I'M PACKED!!
It didn't take too long. I don't have a terribly large amount of stuff with me. That might explain why every day of my life is the coldest I've ever been and I end up asking why I didn't bring more warm clothing. But that's neither here nor there. And at least I have the warmth of Ohio to look forward to, right? (Ohio has carpet and central heating. Italy does not. So really it might end in a draw.) All I really have to do now is go to Rome on Saturday morning, hang out in Rome, and then leave Sunday morning. That should be easy enough, right?
So, with the discussion of leaving aside, I of course have to further analyze Margherita. What an interesting character. The other day she came into my room holding what appeared to be a large bunch of fake cherries. Of course, she did not offer me any explanation as to why she had these cherries and she threw them onto my open laptop. Actually, before throwing the cherries at me, she walked through my charger cord and proceeded to drag the charger and converter across the room with her. She always manages to do things like that. If something can be spilled, broken, toppled over, banged into, or otherwise disturbed in anyway, by God, she will find a way to do it. She also falls down a lot. That should be noted. Right, so she throws these cherries on my lap top. I told her that I was doing homework, which I was, but she didn't seem to care very much. She told me that I had 10 minutes to report to the studio. I complied. Instead of counting up to 10 minutes aloud like she usually does, she went into the other room to do it. I could still hear her. I always follow rules, so I went into the studio 10 minutes later. Margherita was sitting at a table, wearing a knit page boy hat and gloves. In front of her were these little plastic cherries. She was cutting off the tops so that just the cherry and not the plastic stem could be put in a box decorated with teddy bears. Cherry Harvest. She told me that my job was to separate the cherries from one another and then she would go about cutting off the tops. I asked her at least 6 times why we were doing this and she kept telling me to not worry about it. Oh, and she also didn't think I was doing a very good job at cherry separating. We played this game for maybe 15 minutes before Barbara came in, took one look at what she was doing, and made her stop. There was no yelling or screaming or tears; it was a very calm "You have to ask mommy before you do things like this." Because were they a part of her Christmas decorations? Of course they were.
I like to tell stories about Margh's nuances because they are fascinating and hilarious. Sometimes, though, I will encounter who people who say things like Ok, but you know that you're going to miss her when you leave. Well YEAH of course I am. When did I ever say that I don't care about her or I dislike her? She's just a science project, is all, and I have to constantly tell people what she's up to so that we can all put our heads together and make sense of her. I know that she understands that I leave soon but I don't think Arianna does. Last night as I was leaving, their grandmother asked me when I go. I said Saturday. Arianna looked up at me and said, "Wait, where are you going?" And it was this terrifying moment of realization-very akin to leaving Chester but not really being able to explain to him where I'm going and why. So I said "uhh, the United States" and her grandma said "she's going home." And poor baby girl looked so confused. And then I said ciao and I left.
Last night was our final dinner for the program. I ate a sickening amount of food. On the way to the restaurant, I ran into Luca and Chiara, two of my favorite Siena characters. Luca wished me luck in case I don't see him again before I leave and he asked me to please keep in touch and send e-mails. And that pretty much melted my heart because Luca is the best and of course I want to stay in touch! Especially when Chiara has their baby and they realize that the only practical name to give it (regardless of gender) is Katie.
Where are my children? And why haven't they ran in my room and jumped on my bed, told me to get off the computer and then take me by both hands into the studio where I will sit and laugh at them and ask Margherita why I always have to cook and she gets to plant the garden when we play house? Oh, I've also started shouting "No way, girlfriend!" to Margherita. I think it's really funny when she can't understand me and gets frustrated. Because I'm like, welcome to my life...
In 4 months my stomach still hasn't gotten used to no snacks. So. Hungry.
Lesson: Eat a big lunch, I guess.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Hey, Mid December.
I just made my first stack.
Do you understand what that means?
And it is weird that as I type this, RE: Stacks di Bon Iver is playing? Possibly.
But do you understand the importance of the stacking process in accordance to the packing process? Those stacks are then transferred into a suitcase and then said suitcase is put on a plane headed for the United States. As Margherita would say, "Wowwee Wow Wow Wow!!!!" After my shower, I took my dirty clothes to my hamper. Then I said to myself, "Self, there will be no more laundry days while you are here. So putting dirty clothes in the dirty clothes hamper is of no relevance anymore, is it?" So i folded those clothes and put them on my other bed, thinking, well I'll just know to pack those on the other side of the suit case since they're dirty. About 3 seconds later, the reality of the situation hit me. I am leaving so soon that I
have to consider packing logistics! For the record, my laundry day has always been Friday, so technically I am not missing another laundry day. But I usually don't get those clothes back until the following Tuesday or Wednesday and by that time I will be snuggling in my bed with Chester. So I suppose the dirty clothes will just continue to create their neat little pile and then before I know it I will be hoisting one of my infamously huge laundry piles into the laundry basket at home. Except my mom can't grumble about it too much because I'll be home, you know? (Yeah, Msue does my laundry. Are you going to judge me now? Try it, see what happens.) I also have a trash bag in my room that's been accumulating since circa August 30. Don't worry, it's all paper stuffs. Food particles gross me out too much, remember? So this room's not going to clean itself....I wonder if Margherita will let me teach her a new game?
Do you understand what that means?
And it is weird that as I type this, RE: Stacks di Bon Iver is playing? Possibly.
But do you understand the importance of the stacking process in accordance to the packing process? Those stacks are then transferred into a suitcase and then said suitcase is put on a plane headed for the United States. As Margherita would say, "Wowwee Wow Wow Wow!!!!" After my shower, I took my dirty clothes to my hamper. Then I said to myself, "Self, there will be no more laundry days while you are here. So putting dirty clothes in the dirty clothes hamper is of no relevance anymore, is it?" So i folded those clothes and put them on my other bed, thinking, well I'll just know to pack those on the other side of the suit case since they're dirty. About 3 seconds later, the reality of the situation hit me. I am leaving so soon that I
have to consider packing logistics! For the record, my laundry day has always been Friday, so technically I am not missing another laundry day. But I usually don't get those clothes back until the following Tuesday or Wednesday and by that time I will be snuggling in my bed with Chester. So I suppose the dirty clothes will just continue to create their neat little pile and then before I know it I will be hoisting one of my infamously huge laundry piles into the laundry basket at home. Except my mom can't grumble about it too much because I'll be home, you know? (Yeah, Msue does my laundry. Are you going to judge me now? Try it, see what happens.) I also have a trash bag in my room that's been accumulating since circa August 30. Don't worry, it's all paper stuffs. Food particles gross me out too much, remember? So this room's not going to clean itself....I wonder if Margherita will let me teach her a new game?
Look at this temp tat I was given! Thanks, children.
I guess I'll let you know how the packing goes. And which items I choose to leave here instead of having to pack them.
Lesson: Italian lesson today. The above tat reads "We are in love." It's going to look really good on me.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Collected Data
Margherita is a science fair project.
I'm not sure who is following along with my daily adventures with her, but you should know that I go to bed, almost every single night, saying to myself What just happened? Because in recent weeks it has dawned on me that I am having real conversations with her. And, as if that isn't strange enough, we've developed an actual relationship that is akin to, I don't know, sisterly? I guess my point is this: She might be crazy. She might be brilliant. But she is certainly the most entertaining child I have ever met.
Margherita gets bored easily. I find this hilarious because Italians LOVE having a routine. This morning when I was smearing Nutella on a fritte and then dipping it in my cappuccino I thought....Huh. At circa 8:07 every morning for the past 3 1/2 months you have smeared Nutella on exactly two frittes. Eat yogurt first. Eat small piece of cake. Nutella and frittes. Drink remaining cappuccino. Drink glass of water. Ball up napkin and stuff in yogurt cup. Yogurt cup in water glass. Mug and saucer stacked on top of breakfast plate. Carry all into kitchen and put in sink. I have literally done that every single day since August 30 with the exception of small trips. And that one time I slept in on a Saturday. Both meals eaten at home function this way. Routine. Maybe that's why Margherita gets so bored if she sits still for more than 3 minutes. For about 3 or 4 nights in a row, we play the same game. When I first got here, she just wanted to watch Friends all the time. Then play with Katie's stuff. Then volleyball. Then card games. Then drawing. Then house. Then magic spells. Then Katie and Margherita's art gallery where everything is sold at a reasonably affordable price. It's hard to keep up, actually. Arianna and I usually just nod our heads in agreement-it's alot easier that way. Last night Ari and I hid in my bed and watched videos of James Franco while Margherita ran around looking for us. Oh, she found us. And that's when we went to "work." Because play is like work for her. A certain quota of play must be done every night before we can go to bed. What a weird kid.
The other night was Stuffed Animal Play night. I enjoy a good stuffed animal play. Margherita began by introducing me to all of the actors in the show-it looked like a pretty decent cast. Of course, all of the animals had Italian names because she's Italian, you know? After a dozen or so introductions, she picked up a small pink cat. "And thiiiis....is Gatto Steve!" First of all, everything she ever says is in Italian so just KNOW that, ok? She's not an English prodigy or anything. But do you know what gatto means? It means cat. Cat Steve. I'm still not sure which part of Gatto Steve's name is most hilarious. Naturally, she and Arianna got in an argument over Gatto Steve's name being a boy name or a girl name. I assured them that yes, little pink Gatto Steve is in fact a boy. Once that was settled, I realized that the Lion's head was literally dangling by a thread. This was disconcerting to me. Margherita assured me atleast a dozen times that it didn't matter if Lion's head was falling off. I decided to take matters into my own hands. I went in my room and got the needle and thread I had brought with me. I sat down with Lion in my lap and began the extensive, and sometimes fatal, head re-attachment process. Don't worry-I assured both girls that I am a doctor. Oh, sidenote. 3-ish years ago I performed the exact same surgery on Serp's Cleveland Cavaliers bear when a certain character ripped its head off in a fit of post-season hysteria. Bear was my first survivor. And, thankfully, Lion was my second. The best part about this surgery is that my host nonna AND Fabio both walked in and immediately fell in love with me because I was sewing together injured stuffed animals. Right, so I believe the girls were mildly impressed with my sewing abilities. Then Margherita saw that Lion and Donkey's tails were tied together. Instead of untying the tails, she cut them off. Just picked up a pair of scissors and cut of their tails. Girl, seriously? So yes. You can assume that while the other animals got to act in their end of the year production, I was mending the tails of Lion and Donkey. I'll probably be putting this experience on my med school application.
I could literally go on for years about the strange nuances of this child. I feel like merely explaining them, though, does not do the entire experience justice. I will leave you with a final anecdote and then maybe you can make your own judgement.
Margherita really likes math. I like doing math with her because numbers are universal and there's not much to be lost in translation. She also really likes to come up with little games where letters are equal to certain numbers and then you add the words together and then the numbers that come out...I don't know, I think it's supposed to be a message or something. The other day she selected numbers totally at random. She did some additional then some subtraction. The answer was 666. Check and mate.
The magic number is 10. MOLTO STRANO.
Lesson: Learn to sew. The animals need you.
I'm not sure who is following along with my daily adventures with her, but you should know that I go to bed, almost every single night, saying to myself What just happened? Because in recent weeks it has dawned on me that I am having real conversations with her. And, as if that isn't strange enough, we've developed an actual relationship that is akin to, I don't know, sisterly? I guess my point is this: She might be crazy. She might be brilliant. But she is certainly the most entertaining child I have ever met.
Margherita gets bored easily. I find this hilarious because Italians LOVE having a routine. This morning when I was smearing Nutella on a fritte and then dipping it in my cappuccino I thought....Huh. At circa 8:07 every morning for the past 3 1/2 months you have smeared Nutella on exactly two frittes. Eat yogurt first. Eat small piece of cake. Nutella and frittes. Drink remaining cappuccino. Drink glass of water. Ball up napkin and stuff in yogurt cup. Yogurt cup in water glass. Mug and saucer stacked on top of breakfast plate. Carry all into kitchen and put in sink. I have literally done that every single day since August 30 with the exception of small trips. And that one time I slept in on a Saturday. Both meals eaten at home function this way. Routine. Maybe that's why Margherita gets so bored if she sits still for more than 3 minutes. For about 3 or 4 nights in a row, we play the same game. When I first got here, she just wanted to watch Friends all the time. Then play with Katie's stuff. Then volleyball. Then card games. Then drawing. Then house. Then magic spells. Then Katie and Margherita's art gallery where everything is sold at a reasonably affordable price. It's hard to keep up, actually. Arianna and I usually just nod our heads in agreement-it's alot easier that way. Last night Ari and I hid in my bed and watched videos of James Franco while Margherita ran around looking for us. Oh, she found us. And that's when we went to "work." Because play is like work for her. A certain quota of play must be done every night before we can go to bed. What a weird kid.
