Musings of a Domestic Feminist

Places I Want to Go (In a vague, but not particularly accurate order)

2010-01-24T15:23:00.000-08:00

I've been itching to go somewhere new lately. I think it has something to do with the fact that last year at this time I was living in a new country, exploring new places every day, and altogether loving it. This, of course, was before I realized at a) the rain in Florence wasn't destined to stop until the week before I went home and b) Florentines are not known for their Grace, Warmth, and Hospitable Nature when it comes to dealing with American students. But anyway, I've caught the travel bug again. And as I've been keeping a mental list of places I need to go someday in my head for years, I figured I'd get in down on paper. Or blog. Or typepad? Whatever.

1) Colombia
Apparently all of the drug cartels have left Colombia and it's super safe now. And because they had so much drug money pouring in during the 80s and 90s, the place is absolutely beautiful. Cartagena is colorful and beachy, and Medellin spends 40% of its annual budget on education, and a great portion of the rest on the arts. So basically: natural beauty + actual culture? Take me there please!

2) Istanbul
I've been fascinated by Istanbul for a while now. It seems like it has this incredible mix of ancient history and a new, bustling atmosphere. I adore Byzantine architecture; mosiacs, domes, minarets = Alex's physical layout of heaven. And to that you can add ancient, imperial history (the kind I geek out over), a great modern art scene, and delicious food. And did I mention the Byzantine architecture? Because I love that shit.

3) Portland and Seattle
I figured that I should probably make an effort to see some of the parts of my own country where I have never been. The Pacific northwest has seemed pretty awesome ever since I read this book called The Mozart Season about this girl from Portland who competes in a violin competition where all the contestants had to play (you guessed it!) a Mozart Concerto.* Who cares if it rains 340 days out of the year? (I completely pulled that statistic out of my ass, but you get the picture.) They have music! And great restaurants! And farmers markets! And roses! What's not to like?

*As a side note, I've played the Mozart Concerto in A Minor that Allegra (the main character) had to play in the novel. And while it is indeed lovely, Mozart is far too neat and clean for me. Give me some dissonance, Wolfgang. Come on. And as a second side note, this was seriously one of my favorite books growing up. If you know middle-school aged girls, get them this book. Seriously, you really want them reading Gossip Girl? Or worse: Twilight?

4) Brittany
Have you ever heard a Breton pipe band? No? Then go here: . I swear, once you get over the shrill tones of what sounds like dying geese, it's some of the coolest music out there.

5) Dublin
I'd like to go back to Dublin and see and do some of those things you should actually ought to see and do in Dublin. You know, like go to the theater, go to a pub. Not just shop, which is what I did first time around. God damn my unenlightened 15 year old self.

6) Vietnam
I just finished reading The Quiet American. It was incredible, and combined with the fact that the country is supposed to be incredibly beautiful, the people friendly, and has a cuisine that makes me happier than almost any other, seems like a perfect country for me.

Anyway, that's it for now. There are tons of other places I want to go, like India, Thailand, Tahiti, the South of Italy, and the rest of Spain (Barcelona is wonderful, but that country is big!). But my fingers hurt from typing (no carpel tunnel, no!), and I have to wash dishes.

On Finding My Place in the Universe

2010-01-03T19:41:00.000-08:00

After years of contemplating who I am, my purpose in life, and my role in the Greater Scheme of Things, I have come to a conclusion that may (or may not, who knows) be extraordinarily astute and accurate:

I ought to be a peasant.

Well really, since I'm Italian, I ought to be a contadina. Or, since I also have almost as much Irish blood in me, a tuathánach (say that ten times fast and I will buy you a drink. Shit, say that one time fast and I will buy you a drink).

How, you ask, have I come to this conclusion? Answer: Science! Social science, at least. After all, that's what I do. Allow me to guide you through the various arcane data that has brought me to my thesis.

Posit One: I Prefer Red Wine to White.
And not just any red wines. I like Chianti, and Cote du Rhone, and other big, full wines that taste like they were made in Nonno's basement. None of that White Zinfandel for me, thank you very much. I want a wine that stains my lips such a vivid purple that people will be unable to decide if I'm a wino or if I'm hypothermic.

Posit Two: I Make a Mean Bolognese Sauce (and fresh pasta)
Granted, I used turkey and bison instead of beef and pork (I try to stay away from anything factory farmed), and I drained off the fat, something that I'm fairly certain would cause a read Italian Nonna to drop dead of shock. But hey, I chopped the million vegetables, used real pancetta and none of the turkey bacon bullshit, and simmered the sauce for the requisite 384572485748524 hours. And it was good! Especially on the pappardelle I had made and dried the night before.

Posit Three: I Have Hips.
I think it's safe to say that I should be able to give birth with relative ease. Which is perfect, because peasant women need to be able to produce an entire litter of stout, scythe-wielding sons to work the fields and solid, merry daughters to milk cows and carry water from the well.

Posit Four: I Can Walk Long Distances Without Getting Tired
Good for when our only donkey has to be sold to pay the landlord.

So, if you take this data and synthesize it into a working thesis, what do you have? Peasant!

(Disclaimer: This entire conclusion is only valid assuming that one ignores such things as my love of expensive food, clothes, and nights at the opera. Also that one overlook my poor eyesight and severe outdoor allergies, both of which would make working in the fields rather difficult. And that the countryside scares me.)

Things I Don't Understand

2009-12-03T19:58:00.000-08:00

1) Decorative Cabbages

Now, why on earth would anyone want one of those in their front yard? I have so much trouble believing that anyone can look at a flower patch and think: You know what this needs? A decorative cabbage.

And it you do, well then you just have shit landscaping taste.

2) Girls Who Say "That's Funny" with Dead Eyes Instead of Just Laughing

Seriously, these girls scare me. What's so wrong with laughing if someone makes a joke? And why do they feel the need to alert the joke-maker that yes, they recognize the statement as a joke, and that it was indeed funny? Once again, wouldn't laughing serve that purpose?

3) Fishing

Yeah, I understand that this may be attributable to gender differences. But going and sitting on a boat or wet ground for hours in the mist and rain (because that's the best time to catch fish, according to my dad) in order to skewer fish in the mouths with pointy hooks just to throw them back into the pond just doesn't sound like a good time.

Go Wild

2009-12-02T07:36:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, my roommate found out that someone had gotten ahold of her credit card, and racked up charges of $800 and $300 at Target and Payless Shoes, respectively.

Aim high, criminals. Aim high.

Quick Life Update

2009-11-19T06:11:00.000-08:00

So I'm sitting here, trying not to gag or be asphyxiated by the fumes from the anti-roach spray I just liberally sprayed in every corner and inside most of the kitchen cabinets, unsure whether to be totally grossed out or to just be a Grown Up and come to terms with the fact that everyone in New York has cockroaches, and to count my blessings that at least they're the small kind*, and that we really don't have a total infestation.

But seriously, cockroaches are pretty horrendous. They're small, fast, and after you see a couple you start to think you see them everywhere. And feel like they're on you at all times, until you start hitting yourself like a tourette's sufferer and then feel stupid because what you actually felt on your neck was your hair. But what really gets to me is that no matter how neurotic I am about keeping the kitchen clean, there's always that crumb that fell out of the toaster in the closet, or a smear of grease on the stovetop that I didn't notice and they always, always seem to find it.

So I've been forced to become quite creative when it comes to killing them. Since I've always been bad at smushing bugs (I always made my dad come and deal with spiders, and I always cringe when my mom makes me kill ants), I've had to figure out alternatives. Not only do I have traps and baits and kill-on-contact spray, but I have so far:

- Dropped books on them (first covering it with a napkin so it won't run away/smear on my Celtic Music textbook)
- Lit them on fire (there was one on the stove that I tried to smush while on the phone, but didn't press hard enough because, as I said, I find smushing things revolting. I didn't see where it went, so I just turned on all the burners, and turned them off about 30 seconds later. I lifted up my cast-iron pan and sure enough, it was all curled up and dead. So I picked it up with a spoon and flushed it down the toilet. I then boiled the spoon.)
- Covered them with soap (apparently they breath through their skin, so the soap means they can't get oxygen)
- Drowned them (I chased one all around this morning until I finally got it into the sink, and shoved it down the drain.)

Now, I'm the first one to call someone out about hurting animals. After all, inflicting pain on small creatures is a sure-fire indicator of sociopathic tendencies, aka serial killer-ness. But I don't think I'm a sociopath. After all, I don't want to hurt or torture the roaches. I just want them to die. Quickly. And to kill all the rest of their ilk.

And really, can serial killers make distinctions like that?

*Once, when my mother was still in graduate school and I was about eight years old, I came along to her biology class because my father had to work/mom couldn't find a babysitter/whatever. The teacher had this entire set of large tropical bugs in an aquarium thing. One was one of those millipedes the size of a large snake, and the other was a massive, rainforest cockroaches roughly the size of a small rat. Since I was a child, and since those bugs were actually harmless, the teacher thought she'd be cute and have me hold them. Now, I HATE bugs. I have always hated bugs. In fact, if all bugs except possibly fireflys and ladybugs disappeared, I would drop to my knees and thank God for finally revealing itself to me. But for some god-awful reason, that teacher (who I think might have been a nun) made me hold that cockroach and touch the millipede's legs, and to this day I have nightmares about oversized bugs. Just thought that anecdote might be entertaining.

Scrooge

2009-10-29T06:12:00.000-07:00

***

I have a confession to make: I don't particularly like Halloween.

It's certainly not my least favorite holiday, a designation that would better fall on Columbus Day, or Labor Day, or President's Day, or any of the other meaningless national holidays that often pass without notice (I still regularly mix up Memorial Day and Labor Day). But for some reason, Halloween seems to have lost most of its appeal. And it's a particularly strange phenomenon, given that Halloween really does have everything going for it. It's in autumn, by far my favorite season, and is usually accompanied by crisp, refreshing weather. The color palate of orange, black, with changing-leaf shades thrown in is perfect for decorating, and my apartment is currently strewn with pumpkins and pipe-cleaner spiders that I made back in elementary school, much to the amusement of my roommate, who has never decorated for a holiday before. And Halloween involves candy! Who doesn't love a holiday where one of the main recreations is to get a sugar high?

But despite all of these things, I can't get nearly as into Halloween as Christmas, or Thanksgiving, or even Easter (which are my favorite holidays, respectively). And I can't totally put my finger on exactly why I no longer really like Halloween. But I think the change came when the focus became less on collecting and devouring fun sized candy bars (though I always was, and still am, partial to nerds) to dressing like a fetish hooker and bar-hopping.

Not that there's anything wrong with bar-hopping (or dressing like a fetish hooker, sometimes. Everything in moderation, kids!). I think what gets to me is the forced merriment. Maybe it's the Irish in me, but holidays bring out the worst of my skeptical and contradictory side. But it's the same message as I got on my 21st birthday: Go out and Have Fun! Lots of Fun! And Drink! Because that's how you Have Fun! Well, if anything is guaranteed to make me not have a good time, it's pressure to Have Fun. Being forced to Have Fun generally makes me want to curl up under a blanket and watch like, Gangs of New York while every one else goes out and gets obliterated. I truly enjoy going out spontaneously (more so, in fact, than I have in years. It probably has something to do with not having to constantly worry someone is going to call Bullshit on my id, and having finally conquered the majority of my body insecurities), but a night where I have to go out makes me far too stressed out.

But I will make the best of this Halloween, getting dressed up and going to a party. I have a psychedelic yellow outfit that my grandmother used to wear during the 60s, and it's big enough to show lots of midriff while not big enough to fall off or trip me (if I fold up the skirt significantly). I'm going to learn how to make a daisy crown for my hair. All in all, it's a better costume than I've had in years, despite the fact that my haircut is not at all hippie-ish. I just need to come up with a personality, and I'll be set.

