the world), is to connect the immigrants who left Troina (and their descendants), with the families left behind. I joined the group about a year or so ago. In fact, Basilio's great uncle was on the same boat to the US as my great-grandparents. So, this is just as personal for him as it is for me. 

Now, I didn't quite know all this before going to Troina, but knowing how to use social media, and knowing we wanted to connect with our family in Sicily, I posted the details of the visit on the Troinese del Mondo page. My cousin Zelinda Trovato (my great-grandfather's brother's granddaughter) did me a solid and immediately acknowledged that yes, my family was from Troina. Basilio then contacted me through Facebook messenger, asking about various aspects of the family, which I responded to.

That set in motion a whole series of events of which I was completely unaware of, but got a lot of credit for. Basilio worked hard on finding out who my great-grandparents were based on the information I provided him, and then contacted the surviving family members. The mayor sent me an invite to come and visit city hall when we got in. And plans were made. In the meantime, I put together a t-shirt for the family to wear. I sent around the mark-up as a rough draft, but then everyone started ordering the t-shirts and we were off.

Going to Sicily - Rumination on Immigration and Loss (Part 4 of ???)

Okay, now onto Troina. While I could go on about Catania (a city that definitely has a strong punk/hardcore scene if my old instincts are correct), Taormina (stuck up beach town, reminiscent of La Jolla), or Siracusa (laid back beach town), these posts are all about Troina. With this post, I want to talk about the place. In the next post, it will be about the people. 

Troina, as I said before, is located in the hinterland of Sicily. It is essentially a mountain town, with its city center being the highest in Sicily. This is a part of Sicily that (until global warming) regularly got snow, that grows soft wheat instead of durum wheat, and overlooks miles and miles of countryside. Not surprisingly, medieval lords took one look at Troina and realized its utility as a fortress. For the modern era, it means that the streets are narrow and steep, and my GPS was incredibly confused all the time.

Now, a quick note on the countryside - it is shocking how similar the Sicilian countryside is to Southern California. The vegetation is ridiculously similar, partly helped by the fact that Sicilians love prickly pear cactuses and grow them commercially. And the hills and mountains all look hauntingly familiar. Per the family lore (and my godfather is the guy who actually witnessed this), my great-grandmother was completely shocked to see where her grandson was living. He was based somewhere in Southern California, and when she visited him, she looked around, shook her head, and immediately regretted not moving to California. In fact, a good part of the San Diego fishing industry came from Sicilian immigrants who (unlike my great-grandmother) had heard about San Diego's resemblance to Sicily. It was genuinely shocking to fly thousands of miles and immediately see eucalyptus and palm trees growing alongside cactuses. Oh, and also disconcerting to me lately is that the houses on the hill in my neighborhood remind me of looking out onto Troina from my hotel. 

With that being said, Troina in recent years has had two major events that drove economic activity after the great diaspora of the late 19th/early 20th Century*. The first happened after World War 2, when the Ancipa Dam was built. The Ancipa Dam, whose construction killed dozens of workers, provides electricity and water to a good chunk of Sicily - probably half the island. This work of infrastructure was obviously an enormous temporary boost to the local economy, but the biggest development was the Oasi (which I call the oasis). 

The Oasi is a hospital for children born with mental disorders and adults with dementia. Founded by a Father Luigi Ferlauto, the Oasi takes children and adults from all over Sicily, and for purposes of treatment of mental disorders. The OaThe hospital itself has a hotel attached to it so that the families of patients can visit their loved ones, and to host various conferences. 

Because we were a group of 18, we ended up staying in the at hotel, as opposed to one of the B&Bs in town. That lead to an interesting dynamic - we were giddy Americans living out our dreams of seeing our ancestral home, and catching up with relatives we hadn't seen in years, while the other guests were there visiting family members in often the worst of circumstances. By the way, if anyone reading this post was there at the time and was offended by our behavior, I apologize most sincerely.

One other thing to note about Troina - the town itself is pretty, old, and very clean. Not clean in the way that Taormina is clean*, but clean in the way that small towns are clean. The residents take pride in their town, and the whole town was virtually devoid of graffiti - something unheard of in other parts of Italy. In fact, when I mentioned on social media that Catania was a beautiful but gritty city, one of my Sicilian cousins made sure to comment that Troina was clean. And it is. Absolutely spotless.

*Part of my dislike of Taormina stems from the driver my parents hired to take us from Catania to Taormina. He was from Taormina and made several comments supportive of fascists which, given the artificiality of Taormina, makes a lot of sense.  Catania, meanwhile, reminded me of hanging out in New York City with my roommate back in the 1990s (although Catania is 1,000,000 times safer than Alphabet City), and so I am immediately appreciative of it.