The other night was Stuffed Animal Play night. I enjoy a good stuffed animal play. Margherita began by introducing me to all of the actors in the show-it looked like a pretty decent cast. Of course, all of the animals had Italian names because she's Italian, you know? After a dozen or so introductions, she picked up a small pink cat. "And thiiiis....is Gatto Steve!" First of all, everything she ever says is in Italian so just KNOW that, ok? She's not an English prodigy or anything. But do you know what gatto means? It means cat. Cat Steve. I'm still not sure which part of Gatto Steve's name is most hilarious. Naturally, she and Arianna got in an argument over Gatto Steve's name being a boy name or a girl name. I assured them that yes, little pink Gatto Steve is in fact a boy. Once that was settled, I realized that the Lion's head was literally dangling by a thread. This was disconcerting to me. Margherita assured me atleast a dozen times that it didn't matter if Lion's head was falling off. I decided to take matters into my own hands. I went in my room and got the needle and thread I had brought with me. I sat down with Lion in my lap and began the extensive, and sometimes fatal, head re-attachment process. Don't worry-I assured both girls that I am a doctor. Oh, sidenote. 3-ish years ago I performed the exact same surgery on Serp's Cleveland Cavaliers bear when a certain character ripped its head off in a fit of post-season hysteria. Bear was my first survivor. And, thankfully, Lion was my second. The best part about this surgery is that my host nonna AND Fabio both walked in and immediately fell in love with me because I was sewing together injured stuffed animals. Right, so I believe the girls were mildly impressed with my sewing abilities. Then Margherita saw that Lion and Donkey's tails were tied together. Instead of untying the tails, she cut them off. Just picked up a pair of scissors and cut of their tails. Girl, seriously? So yes. You can assume that while the other animals got to act in their end of the year production, I was mending the tails of Lion and Donkey. I'll probably be putting this experience on my med school application.
I could literally go on for years about the strange nuances of this child. I feel like merely explaining them, though, does not do the entire experience justice. I will leave you with a final anecdote and then maybe you can make your own judgement.
Margherita really likes math. I like doing math with her because numbers are universal and there's not much to be lost in translation. She also really likes to come up with little games where letters are equal to certain numbers and then you add the words together and then the numbers that come out...I don't know, I think it's supposed to be a message or something. The other day she selected numbers totally at random. She did some additional then some subtraction. The answer was 666. Check and mate.
The magic number is 10. MOLTO STRANO.
Lesson: Learn to sew. The animals need you.
Monday, November 29, 2010
To Torino, with love.
To be frank, I don't really know where to begin.
Let's start on Wednesday night, the eve before my departure for Torino. My friends and I had decided to go for the long Thanksgiving weekend. We picked this city on account of our recent obsession with Northern Italy. Sorry, Tuscany. But not really. Torino is just a little more north than our initial love, Milan, so we figured it was worth a try. So as I laid in my bed, recovering from a large Thanksgiving feast, I began to concoct a series of possible events that could unfold in Torino. I like playing that game. Some may argue that this will only result in disappointment at some point in my life, but really it just keeps me entertained. Right, so my mind began to wander and for whatever reason, it settled on James Franco. Now I must tell you: I am a fan. He is by no means my all time biggest celebrity crush, but I really like the guy and I appreciate his want to become an English Doctor and save the words. (Creative writing PhD candidate. Hell yes.) So I imagined him being on the train to Torino, the two of us striking up a conversation about writing and then, after realizing our incredible intellectual companionship, we essentially become best friends and I convince him to come speak at Wooster. (This also ties in with my fantasy of becoming a well respected member of the English department, but I think that is even less likely to happen than the James Franco companionship.) I tossed and turned that night, anticipating my day of travel. Also, I thought about the best way of getting James' attention.
The train ride to Torino was long but absolutely well worth it. I think I will venture to say that it is my favorite European city that I've visited. Seriously. And I've been to San Gimignano so that's really saying something. I arrived there on the night of Thanksgiving, and we celebrated the classic American holiday with pizza and beer. That sounds pretty American to me. Our hostel was a pleasant surprise; the doors locked and the rooms were warm! Not only this, but our stay came with complimentary breakfast. Torino surely knows how to win my heart. It should also be noted that upon sitting on my bed for the first time, it broke in half. I pieced it back together as best as I could. And, as an added bonus, when the mattress was off for repairs, we used the bed frame as a bottle opener!
The next day we ventured towards the center of the city, oohing and ahhing over palaces and buildings, letting ourselves into courtyards and actually having fairly intellectual conversations about art and architecture. In no time at all, we found the Mole Antonelliana, which is not only the tallest brick building in Europe but also the home of the National Cinema Museum. Let. me. tell. you. something. Going to this Cinema Museum was seriously one of the best decisions I've ever made. I like movies. I like movies quite a bit, actually. But this museum was incredible. It began with shadow boxes and the development of moving non-human entertainment from probably 5 or 600 years ago. From there, the history of the camera was introduced, and then the addition of sound to film and then it just became a mass of movie artifacts, ranging from the original draft of the Godfather pt II script and all of the original prototypes of Star Wars costumes. The current exhibit is horror movies, and framed posters and information lined probably 5 floors of the winding central area. As if it couldn't get any cooler, we then took an elevator up to the roof so we could enjoy the panoramic view. And what a view it was! You want to know why? Because we could see the Alps. They are substantially more impressive than the mountains we have in Akron.
The Torino Film Festival was this past weekend. Seriously. Of ALL the weekends I could have gone to Torino, I just so happened to go on the weekend of a very important, very legitimate film festival. When we left the Cinema Museum, people had began to line up at various kiosks to buy tickets for the week's showings. We got our hands on some programs and Becca said, "Hey, 127 Hours. That's the new James Franco movie."
Time out. The who in the what now? Are you serious? Of all delusional fantasies in the entire world that I could have ever fabricated, my mind managed to settle on one that suddenly became a quasi reality? Score. Done and done. Tickets bought on the spot. Saturday, 10 pm. James and Me. Torino Film Festival, you are the best.
We encountered some friendly old men at the information kiosk who made mention of our beautiful smiles and asked us to please never leave Torino. I can't say that I was completely against this idea. Hannah had the good mind to ask them about ways to get to the Alps and, sure enough, they knew exactly where to send us. They even looked it up for us on the internet, even though they were exclusively Film Fest information givers. So we were off to the train station! We bought some cheap tickets for an early train the next morning that would take us to Bardonecchia. None of us knew anything about it except it was in the mountains. I think there was a collective gasp from the four of us as the train made its way through the Alps. I am from the Midwest. We simply do not have things of this nature. Emily was elated because they reminded her so much of the Rockies. I was elated at the fact that my elevation was actually changing. As we got closer to Bardonecchia, though, we realized that the landscape was very run down...lots of abandoned factories and motor homes. That was more like Ohio. And then, when we finally reached the station, the scenery had not really changed. We got out, looked around at the nothingness, and then walked through the station.
Oh, here it is! What an absolutely adorable little mountain village. Seriously. And, according to geography, I think we were more or less straddling the French border. We were surrounded by the Alps and snow on all sides, every shop window was completely adorned in Christmas decor and the city, though incredibly small, was somewhat bustling. Did it resemble Hogsmeade? Yeah, I think it did. We had lunch at a diner-esque restaurant and then we moved next door for pastries and coffee. The latter half of that was mostly because the city shut down for a 4 hour lunch break. I saw lots of snow and mountains and, even though my toes were approaching numbness, I was more than pleased.
SATURDAY NIGHT. Did you know that international film festivals are really serious? We got to the theatre about 20 minutes before the movie and the line was out the door. We essentially went through 3 or 4 stages of security. Our tickets were checked, torn and scanned. Then all cell phones and cameras were to be put in special sealed bags that were pretty hard to open again. The theatre was HUGE and packed-I'd guess it sat maybe 400ish people? 500? I am terrible at estimations of this nature so just trust me when I say a lot of people were there. We sat in the second row all the way to the left but I could still see the screen just fine. Are you familiar with 127 Hours? It's the story of Aron Ralston, the American canyoneer who cut off his own arm in order to live. The opening moments of the movie were filled with James Franco just doing crazy shit, furthering the point that he's this adventurous character who is up for anything. The worst part (or maybe it was better) is that I knew exactly what was going to happen so it was a matter of just waiting. In the meantime, I managed to say aloud "You know what? This is some stupid shit Terry would pull." And then I crossed my arms and hunkered down in my chair and got mad at Terry for not telling me he was going biking in the desert. Sorry, Terry. I didn't mean to get mad at you for not actually doing anything but imagining you as this character who, indeed, has to cut his own arm off. AND BOY DID HE EVER. Oh, they showed it. They totally showed it. I even knew it was coming and I knew it was fake but still...gah. Guh. Ouch. I don't even want to go into detail about it. Just know that if you go see it...you're going to see it. It also really helped knowing that he survives because I atleast had that to look forward to. It wasn't like Into the Wild where I had spent 2.5 hours rooting for someone and then just feeling a little empty. (But his liberation from society was so inspiring! Yes, I know that, but when super cuties don't survive, I get a little sad.) Also, it should be noted that when James finally sees the light of day again and we KNOW he is going to be rescued and live, Sigur Ros' "Festival" is played and it is literally the most triumphant movie moment I have ever witnessed and now I want "Festival" to be my personal theme music. I want it to be played when I get off the plane in Cleveland. I want it to be played when I have my first child. I want it to be played when I walk into school tomorrow. But just the last 5 of the 9 minutes, please.
Wait, did you expect me to get to meet James Franco? I know I did. I thought that there would be some kind of question and answer session afterwards. I had a few questions readily prepared, such as:
-When does Tristan and Isolde 2 come out?
-Did you really cut your arm off for this role?
-What are you doing later?
Needless to say, he was not there so I was unable to begin our life long best friendship. I'm not too worried-some things are simply meant to happen. On the bright side, though, I spent most of today googling images of James Franco and listening to NPR podcast interviews with him.
Did I mention that Torino is exactly how I've always pictured the North Pole? Every year the city commissions 20 artists to create massive light installations that are hung above all the streets. It's a pretty impressive sight. On the last day as we walked to the tram stop, it began to snow. Christmas, I await you with open arms.
Lesson: Always leave a note. Seriously. Aron Ralston didn't tell anyone where he was going and he lost his arm. Think about it. I mentioned this to Terry and he told me to please stop worrying about him. He also told me to please stop worrying about the possibility of dying in a stampede on an over populated bridge. "Just don't go on bridges if there's alot of people." And that's the thinking that got him into grad school.
20 DAYS LEFT IN ITALY. insane? yes. get the Sigur Ros ready.
Let's start on Wednesday night, the eve before my departure for Torino. My friends and I had decided to go for the long Thanksgiving weekend. We picked this city on account of our recent obsession with Northern Italy. Sorry, Tuscany. But not really. Torino is just a little more north than our initial love, Milan, so we figured it was worth a try. So as I laid in my bed, recovering from a large Thanksgiving feast, I began to concoct a series of possible events that could unfold in Torino. I like playing that game. Some may argue that this will only result in disappointment at some point in my life, but really it just keeps me entertained. Right, so my mind began to wander and for whatever reason, it settled on James Franco. Now I must tell you: I am a fan. He is by no means my all time biggest celebrity crush, but I really like the guy and I appreciate his want to become an English Doctor and save the words. (Creative writing PhD candidate. Hell yes.) So I imagined him being on the train to Torino, the two of us striking up a conversation about writing and then, after realizing our incredible intellectual companionship, we essentially become best friends and I convince him to come speak at Wooster. (This also ties in with my fantasy of becoming a well respected member of the English department, but I think that is even less likely to happen than the James Franco companionship.) I tossed and turned that night, anticipating my day of travel. Also, I thought about the best way of getting James' attention.
The train ride to Torino was long but absolutely well worth it. I think I will venture to say that it is my favorite European city that I've visited. Seriously. And I've been to San Gimignano so that's really saying something. I arrived there on the night of Thanksgiving, and we celebrated the classic American holiday with pizza and beer. That sounds pretty American to me. Our hostel was a pleasant surprise; the doors locked and the rooms were warm! Not only this, but our stay came with complimentary breakfast. Torino surely knows how to win my heart. It should also be noted that upon sitting on my bed for the first time, it broke in half. I pieced it back together as best as I could. And, as an added bonus, when the mattress was off for repairs, we used the bed frame as a bottle opener!
The next day we ventured towards the center of the city, oohing and ahhing over palaces and buildings, letting ourselves into courtyards and actually having fairly intellectual conversations about art and architecture. In no time at all, we found the Mole Antonelliana, which is not only the tallest brick building in Europe but also the home of the National Cinema Museum. Let. me. tell. you. something. Going to this Cinema Museum was seriously one of the best decisions I've ever made. I like movies. I like movies quite a bit, actually. But this museum was incredible. It began with shadow boxes and the development of moving non-human entertainment from probably 5 or 600 years ago. From there, the history of the camera was introduced, and then the addition of sound to film and then it just became a mass of movie artifacts, ranging from the original draft of the Godfather pt II script and all of the original prototypes of Star Wars costumes. The current exhibit is horror movies, and framed posters and information lined probably 5 floors of the winding central area. As if it couldn't get any cooler, we then took an elevator up to the roof so we could enjoy the panoramic view. And what a view it was! You want to know why? Because we could see the Alps. They are substantially more impressive than the mountains we have in Akron.
The Torino Film Festival was this past weekend. Seriously. Of ALL the weekends I could have gone to Torino, I just so happened to go on the weekend of a very important, very legitimate film festival. When we left the Cinema Museum, people had began to line up at various kiosks to buy tickets for the week's showings. We got our hands on some programs and Becca said, "Hey, 127 Hours. That's the new James Franco movie."
Time out. The who in the what now? Are you serious? Of all delusional fantasies in the entire world that I could have ever fabricated, my mind managed to settle on one that suddenly became a quasi reality? Score. Done and done. Tickets bought on the spot. Saturday, 10 pm. James and Me. Torino Film Festival, you are the best.