***By the way, this is not at all the way I feel about Halloween. I'm a liberal! I'm all about handouts for tricksters and liars. I just thought it was funny.

What to Do on a Rainy Sunday

2009-10-18T18:31:00.000-07:00

What should you do when you wake up to cold, rain, and lots of homework?

Why, make baked apples, of course!

Yesterday my mother came to visit, bringing with her a bag of apples roughly the weight of a small child. So acting on her advice to eat them as quickly as possible, I made these baked apples, filled with oats, honey, lemon peel, butter, and ginger. Next time I think I'll leave out the butter and add more honey, because I like my desserts sweet. Very sweet.

Next up, some sort of apple chutney! Or a crumble! Advice?

Inspirational Words, from Unlikely Sources

2009-10-06T05:11:00.000-07:00

Yesterday as I left my apartment carrying my massive book bag and my violin, when a homeless man looked at me, and promptly yelled

"You're looking down! Keep your head up and be proud!!!"

At first, I was really alarmed that this small homeless man was yelling at me, but then what he actually said registered and I smiled at him and kept on walking.

I would love to say that his words of wisdom inspired me to walk Straight and Strong all day, but to be completely honest, I have to keep my head down when I walk. I'm one of the least graceful people on the planet, and if I'm not staring at the ground in front of me I end up tripping on a crack in the sidewalk, falling off the curb, or stepping in dog shit. None of which are pleasant when carrying a massive book bag and a violin.

Autumn: Of Brussels Sprouts and Head Colds.

2009-09-30T05:41:00.000-07:00

Wow, can you believe it's almost October? September went by so fast! Actually, for me, September went by fairly slow. Mostly due to the fact that four our of seven days a week I have nothing to do. With no classes Thursdays or Fridays, I pretty much spend the majority of my week being bored. Which, consequently leads to time moving a lot slower. I applied for a bunch of jobs at NYU, but I either didn't get them and they didn't bother to ever let me know, or they're waiting until sometime in November to actually interview. This is endlessly frustrating for me, mostly because I actually do need the money, but also because I'm SO BORED. But maybe now that the semester is actually gathering steam and I actually have work to do having so much time off will be a blessing. We'll see.

Anyways, I'm actually thrilled that tomorrow is the first day of October. I think that October is my favorite month of the year, give or take a week or two in November. The time when the leaves start to change and the wind begins to have a chilly edge and best of all, fall produce begins to show up at the farmers markets. After a summer of fresh tasting, light vegetables I really start to crave heartier, stronger tasting produce. Cue the brussels sprouts, the butternut squash, the apples! The figs, oozing their honey-like filling! (Yesterday's lunch: saute one onion, sliced, with one apple, cubed, and a bag of brussels sprouts, halved, until they begin to brown. Add thyme, salt, pepper, and a half cup of water, and cover. Cook until the brussels sprouts are soft and water evaporates. Deglaze pan with apple juice or cider, and stir in some dijon mustard. If you can still say you don't like brussels sprouts after all that, we are no longer friends). And come the cooler weather, turning the oven on isn't so intimidating. Which means I can indulge in my favorite way of cooking anything at all - Roasting. Roasting EVERYTHING, from vegetables to chickpeas to fruit and even to meat (though I think I've eaten meat twice since I've gotten here...I become a vegetarian by default whenever I leave my parents' house. I think it's because nary a day goes by during the summer when my father doesn't demand some variation on steak/potatoes and by the end of summer I'm so sick of meat tofu and black beans sound like the Nectar of the Gods). There's something infinitely comforting about the act of preheating the oven, preparing whatever is to be roasted, then sitting around doing other things while the apartment fills with wonderful, appetite stimulating scents that make me have to consciously restrain myself from opening up the oven and sticking my head inside. Not in a Sylvia Plath way, however. More a Giada de Laurentis kind of way.

Though October does have its downside. More specifically, October is when I am most likely to get sick. And it has happened again this year. I felt something coming for about a week now, but for the majority of the time I fooled myself into believing that it was just fall allergies. Unfortunately, that was but a dream, and my "allergies" have turned into a full-fledged head cold. I'm really terrible at being sick. In general I have the immune system of an ox (I'm not entirely sure that analogy actually work. The phrase is "strong like an ox" so I assume oxen don't get sick - they're strong! - but that may be just faulty logic on my part). In fact, I think I can count the amount of times I had to miss more than one day of school on one hand. The consequence of this is, unfortunately, that whenever I actually do get sick I can't help but feel like my body is betraying me. As in, who are YOU, body, to dictate whether or not I should go to the gym? Yes, I know that trying to use the elliptical machine when I can't breathe through my nose and I'm coughing every thirty seconds or so (the cough isn't painful, so at least I don't have H1N1 yet. I've heard a painful cough is the first symptom) is a bit of an exercise in futility. But why should my body tell me what to do? F You, body, my mind thinks. But then it remembers that pushing until collapse probably will just make me feel worse, and the best thing to do is the smart, logical thing. Don't work out, rest, avoid dairy, and drink gallons upon gallons of tea. Then I can get better quickly, and return, once again, to bossing my strong, sickness-free body around.

On Living, and Eating, Alone.

2009-09-19T16:58:00.000-07:00

Well, it's been about two weeks since I moved into the new apartment. It's now fully furnished, aside from some paintings that I still can't decide where to hang, and is really beginning to feel like home. And I must say, getting back to New York always feels like a large weight is lifted off my shoulders. Which I realize is rather strange, as many people feel the exact opposite. Leaving New York is what makes that weight go away, the calm of the suburbs a relaxing respite from the hustle and bustle of the city. But the hustle and bustle is what I love about this place, as long as I can choose when to retreat to my own personal space. This apartment, in a quiet part of town facing all of the back yards of the brownstones on 31st and 32nd street far, far more than adequately serves that purpose.

It was a bit of a challenge, however, to get into the swing of things this year. Last semester in Italy I lived with seven of the best people I have ever met, and I took advantage of it, spending every moment in someone else's company. Then this summer I spent the majority of my time working, and when I wasn't working I was with my parents, particularly my mother. I really don't think I spent more than a few hours by myself the entire eight or so months. So when I moved in and was forced to spend several days alone before my roommate moved in, it was a very difficult change with which to cope.

But slowly, I've been coming to realize, or perhaps re-realize that I actually do enjoy being alone. My roommate is a sweetheart, but she's been going home on weekends (sickness, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur), and during the week she's often busy with sorority events until late at night. So for the majority of the time, I have the apartment to myself.

And I like it. There's something nice about coming home from a long day of class and having the complete freedom to do whatever I want. Usually, since I get back from class after six most nights of the week, that means tying on my apron (it's adorable, with fun print and bows on the pockets) and cooking dinner. My roommate doesn't cook, either, so the kitchen definitely feels like my domain, I can choose to cook what I call Real Food, ie, something sophisticated that usually involves a recipe clipped from the New York Times or from one of my various cookbooks. For instance, two nights ago I made sauteed leeks with chickpeas (saute pancetta [or turkey bacon. Don't judge, it's what was in my refrigerator] in oil until it turns brown, add cleaned leeks and three tablespoons of water, cover and cook for a half hour. Add drained can of chickpeas, cook for another ten minutes. Serve, and enjoy the most surprisingly delicious [and healthy!] meal ever.) Or I can completely disregard the idea of meals for a day, like I did yesterday, and eat sardines on bread with loads of spicy brown mustard somewhere in the evening and call it dinner. There's no one to judge me, to ask me the nutritional value of something, or remind me that meringues and low carb/low sugar chocolate do not a filling meal make.

I think that I love cooking and eating alone as much as I like cooking for other people. Don't get me wrong, I love feeding people. I love sweating in the kitchen for hours preparing complicated dishes well beyond my experience level for huge groups. But cooking and eating alone is a very special experience. It gives me something to think about. In the morning, I pick a recipe (if I decide to try something new), or survey the contents of my pantry and cobble something together in my mind. I then run to the grocery store if I have to, but usually I only make meals I already have the ingredients for. There's no need to create extra work for myself. Then I come home, prep, chop, and ta-da! And hour later I have a beautiful meal, on a beautiful anthropologie plate. I sit down at my table with a book, listen to the jazz filtering in from my landlord's restaurant's garden seating, and enjoy. It makes me happy, content with my own company. And that's important.

It's Time (I Guess) To Move On?

2009-08-26T14:48:00.000-07:00

I've had a countdown on my dashboard called "New Yorkkkkk" since, oh, the week after I came home from Florence. And right now it says '6 Days.' And for as excited as I've been for so long to get back to the city that I have truly come to think of as my home, I've begun to develop cold feet.

It started with the apartment. My lovely roommate and I found one last week that we completely fell in love with. It's in Murray Hill, an area that I honestly never thought I'd live in. Now I can't seem to figure out why. It's really quite wonderful. There's a great mix of families, young professionals, and students. Our landlords are the most adorable older Italian couple who own the restaurant a few doors down. They remind me of my grandparents, and it made me smile when I overheard the wife assure my mother that she would watch over us. Our bedroom overlooks the restaurant's garden and a ton of ritzy brownstone patios, and the rent is such that I can (at least) afford to finish out the lease after I graduate.

But knowing that I have a real, actual, honest-to-god apartment terrifies me, in a way. I took the books off of my desk shelves in my bedroom yesterday, stowing them in the closet, because I need the desk in my apartment. All of a sudden, the picture of an empty corner in my bedroom appeared in my mind, surrounded in neon lights with an amplifier screaming "YOU'RE MOVING OUT! THIS IS YOUR LAST SUMMER HOME! GET READY FOR THE FUTURE!"

And although I'm ready, and I've known I'm ready for several years now, the future still scares me. Because, as obvious as it sounds, I don't have any idea what it brings. I was talking to an old friend from high school who relocated to the west coast a while back, and I was shocked and impressed at how neatly he had planned out the rest of his life, down to what he will do to keep busy when he retires. And I realized that I can't even plan out next year yet. Grad school? I'd love to, but not unless I get a full ride, because I sure as hell can't afford to saddle myself with more student loans. A job? Once again, I'd love to, but I'd also love if the job market was slightly more welcoming at the moment. And I need to get a good job. It would be wonderful to take a year off and join the Peacecorps or backback around Europe or work for a not-for-profit, but somehow I doubt Sallie Mae would be all "Oh, well now that we know you're doing something enriching with your life, we'll defer and/or forgive your copious amounts of student loans!" I need a plan, and a plan that Pays Well.

But the one thing I do know is that this plan will hopefully involve New York. I love that city more than any of the others that I've seen, although London and Paris come in at close seconds. I'm going to stay in New York for as long as I can manage it, unless I get a job offer that I truly can't refuse somewhere else. And I guess, as far as my plan goes, that's all I can ask to start out with.

Why I Could Never Live Alone

2009-08-17T19:25:00.000-07:00

So the summer is drawing to a close. I can't say I'm too upset, really. I don't really consider the last three months summer at all. It wasn't warm up until this week, and I barely saw any of my friends. It was more like an extended weekend during the school year when I just happened to come home to visit my parents.

But I noticed a slightly disturbing trend this summer. And it all has to do with me. I spend so much time alone when I'm not working, that when an opportunity to actually leave my house and do something arises, my first inclination is to say no. And it makes no sense, none at all. Because I loathe sitting around my house doing nothing. I don't watch television anymore, I don't cook, I don't do much of anything. I work, I eat dinner, I read for a bit, then I sleep. But not even because I'm tired. I'm just so, so bored. And yet for some reason I turn down invitations to do things that I really want to do, telling myself I shouldn't go, I'll be too tired to be any fun, I'll be too tired tomorrow. And then I get angry at myself when I realize that I actually did want to go out and socialize and be fun. It's like there's a little part of me that's trying it's hardest to sabotage all my efforts to be happy.