Going to Sicily - Rumination on Immigration and Loss (Part 3 of ???)

With two very long posts into this rumination, it is about time that I actually get to trip to Sicily, and more specifically about Troina. Which I will do, eventually (it's my blog, so I get to do what I want). But first a word about travel planning:

Trying to plan a vacation as a lawyer is tricky because so much of an attorney's schedule is determined by other people. Judges will calendar events based on what works for them, as do other lawyers, etc. So, when a lawyer wants to take a vacation, they have to pick a time when not a lot is on calendar, and then send out a Notice to everyone that, yes, they are on vacation. However, once the tickets are purchased, etc., vacation plans are practically sacrosanct. Judges will move things around if you have a prescheduled vacation. Also, flying from Southern California to Sicily is Europe is tricky because it takes as long to get from Southern California to New York as it takes someone to fly from New York to Europe. And lastly, a lot of European airlines are absolutely scammy bastards. Almost as bad as Frontier or Spirit.

In that context, my next decision was whether I would go alone, or bring a member of my family with me. Ultimately, and after much lobbying by her, I ended up bringing my oldest daughter with me. Of my three daughters, she is the one who is the most Italian looking - olive skin, long, dark wavy hair, and dark eyes. This will be ironic shortly. Now, why I would have preferred to take the entire family, the trip was scheduled during the school year, and it made no sense to take everyone (a point my wife made clear).

Now, as far as flying goes, the airport that I flew in and out was Catania International Airport. As it turns out, Catania is the big city for eastern Sicily. I could have flown into Palermo, but that would have added an hour or so to my drive time to Troina, which, as I think about it, would not have been difficult at all. Anyway, if you are flying in from Southern California, try to cut up the flights as best as possible. Flying from San Diego to Europe is hideously expensive. But flying from Chicago or New York to Europe isn't that terrible - only slightly longer than a flight from San Diego to New York. Also, and I wasn't able to pull this off because of the days I was flying, but it looks like Turkish Airlines is the best carrier. 

Also, once you get to Sicily, the hotels and restaurants are well-priced. Granted, I didn't stay in Taormina during the height of tourism, but I was typically paying less than 100 euros a night for a hotel, and the meals would easily cost three times as much in the States. Also, I used booking.com to great effect in finding hotels. The first place I stayed was within tripping distance of five different restaurants, and maybe two blocks from the cathedral in Catania. The last place I stayed was within walking distance of the airport (we had an early flight).

One other point to be made - if you rent a car, get the supplemental insurance. I had numerous harrowing experiences while driving in Sicily - caused by the poor infrastructure and urban planning. I sort of wish my cousin and her husband could have made it to Sicily just to see what a modern urban planner would have thought of these cities. At the same time, I feel like I can face anything because I drove in Catania. 

Going to Sicily - Rumination on Immigration and Loss (Part 2 of ???)

In the last post, which was basically prologue, I discussed my keen interest in reconnecting with my family's history and how that played into going to Sicily. With this post, I think I should introduce you to a few names and characters.

First, my great-grandfather was named Fortunato Trovato, who was born in 1880 in the town of Troina, in the province of Enna, on the island of Sicily. As discussed before, Troina is the Italian version of its original name in Sicilian, or Traina. For those of you who don't speak Italian or Sicilian, the name "Fortunato" translates as lucky, which my great-grandfather certainly was not. In addition to being one of those Troinese so poor that he had to leave Sicily, my great-grandfather died young-ish in some sort of industrial accident. He was an incredibly kind man, who loved his children (my grandmother and her siblings), and was the light touch as far as discipline in the family. By all accounts, he was a really good guy.

His wife, and my great-grandmother was Giuseppa Schinocca (pronounced skin-oh-ka), also born in Troina in 1883. She was Fortunato's second wife, as his first wife and child died very young (again, my great-grandfather's name was painfully ironic). Where the accounts of my great-grandfather all paint him as a kind-hearted man, the accounts of my great-grandmother were of her indomitability. She was the disciplinarian of the kids (who used to hide until my great-grandfather came home), and when her husband died, my great-grandmother worked her ass off to provide for her many children. Not only that, but she would send whatever spare money she had back to her family in Sicily. When her children were grown, she traveled. First, back home to Sicily, by herself, in her 60s. Then she visited her grandchildren, including my godfather when he was stationed in California (something I will discuss later). 

These were the parents of my grandmother, Rose Trovato. Her husband, my grandfather, is James Treglio. Unlike the Trovato family history, the Treglio family history is murky thanks to name changes and annoyingly bad record-keeping by Italian authorities. Also, some bad handwriting by immigration authorities in New York. And apparently a sign-maker in New Jersey who wasn't diligent about spelling.