We encountered some friendly old men at the information kiosk who made mention of our beautiful smiles and asked us to please never leave Torino. I can't say that I was completely against this idea. Hannah had the good mind to ask them about ways to get to the Alps and, sure enough, they knew exactly where to send us. They even looked it up for us on the internet, even though they were exclusively Film Fest information givers. So we were off to the train station! We bought some cheap tickets for an early train the next morning that would take us to Bardonecchia. None of us knew anything about it except it was in the mountains. I think there was a collective gasp from the four of us as the train made its way through the Alps. I am from the Midwest. We simply do not have things of this nature. Emily was elated because they reminded her so much of the Rockies. I was elated at the fact that my elevation was actually changing. As we got closer to Bardonecchia, though, we realized that the landscape was very run down...lots of abandoned factories and motor homes. That was more like Ohio. And then, when we finally reached the station, the scenery had not really changed. We got out, looked around at the nothingness, and then walked through the station.
Oh, here it is! What an absolutely adorable little mountain village. Seriously. And, according to geography, I think we were more or less straddling the French border. We were surrounded by the Alps and snow on all sides, every shop window was completely adorned in Christmas decor and the city, though incredibly small, was somewhat bustling. Did it resemble Hogsmeade? Yeah, I think it did. We had lunch at a diner-esque restaurant and then we moved next door for pastries and coffee. The latter half of that was mostly because the city shut down for a 4 hour lunch break. I saw lots of snow and mountains and, even though my toes were approaching numbness, I was more than pleased.
SATURDAY NIGHT. Did you know that international film festivals are really serious? We got to the theatre about 20 minutes before the movie and the line was out the door. We essentially went through 3 or 4 stages of security. Our tickets were checked, torn and scanned. Then all cell phones and cameras were to be put in special sealed bags that were pretty hard to open again. The theatre was HUGE and packed-I'd guess it sat maybe 400ish people? 500? I am terrible at estimations of this nature so just trust me when I say a lot of people were there. We sat in the second row all the way to the left but I could still see the screen just fine. Are you familiar with 127 Hours? It's the story of Aron Ralston, the American canyoneer who cut off his own arm in order to live. The opening moments of the movie were filled with James Franco just doing crazy shit, furthering the point that he's this adventurous character who is up for anything. The worst part (or maybe it was better) is that I knew exactly what was going to happen so it was a matter of just waiting. In the meantime, I managed to say aloud "You know what? This is some stupid shit Terry would pull." And then I crossed my arms and hunkered down in my chair and got mad at Terry for not telling me he was going biking in the desert. Sorry, Terry. I didn't mean to get mad at you for not actually doing anything but imagining you as this character who, indeed, has to cut his own arm off. AND BOY DID HE EVER. Oh, they showed it. They totally showed it. I even knew it was coming and I knew it was fake but still...gah. Guh. Ouch. I don't even want to go into detail about it. Just know that if you go see it...you're going to see it. It also really helped knowing that he survives because I atleast had that to look forward to. It wasn't like Into the Wild where I had spent 2.5 hours rooting for someone and then just feeling a little empty. (But his liberation from society was so inspiring! Yes, I know that, but when super cuties don't survive, I get a little sad.) Also, it should be noted that when James finally sees the light of day again and we KNOW he is going to be rescued and live, Sigur Ros' "Festival" is played and it is literally the most triumphant movie moment I have ever witnessed and now I want "Festival" to be my personal theme music. I want it to be played when I get off the plane in Cleveland. I want it to be played when I have my first child. I want it to be played when I walk into school tomorrow. But just the last 5 of the 9 minutes, please.
Wait, did you expect me to get to meet James Franco? I know I did. I thought that there would be some kind of question and answer session afterwards. I had a few questions readily prepared, such as:
-When does Tristan and Isolde 2 come out?
-Did you really cut your arm off for this role?
-What are you doing later?
Needless to say, he was not there so I was unable to begin our life long best friendship. I'm not too worried-some things are simply meant to happen. On the bright side, though, I spent most of today googling images of James Franco and listening to NPR podcast interviews with him.
Did I mention that Torino is exactly how I've always pictured the North Pole? Every year the city commissions 20 artists to create massive light installations that are hung above all the streets. It's a pretty impressive sight. On the last day as we walked to the tram stop, it began to snow. Christmas, I await you with open arms.
Lesson: Always leave a note. Seriously. Aron Ralston didn't tell anyone where he was going and he lost his arm. Think about it. I mentioned this to Terry and he told me to please stop worrying about him. He also told me to please stop worrying about the possibility of dying in a stampede on an over populated bridge. "Just don't go on bridges if there's alot of people." And that's the thinking that got him into grad school.
20 DAYS LEFT IN ITALY. insane? yes. get the Sigur Ros ready.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Movies with Fabs (i film con Fabs)
I would like to begin with a brief list:
Movies that Fabio likes
Behind Enemy Lines
The 300
The Fugitive
The Jackal
I know there are others that could be added to this list, such as The Godfather which he has on special edition DVD. By the by, I am hoping to work up the nerve to casually bring it into conversation and then ask him if we can please please please watch it together. Because can a situation really get more Italian than that? (Well, there was the Michael Jackson impersonator dancing in front of the Colosseum, but that's neither here nor there.) Fabio reacts so wonderfully to the movies that are played on Rai 5 Grande Fiction. "Ooooh, bellissimo," he will sigh, watching the commercials longingly. And then, as though fate couldn't have planned it any better, the commercial informs him that YES this movie is on tonight! Instead of turning in early, Fabio always takes up his usual spot on the couch and watches a movie he has seen numerous times, reacting as though it is all a surprise.
Personal favorite reactions include, but are not limited to:
-A scene in the 300 in which a pile of dead bodies is displayed on the screen. Two soldiers exchange a few words. I can't remember the words. Fabio grins, literally ear to ear and exclaims, no, guffaws! "Bellissimo! Ohh, Katie, Katie, guarda, bellissimo." And then he laughs for a very long time. I just assume that because the 300 is about his people, he is more "in" on the jokes.
-The other night after watching a show about great white sharks, Fabio was flipping through the channels. Suddenly, Harrison Ford's grizzled face appeared on the screen. HELL YES THE FUGITIVE. Fabio and I looked at eachother and exclaimed, "HARRISON FORD!!" And then, "Oh, conosci questa film? Katie, you know? Conosci? Ohhh, bellissimo, bellissimo!" When Fabio is watching a movie he really likes, he sits, grinning and shaking his head, amazed that a movie like this could ever be made. The only con to this particular scenario: The infamous Tommy Lee Jones "I don't care!" was lost because, well, it's dubbed. I miss American voices.
-A preview for the Expendables came on a few months ago. He literally stopped whatever it was he was doing, probably tending to a child, and he stared at the screen with his mouth wide open. Once the preview was over he turned to me very slowly and said, in English, "This....this is my film." I have no idea if he ever got the chance to see it.
-One time we were watching War of the Worlds. After an especially heroic scene in which Tom Cruise is literally the only human being still alive, Fabio very calmly says, "This is what it will be like in 2012." And then he continued to laugh laugh laugh at Tom Cruise, because why would he be the only person still alive? Of all the people in the world, WHY Tom Cruise? That seemed to be Fabio's biggest concern. And, come to think of it, that might be mine as well.
Tonight, Rai 5 is showing The Jackal ("con Richard Gere e Bruce Willis!"). I know that it is still on because I can hear it through my bedroom wall. When the preview came on during dinner, Fabio began to smile and shake his head, alerting me that I should turn around and see which movie would be played later. And of course..."Katie, conosci? The Jackal! Richard Gere e buono ma...Bruce Willis...cativo. Oh, bellissimo." And that's true, because that Bruce Willis really is quite cativo in all of his swarmy disguises. I hadn't originally planned to watch the movie with Fabio because it was coloring and balloon time with Margherita-this happens alot. She tells me what to do so I do it. I was peacefully sketching my rendition of a classic Christmas scene, complete with a "Natale in 33 giorni!!!" caption when a stray balloon from Arianna landed on the table, knocking a lamp to the floor causing it to crash into millions of pieces. Margherita and Arianna looked at each other. Then they looked at me. I really was of no help because at that point I was drawing a sleeping Chester in front of a fire place. Fabio called to Barbara and as soon as the three of us realized she was coming, we went into bat-shit-I-swear-I-didn't-do-it-please-still-love-me-mode. Possibly me more than the others. Sure enough it was an absolute epic show down, with LOTS of tears and LOTS of screaming. Meanwhile, I had managed to silently slide out and slink onto the couch. And, sure enough, The Jackal was playing. The arguing and yelling and crying (sooooo much crying) went on for quite some time. I sat awkwardly on the couch, feeling guilty for nothing but wondering if I should have stepped in at some point and put a stop to the ballooning. (Easier said than done, I assure you.) Once the girls were in their rooms, screaming and kicking and crying and throwing and God knows what else, Fabio turns to me and says,
"The Joh-kal. Jah? Joh-kal? Come se dice?
"Jah? Yeah like this. Jah? Kol. Like. The Jackal."
"Jackal?"
"Yeah, Jackal."
"Jah-kol? Theee Jackal! Bruce Willis, molto cativo..."
And that's how I avoided getting in trouble for not actually doing something but totally feeling like an accomplice in the Great Lamp Debacle of 2010.
Hey I went to Rome. It was ok. I'll write about that when Fabio stops being hilarious. (AKA never)
Lesson: Maybe I should stop riling up the girls before bed. On the other hand, that Rai 5 sure plays great movies.
Movies that Fabio likes
Behind Enemy Lines
The 300
The Fugitive
The Jackal
I know there are others that could be added to this list, such as The Godfather which he has on special edition DVD. By the by, I am hoping to work up the nerve to casually bring it into conversation and then ask him if we can please please please watch it together. Because can a situation really get more Italian than that? (Well, there was the Michael Jackson impersonator dancing in front of the Colosseum, but that's neither here nor there.) Fabio reacts so wonderfully to the movies that are played on Rai 5 Grande Fiction. "Ooooh, bellissimo," he will sigh, watching the commercials longingly. And then, as though fate couldn't have planned it any better, the commercial informs him that YES this movie is on tonight! Instead of turning in early, Fabio always takes up his usual spot on the couch and watches a movie he has seen numerous times, reacting as though it is all a surprise.
Personal favorite reactions include, but are not limited to:
-A scene in the 300 in which a pile of dead bodies is displayed on the screen. Two soldiers exchange a few words. I can't remember the words. Fabio grins, literally ear to ear and exclaims, no, guffaws! "Bellissimo! Ohh, Katie, Katie, guarda, bellissimo." And then he laughs for a very long time. I just assume that because the 300 is about his people, he is more "in" on the jokes.
-The other night after watching a show about great white sharks, Fabio was flipping through the channels. Suddenly, Harrison Ford's grizzled face appeared on the screen. HELL YES THE FUGITIVE. Fabio and I looked at eachother and exclaimed, "HARRISON FORD!!" And then, "Oh, conosci questa film? Katie, you know? Conosci? Ohhh, bellissimo, bellissimo!" When Fabio is watching a movie he really likes, he sits, grinning and shaking his head, amazed that a movie like this could ever be made. The only con to this particular scenario: The infamous Tommy Lee Jones "I don't care!" was lost because, well, it's dubbed. I miss American voices.
-A preview for the Expendables came on a few months ago. He literally stopped whatever it was he was doing, probably tending to a child, and he stared at the screen with his mouth wide open. Once the preview was over he turned to me very slowly and said, in English, "This....this is my film." I have no idea if he ever got the chance to see it.
-One time we were watching War of the Worlds. After an especially heroic scene in which Tom Cruise is literally the only human being still alive, Fabio very calmly says, "This is what it will be like in 2012." And then he continued to laugh laugh laugh at Tom Cruise, because why would he be the only person still alive? Of all the people in the world, WHY Tom Cruise? That seemed to be Fabio's biggest concern. And, come to think of it, that might be mine as well.
Tonight, Rai 5 is showing The Jackal ("con Richard Gere e Bruce Willis!"). I know that it is still on because I can hear it through my bedroom wall. When the preview came on during dinner, Fabio began to smile and shake his head, alerting me that I should turn around and see which movie would be played later. And of course..."Katie, conosci? The Jackal! Richard Gere e buono ma...Bruce Willis...cativo. Oh, bellissimo." And that's true, because that Bruce Willis really is quite cativo in all of his swarmy disguises. I hadn't originally planned to watch the movie with Fabio because it was coloring and balloon time with Margherita-this happens alot. She tells me what to do so I do it. I was peacefully sketching my rendition of a classic Christmas scene, complete with a "Natale in 33 giorni!!!" caption when a stray balloon from Arianna landed on the table, knocking a lamp to the floor causing it to crash into millions of pieces. Margherita and Arianna looked at each other. Then they looked at me. I really was of no help because at that point I was drawing a sleeping Chester in front of a fire place. Fabio called to Barbara and as soon as the three of us realized she was coming, we went into bat-shit-I-swear-I-didn't-do-it-please-still-love-me-mode. Possibly me more than the others. Sure enough it was an absolute epic show down, with LOTS of tears and LOTS of screaming. Meanwhile, I had managed to silently slide out and slink onto the couch. And, sure enough, The Jackal was playing. The arguing and yelling and crying (sooooo much crying) went on for quite some time. I sat awkwardly on the couch, feeling guilty for nothing but wondering if I should have stepped in at some point and put a stop to the ballooning. (Easier said than done, I assure you.) Once the girls were in their rooms, screaming and kicking and crying and throwing and God knows what else, Fabio turns to me and says,
"The Joh-kal. Jah? Joh-kal? Come se dice?
"Jah? Yeah like this. Jah? Kol. Like. The Jackal."
"Jackal?"