But I think this is why I love living with people my own age. If I lived alone, I honestly don't know if I would ever leave. And I would be miserable. But when I live with people, they force me to get up and get out, and I (almost) always have a good time. And even if we don't go out, then I have people to be around. Human contact is what keeps me sane.

So moral of this story is, when I say no to an invitation, it has nothing to do with you. In fact, I'm always scared that I'll say no one too many times and then people will just stop inviting me places. I'd love it if people would start making it a habit to ask two or three times if I'm sure I don't want to come. Usually that makes me rethink things. And I hope that when I'm actually around other sentient beings (my computer does not count) that I'm fun, because I usually am enjoying myself.

Home, or Now the Shit Hits the Fan

2009-08-08T04:32:00.001-07:00

I've always hated the phrase 'when the shit hits the fan.' It's so graphic. Have you ever actually thought about what would happen if shit actually did hit the fan? Really, really contemplated it? Gross, man.

Anyways, my week in the Minneapolis/St. Paul area was really fun. I got to see Minnesota family, who I very rarely get to see otherwise. We went to the Walker Museum, where I once again realized how few people like postmodern art as much as I do (Mom: "I don't get it," Me: "You're not supposed to!" Mom: "Then why see it?"). But I loved it, the crazy building, sculpture garden, and particularly the George Brecht Event Scores, which were little pieces of paper that "involve simple actions, ideas, and objects from everyday life recontexualized as performance" (some website). So fun.

We went to the Arboretum, something the adults enjoyed that I did too, because I am an old woman at heart. It was really quite interesting to learn how they've been working on genetically engineering plants that have evolved in warmer climates to survive the (very) harsh Minnesota winters.

We also saw a play about Ella Fitzgerald at the Guthrie Theater, which, despite having great music (Ella Fitzgerald, you know), had a pretty boring plotline, mostly because Ella had a fairly boring life.

On the way home, we got delayed in the Atlanta airport for about three hours, getting home much later than we thought we would. Lesson learned: never, ever fly Airtran. It's cheap for a reason.

But now I'm home, and I have to actually start Getting Shit Done. First order of business: Get a place to live. I have a date with the girl I know from Florence with whom I will be rooming with on Tuesday to go look at apartments, mostly in the Gramercy area. The whole apartment situation has been probably the hardest thing for me to deal with emotionally, I've felt so guilty and upset for the past three months. I think this is why I've been having stress dreams, all of which somehow involve Final Battles along the lines of Return of the King. I wander through these battle preparations not really knowing where I should be, or with which party I should be fighting. I wake up feeling ridiculously stressed, and frustrated too. Because I like Lord of the Rings, and I really, really want to know how the battle ends.

Long Time, No Blog?

2009-08-02T17:20:00.000-07:00

So um, greetings.
Haven't written in a while.
Hasn't been a whole lot to say, actually.
In short, I work. I come home. I sleep. A lot. I've read quite a few books. Work doesn't suck quite as much this year as it usually does. Mostly because I don't really do anything except read and sit and read. I see a good amount of Jessica Smith.
Being at home is kind of like an extended waiting period for school to start up again. Except it alternates with serious anxiety about where I'm living next year (still not a clue, but at least I have a roommate lined up. Mini steps) and what I'm doing after college (NYU Wagner doesn't require the GREs! Now if only I could afford it...).
I'm in Minnesota this week. Mom and I came out to visit family. I like Minneapolis/St. Paul, and I'm pretty sure Mom is hoping I'll decide to move out here as soon as college is over or something. Unfortunately, I plan on staying in New York until I run out of money, get deathly ill, die, etc. Maybe that's slightly extreme, and I'm sure eventually I (might) be forced to eat my words. Well. We'll see.
But I really have been having a good time. My cousins are great, and they've been taking me around. Gina took me out last night, which might be contributing to my current down mood (the fact that I'm tired, that is. Not the fact that she took me out. That was a lot of fun).
I fit in my jeans (comfortably!) again! We'll see if I still do at the end of this week.
Question: How many days left in the summer?
Answer: Blessed few.

The Floods Cometh

2009-06-19T04:37:00.000-07:00

I like rain. I always have. I like when it really RAINS, when it comes down steadily for a few hours. None of the off-and-on scattered showers shit, when you're never sure how to dress or whether you need an umbrella or if you should bother flat-ironing your hair in the morning or just hide it under a bandana. I want rain to be straightforward. I do not, however want said rain to last for longer than three hours. Just long enough for me to curl up with a hot cup of tea or coffee and a book or a movie, and emerge from the house to sun peaking through the clouds and the delicious smell of freshly-rained-upon Suburbia.

We have not been having that kind of rain lately. We have been having moody, cloudy, cold, vindictive rain. The kind of rain that comes down without the slightest bit of wind to make you think that it might blow away. The kind that keeps you trapped in the house, doing absolutely nothing and staring blankly out the window alternating with wanting to bathe in hopes that the sticky, humidity-caused film on your entire body will wash away. Unfortunately, it won't. You get out of the shower and just never completely dry.

I do not like this weather. I do not like the fact that I have no idea where I'm living next year. I do not like that I still haven't heard from Financial Aid, so I don't know if I will even be living in New York next year or commuting. I especially do not like that I have worked for a month now and have not gotten paid. I do not like having to hit my parents up for gas money.

I do like the fact that I have lost two pounds. I like the two live Iron and Wine cds I downloaded. I liked the Moroccan meal I made last night. I loved the book Beautiful Children. I liked the season premiere of Trueblood and that Eric the Vampire had foil in his hair when he ripped some dude's arm off. I like that Dead Like Me is on netflix instant-request, but am sad that it only ran for two seasons. I really like the new Phoenix album.

Did you know that you can find detailed directions of how to build an ark on the interwebs? No? Well, you can. And I shall post the link. Here you go:

Hop to it, kiddies.

Of Lubricious, Alacrity, and Perspicacious

2009-06-18T05:37:00.000-07:00

I've decided that this summer is going to be one of Self Improvement. If I'm going to be stuck in a random office/both/hut for the entire summer, I might as well make good use of my time. So a few days ago, I went out and bought a GRE review book ($40. Yeah. My account balance then read: $4.46), and went through, circled the words I didn't recognize, and made flashcards. And disturbingly, there were quite a few. Enough, in fact, to fill an entire pack of index cards. My hand hurt like a bitch after writing all that shit out.

Why is this so disturbing? Vocab is just memorization, right? Well, yes. Yes it is. But it's rather humbling for me to realize that there are, indeed, words I do not know. I read all the time, and I don't think I'm flattering myself when I say that I have a damn good vocabulary. But good lord, some of these words are just nuts.

The book started out with lists of words that seemed a lot like SAT words. Things like obfuscate, salubrious, etc. Words I know. As the lists went on, however, I realized I was circling a higher and higher percentage. Suddenly, I would come across words like Extirpate (verb: to destroy, exterminate, cut out, exscind), Asseverate (verb: to aver, allege, assert), and my personal favorite, Jejune (adjective: vapid, uninteresting, nugatory). And that's not even counting the seemingly simple words that have obscure, mostly unknown second meanings. Like, did you know that the word 'Guy' doesn't just mean that dude down the hall? It also means A rope, cord, or cable attached to something as a brace or guide. Now, if you're scaling a mountain and your rope breaks, you can scream "Fucking Guy!" as you plummet to your death hundreds of feet below.

I'm on a mission to use at least ten of these words in one sentence. 'It is salubrious to not commit lubricious acts or wear meretricious outfits for fear of appearing minatory and descending to the nadir of your life obstreperously and plangently." That's seven. I'm working up to ten, slowly but surely.

An Apology and a Summation

2009-06-16T18:30:00.000-07:00

So um. I'm kind of embarrassed about my blog post from yesterday morning. It was yet another one written in the midst of a panic attack. And I realize that losing weight takes time. I have to force myself to not to wish I could lose weight as fast as I did in freshman year, because that was anorexia and not a diet. The last thing I want is to have it control my life again. I don't want to be afraid of leaving the house because I'm afraid I'll be pressured into eating, I don't want my hair to start falling out in clumps again, and I don't want to stop getting my period for months.

So enough of that. Work actually hasn't been terrible yet. I've been mostly sitting around in various locations around the Park, whether it's the office, the beach booth, or the camping booth. I haven't had to wash too many bathrooms, and they finally stopped making me pick up garbage. I can't lift that shit.

I even really enjoy working the camping booth. It's a horrible shift, for sure, 12:45-9:15 on a saturday. But I like being alone in the camping booth with a book, some crossword puzzles, and my music. I like getting to sign in and talk to campers and see where they are all from. One hipster from Brooklyn offered to buy my old Fahnestock shirts, and I instantly regretted throwing them all out at the end of last summer. But at least now I know to sell them to Buffalo Exchange at the end of this season.

Last night, mom and I took a walk on the Dutchess Rail Trail. It reminded me a lot of the bike trail on the Cape. So this morning I came back for a run, and I was surprised at how I managed to run the majority of the distance. I only had to walk for a little less than a quarter of the time. Go me!

FmL

2009-06-15T03:59:00.000-07:00

So after seriously, seriously strict dieting since the day I got home (cutting down to 18 points a day, which is something around 1600 calories) I finally got the nerve to weigh myself. And I have gained two pounds. I don't understand. Why am I bothering to diet if I'm just going to gain weight? Now I'm up to ten pounds heavier than when I left for Italy. I thought that by coming home and just not eating gelato and pasta every day would help me lose weight. Nope, apparently cutting calories and working out every day actually makes you gain weight! Surprise!

Fuck this shit. I'm getting my thyroid checked. Maybe there's something wrong with me. It does run in the family, after all. And for now I'm eating 12 points a day.

Fahnestock Chronicles Entry no. 3: In Which She Finds Out That She Does, After All, Like Being Busy

2009-05-27T18:16:00.000-07:00

There were just three of us Seasonals (as we call ourselves) on today. The campground is still deserted except for some through-hikers on the Appalachian Trail, which means that it stays (fairly) clean. Usually, this time of year means that we sit in the office doing absolutely nothing until late June, and although that means I get a lot of reading done, it also means that I start to feel like my soul is sinking into this abyss of Nothingness. But today we had several tasks to complete. Three actually. It was like a fairy tale, where the heroes have to complete three tasks of increasing difficulty before earning the reward. Except in our case, the tasks weren't things like "spin all of the straw into gold," but "rake all of the mulch that is piled up outside the playground onto the playground" and the reward wasn't the hand of the princess but the ability to go home.

So our first task was the daily one: clean bathrooms. It was by far the easiest, because as I said earlier, no one camps this time of year. Our next was the aforementioned raking. This was slightly more difficult. The playground is small. Tiny, in fact. It's hard to really consider it a playground. But they ordered 200 feet of mulch, which, piled up outside of the playground probably reached higher than the slide. Even I, who can't back up a car, who tries to put circular containers inside square ones, and who constantly has bruises on my hips because I can't tell where my body ends and door frames begin realized that this was a little off. There was just far too much mulch for that little space. But we did our best, shoveling and raking until our hands hurt (and sides. I did enjoy knowing that I was getting a core workout, because I haven't been to the gym since last thursday) and the mulch was overlapping the slide and ladders. Yes, it still spilled over the sides. But no one will EVER get hurt on that playground now. Our third task was to paint the women's bathrooms at the beach. Although I haven't painted much, I discovered that I'm quite good at it. Painting works well with my perfectionism.

I realized that although I still haven't finished my book, I enjoy being busy far more than not. It makes the day go faster and I really feel like I do something at my job, instead of wasting my life. And I'm off tomorrow and friday! I'm going into the city overnight to see Sonia and Maddy and get dinner with my Firenze Friends. I'm so excited. Knowing that I'm going to the place that I really do consider my other home makes me so happy.

Also, I've totally been MIA over the past week. It takes a lot for me to want to leave the house after work. Usually I'm tired and numb and all I want to do is sleep. But force me to, please. I won't do it on my own.