All this belies the fact that the Italian side of my family were peasants. Names and birth records weren't important to the Italian authorities because my great-grandparents weren't important. They weren't farmers, they were farm laborers, and day laborers, and whatever else you they could be. My great-grandfather's home (recently renovated) is now on the market for 20,000 Euro, and has one window. For the entire multifloor unit. 

In the United States, though, the children and grandchildren of Fortunato and Giuseppa Trovato are not peasants. We are scientists, teachers, dentists, lawyers, economists, architects, financial planners, FBI agents, lobbyists, and we broke through a few years ago with our first actual M.D. It's such that, as my father told me, even though his mother did not graduate from high school, when he got his Ph.D. in plasma physics, the family sort of yawned. He wasn't the first to go to college, and by that time, he wasn't even the first to get an advanced degree in the sciences. 

And so we, the grandchildren and great-grandchildren of the ironically named Fortunato Trovato, and the indomitable Guiseppa Schinocca, traveled to the city fortress of Troina, the heart of the Norman Conquest of Sicily. 

Going to Sicily - Rumination on Immigration and Loss (Part 1 of ???)

Just under 30 days ago, my daughter and I took the trip of my lifetime - we traveled to Italy. Not just to any part of Italy, like Florence or Lake Cuomo or the Vatican, but we went to Sicily. The part of Sicily where my great-grandparents lived, and where they had to leave due to abject poverty. More specifically, they were from the commune of Troina, a city built on top of a mountain in the Sicilian countryside which was the heart of the Norman conquest of Sicily, and was the site of the most important battle in Sicily during WW2. 

But it wasn't world history that drew me to Troina, it was trying to reconnect with a place that was lost to me and my family. As someone who grew up in San Diego, 3,000 miles away from my extended family in New Jersey, any snippet of family history was interesting to me, as the people my parents would speak of were people I would see once a year, at best. In the meantime, our traditions and food were touchstones to a distant past.

I remember in eighth grade doing a family research project - one in which we researched our family tree, and learning the various names of ancestors and whatnot - meeting with a researcher of family names who was able to provide backgrounds on the varying names to all the other kids in the class, but to him, my last name was a mystery. And that describes a lot of my Italian heritage - a complete and utter mystery. I knew my dad was Italian, and I sure as heck looked Italian, but was there more to it than that?

As I grew older, my research methods got better - at one point in time, 60% of my job was online research and I am still quite good at it - and I began to look for the places I had heard about through family lore. While one side of the Italian family was wreathed in secrecy, the Sicilian side seemed easier. They were from the town of Traina. They left in the early 1900s, and my great-grandmother went back there for a trip to visit family after WW2, and found her sisters living better than she did.

But that created a new barrier for me. The name Traina does not appear on any map. But there was a town called Troina. It was in the right part of Sicily, and when I looked up the most common surnames, I found that 20% of the town had the same last name as my grandmother's family. Jackpot. As it turns out, Troina is the Italian translation of the Sicilian Traina (something that I didn't realize until the very last day of my visit).

The next step back to Troina came when my cousins, one of whom was working as a photographer in Egypt during the Iraq War, travelled to Troina to get documents to potentially become Italian citizens. When they (and my aunt and uncle) went to Troina we got confirmation that Traina was Troina, and they met with cousins who shared pictures my great-grandmother left with them back in the 1950s.

In addition to old pictures, we were able to gather the story about my great-grandparents. My great-grandfather was exceptionally poor, and had to make the choice between staying in the town he was born in, grew up in, and built a life in, and watching his family starve to death. In fact, the dividing line between my great-grandfather (the ironically named Fortunato) and his brother, Francesco, was a donkey. Francesco owned a donkey, and knew he could be hired to haul things. My great-grandfather did not. So off to America he went, along with my indomitable great-grandmother, Giuseppa, and their oldest daughter (and my great-aunt) Lena.

From that point on, I did everything I could to learn about Troina. I learned about the Oasis (the town's largest employer) which treats children with mental disabilities, and how the town has survived when other similar towns have died. Through the contacts my cousins made, I used social media to connect with distant cousins and joined Facebook groups to connect with people I never met, who live in a town I had never seen. 

When Troina started offering homes for 1 Euro, I scoured the website and dreamed. (Quick note on that: as a practical matter, the 1 Euro thing doesn't make that much sense because the fully refurbished homes are relatively inexpensive anyway). I could return to the town my great-grandparents had to leave.

So, when my father and his cousins decided to go to Troina for a family reunion, I had to join them. 

NOTE: Based on this prologue, I suspect this blog post will be rather long, so I've decided to split it into parts.