"Yeah, Jackal."
"Jah-kol? Theee Jackal! Bruce Willis, molto cativo..."
And that's how I avoided getting in trouble for not actually doing something but totally feeling like an accomplice in the Great Lamp Debacle of 2010.
Hey I went to Rome. It was ok. I'll write about that when Fabio stops being hilarious. (AKA never)
Lesson: Maybe I should stop riling up the girls before bed. On the other hand, that Rai 5 sure plays great movies.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Now that I'm a world traveller...
I just noticed that my total number of blog posts for this semester is an astounding 10. How many is enough, do you think? You also must consider that I wrote two of those entries while still in Ohio (the Heart of it All.) I apologize for being a fairly lazy blogger, but with my intense schedule of volleyball, playing school, conducting Princess photo shoots and writing my Dragon story, I am pretty much booked from now until December 18. I just won't know what to do with all of my down time once I am back at Wooster in the spring.
So I went on a trip! As it turns out, I really enjoy traveling, especially when it goes as smoothly as it did for us. Last Friday we began our day by catching the 7:50 am bus to Florence. There is nothing I like more than waking up early for a day of tromping around a city and looking at churches. Wait, I take that back. We went back to the Uffizi Gallery and spent more time in the Bodicelli room, though I very distinctly remember zoning out for a fair amount of that lecture. I like art, but as it turns out I am really bad at paying attention when it is being talked about. While listening to the presentation of Prima Vera by Bodicelli, I managed to simultaneously imagine my future, only the next 3-5 years, and it mostly involved working my way up at a major television network and becoming the head writer at some show. I hadn't really developed the show itself, but I did come up with a really stellar wardrobe for the professional years. Also, I am going to have a good haircut.
The end of our day in Florence was happily welcomed and, even better, I got to see Margaret! Seeing people from home while abroad is admittedly a little strange. I've grown so used to giving small introductions before talking about friends from home, where Margaret and I automatically jumped into stories about Biz without any explanation. On the other hand, I often jump into stories about Biz without any explanation; it's funnier that way. The next day, Saturday, the group did some walking around the city before boarding our train to Milan. Even though the train ride was nearly 4 hours, I found it to be really enjoyable. You know why? Because we had a compartment! This has been my dream for a good many years-blame Harry Potter. You better believe that I ran Dementor jokes into the ground. (Oh, just you wait until I get to London...) At around 7:30 that evening, we arrived in Milan. Milano Centrale, the station, is massive-quite impressive and beautiful, actually. With the help of our good friend, Rick Steeves, we found our way to the hostel.
In case you were wondering where the most beautiful men in the world live, the answer is Milan. In fact, many of them work the front counter at La Cortada, the hostel where we stayed. Write that name down. When you go to Milan, you can see for yourself. Our stay in Milan can mostly be summed up in a few words: Food, Rain, Art, Daniel. I ate the best gnocchi I've ever had at an Asian run Italian restaurant that showed Rocky V all night. It rained literally every second we were there. I went through many socks. One of the highlights of my entire European experience was going to the Brera Galleria and seeing Caravaggio's Supper at Emmaus. I drooled a little bit. I wish I could e-mail my old Baroque Art History professor and tell her THAT I SAW IT. I wrote a final paper on it last fall. I got an A on it. But that's neither here nor there. I also saw some Gentileschi (papa, not daughter) a real live Rembrandt, and a good number of Dutch artists who I'm fond of. See, I'm much better at looking at art all by myself. Because when I start to zone out I can move onto the next piece. What did I forget? Oh, right. Daniel. All time favorite counter worker at La Cordata. We day tripped to Lake Como on Monday. One of the most beautiful places in the world? George Clooney lives there so it's a good possibility. Overall, our review of Milan is pretty glowing. And to make the stay even better, none of us got pick pocketed. Take that, child beggars.
Tuesday we left for London. You know what they have in London? The English language, cheeseburgers and Starbucks. I cannot even begin to adequately describe my happiness. Italian food is really good. I don't think I have to present that as a late breaking observation. But as soon as something else was an option, it occurred to me how very very very much I miss my old eating habits. For example, I walked into a London convenience store and bought a bag of Doritos and a Coke and in one fell swoop, it was all gone. I drank Starbucks like it was my job. (They have their Christmas cups out, by the way-is it like that in America?) I ate bagels and ice cream and PEANUT BUTTER and Japanese food and there was a Burger King on every corner. It was good to be fake home.
What did I do in London? I saw stuff. We stayed with Becca's aunt and uncle who live maybe 2 blocks from Abbey Road studios. My first encounter with the famous crosswalk was a very here it is moment. What you might not know about Abbey Road is that it is actually a very busy area; watching people attempt to re-create the Beatles album cover is really entertaining because they are constantly dodging cars. I watched a group of 4 French boys take the shot over and over again because it was never perfect enough. It was a cold day. In spite of this, they committed fully and the 3rd boy in line went shoeless. And why not? The more we walked around the area, especially en route to the tube station, going across the Abbey Road crosswalk became very routine. I can only assume that the people in St. John's Wood (the neighborhood) hate tourists. Then again, I hate tourists so I just project this assumption on to all people the world over. You're welcome.
Millennium Bridge and St. Paul
If you walk down the Thames, you can see everything that's ever been printed on a London postcard. We got off the tube at St. Paul, walked across the Millennium Bridge (Remember when the Death Eaters blew it up? In Harry Potter, not in life?) saw the Globe Theatre (Remember when Shakespeare worked there? That was real life) and then continued our walk until it ran us directly into Big Ben and Parliament. (Remember when V blew up Parliament? Also not in real life.) Parliament was flooded with war protestors-once again, it was good to be fake home. One complaint: I was not that impressed by Buckingham Palace. It was big, yeah. But you are essentially allowed to look through a cast iron gate and that's kind of it. It's a really nice gate, though, so I'll give them that.
We returned to Siena on Sunday evening, just in time for dinner. I was greeted by a screaming Margherita and a Spiderman face painted Arianna. I actually haven't laughed that hard in a long time.
And now I return to normal Siena life. Rome next weekend. Hopefully Switzerland or a similar trip the following. Then, in no time at all, I will be sitting in your basement once again drinking all of your Cokes and passively suggesting we go get food. That last statement really only applies to Jake, but I don't think he reads my blog. So if any of you reading this know Jake, let him know he got a shout out.
Oh, and Margherita yelled at me because of an argument concerning the answer to 8 x 9. The answer is 72. Before I told that story to any of my friends, I did the problem on a calculator just to make sure. Being an English major has really paid off.
Lesson: Travel. You'll like it.
So I went on a trip! As it turns out, I really enjoy traveling, especially when it goes as smoothly as it did for us. Last Friday we began our day by catching the 7:50 am bus to Florence. There is nothing I like more than waking up early for a day of tromping around a city and looking at churches. Wait, I take that back. We went back to the Uffizi Gallery and spent more time in the Bodicelli room, though I very distinctly remember zoning out for a fair amount of that lecture. I like art, but as it turns out I am really bad at paying attention when it is being talked about. While listening to the presentation of Prima Vera by Bodicelli, I managed to simultaneously imagine my future, only the next 3-5 years, and it mostly involved working my way up at a major television network and becoming the head writer at some show. I hadn't really developed the show itself, but I did come up with a really stellar wardrobe for the professional years. Also, I am going to have a good haircut.
The Journey Begins!
The end of our day in Florence was happily welcomed and, even better, I got to see Margaret! Seeing people from home while abroad is admittedly a little strange. I've grown so used to giving small introductions before talking about friends from home, where Margaret and I automatically jumped into stories about Biz without any explanation. On the other hand, I often jump into stories about Biz without any explanation; it's funnier that way. The next day, Saturday, the group did some walking around the city before boarding our train to Milan. Even though the train ride was nearly 4 hours, I found it to be really enjoyable. You know why? Because we had a compartment! This has been my dream for a good many years-blame Harry Potter. You better believe that I ran Dementor jokes into the ground. (Oh, just you wait until I get to London...) At around 7:30 that evening, we arrived in Milan. Milano Centrale, the station, is massive-quite impressive and beautiful, actually. With the help of our good friend, Rick Steeves, we found our way to the hostel.
In case you were wondering where the most beautiful men in the world live, the answer is Milan. In fact, many of them work the front counter at La Cortada, the hostel where we stayed. Write that name down. When you go to Milan, you can see for yourself. Our stay in Milan can mostly be summed up in a few words: Food, Rain, Art, Daniel. I ate the best gnocchi I've ever had at an Asian run Italian restaurant that showed Rocky V all night. It rained literally every second we were there. I went through many socks. One of the highlights of my entire European experience was going to the Brera Galleria and seeing Caravaggio's Supper at Emmaus. I drooled a little bit. I wish I could e-mail my old Baroque Art History professor and tell her THAT I SAW IT. I wrote a final paper on it last fall. I got an A on it. But that's neither here nor there. I also saw some Gentileschi (papa, not daughter) a real live Rembrandt, and a good number of Dutch artists who I'm fond of. See, I'm much better at looking at art all by myself. Because when I start to zone out I can move onto the next piece. What did I forget? Oh, right. Daniel. All time favorite counter worker at La Cordata. We day tripped to Lake Como on Monday. One of the most beautiful places in the world? George Clooney lives there so it's a good possibility. Overall, our review of Milan is pretty glowing. And to make the stay even better, none of us got pick pocketed. Take that, child beggars.
Il Duomo, Milano
Tuesday we left for London. You know what they have in London? The English language, cheeseburgers and Starbucks. I cannot even begin to adequately describe my happiness. Italian food is really good. I don't think I have to present that as a late breaking observation. But as soon as something else was an option, it occurred to me how very very very much I miss my old eating habits. For example, I walked into a London convenience store and bought a bag of Doritos and a Coke and in one fell swoop, it was all gone. I drank Starbucks like it was my job. (They have their Christmas cups out, by the way-is it like that in America?) I ate bagels and ice cream and PEANUT BUTTER and Japanese food and there was a Burger King on every corner. It was good to be fake home.
What did I do in London? I saw stuff. We stayed with Becca's aunt and uncle who live maybe 2 blocks from Abbey Road studios. My first encounter with the famous crosswalk was a very here it is moment. What you might not know about Abbey Road is that it is actually a very busy area; watching people attempt to re-create the Beatles album cover is really entertaining because they are constantly dodging cars. I watched a group of 4 French boys take the shot over and over again because it was never perfect enough. It was a cold day. In spite of this, they committed fully and the 3rd boy in line went shoeless. And why not? The more we walked around the area, especially en route to the tube station, going across the Abbey Road crosswalk became very routine. I can only assume that the people in St. John's Wood (the neighborhood) hate tourists. Then again, I hate tourists so I just project this assumption on to all people the world over. You're welcome.
If you walk down the Thames, you can see everything that's ever been printed on a London postcard. We got off the tube at St. Paul, walked across the Millennium Bridge (Remember when the Death Eaters blew it up? In Harry Potter, not in life?) saw the Globe Theatre (Remember when Shakespeare worked there? That was real life) and then continued our walk until it ran us directly into Big Ben and Parliament. (Remember when V blew up Parliament? Also not in real life.) Parliament was flooded with war protestors-once again, it was good to be fake home. One complaint: I was not that impressed by Buckingham Palace. It was big, yeah. But you are essentially allowed to look through a cast iron gate and that's kind of it. It's a really nice gate, though, so I'll give them that.
We returned to Siena on Sunday evening, just in time for dinner. I was greeted by a screaming Margherita and a Spiderman face painted Arianna. I actually haven't laughed that hard in a long time.
Oh, and Margherita yelled at me because of an argument concerning the answer to 8 x 9. The answer is 72. Before I told that story to any of my friends, I did the problem on a calculator just to make sure. Being an English major has really paid off.
Lesson: Travel. You'll like it.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
How I'm staying in shape
"You're going to gain SO much weight when you go abroad!!!!"
Yes, this warning was given to me more than once before I embarked on my journey. My mom told me that when she spent a summer in Italy during her youth, she managed to gain 30 pounds. Impressive, I thought, and I almost made it a goal to come back looking completely unlike myself. As luck would have it, Siena makes it nearly impossible for this to happen. Everything is up hill both ways. There really isn't such a thing as an easy walk. And when I get to school each day, I am panting and sweating profusely, which is very attractive. In the early weeks of the semester I thought that this walk would kill me. But as time goes on, I become more accustomed to just how disgusting I get as a result of walking to school. Even though the interior of our school building is devastatingly cold, I always immediately rip off my coat and my first layer, wipe the sweat off my neck and back and then wait about 15 minutes. Then, I realize just how cold it is inside, look around at my classmates wearing coats and scarves, and ultimately decide to put all of aforementioned clothing back on. Sweating bullets.