And in other, totally unrelated news, everyone should run and listen to something written by Osvaldo Golijov. He's this Russian-Jewish-Mexican composer who writes glorious Latin music that even non-classical people would like. Listen to St. Marks Passion. It's life changing.

Fahnessotck Chronicles no. 2: Oh the Things That You'll Find

2009-05-26T18:47:00.000-07:00

This time of year is slow at the Park. Neither the beach nor the boat rentals are open on weekdays yet, there aren't many people in the campground, and there honestly just isn't much for us to do most days. However, today our Esteemed Assistant Manager decided that it was an excellent day to send the three summer-job kids (including me) to this trailhead on Route 9-D which apparently had a lot of garbage to be cleaned up. However, he didn't mention that this garbage must have been there for years. It was to the point where the bags were buried under the ground. In fact, there were several bags that I couldn't even get to because the roots of a tree had grown right over them. The weather wasn't bad, though, and the garbage was so old that anything able to decompose had already, so nothing smelled. In fact, it became kind of interesting to keep track of what we were finding, like the buried treasure of Things People Throw Away. Among these, we found:

- A computer keyboard from the Windows 95 era or earlier
- A sneaker
- A bag of bones (animal, and clean, so they'd been there a while)
- A bedframe
- A sandal
- Tires
- A bottle that looked like a soda bottle but with thicker walls and a child-proof top. It was filled with liquid, which made me wonder if perhaps it was toxic, hence the Top of Death
- A very large vertebra

I'm not sure what makes people decide to dump their trash by the side of the road instead of giving it to the garbage collector or driving it to the dump. It's not difficult, nor is it terribly expensive or far away.

Fahnestock Chronicles Entry no. 1: Prehistoric Man Walks Among Us

2009-05-25T03:41:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, someone demanded to know what his state taxes were doing if not paying for the beach parking fee. Which is $7. He looked like the former Army-man type, early to mid 30s, clean-shaven, muscular, with one of those square, flat topped haircuts made famous by every 1950s sitcom bully or gone-to-seed gym teacher who calls the unathletic kids 'faggots.' I felt like responding "bailing out Citibank," or "well, no one is making you come to the beach," but naturally I chickened out and just shrugged and raised an eyebrow, trying to hide my probably obvious dislike (my face shows all of my emotions as I feel them, but dislike and incredulity show particularly well). But really? You're going to complain about a $7 parking fee? Most state parks require and entrance fee plus a parking fee. And he continued to ask me after I said I didn't know!

Prehistoric Man: "But seriously, where do they go?!?"
Prehistoric Man's Wife: "Come on, honey, she doesn't know that"
Prehistoric Man: "But I want to know!"

What did he honestly expect me to do? Say, 'Oh, just one second, let me get Governor Patterson on his cell. In fact, we can conference call him right from the beach booth! Then you can tell him all of your issues with having to pay that hefty, wallet-lightening $7 parking fee. I'm sure he will be sympathetic. In fact, he might make EVERYTHING free for you! Groceries! Your (poor, poor) child's college education! Governor Patterson surely won't think you should pay for anything!"

What. On. Earth.

2009-05-22T05:41:00.000-07:00

Today, while cleaning out my closets (parts of which I haven't touched in at least 10 years) I found an old Keepsake Box, aka an Old Cardboard Tea Box That I Filled With Random Crap. Inside, among old plastic necklaces, that black stationary designed for those terrible Milky pens that always stopped working in the middle of writing something important, and imitation Revolutionary War coins, dice, and pencils (I was SUCH a Revolutionary War geek back in elementary school), was a small tin heart shaped box. I remembered that box very well, and I remembered putting something in it when I was really little. So I opened it up. Suddenly, there was brown powder all over my bedspread, and the smell of old, stale coffee grounds filled my nose.

I was the strangest child EVER.

Random and Perfunctory Thoughts

2009-05-21T03:48:00.000-07:00

I'm still waking up at 6:15 every day. The time change messed up my body clock, I think. Since I already get up early, coming back to the US just made my body want to get up earlier. Although I've always been rather fond of being awake during the daytime hours, it's getting slightly ridiculous. I have nothing to do with my time this early in the morning. The gym isn't open yet, my friends aren't awake (and soon won't be here at all), and it's too early to blast music and clean shit.

Last night Lauren had her barbeque, which devolved from a traditional "cook burgers and hot dogs and eat on the deck then maybe make s'mores in front of the fire pit" to "the boys are mixing keystone, vodka, lemonade concentrate, red bull, and pineapple juice to make 'The Force,' getting really shitty and talking about rugby." Rather entertaining, until the Rugby Talk began and I decided to go home. This is a shout out to Mitch, who told me to go home and write Witty Things about him. Ummm....Witty Things, Mitch, Witty Things.

So most of my friends are abandoning me beginning this weekend, going off to do Meaningful Things with their lives in various parts of the country while I stay home and work at Fahnestock, and in my spare time making bread that I won't eat. I've decided that when work starts, this blog is going to take on an alternate personality called "The Fahnestock Chronicles," where I entertain my wide, wide audience with tales of my work day. "The Fahnestock Chronicles" sounds so mysterious and full of adventure, like The Chronicles of Narnia or the Spiderwick Chronicles or Whatever-Ripoff-Of-LOTR/Chronicles of Narnia/Harry Potter-Lazy-Authors-Are-Writing-These-Days-To-Capitalize-On-A-Trend-Without-Making-Any-Significant-Impact-On-Good-Children's-Literature. Unfortunately, The Fahnestock Chronicles (I'm tired of typing quotation marks, and if that bothers y'all you can go suck it) will probably veer off in very non-mysterious, non-adventurous directions. I'll try my best to be all David Sedaris in Holidays on Ice about it though. Things like "Today, someone shat on the picnic table on campsite 28," or "We found a hypodermic needle in the back bathroom this morning," or "A crazy Appalachian Trail hiker tickled my foot today while I was reading Anna Karenina in the beach booth" do offer good possibilities. It'll be my masterwork.

2009-05-20T09:29:00.000-07:00

Last night my friends and I took a night off from sitting around Mitch's living room doing crossword puzzles and watching Family Guy marathons to go to the movies. I had been wanting to see Star Trek since I first saw the trailer, not because I know anything at all about Star Trek but because I had read good reviews and just really needed to get out of the house. I didn't really know what to expect. But it was really good! Surprisingly good! I mean, it was a bit annoying when a new character would be introduced and the entire audience would be all aflutter with "Ohmigosh that's So-and-So!!!!!" and I would just be like "hey, that guy has funny hair." But still, I got the general gist. But what I got out of the movie even more was a new crush on a fictional character. And no, it wasn't on Captain James Tiberius Kirk, that chiseled pretty boy with a devil-may-care attitude. It wasn't that doctor whose name I can't remember with funny hair (that's the one!). Nope, I'm all about the Spock.

Come on, tell me you wouldn't hit that. I mean, that's how I like my men, apparently; cerebral to the point of autistic, outwardly emotionless but inside churning, but still able to kick your ass. So my new goal in life is to find one of my own. In human form. Real life would be good too. Sorry Rahm Emmanuel. I'm moving on.

A Right Boulanger!

2009-05-19T04:21:00.000-07:00

See my bread-making skillz? Jk jk, I'm far better than this.

In the copious amounts of spare time I've had in the past week (haven't even heard from work yet about when I'm supposed to start. That doesn't bother me too much, since no one else, including the adults, have heard from our boss), I've taken up baking bread. I LOVE bread. It's the one thing I tried everywhere I went in Europe (well, along with chocolate, pastries, ice cream, etc. I like sweets too). The best bread I came across (suprise!) was in France. There were the knots of bread filled with olives, or ham and cheese, or tuna and cheese, or pistou in Nice and baguettes in Paris (I feel like I should write something in parenthesis just to keep the one-pair-of-parenthesis-a-sentence trend going). And now that I'm home, and despite the fact that bread in the US is actually quite a bit better than the no-salt-sawdust Tuscan bread, I really want to learn to recreate the wonderfully starchy, glutiny, carby things I ate.

So I made dinner rolls. Cornstalk dinner rolls. They really looked like cornstalks, meaning that you had to rip each "ear" of bread off yourself. And they were delicious. Success! Then came the no-knead bread. It had to rise overnight, then be shaped and cooked in a large cast-iron pot. Didn't have one of those so I used a stainless steel pot, which worked even though the crust was rather thinner and softer than it should have been. But it was also good! Success no. 2! Thennn I attempted a baguette. I definitely let it rise too long, because I wanted to go to the gym. And nothing is more important than my yoga. And I also had no idea how to shape it into a long loaf thing. So as it cooked it spread out instead of up. It didn't form a crust. And when you bit into it, it tasted like pizza dough. As it cooled, it became the texture and hardness of a baseball bat. Sooo baguette fail! Oh well, I guess it's how you learn. Dinner rolls are on the menu for Lauren's barbeque tomorrow. Buttermilk fantails and Parmesan pull-aparts! Oh yeah.

I Might be a Masochist

2009-05-14T17:31:00.001-07:00

So I'm actually totes excited that the MET is doing Wagner's the Ring Cycle this season. Even though it's four nights of Wagner. Heavy, trumpet-y, thick, angry Wagner. Each night being like 5 hours long. But come on. Going to see The Ring Cycle is like a badge of honor. Like living through 'Nam or an episode of 90210 while holding on to your sanity. And I'll be ready. I'll train, man. I'll listen to 20 minutes of Wagner every day until I can take it. Oh yeah. Wagner, here I come.

Welcome Home

2009-05-13T09:19:00.000-07:00

So hey. I'm um, home. Yeah.

Nothing has changed, really. Well, there are new curtains in my bedroom. I finally cleaned out my closets, and now I have no clothes. And I don't want to shop for any until I lose Italy weight, all 8 pounds worth. And I think since I lost a ton of weight before, it makes me even more impatient for this to come off. Every time I start to get a panic attack or start to think I have a double chin I sit down, breathe deeply, and repeat "At least it wasn't ten at least it wasn't ten." Maybe it's not the healthiest mantra, but it helps.

I've pretty much resigned myself to going back to Fahnestock. I'll just read the entire Random House List of the 100 Best Works of Fiction of the 20th Century. I don't want to commute an hour to work, and I want the scholarship. I've decided to put it towards a week or two in Paris after I graduate as a gift to myself.

I don't miss Italy really. I just miss being busy and having 8 people around all the time who I like. One thing that last semester taught me for sure is that I can't live alone. I like being alone for an hour, or an afternoon. But too much alone time makes me depressed.

Mreh. I guess I should like, wash the bathroom or go to the gym or something.

Yay for seeing Jessica and yay for everyone who is actually coming home this summer coming home soon! And yay for having enough money for a train ticket sometime in the near future.

What are you doing to me, Florence?

2009-05-07T08:40:00.000-07:00

A perfect sunset over San Lorenzo, which I never went in because it costs 4 Euro to enter a damn church.

I should have known this would happen. Florence is sneaky. It riles you up and makes you angry with its disorganization, its casual relationship with things like "opening times," and its suicidal moped drivers. It makes you feel so, so ready to go back to the United States, where things are open 24/7 (because there is always the chance that someone might need chocolate chips and beer at 3:00 AM), there is no language barrier (unless you go to Spanish Harlem), and a stop light really means Stop, not stop-if-your-feeling-like-it-but-if-you're-not-then-mreh. But the last few days have been the most beautiful that we've had all semester, with crystal clear blue skies juxtaposed with the bright yellow of the buildings. And the people! I have no explanation for this, but suddenly they're being nice. Really nice. A really imposingly elegant old man with a frown that seemed to be plastered onto his face smiled and winked at me when I reached in front of him to press the Stop button when on the bus yesterday. And when Jen and I wandered around getting gifts, we stopped to get chocolates for our parents at Vestri, my favorite chocolate store in the city (their basil-chocolates are divine, weird but really really wonderful), the man behind the counter gave us free samples and THEN free gelato!