I have picked up a new fitness regime, though, and it's all Margherita's fault. She loves watching Mila e Shiro. Have you ever seen it? Oh God, look into it. If you are an anime fan then you know it as Attacker You! and I only know that because I looked it up on Wiki. It's classic 80's anime with, of course, Italian dubbing. There came a point in the fall when Margherita stopped demanding Friends ("sempre Friends!" as Arianna would say) and made this switch to cartoons in the evening. That is when Mila e Shiro came along. The premise of the show is...well, I don't really know what the premise is but I do know that they play volleyball and I feel that there is some element of super heroine-ess that is attributed to their ability to play volleyball. Within about a week of watching the show, Margherita appeared with a volleyball. I mostly ignored it. Sometime at the end of last week I started playing with her before dinner, tossing the ball back and forth. Then we upgraded to actual passing. I think she was very impressed with my skills, as well she should be, because I played volleyball in high school for that whole year. Passing was not enough for her; she wanted to play actual volleyball games. The hilarity of the situation mostly consists of the fact that we play in their mom's office. It's really small. The walls are lined with framed diplomas and an entire shelf is dedicated to novelty coffee mugs. Everything is capable of being broken. And yet, I sit on a couch while Margherita bounces around while we "play volleyball." She wants to be just like Mila and Shiro so she demands that I pass the ball far away from her so she can make an epic attempt at getting it. She never gets it. But it's so epic when you get to slide around on the floor, you know? Last night she wanted to make a net so I helped her. She stacked up all of the Fischer-Price toys that were laying around and then she laid a stick across the top. After some attachments here and there it more or less acted as a barrier between the teams. And she always yells at me! She always want me to set the ball to Arianna. And in order to do that I get down on my knees and just kind of toss the ball. The best part about all of this is that the 3 of us get to eat dinner immediately after playing, and they both like to huff and puff at the table and really call attention to how hard practice way. And I do the same thing because I really like fitting in.
I understand that I should blogging about Venice and Florence, and the art I saw and the food I ate and things of that nature. But my host family is just so hilarious and great. Another example:
My birthday was on Tuesday. After dinner, Margherita and Arianna began whispering frantically. I knew that a surprise was on the horizon because I actually understand what they say, something they often forget. They ran around the table a few times (because they just do that) and then they turned off all the lights. Barbara led the parade with my cake and its one lit candle while the girls began a rousing rendition of Tanti Aguri. Fabio told me to make a wish and then I blew the candle out. They had gotten me a frutti di bosci cheesecake and as a decoration was a picture of Layla, a character from Margherita's favorite cartoon Winx, as well as the one character that looks most like me. Layla is black. The whole family sang an English only version of Happy Birthday as well. So to all of you haters who told me turning 21 while abroad would suck-you were wrong.
I'm watching John peruse the American Apparel website. I hope he buys that cardigan and the 8 others that look just like it.
October is nearly over! And today I had such a lovely stroll through Siena in search of traveling size toiletries. They do not exist, by the way. Tomorrow I embark on my fall break journey, beginning in Florence, going to Milan and then ending in LONDON! English speaking. Delightful. Speaking of languages (kind of) last night Arianna asked me if my cat bites. Bites="morse." I heard "morte." So in my head I heard "is your cat dead?" as opposed to "does your cat bite?" And i said NOOOO. which is the correct answer to both of those questions.
Lesson: Pack many wool socks if you are traveling in Italy in the fall time. Tile floors are a killer.
Yes, this warning was given to me more than once before I embarked on my journey. My mom told me that when she spent a summer in Italy during her youth, she managed to gain 30 pounds. Impressive, I thought, and I almost made it a goal to come back looking completely unlike myself. As luck would have it, Siena makes it nearly impossible for this to happen. Everything is up hill both ways. There really isn't such a thing as an easy walk. And when I get to school each day, I am panting and sweating profusely, which is very attractive. In the early weeks of the semester I thought that this walk would kill me. But as time goes on, I become more accustomed to just how disgusting I get as a result of walking to school. Even though the interior of our school building is devastatingly cold, I always immediately rip off my coat and my first layer, wipe the sweat off my neck and back and then wait about 15 minutes. Then, I realize just how cold it is inside, look around at my classmates wearing coats and scarves, and ultimately decide to put all of aforementioned clothing back on. Sweating bullets.
I have picked up a new fitness regime, though, and it's all Margherita's fault. She loves watching Mila e Shiro. Have you ever seen it? Oh God, look into it. If you are an anime fan then you know it as Attacker You! and I only know that because I looked it up on Wiki. It's classic 80's anime with, of course, Italian dubbing. There came a point in the fall when Margherita stopped demanding Friends ("sempre Friends!" as Arianna would say) and made this switch to cartoons in the evening. That is when Mila e Shiro came along. The premise of the show is...well, I don't really know what the premise is but I do know that they play volleyball and I feel that there is some element of super heroine-ess that is attributed to their ability to play volleyball. Within about a week of watching the show, Margherita appeared with a volleyball. I mostly ignored it. Sometime at the end of last week I started playing with her before dinner, tossing the ball back and forth. Then we upgraded to actual passing. I think she was very impressed with my skills, as well she should be, because I played volleyball in high school for that whole year. Passing was not enough for her; she wanted to play actual volleyball games. The hilarity of the situation mostly consists of the fact that we play in their mom's office. It's really small. The walls are lined with framed diplomas and an entire shelf is dedicated to novelty coffee mugs. Everything is capable of being broken. And yet, I sit on a couch while Margherita bounces around while we "play volleyball." She wants to be just like Mila and Shiro so she demands that I pass the ball far away from her so she can make an epic attempt at getting it. She never gets it. But it's so epic when you get to slide around on the floor, you know? Last night she wanted to make a net so I helped her. She stacked up all of the Fischer-Price toys that were laying around and then she laid a stick across the top. After some attachments here and there it more or less acted as a barrier between the teams. And she always yells at me! She always want me to set the ball to Arianna. And in order to do that I get down on my knees and just kind of toss the ball. The best part about all of this is that the 3 of us get to eat dinner immediately after playing, and they both like to huff and puff at the table and really call attention to how hard practice way. And I do the same thing because I really like fitting in.
I understand that I should blogging about Venice and Florence, and the art I saw and the food I ate and things of that nature. But my host family is just so hilarious and great. Another example:
My birthday was on Tuesday. After dinner, Margherita and Arianna began whispering frantically. I knew that a surprise was on the horizon because I actually understand what they say, something they often forget. They ran around the table a few times (because they just do that) and then they turned off all the lights. Barbara led the parade with my cake and its one lit candle while the girls began a rousing rendition of Tanti Aguri. Fabio told me to make a wish and then I blew the candle out. They had gotten me a frutti di bosci cheesecake and as a decoration was a picture of Layla, a character from Margherita's favorite cartoon Winx, as well as the one character that looks most like me. Layla is black. The whole family sang an English only version of Happy Birthday as well. So to all of you haters who told me turning 21 while abroad would suck-you were wrong.
I'm watching John peruse the American Apparel website. I hope he buys that cardigan and the 8 others that look just like it.
October is nearly over! And today I had such a lovely stroll through Siena in search of traveling size toiletries. They do not exist, by the way. Tomorrow I embark on my fall break journey, beginning in Florence, going to Milan and then ending in LONDON! English speaking. Delightful. Speaking of languages (kind of) last night Arianna asked me if my cat bites. Bites="morse." I heard "morte." So in my head I heard "is your cat dead?" as opposed to "does your cat bite?" And i said NOOOO. which is the correct answer to both of those questions.
Lesson: Pack many wool socks if you are traveling in Italy in the fall time. Tile floors are a killer.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Mezzo e mezzo
We have reached it! The halfway point, that is. On the one hand, I really cannot believe that it has already been 2 months. Wasn't I just at the Cleveland airport yesterday, watching the Segway cop fall over a row of chairs? Then there is the other hand; the hand that is slightly more foreboding but not entirely daunting. 2 MORE MONTHS??? Yes, that sounds about right. My concept of time is completely off, though, to be entirely honest. 2 months flew. 2 months dragged. 2 months will feel like forever! 2 months will be gone before I know it. I think it is a day by day kind of thing, right?
My family is currently visiting in Italy which is, admittedly, bizarre. It's great, yes, but bizarre all the same. I have spent the last 2 months adjusting to simply being here. I have re-regimented my daily routine, sleep patterns, eating habits, etc etc. So, with that in mind, having familiarity again has been strange. I don't fear the same kind of strangeness when I go home in December, mostly because I will need to adjust everything that I had worked on for the past 4 months. It is a tricky little game, this abroad business. Just when you think you have Italy down to a science, it is time to re-emerge yourself in American culture. But back to my family. They are coming over to my host family's home for dinner tonight, which should be interesting. I truly hope that I am not expected to do all of the translating- that would surely be a big fat joke, and not a very funny one at that. Most unfortunately, Fabio will not be there! The girls will, though, and that will surely be more than enough entertainment for the evening.
Ah, families- both American and Italian.
Do you want to know about my trip to Venice? You should look at the album on facebook entitled "Venice gets its own album." I actually tried to insert some pictures on the blog but I am sooo terrible with the technology and the picture would not upload. On the bright side, though, I managed to fix the WiFi on my laptop. It was some business about an IP address? That means nothing to me, and it also meant nothing to other people when I complained about it. You should go to Venice, though. And you should also not miss your train to Venice. We managed to do that. Everything was going so well-we arrived at the train station nearly 2 hours early and all we had to do was physically get on the train. That part was difficult for us. We stared up at the board for what seemed like a life time, concentrating on "Venezia, 17:30" and waiting for a track number to appear. We then saw that the train was delayed 5 minutes...10 minutes...15? 20? 25! 30 minutes....All we did was wait. And then, sweet Hannah spoke up and said, "hey guys, we've been looking at the Arrivals board." Did you know that in order to depart from a specific location, you must look at the Departures board? Well, now you know. In a flurry we ran to the customer service office, received the good word that we could hop the next train for a mere 8 euro and have our Venetian adventure! On the train, we met a conductor named Fabio who asked us all where are are from. Usually when I say "Ohio" people politely nod and smile. Not Fabio! He said, "Ohio! Yes, Ohio! Beautiful song! Neil Young!" Yes. Yes. Yes. So, when he made his way to where we were standing (no seats for us) I showed him my I-Pod. "Look," I said, "I have it." His eyes lit up but he clearly did not believe that I knew this song. I took it upon myself to begin the sing along. Tin soldiers and Nixon's comin'-I sang to him and waited for him to finish the line. We're finally on our own! Fabio and I continued to sing most of the song. Afterwards, he asked me if I liked Pearl Jam. What a cool guy. (Please refer to the previous post in which I informed all travelers to know the music of generations past-it will get you anywhere.)
Since Venice, I have mostly been frittering away my time in the library at school, watching stupid things on You-Tube and having the most ridiculous giggle fits with my friends. Clearly, not alot is different from my time in the States. I do more writing here, though. I like that. I am currently writing a story about Dragons. That is all I can tell you about that. Fall break in 1 week! And then, I go to London and that will surely be an adventure.
Lesson: Savor your naps. I haven't taken one in about 2 months.
My family is currently visiting in Italy which is, admittedly, bizarre. It's great, yes, but bizarre all the same. I have spent the last 2 months adjusting to simply being here. I have re-regimented my daily routine, sleep patterns, eating habits, etc etc. So, with that in mind, having familiarity again has been strange. I don't fear the same kind of strangeness when I go home in December, mostly because I will need to adjust everything that I had worked on for the past 4 months. It is a tricky little game, this abroad business. Just when you think you have Italy down to a science, it is time to re-emerge yourself in American culture. But back to my family. They are coming over to my host family's home for dinner tonight, which should be interesting. I truly hope that I am not expected to do all of the translating- that would surely be a big fat joke, and not a very funny one at that. Most unfortunately, Fabio will not be there! The girls will, though, and that will surely be more than enough entertainment for the evening.
Ah, families- both American and Italian.
Do you want to know about my trip to Venice? You should look at the album on facebook entitled "Venice gets its own album." I actually tried to insert some pictures on the blog but I am sooo terrible with the technology and the picture would not upload. On the bright side, though, I managed to fix the WiFi on my laptop. It was some business about an IP address? That means nothing to me, and it also meant nothing to other people when I complained about it. You should go to Venice, though. And you should also not miss your train to Venice. We managed to do that. Everything was going so well-we arrived at the train station nearly 2 hours early and all we had to do was physically get on the train. That part was difficult for us. We stared up at the board for what seemed like a life time, concentrating on "Venezia, 17:30" and waiting for a track number to appear. We then saw that the train was delayed 5 minutes...10 minutes...15? 20? 25! 30 minutes....All we did was wait. And then, sweet Hannah spoke up and said, "hey guys, we've been looking at the Arrivals board." Did you know that in order to depart from a specific location, you must look at the Departures board? Well, now you know. In a flurry we ran to the customer service office, received the good word that we could hop the next train for a mere 8 euro and have our Venetian adventure! On the train, we met a conductor named Fabio who asked us all where are are from. Usually when I say "Ohio" people politely nod and smile. Not Fabio! He said, "Ohio! Yes, Ohio! Beautiful song! Neil Young!" Yes. Yes. Yes. So, when he made his way to where we were standing (no seats for us) I showed him my I-Pod. "Look," I said, "I have it." His eyes lit up but he clearly did not believe that I knew this song. I took it upon myself to begin the sing along. Tin soldiers and Nixon's comin'-I sang to him and waited for him to finish the line. We're finally on our own! Fabio and I continued to sing most of the song. Afterwards, he asked me if I liked Pearl Jam. What a cool guy. (Please refer to the previous post in which I informed all travelers to know the music of generations past-it will get you anywhere.)
Since Venice, I have mostly been frittering away my time in the library at school, watching stupid things on You-Tube and having the most ridiculous giggle fits with my friends. Clearly, not alot is different from my time in the States. I do more writing here, though. I like that. I am currently writing a story about Dragons. That is all I can tell you about that. Fall break in 1 week! And then, I go to London and that will surely be an adventure.
Lesson: Savor your naps. I haven't taken one in about 2 months.
Friday, October 1, 2010
Con
One downside to studying abroad in a beautiful country: When people die in America, one must remain in said beautiful country. Not only must one remain but one must also accept that communication only comes in the form of e-mails at odd hours and ill fated skype appointments. One must persist and still manage to effectively communicate in Italian while telling her host sister to please please please keep her grubby paws off the laptop keyboard while she attempts to type an e-mail to her brother. It is strange when survival instincts combine with raw emotion. You know what it results in? "Margherita just...no. no no no no no. No. no no no no no no no." The Italian is gone but yet I am still understood.
Before coming to Italy, I had a legitimate moment of panic in which I realized that I could put all facets of my life on hold except for the part where people die. And now, as I sit here watching the Facebook newsfeed automatically update with reference after reference to Brian, I realize: It doesn't matter where you are in the world, or what time it is at home or how many e-mails and messages you sent today. It is going to suck. Regardless of any other factor, I guarantee you, it will suck. How's that for some wise advice? It actually is because my mom tells me that all the time when things are going badly. "Katie, I don't know where this fits into God's plan. In fact, I'm pretty sure it doesn't. It just really sucks." I think she's onto something there.
Last night Angelica threw up down my shirt. Not on it. Down it. It was after I had given her a tour of the house, walking into rooms and saying things such as, "What's that? A table? Yes, it is a table." All in English, mind you. I can't wait until her first word is Katie. Anyway we were nearing the end of our stroll when she realized that she knew exactly what she must do in order to make her stomach feel better: empty it. She did so in a quantity so plentiful even I was impressed. And as I stood there dripping I looked at her and said "Thank you." Because what else is there really to do at that point? If only I had known that puke in my bra would be the least of my worries for the week.
That anecdote was an attempt at frivolity. Haha, get it? A baby threw up on me! Yeah, it's gross, but I thought it was funny. Whatever, Brian would have laughed at it.
Lesson: "Che scifo" translates to "that sucks" as well as "that's disgusting." Che scifo, indeed.
Before coming to Italy, I had a legitimate moment of panic in which I realized that I could put all facets of my life on hold except for the part where people die. And now, as I sit here watching the Facebook newsfeed automatically update with reference after reference to Brian, I realize: It doesn't matter where you are in the world, or what time it is at home or how many e-mails and messages you sent today. It is going to suck. Regardless of any other factor, I guarantee you, it will suck. How's that for some wise advice? It actually is because my mom tells me that all the time when things are going badly. "Katie, I don't know where this fits into God's plan. In fact, I'm pretty sure it doesn't. It just really sucks." I think she's onto something there.
Last night Angelica threw up down my shirt. Not on it. Down it. It was after I had given her a tour of the house, walking into rooms and saying things such as, "What's that? A table? Yes, it is a table." All in English, mind you. I can't wait until her first word is Katie. Anyway we were nearing the end of our stroll when she realized that she knew exactly what she must do in order to make her stomach feel better: empty it. She did so in a quantity so plentiful even I was impressed. And as I stood there dripping I looked at her and said "Thank you." Because what else is there really to do at that point? If only I had known that puke in my bra would be the least of my worries for the week.
That anecdote was an attempt at frivolity. Haha, get it? A baby threw up on me! Yeah, it's gross, but I thought it was funny. Whatever, Brian would have laughed at it.
Lesson: "Che scifo" translates to "that sucks" as well as "that's disgusting." Che scifo, indeed.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Why Host Sibs are Hilarious
I have been here for a month!
And it took until today to tell Margherita that I have a boyfriend.
Let me give you some background on the recent weeks of my host siblings. Starting school knocked something loose in their heads. The concept of attending this place is too much for them to even fathom. This is the second full week for them and they are still completely shocked when it is time to turn off Friends (on DVD, not syndication, and ALL Italian) and get ready for bed. There is usually alot of crying, alot of coaxing, and alot of me sitting with the baby and whispering to her, "What am I supposed to do?" It is amazing how rarely she gives me any sound advice. Sometimes, though, she throws up on my jeans, which is nice.
Since the girls know that bed time is quickly approaching by the time I get home from school, they intend to make every second with me count. The only thing that usually stops them is the notion that I am tired or if I am actually asleep. On Saturday when I was in my day long coma, I was half conscious in bed when Margherita busted in. She looked at me, considered jumping on me, then decided that she should let me sleep. Good girl. Well, guess what? I have found one other form of kryptonite. I thought for sure that telling them I have homework would work but they actually laugh at me when they see me writing in a notebook and pull me into the other room to play or watch tv. Usually Friends. And I like that. But they love playing school and restaurant and doing card tricks and coloring and endless little kid activities. The newest obsession is watching Mamma Mia songs on youtube on my laptop. This is especially hilarious because of my personal (and heated) aversion to Mamma Mia. But I do it to appease them. Because I'm a pleaser, you know? Especially when it is my host sibs who have to live with me for another 3 months. Anyway, I was on the internet today, chatting up some of my pals, and Margh came in and plopped herself on my lap. She moved my hands off of the keyboard and just said "Mamma Mia!" over and over again. When this happenened before, absolutely nothing would settle her. I would tell her I had homework, or simply, or "THIS IS NOT YOURS THIS IS MINE" which is what I yelled at her when she started deleting a story I was writing. So after timidly saying no a few times I finally said, "Parlo a mia amica, Emilia." I talk to my friend Emily. She did NOT care. Emily? Big deal. MAMMA MIA.
I thought about this.
"Parlo a mio....ragazzo." That literally means I talk to my boy., which I was doing so it was not a lie. As soon as she heard this she slowly slid off of my lap and looked at me. The expression on her face was not what I expected. I assumed that she would react in typical Margh fashion: jumping, teasing, demanding to see pictures, etc. Instead, all of her 8 year old wisdom took over and she simply nodded. I can't help but think that there was a hint of a smile. Like, she got it. "Yes," she seemed to say, "I can totally relate to you right now," Then she picked up my camera, located a picture of said boy, and showed it to me. I nodded. She sized up the picture, realized that her assumptions about this boy had been correct, and then left my room.
There is a fairly good chance that this subdued nature will not last for long. In fact, she ran into my room about 10 minutes later and covered my arms and hands in butterflies and stars using oil crayons. That's ok, though, because I like to come up from behind her, cover her cheeks with my hands and yell "FREDO." That means cold. And then I tickle her and have a good hearty laugh at my defeat over the 8 year old.
What is Arianna up to? The other night she came into the living room to say good night. I was looking away so I only heard her voice. "Buona Notte!" Her voice sounded sweet-too sweet. What does this kid want? I turned to respond. "Buona No-OH GOD." Sweet Ari had blown her nose with her face. Seriously. It was everywhere. I quote Suzie Graham when I say "It looked like her face got caught under the glaze machine at the donut shop." Snot. Snot. Snot. Everywhere. This was her best joke. Her crowning achievement. And I reacted just as she wanted me to. And then she coyly asked me....oh, is there something on my face? Perhaps this is payback for when I pointed out that she had Nutella on her cheeks a few Saturdays ago. But probably not, because snot jokes are super funny when you're 5. "Che scifo. Oh, Jesus, scifo. Just-yeah-(pointing) go. Uh, va. Ari, just, oh my, just, va. Scifo." That is basically a verbatum re-enactment. It surely didn't help that Ari had just recently started eating spoonfuls of mayonnaise at dinner every night. Italian mayo. Have you SEEN that stuff? So that image plus the snot....che scifo. Che fucking scifo.
Jokes aside, the girls are great and so is the family. I am pretty constantly entertained and sometimes when I think I need to just brood and be by myself they remind me that it is much more fun to brood while watching Friends in Italian. Also, Margh does a pretty spot on Janice impression. She kind of cocks her hip, one hand on and the other snapping at the wrist as she whines, "OH! MIO! DIO!" It's hilarious and we love watching episodes with Janice. One time Fabio was watching with us. It was an episode in which Chandler woke up with Janice and he totally regretted it. Needless to say, I could tell by ol' Fab's face that he could perhaps relate to this situation. His simple response: "Janice. She is....horrible."
Lesson: Italian mayonnaise makes me want to die. I don't want to talk about it anymore. Of all the things I have legitimately learned in Italy, I can honestly say that so much as seeing myself write about it makes me want to take some Tums and try to think of any other image but Italian mayo.
And it took until today to tell Margherita that I have a boyfriend.
Let me give you some background on the recent weeks of my host siblings. Starting school knocked something loose in their heads. The concept of attending this place is too much for them to even fathom. This is the second full week for them and they are still completely shocked when it is time to turn off Friends (on DVD, not syndication, and ALL Italian) and get ready for bed. There is usually alot of crying, alot of coaxing, and alot of me sitting with the baby and whispering to her, "What am I supposed to do?" It is amazing how rarely she gives me any sound advice. Sometimes, though, she throws up on my jeans, which is nice.
Since the girls know that bed time is quickly approaching by the time I get home from school, they intend to make every second with me count. The only thing that usually stops them is the notion that I am tired or if I am actually asleep. On Saturday when I was in my day long coma, I was half conscious in bed when Margherita busted in. She looked at me, considered jumping on me, then decided that she should let me sleep. Good girl. Well, guess what? I have found one other form of kryptonite. I thought for sure that telling them I have homework would work but they actually laugh at me when they see me writing in a notebook and pull me into the other room to play or watch tv. Usually Friends. And I like that. But they love playing school and restaurant and doing card tricks and coloring and endless little kid activities. The newest obsession is watching Mamma Mia songs on youtube on my laptop. This is especially hilarious because of my personal (and heated) aversion to Mamma Mia. But I do it to appease them. Because I'm a pleaser, you know? Especially when it is my host sibs who have to live with me for another 3 months. Anyway, I was on the internet today, chatting up some of my pals, and Margh came in and plopped herself on my lap. She moved my hands off of the keyboard and just said "Mamma Mia!" over and over again. When this happenened before, absolutely nothing would settle her. I would tell her I had homework, or simply, or "THIS IS NOT YOURS THIS IS MINE" which is what I yelled at her when she started deleting a story I was writing. So after timidly saying no a few times I finally said, "Parlo a mia amica, Emilia." I talk to my friend Emily. She did NOT care. Emily? Big deal. MAMMA MIA.
I thought about this.
"Parlo a mio....ragazzo." That literally means I talk to my boy., which I was doing so it was not a lie. As soon as she heard this she slowly slid off of my lap and looked at me. The expression on her face was not what I expected. I assumed that she would react in typical Margh fashion: jumping, teasing, demanding to see pictures, etc. Instead, all of her 8 year old wisdom took over and she simply nodded. I can't help but think that there was a hint of a smile. Like, she got it. "Yes," she seemed to say, "I can totally relate to you right now," Then she picked up my camera, located a picture of said boy, and showed it to me. I nodded. She sized up the picture, realized that her assumptions about this boy had been correct, and then left my room.
There is a fairly good chance that this subdued nature will not last for long. In fact, she ran into my room about 10 minutes later and covered my arms and hands in butterflies and stars using oil crayons. That's ok, though, because I like to come up from behind her, cover her cheeks with my hands and yell "FREDO." That means cold. And then I tickle her and have a good hearty laugh at my defeat over the 8 year old.
What is Arianna up to? The other night she came into the living room to say good night. I was looking away so I only heard her voice. "Buona Notte!" Her voice sounded sweet-too sweet. What does this kid want? I turned to respond. "Buona No-OH GOD." Sweet Ari had blown her nose with her face. Seriously. It was everywhere. I quote Suzie Graham when I say "It looked like her face got caught under the glaze machine at the donut shop." Snot. Snot. Snot. Everywhere. This was her best joke. Her crowning achievement. And I reacted just as she wanted me to. And then she coyly asked me....oh, is there something on my face? Perhaps this is payback for when I pointed out that she had Nutella on her cheeks a few Saturdays ago. But probably not, because snot jokes are super funny when you're 5. "Che scifo. Oh, Jesus, scifo. Just-yeah-(pointing) go. Uh, va. Ari, just, oh my, just, va. Scifo." That is basically a verbatum re-enactment. It surely didn't help that Ari had just recently started eating spoonfuls of mayonnaise at dinner every night. Italian mayo. Have you SEEN that stuff? So that image plus the snot....che scifo. Che fucking scifo.
Jokes aside, the girls are great and so is the family. I am pretty constantly entertained and sometimes when I think I need to just brood and be by myself they remind me that it is much more fun to brood while watching Friends in Italian. Also, Margh does a pretty spot on Janice impression. She kind of cocks her hip, one hand on and the other snapping at the wrist as she whines, "OH! MIO! DIO!" It's hilarious and we love watching episodes with Janice. One time Fabio was watching with us. It was an episode in which Chandler woke up with Janice and he totally regretted it. Needless to say, I could tell by ol' Fab's face that he could perhaps relate to this situation. His simple response: "Janice. She is....horrible."
Lesson: Italian mayonnaise makes me want to die. I don't want to talk about it anymore. Of all the things I have legitimately learned in Italy, I can honestly say that so much as seeing myself write about it makes me want to take some Tums and try to think of any other image but Italian mayo.
Monday, September 13, 2010
I am not Stupid; I am just American
I have an important and heartbreaking message that I wish to share with all of you: I was lied to. Before coming to Italy, I received an eclectic collection of tips and advice from a multitude of people, all of which intending to let me in on the "insider information" pertaining to Italy. They are all liars. Yes, I'm sure there were truths in the mix, but for the sake of being dramatic, I will commit to saying that everything I was told was folklore.
I think you know what I'm talking about: "Italy? Everyone speaks English there anyway."