Pistachio, Praline, Blueberry. Exactly the flavors I would have picked myself. HOW DID YOU KNOW, VESTRI?

And now, I don't feel prepared to leave. I was all set, ready and even excited to leave Italy. But with this weather and the Florentines finally not acting like they have a collective stick up their asses all the time (excuse my bluntness), I really would like to stay a while longer. There are places I didn't get to go, like Calabria and Sicily and Abruzzo. There are places I would have liked to eat, pastries to buy, cooking classes to take. NYU should have given us a few days to relax before kicking us out of housing, to do all the things in Florence that we haven't had time to do with work and then finals (which went really well, to keep y'all updated). But they don't. And I will have to content myself with yesterday afternoon, when I wandered around with Jen for hours, without any real goal after buying chocolates, and took pictures that I never took because God Forbid the Italians Think I'm a Tourist. A few pictures from my travels yesterday:

Oh Via Micheli, I will miss you so much.

The best window ever, and I will recreate it in Brooklyn. Yeah. Maybe.

The architecture building of University of Florence was always my favorite.

The Final Countdown

2009-05-03T23:12:00.000-07:00

4 Days until I leave for home! 5 Days until I get there.

Please let them go quickly.

Things I'm Currently Obsessed With

2009-05-01T22:51:00.000-07:00

1) The Hazards of Love by the Decemberists

I haven't loved an album quite as much as this in a long time. Considering their penchant for writing songs about cranes that turn into women, family feuds, and ghosts who haunt the barrows, it's surprising that it took them this long to write a prog-rock opera. And it's amazing. A little heavy on the death-metal guitar riffs, the complex plot line totally makes up for it. There's a maiden who finds a hurt faun that turns into a man when the sun falls, a crazy queen who found the man when he was a child and turned him into a faun to save him from the human race and hates the maiden for taking him away, a sociopath father who murders his three children then abducts the maiden, and the three ghost children who come back for revenge. Like you would expect from a Decemberists album, shit goes down and doesn't end happily. But it's so amazing, I can't stop listening to it. And the instrumentation! is! great! They totally use harpsichord at one point.

2) Trattoria Cibreo

Cibreo is widely acknowledged as the best restaurant in Firenze. It is, however, mad expensive and completely out of my reach. Not so for the small trattoria next door, which shares the same kitchen as Cibreo and a lot of the same menu. On thursday, Nicole, Jen, and I walked over, keeping our fingers crossed that they'd have a table (they don't accept reservations). And they did! Plenty, actually. The waiter was the nicest old man ever. He helped us with the menu, and seemed sincerely happy that we attempted to communicate in Italian. Cibreo only serves tradition Tuscan food (read: no pasta), so Jen and I split a plate of polenta for a primi. I got salsiccia e fagioli for a secondi, the traditional sausage in black eyed peas. It was amazing, really simple but hearty and good.

Then for dessert I got their famous flourless chocolate cake. It was incredible, and tasted a lot like dark chocolate fudge. We sat there talking for a long time, and then the waiter came over, winked at us, and put another dessert on the table. It was the nicest I've ever been treated by an Italian. This entire semester. And I know he was being paid for it, but whatever.

3) Astology

Last night we had some people over for dinner, and our friend Chris started talking about astrology. He's really into it, to the point where he used to ask people their sign before even asking them their name. But anyways, he was explaining our signs to us and what all the different signs and planets mean, and then he gave us this website that will calculate our chart for us. And oh, my, god, how true it is. I'm such a virgo. Apparently each person has three main signs. Your Rising Sign is the side of you that you show to the world, basically how people see you. My Rising Sign is Sagittarius, meaning that You are known for being open, frank, outgoing and honest. At times, though, you are also blunt and quite indiscreet...You appreciate living your life in a straightforward and simple manner -- you dislike social niceties and consider them to be hindrances to real communication. Which is to a certain extent true. Your Sun Sign is the side of you that is inside, the way you really are. I'm totally a virgo. Extremely careful and cautious by nature, you value neatness and order above all else. You rigorously practice very high standards of living and conduct and you demand the same of everyone with whom you come into contact. At times, you are so supercritical that you are merely nit-picky. You are very good at practical skills and quite handy with tools of all kinds. You are also greatly concerned with hygiene, cleanliness and personal health problems. Very likely your health is much better than you think it is -- don't worry so much! Extremely methodical and analytical, you are a perfectionist -- this makes you the perfect person to carry out highly detailed, precise operations. But, at times, you pay so much attention to details that you lose sight of the larger issues. Creepy, right? Then your last really important sign is your Moon Sign, which is the way you act in emotional, high stress situations. Once again, eerily accurate. You tend to be serious-minded but cheerful for the most part. You need tasks that engage both your mind and your hands. A careful worker, you enjoy making things. You are neat and orderly, and are very concerned with good health habits. Fastidious to the extreme, you cannot tolerate messes and will immediately clean them up. Reserved, shy, and very self-critical, you tend to be very hard on yourself. You usually will go out of your way to be helpful and useful to others. Practical, reliable, efficient and conservative, at times you are a bit of a prude. You are known to lead a simple, uncomplicated, frugal, methodical and unemotional lifestyle. You are devoted and caring to those you love. The the kicker is, it even echoes my taste in men down to a T. Here's my Venus sign, the love sign. You have a striking, regal appearance and demeanor that attracts others to you. Your friendship is highly sought and you tend to take friendships quite seriously -- you remain loyal and true to those to whom you are attached. For you, love is mixed with pride and respect. Relationships are over when you lose respect for your partner. Be careful of a tendency to relate only to those who make you look good -- the powerful, important and influential. This can lead to arrogance and selfishness, and neither of these qualities becomes you. I mean, ignoring the whole thing about the regal appearance (I'm 5'1''), THIS TOTALLY EXPLAINS MY LOVE FOR RAHM EMMANUEL.

Rome: The Eternal City or Damn that Shit is OLD

2009-04-26T22:29:00.000-07:00

Roman Ruins + Baroque Architecture + Modern Technology = ROME

Last weekend, Lauren and I finally took our long-overdue weekend trip to Rome. I had considered skipping Rome earlier on in the semester to go to Palermo instead, but after a lot of people yelling at me for that choice (and the fact that tickets to Palermo got prohibitively expensive overnight), I finally decided that Rome was the better decision. After all, if you're going to a country, you really have to see its capitol, especially if it is as grand as Rome.

When we got to Rome on Friday, we went and checked into the hotel, which was perfectly adequate with really nice people at the front desk (we accidentally booked the wrong days, and they fixed it up for us with no problem). Since it was beautiful out, we decided to wander down to the old, ruin-y section of town. It turns out that since it was cultural week, all of the national sites were free. So we got into the Colloseum for free! And the Forum! Woo! (Except for the fact that in the long run we didn't save any money because we had to pay extra for Friday night in the hotel...ah well).

So, the Colosseum was definitely worth the trip. It was incredible. HUGE. And fun fact: the reason it's higher on one side than the other is because during the 1500s, a bunch of rich people pillaged the stones and took them to use on other building projects, namely St. Peter's basilica. Which totally. blows. my. mind. Like, it's as if someone decided to knock down the pyramids to build their house. Who does that?

Afterwards, we walked through the Forum. We hitched on to a free tour offered by this young Historical-Theology grad. Turns out he is from Louisiana, and is the only tour guide recommended by name by the New York Times. So, that was lucky. On nice days, he gives free tours to drum up attendance for his other tours, including one of the Vatican Museum and the Sistine Chapel, which we decided to go on.

L

The Vatican museum was also pretty incredible, and the tour was really interesting. But after walking clear across Rome to get to Vatican City, it was (unsurprisingly) pretty difficult to get into the different Greek Sculpture styles that influenced Michelangelo. But the tour was so interesting that I forced myself to pay attention anyway, and all for the better. I now can tell you exactly which frescos were inspired by Greek Classical style v. Greek Terrible style...so um...go me! More useless knowledge to take up space in my head that could otherwise have been filled with something practical like, oh I don't know, how to balance a checkbook? The Sistine Chapel was pretty much everything it was cracked up to be. And when we went into St. Peter's, I honestly considered converting on the spot. The entire Statue of Liberty, laid on its side, could fit in St. Peter's! There are types of marble that are no longer find-able anywhere! There was a choir! Yes please.

We decided to take Sunday easy, considering that we basically walked the Boston Marathon the day before. We took the metro down to Trastavere and walked around looking at the real people (read: Not Tourists) in their sunday church clothes. We found an open pasticceria where I got my only real sfolliatella this semester (they make them filled with pastry cream up here...down south they're made correctly with ricotta and candied orange). It was heavenly. We then walked over to the ghetto to look at the small streets that sprung up when the Pope basically decreed that the Jews had to be put in pens. The synagogue was beautiful, but I wasn't feeling paying the entrance fee so we only saw the outside. After getting a fried artichoke, we decided that we should go back to the hotel or risk our legs falling off from exhaustion. So we went on the computer until it was time to go home.

All in all, quite a good weekend. Rome is one of my favorite places ever. In fact, I decided on my five favorite cities a few days ago. Here it is!
1) New York
Surprise! The reasons are kind of self-explanatory.
2) Paris
The only city that impressed me as much as New York. In fact, the only reason it isn't number one is because I was a) only there for three days and b) New York is my home.
3) London
Basically New York with (debatably) better accents.
4) Barcelona
The city with a better youth culture than any others I've been to. Yes, that was a terrible sentence.
5) Rome
The juxtaposition of the New, Old, Really Old, and REALLY REALLY DAMN OLD makes up for the things that suck about it, like terrible table service at restaurants and suicidal drivers.

Alessandra, Un Po di Passione!

2009-04-23T01:29:00.000-07:00

I've been playing a piece called Baal Shem in lessons this semester. It's honestly not going as fast as I would like, partly because Simone and I spend half the lesson trying to figure out what the other is saying, and partly because it's actually really damn hard. But the other problem is one that reoccurs every year, with pretty much every teacher I've had. They try so, so hard to get me to be expressive, and I just can't do it.

Yesterday I was playing the end of the Nigun (Contrition, so you get the picture of what it sounds like) movement, and when I was done, Simone just looked at me and said, "Alessandra, un po di passione!" He asked me how old I was, and was like, you should have so many emotions! Sing! Play as if you are singing! Don't you have passions?

And I realized:

Maybe I don't.

Well, it's not that I don't have passions. But I'm not really a passionate person. I love people, and I love books, and I love music. But when it comes down to it, I have no idea how to channel that kind of feeling into my violin. Maybe it's because nothing passion-inducing has ever happened to me. I hate to think that the way I play is the way I will live the rest of my life, being technically proficient but completely soulless. I often think I'm playing with emotion, but no one else seems to agree. It's so frustrating, because I know it's the only thing holding me back from actually being good. I don't Joshua Bell good, but a good amateur violinist.

Ah well, maybe it's something that will come with age? With life experience (of which I admit I have very, very little)? Maybe this summer?

Because I've decided, in order to keep my sanity and to stop hurting the feelings of the people I love, I've decided to treat this summer as a Coming of Age summer, a la a Noah Baumbach movie. So, expect awkward hijinks and emotional growth! Maybe by the end of the summer I'll be able to write my own quirky memoirs, tinged with sadness, but at the end satisfying and heartwarmingly bittersweet.

And let me say something. I've apparently hurt a few people with things I've written, or not written on my blog. I've been treating it too much like a livejournal, spilling out what I'm really feeling without thinking about the fact that oh, hey, people are going to read it. So I've deleted any entries that are too mean spirited or self-indulgent, and I'm not going to write about the way I'm feeling again. That's best left inside my head, because it's usually written in the heat of the moment, and whatever I'm feeling passes fairly quickly, leaving very little of the original sentiments behind. And please, please, please, a lot of what I've written was intended to be sarcastic and funny. I don't really intend to develop a cocaine habit this summer, or begin cutting myself, or off myself in the beach booth or the park office. I don't really hate myself. Please never take me seriously.