Guess what? FALSE. That. Is. False. Some people speak a little English, true. But not everyone speaks beautiful, fluent English. A shocking concept, right? I have to admit that my hopeful naivity got the better of me in the weeks before my trip because speaking English is so easy, right? And anyone who is reading this might think, "Katie, that was a really stupid assumption to make." And it totally was! I wasn't completely dependent on it, and I knew I would have to bust out the Italian every once in awhile, but I've started speaking Italian. No, I take that back. Out of necessity and survival, I've started speaking Italian. Here's another fun fact: High School language is a joke. I am sorry, High School language teacher. You are a very nice lady and you were very patient with me. But the whole concept of sitting in a desk and learning a language 42 minutes a day for 5 days a week now makes no sense to me. I sit in a desk, learn Italian for 3 hours a day for 5 days a week, and then leave class and try to speak Italian in the city and at home. Guess what? I'm still not good at it. I'm not even ok at it. My 6 month old host sister speaks better Italian than I do, and she just drools all the time. I get by. And as my host dad, Fabio, told me: "We do not care about tenses or grammar. Just say some words and we will get the point." Fantastic!
So I took French for what seemed like forever and by the time I graduated high school I was mediocre at best. I've been in Italy for 2 weeks and though I am nowhere near mediocre, I find it a million times easier to learn it by just sucking it up and doing it. There have been a few times in which I have had to tell my host mom, Barbara, certain pieces of information such as "I won't be home for dinner tonight" or "I am going to the beach tomorrow." First I pace around in my room for awhile, giving myself a pep talk and tirelessly rehearsing what I am going to say to her. Then I sneak out into the hallway, trying to hear where she is and how many additional seconds I have to prepare. Finally, I nonchalantly wander into the living room, see that she is breastfeeding, and turn around and go back in my room. I have used her breastfeeding as a sort of crutch; a reason not to talk to her, ask her questions, present her with gifts that were sent from America. I think, "Well, I don't want to bother her." Well guess what? She is already being bothered, she is breastfeeding a child! My attempts at telling her pertinent information usually take 2 or 3 times of pacing, pep talks, and repeat. It's pathetic, but I promise I am getting better. I think she can even vouch for that.
The best part about having host siblings is that they have no filter and do not hesitate to call you out when you say something incorrectly or do not undestand. A few nights ago I was sitting in the den with Margherita (8) and Arianna (4). While Margherita understands that I speak English and not Italian, Arianna doesn't even recognize that as an option. She thinks I am a quiet Italian girl who does not talk. After a lengthy rant, she looked at me and said "copisci?" I said "no." She turned her head and mumbled, mostly words I did not understand, but I definitely caught "stupida." Do you speak Italian? You don't? That means "stupid." Margherita flashed her most sympathetic eyes at me and patiently explained, "Ari, she's not stupid; she's just American." I don't think I need to say anything more than that.
Not everyone thinks I'm stupid, though, and that is a huge comfort. That has been one of my biggest concerns actually. Oh, God. They think that the school sent them a moron. They talk about me in front of me because they know I can't understand them anyway. Totally not. Last Wednesday I ate dinner with just Fabio. I explained as best I could that sometimes I understand things very very clearly; other times, I am completely lost. He then comforted me by saying that he is 42 years old and his English is still bad. (Not true-his English is better than my Italian. In fact, it will probably remain better than my Italian for the next 3 1/2 months.) He was explaining that he learned alot of his English by listening to music at the discotech (lol) and then, the most fantastic moment of my entire life happened. He said, "You know 'Take on Me'? Aha?" I squealed with delight and said "Of course! Certe! Yes! Take on Me! Si! Yes! Mi piaci Take on Me! On my laptop!" He did not believe me at all, saying that I am much too young and it came out in 1982 so there is no way I know that song. At the same moment, he and I looked at eachother and began singing the song, starting with the intro and transitioning into the organ solo. We played air organ together. This actually happened to me. We were the only two people in the house, sharing a gorganzola and hot dog pizza (don't get me started on the Italian obsession with hot dogs) and singing Take on Me. Needless to say, we bonded. I am in with the family. This is a great relief to me.
Lesson: Learn 80s music before you go abroad. Odds are, it will be the only thing you have in common for awhile.
Some day I will put pictures on this blog. But probably not. Here's a description: Everything is really pretty. I have painted you a picture, I know.
I think you know what I'm talking about: "Italy? Everyone speaks English there anyway."
Guess what? FALSE. That. Is. False. Some people speak a little English, true. But not everyone speaks beautiful, fluent English. A shocking concept, right? I have to admit that my hopeful naivity got the better of me in the weeks before my trip because speaking English is so easy, right? And anyone who is reading this might think, "Katie, that was a really stupid assumption to make." And it totally was! I wasn't completely dependent on it, and I knew I would have to bust out the Italian every once in awhile, but I've started speaking Italian. No, I take that back. Out of necessity and survival, I've started speaking Italian. Here's another fun fact: High School language is a joke. I am sorry, High School language teacher. You are a very nice lady and you were very patient with me. But the whole concept of sitting in a desk and learning a language 42 minutes a day for 5 days a week now makes no sense to me. I sit in a desk, learn Italian for 3 hours a day for 5 days a week, and then leave class and try to speak Italian in the city and at home. Guess what? I'm still not good at it. I'm not even ok at it. My 6 month old host sister speaks better Italian than I do, and she just drools all the time. I get by. And as my host dad, Fabio, told me: "We do not care about tenses or grammar. Just say some words and we will get the point." Fantastic!
So I took French for what seemed like forever and by the time I graduated high school I was mediocre at best. I've been in Italy for 2 weeks and though I am nowhere near mediocre, I find it a million times easier to learn it by just sucking it up and doing it. There have been a few times in which I have had to tell my host mom, Barbara, certain pieces of information such as "I won't be home for dinner tonight" or "I am going to the beach tomorrow." First I pace around in my room for awhile, giving myself a pep talk and tirelessly rehearsing what I am going to say to her. Then I sneak out into the hallway, trying to hear where she is and how many additional seconds I have to prepare. Finally, I nonchalantly wander into the living room, see that she is breastfeeding, and turn around and go back in my room. I have used her breastfeeding as a sort of crutch; a reason not to talk to her, ask her questions, present her with gifts that were sent from America. I think, "Well, I don't want to bother her." Well guess what? She is already being bothered, she is breastfeeding a child! My attempts at telling her pertinent information usually take 2 or 3 times of pacing, pep talks, and repeat. It's pathetic, but I promise I am getting better. I think she can even vouch for that.
The best part about having host siblings is that they have no filter and do not hesitate to call you out when you say something incorrectly or do not undestand. A few nights ago I was sitting in the den with Margherita (8) and Arianna (4). While Margherita understands that I speak English and not Italian, Arianna doesn't even recognize that as an option. She thinks I am a quiet Italian girl who does not talk. After a lengthy rant, she looked at me and said "copisci?" I said "no." She turned her head and mumbled, mostly words I did not understand, but I definitely caught "stupida." Do you speak Italian? You don't? That means "stupid." Margherita flashed her most sympathetic eyes at me and patiently explained, "Ari, she's not stupid; she's just American." I don't think I need to say anything more than that.
Not everyone thinks I'm stupid, though, and that is a huge comfort. That has been one of my biggest concerns actually. Oh, God. They think that the school sent them a moron. They talk about me in front of me because they know I can't understand them anyway. Totally not. Last Wednesday I ate dinner with just Fabio. I explained as best I could that sometimes I understand things very very clearly; other times, I am completely lost. He then comforted me by saying that he is 42 years old and his English is still bad. (Not true-his English is better than my Italian. In fact, it will probably remain better than my Italian for the next 3 1/2 months.) He was explaining that he learned alot of his English by listening to music at the discotech (lol) and then, the most fantastic moment of my entire life happened. He said, "You know 'Take on Me'? Aha?" I squealed with delight and said "Of course! Certe! Yes! Take on Me! Si! Yes! Mi piaci Take on Me! On my laptop!" He did not believe me at all, saying that I am much too young and it came out in 1982 so there is no way I know that song. At the same moment, he and I looked at eachother and began singing the song, starting with the intro and transitioning into the organ solo. We played air organ together. This actually happened to me. We were the only two people in the house, sharing a gorganzola and hot dog pizza (don't get me started on the Italian obsession with hot dogs) and singing Take on Me. Needless to say, we bonded. I am in with the family. This is a great relief to me.
Lesson: Learn 80s music before you go abroad. Odds are, it will be the only thing you have in common for awhile.
Some day I will put pictures on this blog. But probably not. Here's a description: Everything is really pretty. I have painted you a picture, I know.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Half Showers
I just took half a shower. In both space, water pressure and all around temperature, I'd say it was all at about half mast. I am a small person. I actually never knew I was short until people started mentioning it all the time, but as it turns out it is true. Even at this height, I still struggle to fit completely in my shower, and I end up contorting my body in ways that are simply not natural. The shower is actually just a bathtub with a hand held shower head, one that does not stay in its little wall holder, mind you. So I have choreographed a kind of dance in which I hold the hose in one hand, at an extremely awkward angle none the less, and try to splash water as well as pour body wash with the other. It's charming. I have often heard that one of the biggest stereotypes of Americans is that we use too much water. You're damn straight, we do. My last two showers have been taken at mach speed, giving myself just enough hot water to rinse my body once and then get about half way through washing my hair. I usually condition in an icy tundra. And then after shivering for awhile, I put on my robe and dance around my bathroom, wondering if my host parents think it weird that I am showering so late.
I had planned on telling two anecdotes this evening but I find that I only have the energy for one. The ommitted anecdote happened at the Cleveland airport and it's about a bitchy mom who cried when her son bought Pop-tarts. Ask me about it-I'll be happy to talk about it.
The second, and now only, anecdote is from Sunday. Barbara and Fabio (my host parents) told me at breakfast that morning that they would be going to church at 11:00. Barbera mentioned that they would be back at 12:30 and I was free to walk around the neighborhood and get to know the city a little better. I thought this was an excellent idea! Afterall, Margherita had presented me with a smart leather keychain the night before and I was super excited to have my own set of keys. Once the family had left, I puttered around my new room for a bit before I decided I would be adventurous and venture off into the city by myself. When I left, I locked the door and went on my way. If you've looked at my Italy pictures, then you've seen the Piaza del Campo and how beautiful it is. I took lots of pictures, became acquainted with my surroundings and felt pretty independent and adventurous by the time I made my way home. You have to understand that I am fairly independent but negative adventurous, so being out in a foreign land was very exciting.
I got back to the apartment at probably 12:15. Good, I thought. I had wanted to make it back before they were home. I unlocked the main door at the street level and it worked perfectly fine. Then I climbed the 5 flights of stairs to the top floor where I live and I casually put my key in the keyhole. Nothing happened. Huh, that's weird, I thought. Maybe I did it wrong. (Whatever that means) I tried the key again but still no luck. Then I went through a seemingly long period of not being able to remember which way the door opened, which is ridiculous because doors generally open in. Unless it is my bathroom door at home. I inspected the hinges and the door frame, wondering why nothing would work. I continued with the key and immediately realized that a neighbor definitely could NOT catch me struggling with this stupid key. The clock was ticking and there was no way in hell that I was going to allow my family to find me on their front stoop, dripping in sweat, and clearly waiting for them to let me in. My initial plan was to wait until they got home and then perform a series of flustered "where did those keys go!?!" gestures that would illustrate to them that I had JUST gotten there moments before and was in the act of finding my keys! Everytime I heard the door open, I began this act of contrived fumbling. Then it dawned on me that I just needed to break the damn thing down and get in the house no matter what it took. So I got a running start and slammed myself into the door. Nothing happened. I considered climbing in through the window, or just leaving and coming back again. And in a fit of sweat and frustration I put the key in one last time, turned it, and the door simply opened as though there had never been a struggle.
Lesson? I don't know. Don't forget to switch the voltage on your keys, I guess.
But seriously-Italy is awesome and someday I will find time to write about classes and my host family and the atrocious amount of food I've been eating. You'd rather hear about some Italian misadventures though, right?
I had planned on telling two anecdotes this evening but I find that I only have the energy for one. The ommitted anecdote happened at the Cleveland airport and it's about a bitchy mom who cried when her son bought Pop-tarts. Ask me about it-I'll be happy to talk about it.
The second, and now only, anecdote is from Sunday. Barbara and Fabio (my host parents) told me at breakfast that morning that they would be going to church at 11:00. Barbera mentioned that they would be back at 12:30 and I was free to walk around the neighborhood and get to know the city a little better. I thought this was an excellent idea! Afterall, Margherita had presented me with a smart leather keychain the night before and I was super excited to have my own set of keys. Once the family had left, I puttered around my new room for a bit before I decided I would be adventurous and venture off into the city by myself. When I left, I locked the door and went on my way. If you've looked at my Italy pictures, then you've seen the Piaza del Campo and how beautiful it is. I took lots of pictures, became acquainted with my surroundings and felt pretty independent and adventurous by the time I made my way home. You have to understand that I am fairly independent but negative adventurous, so being out in a foreign land was very exciting.
I got back to the apartment at probably 12:15. Good, I thought. I had wanted to make it back before they were home. I unlocked the main door at the street level and it worked perfectly fine. Then I climbed the 5 flights of stairs to the top floor where I live and I casually put my key in the keyhole. Nothing happened. Huh, that's weird, I thought. Maybe I did it wrong. (Whatever that means) I tried the key again but still no luck. Then I went through a seemingly long period of not being able to remember which way the door opened, which is ridiculous because doors generally open in. Unless it is my bathroom door at home. I inspected the hinges and the door frame, wondering why nothing would work. I continued with the key and immediately realized that a neighbor definitely could NOT catch me struggling with this stupid key. The clock was ticking and there was no way in hell that I was going to allow my family to find me on their front stoop, dripping in sweat, and clearly waiting for them to let me in. My initial plan was to wait until they got home and then perform a series of flustered "where did those keys go!?!" gestures that would illustrate to them that I had JUST gotten there moments before and was in the act of finding my keys! Everytime I heard the door open, I began this act of contrived fumbling. Then it dawned on me that I just needed to break the damn thing down and get in the house no matter what it took. So I got a running start and slammed myself into the door. Nothing happened. I considered climbing in through the window, or just leaving and coming back again. And in a fit of sweat and frustration I put the key in one last time, turned it, and the door simply opened as though there had never been a struggle.
Lesson? I don't know. Don't forget to switch the voltage on your keys, I guess.
But seriously-Italy is awesome and someday I will find time to write about classes and my host family and the atrocious amount of food I've been eating. You'd rather hear about some Italian misadventures though, right?
Monday, August 30, 2010
Me No Speaky Italiano....Yet.
I showed up to Italy with no Italian under my belt. Brilliant, right? Pre-departure Katie saw no problem with this, as the program specifically stated that there was no language pre-requisite AND neither Lindsay nor Alison made mention of any kind of language intensity. Of course, as soon as I met the other people in my program, it dawned on me that I was clearly the only person who had not taken any kind of preparations in the way of learning Italian. I am also the only person who did not bring a gift for my host family as well as not bringing any of my paper work in order to obtain a permit of residency. I did, however, bring school supplies, so I have that going for me. I realize that I've only been here for 5 days and I certainly can't be expected to have the language down to a science. I know the important words like "grazie" and "basta" and a barage of other vocabulary words that Margherita has given me during our lessons. I even ordered my own gelato tonight, even though it took Jeanie several times of saying very very slowly the exact words that I needed in order to obtain said gelato. It was a roaring, strawberry success.
But after 5 days of nodding my head and smiling like an idiot, I finally found the appropriate time to take matters into my own hands. Only one day of intensive Italian class had not taught me the only phrase I really felt my host family needed to understand: "I am tired." This was all it took to make Margherita understand that I didn't want to play cards and watch Winx and watch her number all of the bookshelves. Apparently, everyone knows that if someone is tired, that someone should be left alone. After I looked up the phrase in my ancient 1957 edition of Berlitz's Italian American dictionary, I paced about my room, muttering it to myself and making sure it sounded correct. According to the pronunciation guide, it did. So when the time was right and I could see Margherita and Arianna winding up for a second episode of Winx while pulling out the couch bed, I very sternly said to Margherita, "Sono stancana." I have no idea if that is conjugated or if the tense makes sense but she immediately understood and kindly wished me good night. Yes.
Lesson? Understand your priorities and then act accordingly. Especially when you are in a foreign country and your 7 and 4 year old host siblings just want to play with your I-Pod and dance all night.
This is meant to be a travel blog! So why didn't I immediately tell you about the flight over here and staying in the Agritourismo in Farfa or my initial impressions of Italy? Because I am tired. And being 6 hours ahead of everyone does not help at all, because I end up staying up kind of late so that I can catch all the people I want to talk to. The thing I do for you people. More details will come, I promise, and then you all will finally be able to live vicariously through me. Get excited!
But after 5 days of nodding my head and smiling like an idiot, I finally found the appropriate time to take matters into my own hands. Only one day of intensive Italian class had not taught me the only phrase I really felt my host family needed to understand: "I am tired." This was all it took to make Margherita understand that I didn't want to play cards and watch Winx and watch her number all of the bookshelves. Apparently, everyone knows that if someone is tired, that someone should be left alone. After I looked up the phrase in my ancient 1957 edition of Berlitz's Italian American dictionary, I paced about my room, muttering it to myself and making sure it sounded correct. According to the pronunciation guide, it did. So when the time was right and I could see Margherita and Arianna winding up for a second episode of Winx while pulling out the couch bed, I very sternly said to Margherita, "Sono stancana." I have no idea if that is conjugated or if the tense makes sense but she immediately understood and kindly wished me good night. Yes.
Lesson? Understand your priorities and then act accordingly. Especially when you are in a foreign country and your 7 and 4 year old host siblings just want to play with your I-Pod and dance all night.
This is meant to be a travel blog! So why didn't I immediately tell you about the flight over here and staying in the Agritourismo in Farfa or my initial impressions of Italy? Because I am tired. And being 6 hours ahead of everyone does not help at all, because I end up staying up kind of late so that I can catch all the people I want to talk to. The thing I do for you people. More details will come, I promise, and then you all will finally be able to live vicariously through me. Get excited!
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
I'm Not Taking Anything to Italy.
Just kidding! But I am super tempted to do so. It would just be so much easier, you know? Do you think that's what Julia Roberts does in "Eat, Pray, Love"? I'm not going to see it, and I'm certainly not going to read it, so one of you is going to have to tell me how much she takes with her. Yes, I am all packed up, but I would very much like to down size my luggage. I have to keep in mind that I am lugging this stuff around all by myself, unless of course I befriend a nice stranger on the plane. That is my plan, by the way. For the record, I have never:
a.) been out of the country
or
b.) flown on a plane by myself.
Tomorrow I'm flying out of the country by myself! Max asked me if I'm going to be one of those dumb people who asks questions instead of just reading the board at the airport. First I got huffy and asked him why he always makes me sound like a moron. Then I said yes, of course I'm going to stop and ask questions. I am going to find people on my flight to Charlotte who are also flying to Rome. And then I will mercilessly stalk them until I am through customs.
I'm watching Katy Perry perform on Letterman. They just zoomed in and showed a close up of her face. She must be SO embarrassed about all that acne she has-good thing she's a ProActiv representative! "We're talking about zits here, people!" Shut it, Perry.
So. You're excited for me, right? I don't demand excitement or even remote interest, but it would be much appreciated. Humor me, you know? I have most enjoyed receiving advice from people who have either:
-been to Italy
-heard of Italy
-have a friend who went to Italy
-Italian blood
Most common questions/statements:
Q: So, do you know Italian?
Me: No.
Q: Uhhh Ohhh!! What are you going to do?
Me: Come home, probably.
Q: Have you seen Taken?
Me: Yes.
Q: Like, is that going to happen to you?
Me: I hope so.
Q: Did you know that Italian men are all sleezy and creepy?
Me: Are they really? Oh, that's great news.
Q: Are you going to come back married?
Me: I'm already married.
A personal favorite moment:
A few weeks ago I went to the Ohio Building (for work purposes, not to buy a breakfast sandwich) and after I completed my assigned task, I made my way up to the 8th floor to get my parking stub stamped. The woman behind the counter, the one who has the power to save me a dollar on parking, inquired about school and when I am going back. I said "I'm never going back! I'm going to Italy!" or something. Her response: "Ooooh, you gon' bring back a nice, rich I-talian man!"
And what if I do? Like, we're not even romantically involved. I literally just gate check a wealthy Italian man who wears nice shoes and smells of leather and tomato sauce. I would immediately march back to the 8th floor, Rich Italian Man in tow (toe?), and proudly present him. And at that point, I'd probably just leave him there.
I need to go get rid of ~1.5 pounds from my luggage before I feel any kind of confidence in taking that thing with me.
And if I find a rich Italian man, I'll let you know.
a.) been out of the country
or
b.) flown on a plane by myself.
Tomorrow I'm flying out of the country by myself! Max asked me if I'm going to be one of those dumb people who asks questions instead of just reading the board at the airport. First I got huffy and asked him why he always makes me sound like a moron. Then I said yes, of course I'm going to stop and ask questions. I am going to find people on my flight to Charlotte who are also flying to Rome. And then I will mercilessly stalk them until I am through customs.
I'm watching Katy Perry perform on Letterman. They just zoomed in and showed a close up of her face. She must be SO embarrassed about all that acne she has-good thing she's a ProActiv representative! "We're talking about zits here, people!" Shut it, Perry.
So. You're excited for me, right? I don't demand excitement or even remote interest, but it would be much appreciated. Humor me, you know? I have most enjoyed receiving advice from people who have either:
-been to Italy
-heard of Italy
-have a friend who went to Italy
-Italian blood
Most common questions/statements:
Q: So, do you know Italian?
Me: No.
Q: Uhhh Ohhh!! What are you going to do?
Me: Come home, probably.
Q: Have you seen Taken?
Me: Yes.
Q: Like, is that going to happen to you?
Me: I hope so.
Q: Did you know that Italian men are all sleezy and creepy?
Me: Are they really? Oh, that's great news.
Q: Are you going to come back married?
Me: I'm already married.
A personal favorite moment:
A few weeks ago I went to the Ohio Building (for work purposes, not to buy a breakfast sandwich) and after I completed my assigned task, I made my way up to the 8th floor to get my parking stub stamped. The woman behind the counter, the one who has the power to save me a dollar on parking, inquired about school and when I am going back. I said "I'm never going back! I'm going to Italy!" or something. Her response: "Ooooh, you gon' bring back a nice, rich I-talian man!"
And what if I do? Like, we're not even romantically involved. I literally just gate check a wealthy Italian man who wears nice shoes and smells of leather and tomato sauce. I would immediately march back to the 8th floor, Rich Italian Man in tow (toe?), and proudly present him. And at that point, I'd probably just leave him there.
I need to go get rid of ~1.5 pounds from my luggage before I feel any kind of confidence in taking that thing with me.
And if I find a rich Italian man, I'll let you know.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
I'm Still in Ohio.
I haven't left yet. The leaving does not happen until next Wednesday, the 25th, so this isn't really a travel blog yet. I am, however, in southern Ohio which is essentially a different state. Are you from northeast Ohio and then immediately become confused when you drive south of Columbus? Exactly. So this just might be an official travel blog.
Right, so I'm going to Italy. Did you pick up on that from the title of my blog? Or did you pick up on that on account of me telling everybody all the time? Either way, I am currently feeling overly ready and prepared to leave. As I told my mom earlier today, it is nothing personal, I just need to get out of here. Fortunately, she knew exactly what I meant, and then reminded me that I should probably get more euros. Way to go, mom-always on the look out.
I love when people hear that I am going to Italy and then ask what my major is. Upon my response, ("English") it becomes apparent that they are trying to hold back either laughter or snide comments. Haha, I get it. I'm going to another country to study a language I already speak. Isn't that so funny? It's even funnier when people make a subsequent comment about that unintended irony, as though I wasn't aware of it already. I will actually be working on my burgeoning art historian spirit, which is way exciting. Free admission to all the museums in Florence? Yes, please. Book restoration and becoming a Book Doctor? Check and check.
Am I going to gain weight? Probably. And I hope that you all make a point of getting together and texting and BBMing and messaging just to say, "My God, Katie's not missing any meals." Because you will be right! I won't be missing ANY meals. I am going to grow chubby and content ("like Chester"-LL) and my winter weight will all be packed on for the Ohio weather that will greet me in December. Also, I will be turning 21 while in Italy. No, that does not suck for me. No, it does not make me mad that I will be turning 21 while in another country. The amount of people who have been upset by this is unreal. Truth be told, I will be drinking before then anyway. Come to think of it, I have already had my first beer. Please, do not pity me on account of turning 21 while in Italy. Odds are, I will have a fantastic time anyway.
I also plan on getting to Bologna on September 2 to see Arcade Fire. It's a 3 hour drive from Siena to Bologna. This will be an adventure.
Find me in Ohio sometime over the next week. After that, no more texting and same time zone-age.
Love and Dreams of Spaghetti,
Katie
Right, so I'm going to Italy. Did you pick up on that from the title of my blog? Or did you pick up on that on account of me telling everybody all the time? Either way, I am currently feeling overly ready and prepared to leave. As I told my mom earlier today, it is nothing personal, I just need to get out of here. Fortunately, she knew exactly what I meant, and then reminded me that I should probably get more euros. Way to go, mom-always on the look out.
I love when people hear that I am going to Italy and then ask what my major is. Upon my response, ("English") it becomes apparent that they are trying to hold back either laughter or snide comments. Haha, I get it. I'm going to another country to study a language I already speak. Isn't that so funny? It's even funnier when people make a subsequent comment about that unintended irony, as though I wasn't aware of it already. I will actually be working on my burgeoning art historian spirit, which is way exciting. Free admission to all the museums in Florence? Yes, please. Book restoration and becoming a Book Doctor? Check and check.
Am I going to gain weight? Probably. And I hope that you all make a point of getting together and texting and BBMing and messaging just to say, "My God, Katie's not missing any meals." Because you will be right! I won't be missing ANY meals. I am going to grow chubby and content ("like Chester"-LL) and my winter weight will all be packed on for the Ohio weather that will greet me in December. Also, I will be turning 21 while in Italy. No, that does not suck for me. No, it does not make me mad that I will be turning 21 while in another country. The amount of people who have been upset by this is unreal. Truth be told, I will be drinking before then anyway. Come to think of it, I have already had my first beer. Please, do not pity me on account of turning 21 while in Italy. Odds are, I will have a fantastic time anyway.
I also plan on getting to Bologna on September 2 to see Arcade Fire. It's a 3 hour drive from Siena to Bologna. This will be an adventure.
Find me in Ohio sometime over the next week. After that, no more texting and same time zone-age.
Love and Dreams of Spaghetti,
Katie
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