And I actually am not as sad to come home as I might seem from everything I've written. I love my parents, and I love spending time with my mother. I'm looking forward to cooking and going to yoga with her, and going to the Rhinebeck craftfair, and working in the garden. I'm glad some of my friends will be home, because I miss them so, so much and they are the people that keep me sane. I know the people will be enough to keep me entertained this summer, and they are worth coming home for. So, home I go! I'm not going to be too sorry to leave Italy. It's beautiful, but a semester was just enough for me. I'm no ex-pat candidate (except maybe if I can learn French - I'll move to Paris in a heartbeat). I'm excited to speak to shopkeepers in english, to understand conversations going on around me, and to eat enough Vietnamese food and sushi to make me want to vomit. And get soft serve at Joe's with my friends, and have a picnic at the Vanderbilt mansion. I'm not far from the city, so I can go in and visit Maddy and Sonia and my friends here and maybe stay over sometimes (Jen has already told me I have full claim to her pull-out couch), and if people have time they can come visit me in Fishkill and we can, I don't know, frolic in a field or go to the mall or hang out in a parking lot or some shit. The summer is not going to be terrible.

A Belated Mommy Post

2009-04-22T12:28:00.000-07:00

So this is rather belated, but what do I do when I'm not writing self-indulgent posts on this blog (which should be all gone, as I said, I'm turning over a new leaf!)? Why, go to Venice with my mother, of course!

Mom came to visit about two weeks ago, and it was lovely. She arrived on Saturday night, and stayed until the following Sunday, Easter. During the week, we wandered around Firenze, eating gelato and seeing all the sights that she remembered from the last time she was here. I really had a great time. It was wonderful to have someone to eat lunch with after class, and to wander around with having an excuse to do touristy things like go see the David again, with someone who could actually explain Renaissance Art. We went to Fiesole and Bologna, and climbed up to see the view, wandered around the Oltarno, and ate really good food. It was the kind of week I love when I'm at home. And it was great just to have here there, even when we were just hanging out in the apartment being tortured by allergens.

Then on Thursday, we went off to Venice. I honestly didn't expect to like Venice very much. It must be so overhyped, I thought. Everyone goes to Venice! Tourists everywhere! Ugh! But when I got there, I realized that well, sometimes things really are all they are cracked up to be.

This really is what it looked like. The light is different in Venice. It's golden, fresh, and smells like the sea without any air pollution due to car exhaust (except when you're standing near the vaporetti).

I loved the basilica. Byzantine Architecture is my favorite ever, and the basilica was straight out of my mosaic-and-icon filled dreams. The Byzantine Architecture was pretty much the only reason I had wanted to go to Palermo so badly (other than the fact that it's probably the closest I could get to the Middle East any time soon).

Gondolas exist. Well, only for tourists. But they were still beautiful, and watching them float down the canals was like stepping back in time.

Other than wandering around, we went to the Peggy Guggenheim collection, and I got my bi-monthly modern art fix. The museum had some really really great Miro paintings and Pollocks, and a few of my favorite Klees. It was really great, and small, which is just the way art museums should be. We went to Santa Maria della Salute, which I loved. We also went to Murano, and looked at the glass. Mom bought a beautiful necklace.

So, that was the week. I miss my mom a lot now. But tomorrow I'm off to Roma with Lauren! We have a hotel, our train tickets, and sandwiches. Now if only the weekend wouldn't be rainy....

Aren't they Polite?

2009-04-21T22:32:00.000-07:00

Someone did this on the wall to the botanical garden sometime over the past few days. Let me translate: "Pacifism? No thank you. Revolt!" i just love it. In the US, if you ever see political graffiti, it's shit like "Fuck Bush!" Leave it to the Italians to class up political vandalism.

In other news, last night when I was trying to get into the ridiculously high closet that Ikea so kindly provided for me (I have to stand on my tiptoes while standing on my chair to hang things up), the entire hanging pole thing fell down, taking all of my clothes with it. Now it's impossible to put it back up, because oh hey, I can't reach, and no one in my apartment is above 5'3".

2009-04-20T02:20:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I watched the Youtube clip of Susan Boyle on Britain's Got Talent or whatever that show is called, and proceeded to cry hysterically for about 20 minutes. Why am I such an emotional nutcase?

A Glorious, Exhausting, and Ultimately Sickness-Producing Weekend in Paris

2009-04-01T12:10:00.001-07:00

Let me preface this entry by saying that, no matter how cliche it may sound, Paris is truly everything that it is cracked up to be. Even in the cold and the rain, even when you only have two days to (unsuccessfully) try to do and see everything, even when once again everyone you are traveling with runs out of credit on their phones and subsequently gets cranky and hard to get along with, even then Paris works its magic. It truly is one of the most beautiful, romantic, and enchanting places that I have ever been.

Day One
We managed to get the plane out of Pisa on Thursday despite Ryanair being the ridiculous excuse for an airline that it is and charging us all 25 euro (!!!) for not checking in online (despite the fact that when we bought tickets the website clearly said that only EU citizens could do so, then changed the rules a week before we left to include non-EU citizens and didn't deign to let anyone know). Our flight was pretty uneventful, and we landed in Paris-Beauvois only to realize that we had to take a shuttle bus to Paris proper because Beauvois is oh, 90 miles or so outside of Paris. So moral of this story is, next time use a real airline. Ryanair really isn't a deal when you factor in surprise fees/shuttle buses/years taken off your life because of stress.

We found our hotel, which actually wasn't a letdown. It was clean, and in a really charming residential neighborhood somewhere near the Champs-Elysees. The next morning we woke up at 7:00, determined to milk every second of our two days in Paris. After getting pastries fresh out of the oven from a pastry shop (the pain au chocolate burned my mouth!) we set of for Musee l'Orangerie, home of Monet's waterlillies. I know it sounds trite, but that was the one thing I wanted to see above all else in Paris. I honestly couldn't stop smiling, and I definitely started crying more than once. The rest of the museum was lovely, but nothing compares to seeing the waterlillies in real life.

After we finished at l'Orangerie, we headed over to Ile de la Cite to go to Sainte Chapelle. It ended up being closed, so we got lunch instead. Then, since we had some more time before Sainte Chapelle opened up again after lunch, I convinced everyone to take a detour with me to Pierre Herme and Laudree, beginning my Great Macaron Hunt. Anyone who knows me can vouch that macarons are some of my favorite foods on the planet, and I'd been reading about Laudree and Pierre Herme macarons for ages. We got to Laudree first, and I bought one chocolate macaron and one salted caramel macaron. The salted caramel macaron was ridiculously good, but the chocolate one was a little dry. But the shop itself was so lovely, so pastel and filled with beautiful pastries that it made me feel like I was living in Sophia Coppola's Marie Antoinette. But onward! To Pierre Herme, where the macarons were smaller which totally justified me buying six and spending 10 euro. But heavens to Betsy, they were SO GOOD. And I made friends with the guy behind the counter after he teased me about my god-awful French accent. But I actually got pictures of the macarons! And I can tell you what they are! Even though I know no one will get nearly as excited about this as I am!

So from the upper left going clockwise, they were: Arabesque (Apricot and pistachio), Olive Oil (didn't like that one too much. It basically tasted like sweet, coagulated olive oil. I gave it to Jen, who liked it way more than I did), Chocolate Passionfruit (my favorite), Delicieux (wasabi and grapefruit), Coffee, and Americano Pamplemousse (Grapefruit and Campari). MMMMM.

After basically inducing diabetic shock, we wandered back up towards Ile de la Cite to go to Notre Dame. Notre Dame was big, and crowded, and people were wandering around despite the fact that there was a service going on, which confused me a little. They definitely close down the Duomo when services are going on. But anyways, it was very impressive, and just affirmed what I already knew: I much prefer medieval art and architecture to Renaissance. Sucks that I'm in Florence, I guess.

Soooooo after we finished wandering around Notre Dame we went on to the Louvre, which has free entrance for people under 26 on Friday nights. Now, let me clarify, in case you didn't know: The Louvre is Big. Massive even. Think Met Massive. Then think filled to capacity with adolescents. Running. And taking pictures of themselves holding their respective countries' flags in front of the Mona Lisa. Yeah. It was slightly overwhelming. But anyway, Jen and I went in knowing that we wanted to see the Mona Lisa, Winged Victory, and Vermeer's The Lacepicker. We also knew that the one thing we didn't want to see was Renaissance Art. So naturally, we got lost on the way to the Mona Lisa and ended up wandering around the Grand Neverending Hall of Everything Renaissance for a good 45 minutes. It was a Special Kind of Hell. And then we got to where the Vermeer was supposed to be and found that it wasn't there. Discouraged and feeling like our brains might explode from culture overload, we retreated to the lobby to chose a restaurant for dinner.

Luckily, Nicole showed up and invited us to get dinner with her and her friend who was studying at the American University in Paris. We went to this amazing bistro, and after dinner went up to Au Lapin Agile, a cabaret that had been around since the 1920s, where Edith Piaf used to perform and intellectuals used to hang out. It was really fun, but I was so tired that I had to leave earlier than everybody else for fear of falling asleep in my cognac. I took the metro home and didn't freak out or get lost or anything, and I felt so proud of being a Big Girl. I then passed out.

So, if you have gotten all the way through this entry, props to you. I'd go into to the next day's adventures, but I have an Italian quiz tomorrow that I have yet to study for. So! I will continue tomorrow.

(A Belated) Overview of Spring Break

2009-03-26T07:44:00.000-07:00

So I now I've been back from Spring break for two weeks now, but I honestly haven't had time/been in the mood to update and let ya'll know how it went. Well, if you're still interested, here goes:

Nice
Nice was absolutely heavenly. For some reason, I went into Nice thinking it was going to be cool but a little seedy, like a French Coney Island or Viareggio. But man, I was wrong. It was really lovely, with the the bluest ocean ever on one side and hills on the other. The buildings were all pastel and had terraces, the streets were cobblestoned and the sidewalks wide. We went to the Matisse Museum and the Contemporary Art Museum (where I might have been the only one actually enjoyed myself...oh Contemporary Art. Thou art not for the masses).

We also spent a ton of time on the beach, lying out and eating French bread and brie. And pastries. OH GOD THE PASTRIES, I MISS THEM.

After Nice, we went on to Barcelona, via Dublin. Yeah, it makes no sense why a ticket to Dublin then to Barcelona cost less than a train to Barcelona...

Barcelona

But Barcelona was wonderful, in a completely different way from Nice. It has a long history, and a beautiful old section. But at the same time, it expanded and modernized, allowing it to stay relevant on a world-wide level. That's my main complaint about Florence...it's beautiful and had a fantastic and illustrious Renaissance. But name one important thing that has happened since. Hence why I could live in Barcelona, but definitely not in Florence.

We went to Sagrada Familia, the famous cathedral that Gaudi started and is still being built 100 years later, Park Guell, the Picasso Museum, the Chocolate Museum (by which time I was definitely going through diabetic shock and couldn't eat any more sugar), Santa Maria del Mar, La Boqueria, and the Miro Museum.

We ate chocolate, tapas, strange tropical fruit from La Boqueria, Catalan food, some of the best macarons outside of Paris, drank absinthe with Hemmingway's ghost, and ate bad paella.

Best of all, it was WARM and sunny and smelled nice. Really, I loved Barcelona so much. I'd go back in a heartbeat.

Someone Figure Out My Life For Me

2009-03-20T01:10:00.000-07:00

Or at least my summer plans.

Being here, and my beyond-shitty winter break made me realize that there is no way I can go home this summer. Fishkill is deadening, emotionally speaking. There's nothing to do, a lot of my friends will be elsewhere, and honestly, I just don't think I could make it through one more summer at home without taking anti-depressants. So a few days ago, when Sonia imed me and asked if I wanted to sign a lease in East Williamsburg starting in May, my reaction was essentially "YESYESYESYES." Being in New York in summer is so romantic. Even being poor in New York. There are free things to do everywhere, free concerts in Central Park, free movies, free afternoons at the museum. I don't care if it's hot and gross and smelly and I walk around everywhere with running makeup and sweaty clothes. No matter what, it beats another summer in Fishkill. And New York is the only thing I miss about the United States, except for the people and light whole wheat english muffins.

So I'm determined to make it happen. The only thing is, I have no idea how I'm going to do it. My parents will let me go to the city this summer, but they won't pay for my rent until classes start. I remember my friend Kendall telling me that it was less expensive for her to live in Brooklyn for the entire year than to live in NYU housing for nine months. But I totally understand that me taking care of my own rent this summer would save them money, and with the economy as it is I guess that's best. So rent is on me. I'm not too worried about making enough money for books next year. This semester I didn't spend anything on books, relying on reading them in the library. So if worse comes to worse I could do that next year. And if the schedule that I want works out, then I will have thursdays and fridays off next semester. So I can have enough time to both waitress or get a desk job and do my research for my honors thesis.

Now all I need to do is figure out how to get a job for this summer. Or several jobs. Paying internships seem to be out of the question right now, and the sociology department doesn't exactly help you get any internships at all (they expect you to do research and go on to grad school, which right now is the path I prefer). I'm not interested in doing another arts administration internship. Working at IMG made me realize that private arts administration isn't really the sector I want to go into. I'm more interested in the public policy/social policy thing right now, but I don't really know how to get an internship in something like that. I'm considering not getting an internship at all and just working, so that I can afford to be in New York.

Am I making a mistake? Should I stay home and commute? My parents say that they will cover the cost of commuting, which might end up being $300-$400 a month (only $200 less than living in Brooklyn, I might add). Should a get an unpaid internship and a waitressing job and a babysitting job and live in New York? Should I just work? Should I use the money my Nonno left me in for the rent on my first apartment this summer instead of when I graduate? How are other people going to swing this?

Someone Explain This to Me

2009-03-19T10:22:00.001-07:00

Over the past few days, no less than three Italians have stopped me on the street to ask me directions. While I'm wearing bright colors, something no one here does. While I'm listening to my ipod, so I can't hear them. While there are plenty of black-clad, ipod-free Italians walking all around me. So, why ask me? Why ask the girl who is obviously American, even wearing a bag that says "A Bag From Barcelona" IN ENGLISH? I'm quite proud of myself, though. Instead of just involuntarily saying "sorry!" and flailing my arms like I usually do when spoken to in a different language, I actually held it together well enough to reply "Mi dispiace, no lo so" (I'm sorry, I don't know). I did know twice, but unfortunately my italian skillz do not extend to giving people directions.

F my L

2009-03-19T00:07:00.000-07:00

Mom: I'm sick. Fever, head cold, the whole thing.
Me: I'm so sorry.
Mom: Don't you get sick!
Me: Don't worry, I have a really strong constitution. I never get sick.

Yeah, now I'm getting sick.

In other news, Epic Spring Break Update to come later.

Success!

2009-02-26T06:55:00.000-08:00

So! I made it through the week, albeit just barely. I did my presentation in Opera this morning, which went really well even if I was rushed and had lots more I wanted to talk about. Then I studied for my Italian quiz until my brain reached maximum capacity and I couldn't memorize even one more vocab word and figured that even if il sopraccaglio was on the quiz I didn't fucking care because it just wasn't going to happen. But the quiz went ok, I hope, and then I just sat there and thought about how hungry I was, and how much I didn't have food at home, and how I really, really wanted something plain and fatless and (most of all) Asian, to make up for the pasta with polpo (octopus! yummmmm), bread, and two desserts (in my defense, I split both with two other people) that I had at Rishma's birthday dinner last night. And then inspiration struck!

On the way back from class, I stopped at Esselunga (the closest thing to an American grocery store around) and bought myself some brown rice, sushi ginger, smoked salmon (on sale, on sale, in case my mom is reading this), carrots, and zucchini. I then came home and made myself the most delicious, satisfying rice bowl I think I've ever had. Never have I craved brown and raw vegetables and SOY SAUCE as much as I did today. I'd go so far to say it was the best lunch I've had since I got here. I'm sorry now that I didn't take a picture, but I was too too hungry.

God, I'm so tired. I feel as if I spend the majority of my life saying that this semester, but it's true. I'm tired. My body is tired, and right now (thanks, Opera and Italian!) my mind is too. I blame it on being so busy, and having more fun than I generally do during the school year. Take for example, last weekend.

I wasn't feeling that great on Friday, so I called Lauren and asked her if she wanted to just wander around Florence for a while. We went across the Arno, and all the way up towards San Miniato, even though we never actually made it there because we got tired and I punked out and didn't want to keep searching. But the area across the Arno through which we walked was incredible. The houses were massive, and much newer than anything on my side of the river. New, I mean, as in the 1800s instead of the middle ages. New as in the Pitti Palace's "Modern Rooms." New as in, older than most everything in America. It was like being in a different city, though. Just lovely.

On Saturday, Jen and I decided last minute to meet the boys in Siena for the day. I got in touch with Lauren, and we all met at the train station. It was a nice day, even if it cemented things in my mind that make me rather sad. But anyway, Siena is absolutely beautiful. Their Duomo was spectacular. Although the facade was unimpressive compared to some I've seen, including Florence's Duomo, the inside was incredible. The walls were made of striped white and blue marble, while the ceilings were painted navy blue with gold stars. The frescoes in the library were painted by Michelangelo. I would have moved in, were it not so deathly cold (marble tends to be rather chilly) and if I didn't know that they'd kick me out. After hanging around the Duomo for a while, we went to Piazza del Campo, the large piazza in the center of the city. All the little children were dressed up for Carnivale, and ran around throwing confetti and shooting silly string. They were adorable.

Then on Sunday, I went to Viareggio for Carnivale with NYU. Viareggio is a beachside city that reminded me a lot of Coney Island. It was pretty but seedy, and you could tell that it was well past it's prime. But the parade was great, with massive floats that all seemed to be political, but that went over my head because I'm not as up on my Italian politics as I know I should be. But it was a fun day, even if I don't think I would go back to Viareggio.

This weekend I'm heading to Lake Como on Saturday, and spending the rest of the time studying. Midterms are coming up, and I'm scared. Not so much for Islam and Christianity, but I feel like I've been grasping Italian by threads, and I'm not sure how well I'm going to do.

Week from Hell

2009-02-25T23:08:00.001-08:00

So I got a lovely note from my dear friend Jessica telling me to update my blog, and I will, I promise, as soon as today is over. Because this has been the first Week from Hell so far this semester. It kind of just crept up with no warning, and suddenly it was all Presentation! Quiz! Paper! Midterms! in rapid succession. And it's not even over yet, and won't be until this time next week, when I will be on my way to sunny Nice and Barcelona and I will be extraordinarily happy.

But anyways, I do have a lot to update you all about last weekend, so I will try to write something tonight, in between watching 4 hours of Don Carlos and crying myself to sleep.

How is lightning like a violist's fingers?

2009-02-18T09:10:00.000-08:00

Today in my violin lesson there was a terrible string-breaking squawky noise from the next room, and my teacher looked up, made a disgusted face in that general direction, then smiled and said "It's a viola." So glad to know that viola jokes exist in Italy.

Things I Miss About New York

2009-02-17T22:30:00.000-08:00

1) My Parents
My Mom reads my blog now! Hi Mom!

2) Asian Food
Mostly Vietnamese. I came across a recipe for summer rolls yesterday while trolling the interwebs and almost drooled on my keyboard. I've heard that the Chinese restaurants in Florence are not worth going to for any other reason than to say you've eaten terrible Chinese food in Florence, and while there's one affordable sushi place I've yet to go. I'm afraid it will be terrible and then I'll just spend the rest of the day really sad.

3) Meat in General
I'm a terrible meat cooker, and I hate having to think about dinner at breakfast. So I never defrost anything, and anyways meat is super expensive, so I've been living off beans and vegetable and carbs.

4) New York
It's my city. All of my friends here are all "I'm Never Going Back to the States" while I'm all "This Place is Pretty but I Could Never Ever Live Here." I'm realizing Florence is definitely not metropolitan enough for me. I love the imposing grandeur of New York best. I think it has something to do with the fact that it was the first city I fell in love with, and the one that I plan on living in for the rest of my life, even if that requires me to sell my soul or live without health insurance in a little studio with 48574865 roommates in Bed-Stuy.

5) My Roomies
I missed Sonia's 21st birthday. You have no idea how sad that makes me.

6) AMERICAN COFFEE
I'm not down with this espresso-take-one-sip-that-feels-like-acid-pouring-down-your-throat-then-leave shit. I miss getting the largest size caffe americano available from Starbucks (which I refuse to call by whatever ridiculous pretentious name they gave it and just say "large," although I realize that by refusing to play by their rules I am in my own way being super pretentious) and drinking it for hours afterwards.

7) Bookstores
Not being able to read in Italian means I can't go into a bookstore and linger for 8 hours. Miss it.

This is not to say that I'm not enjoying myself here, because that is clearly not the case. I'm having a great time. But that doesn't mean I don't miss things from home.

Never Have I Felt So Guilty About Not Being a Jew

2009-02-14T10:28:00.001-08:00

Yesterday my Italian Opera class took us on a tour of Teatro Pergola, the second opera house built in Florence. It was interesting, but hardly life changing. My camera refused to take good pictures so I only have a few.

But then Jennie and I figured that since we were so close and it was such a beautiful day, we should go visit the synagogue. It was probably the most beautiful building I've been in since we've gotten to Florence. It was built in the late 19th century in the Moorish style, and the walls inside were painted the most brilliant colors in the most fantastic designs. We weren't allowed to take cameras or electronic devices inside (there was a bombing pretty recently) so I only got photos of the outside.

When we entered the temple, an english speaking guide invited us to join the tour group with a few other Americans. She explained a lot about the history of the synagogue and the Jewish population in Italy. What I found fascinating was that Italian Jews were forced to live in ghettos beginning in the Renaissance and lasting until the 1860s, but during the Inquisition the de Medicis offered asylum to the Sephardic Jews, and didn't force them to live in the ghettos. So basically Italian Jews were second class citizens until the 1860s but Sephardic Jews were allowed to live and prosper as they pleased.

When we went up to the museum on the third floor, and everyone began talking about where they were from (one man got his doctorate from NYU and works for the State Department currently stationed in Ethiopia, another lives in Rome but is originally from Boston), and eventually got onto the topic of Israel and how dangerous it is for Israelis to go anywhere. The tour guide looked at Jennie and me and asked, "Have you ever been to Israel?" To which we had to honestly reply, no, no we haven't. Then she asked us if we came from big Jewish communities, and once again we had to say that no, we don't. The guide looked so surprised, and I really felt like I let her down or something for not being a Jew. Then I felt like I doubly let her down because she kept telling us to ask her questions except I honestly didn't have anything in particular that I needed to ask. So I kept saying "Ok!" when she said to ask anything we wanted.

The thing is though, that I spent the majority of my childhood wishing I was a Jew, or a Catholic, or Hindu, or any kind of believer at all. I felt like they were so sure of themselves, not racked by insecurities and doubt like I was. Knowing for sure that you had The Truth had to be such a comfort. My cousins were like that. They just Knew that they were headed in the right direction, that they were Saved and therefore no matter what they did in life it was cool because God was on their side. I envied that certainty. I still do. I don't however, still feel like I can only find that certainty in religion. I'm a much more confident person in my own right, and I can find that certainty within me. It doesn't need to come from a book or knowledge of God, but just from my inner beliefs.

Costant April

2009-02-10T22:22:00.000-08:00

One thing I completely, wholeheartedly love about living here is the fact that every morning, when I wake up, I can open the door to the terrace and hear birds. The weather is so temperate that even during the winter the birds don't leave.

I am My Mother

2009-02-09T22:58:00.000-08:00

Last night I was so tired and pms-y that I accidentally set my alarm for 6:00 AM this morning and was halfway through my oatmeal before realizing that it was ridiculously early, so instead of doing something like go online and read the paper, or do homework, or study, I cleaned the entire kitchen, from top to bottom.

Spending a lot of Money Makes Alex Want to Take Anti-Anxiety Pills

2009-02-08T22:46:00.000-08:00

We planned out, researched, and booked our Spring Break last night. And good god, was it A Mission.

My original suggestion was to go to Barcelona via the train through the south of France, but one of my friends did research and came to the conclusion that staying in Nice, Marseilles, Aix, and Barcelona was going to be ridiculously expensive. So we settled on taking a train and then staying in Nice for four nights, and doing day trips to wherever we wanted to go from there. Then instead of taking a 112 euro train from Nice to Barcelona, we're going to take a plane from Nice to Dublin, the another from Dublin to Barcelona for 60 euro. Strange how a plane can cost less and take far less time than a train. Aren't trains supposed to be the Budget Option?

Anyways, we're staying in Barcelona for four nights as well, and taking a plane back to Pisa the Saturday before classes start up again. We booked our hostels in both Nice and Barcelona and our planes on my friend Jaimie's credit card, because she somehow either doesn't have a charge limit or an agreement that she can spend whatever she wants while here. So when the charge comes in, we need to either wire her money or send her mother a check back in the states.

So all in all, right now we're doing spring break for under 400 US dollars. I think that's pretty damn good. Granted, as we go on the trip we're going to have to spend money on things to do, day trips out of Nice, and food, but still, I like knowing that we're doing an entire week travelling for the price it would be to stay in a hotel for three nights back home.

And anyways, we're trying to make up for it by having John ask every single one of his friends in Paris if we can sleep on their floor while there next month.

I'm Getting This Done With My Hair

2009-02-08T04:38:00.001-08:00

Chocolate and Alleyways, or The Day On Which I Realized That Medieval Religious Iconography Really Does it For Me

2009-02-07T22:59:00.000-08:00

Sometimes the best ideas are the most spontaneous. Like spending a week brainstorming possible day trips for the weekend until you get so frustrated that you're tempted to just forget about the prospect of traveling altogether, until, after coming home from the opera at midnight exhausted and cranky, someone simply says, "Why not Perugia?" and you respond "Alright, fine" just to get them out of your apartment so you can go to bed. So you wake up early, trusting that someone else has figured out the details and simply get on a train to Umbria. And it ends up being a completely and utterly wonderful day.

Jennie, Yvette, Jaimie, Lauren, and I met up with John and Adrian at their apartment and walked to the train station at 9:30 in the morning. After a lot of confusion over which train to take and where and how to buy tickets, we ended up on the correct train to Perugia. The train ride was lovely, passing through Arezzo and Cortona and Trasimeno, a city next to a beautiful lake that I plan on visiting as soon as the weather starts to clear up. We arrived in Perugia around one o'clock in the afternoon. After a quick cheap lunch at what seemed to be the equivalent of a train station diner (that amazingly had delicious stewed fava beans), we bought a map and started to explore.

Our Adventures had a rough start. After walking up the steepest hill imaginable, we came to the first museum only to find that it was closed, and had been since an earthquake a few years ago. But we continued on, and as we kept walking up hills and stairs we realized that the city was getting progressively older. The buildings became smaller and covered in moss, and the streets got narrower with more small alleyways that I kept running in until I would hear someone say "Where the hell is Alex?" There were frescoes on the walls and creches and religious icons, and I just fell more and more in love.

When we reached the city center, which was the top of the hill, the architecture changed dramatically. Whereas the city was very medieval, the main piazza was definitely Baroque, with wide streets and Napolean-esque buildings. We stopped at a chocolate store and I bought artisinal bacci (kisses) and took Album Cover pictures on the stairs leading to the museum. We finally decided to go in the museum, which has one of the best collections of medieval art is all of Italy. In the museum, I realized that while Renaissance art leaves me cold, I love medieval religious art. I find the gold leaf, the bright colors, and even the lack of perspective and realism terribly beautiful. I think it's the sense of mystery that accompanies those paintings. Life was still completely inexplicable then, and because of this completely magical. It's hard to articulate, but it really shone through in the beauty of those paintings of Jesus and the saints and angels.

After the museum, we considered getting dinner, but seeing as it was still early and starting to rain, we decided to just get the train home and eat then. As it turned out, this was a brilliant idea. Jennie had thrown the idea of doing a pizza and beer night, and I suggested Il Pizzaioulo, a pizzeria that my guidebook raved about. We made a reservation for 13 people, and got there at 10:00, like Real Italians. The restaurant was adorable, and the pizza was amazing. Lauren and I split a vegetariana pizza, and ate it so fast I think it was gone in five minutes. The crust was thick and fluffy, not gummy, and just charred enough, the sauce was perfect, and there was just the right amount of cheese. Everyone else's was delicious as well, and Lauren and I basically ate all the crusts from John's pizza as well. After pizza we went to an Irish pub that had really good beer until we got bored (there isn't much to do at a pub, and for some reason I attract guys in bars much easier in New York).

All in all, it was a really great day. Just goes to show that it's not always necessary to plan things out to a T. And that's something that I need to remember.

Vintage Fair, Pizza, Florence in Sunlight

2009-02-05T23:51:00.000-08:00

We went to the Vintage Fair, which was basically a flea market of wonderful vintage clothes. I bought vintage glasses frames! Which I then proceeded to wear all day, until my friend Kate came over for dinner and said, with mild disgust, "Nice hipster glasses." Yo Whatever. I love them. And they got me lots of strange looks from the hot Italian business men at the pizzeria where we went to lunch, at which I ate the best pizza on the planet, Pizza Frutti di Mare:

I was torn between this pizza and a vegetable pizza, but when this came out, I knew I had made the right choice. Perfectly cooked mussels, shrimp, cockles, and calamari lay on a paper thin crust with a simple tomato puree. Heaven.

After lunch, we took a walk to get gelato and ended up by the Arno. It was finally sunny, and I couldn't resist a few pictures.

Chocolate Fair!

2009-02-05T23:19:00.000-08:00

Scene:
Sitting in a classroom during orientation with Marielle, looking at Florence's English-language newspaper.
Me: Hm, an exhibit of works depicting Catherine di'Medici. Could be fun.
Marielle: Yeah that sounds interested.
Me: Oh, a flower market!
Marielle: Oooh.
Me: GJDJHGRHAJKFFG; CHOCOLATE FAIR
Marielle: (gasp) WHAT WE ARE SO GOING

yes, so perhaps I took some artistic license with that conversation, but it went more or less along those lines. Nothing like the vision of stalls upon stalls of chocolately greatness to send two college girls into a tizzy.

Lucca (A Little After the Fact)

2009-02-05T22:12:00.001-08:00

So, I've been seriously slacking in the picture posting department. So, here are some pictures from the last trip we went on. We went to Lucca, which is the only Ancient Walled City (phrase courtesy of my roommate Jennie's father) with walls that are still intact in all of Tuscany. It was a truly beautiful city, with small alleyways and medieval buildings surrounding a circular piazza that followed the plan of the original Roman amphitheater that is now buried. Also, the shops were adorable.

However, the weather on the day we went couldn't have been worse. When we left Florence it was gray and drizzly, but as we went towards Lucca the drizzle turned into full-on downpour. As you can imagine, it's very, very difficult to pay attention to a guided tour when you are soaked to the bone. And then the tour ended just as siesta began, so none of the shops or museums were open during the entirety of our free time. So we got a sit-down, multi course lunch (which was fabulous and really cheap), stopped in at a bakery to buy a type of bread specific to Lucca (ring-shaped and dried fruit studded and which tasted something like pannettone except much firmer) and then spent the rest of the time hiding from the rain in the tourism information center.

So in all, Lucca was a beautiful town that I would have enjoyed so much more had it not been raining. I think I will take my mother there when she comes to visit. It's one of the only cities in Tuscany where she hasn't been, and I think that if it's a nice day we'll have a really good time.

Various Observations

2009-02-02T10:46:00.000-08:00

1) Italians Don't Clean Up After Their Dogs
It's something that takes a bit of getting used to, having to constantly watch the sidewalk to make sure you don't step in a fresh pile of dog shit. And since it rains like, all the time here, that pile of dog shit is always wet. Which makes it even more unpleasant to step in. I'm not sure if there just aren't laws here requiring people to clean up after their pets, or if people here just don't care, but either way it's annoying. Especially since everything you see here is so beautiful, it's really terrible to have to miss it because you're staring at the ground, avoiding the obstacle course.

2) The Only Place in which I Have Experienced Serious Culture Shock is the Grocery Store
First off, everything is in Italian. Yeah, I know, obvi. But it is seriously hard to figure out if you're buying rice milk or soy milk when you don't know the word for "soy" or "rice." And there's no oatmeal. I actually considered buying this rice gruel baby food a few days ago, but it was mad expensive and it came in tiny portions. But on the bright side, everything tastes better here. The peppers were bright and sweet and happy tasting and there's barely any part of the artichokes that you can't eat and their salad mixes are so ridiculously good that I have to force myself to not eat an entire bag a day.

3) Everyone (and I mean EVERYONE) Wears Black.
I rebel by wearing bright yellow tights with a green shirt and my red coat. Yes, back in New York I would hate myself. But I feel like I have to bring some color into this city. People need to have fun with their clothes, not constantly look like they're in mourning.

4) Italians Really Like Their Political Graffiti
Back in New York, you really never see obvious political graffiti. Yes, every once in a while someone will scrawl "Fuck Bush" on the wall of the subway car or something, but most of the graffiti is just the names of the artist or crew. It's totally different here. Apparently there's a big anti-Fascist movement in Florence, and you can tell by the phrases people spray paint on the walls and buildings. My favorite is halfway up the hill on the way to campus, where someone wrote "Tu Votto Non Conto" (Your Vote Doesn't Count), mostly because it's one of the only ones I totally understand. They also like to spray paint love notes on the street and walls in front of their significant others' homes. It's kind of cute. It's even better when they combine love notes and political messages, like the one I saw that roughly translated to "My Dear Little Radical." Adorable. Someday someone will say that about me. (Or perhaps not, since I'm not at all a radical. I'm actually becoming increasingly bourgeois, but that's a story for another day.)

5) The Old Women Here Are Really Really Elegant
They make me want to buy a fur coat.

Please God, Let There be a Rahm Emanuel Out There For Me

2009-01-25T03:24:00.000-08:00

WASHINGTON — Early this month, Barack Obama was meeting with the House speaker, Nancy Pelosi, and other lawmakers when Rahm Emanuel, his chief of staff, began nervously cracking a knuckle.

Mr. Obama then turned to complain to Mr. Emanuel about his noisy habit.

At which point, Mr. Emanuel held the offending knuckle up to Mr. Obama’s left ear and, like an annoying little brother, snapped off a few special cracks.

My Skin Hates Florence

2009-01-22T23:45:00.000-08:00

For some reason since I've gotten here my skin has broken out with a vengeance. Like, to the point of needing layers and layers of concealer/ foundation, and despite the fact that before I left my dermatologist put me on approximately a million milligrams of antibiotics for acne that I didn't, then, have. So the moral of this completely pointless blog entry is: What the fuck, Florence.

Let's Get Inaugural, Bitches

2009-01-20T08:01:00.000-08:00

How cute was Barack Obama when he was in college? I totally would have dated him.

Anyways, I'm being all patriotic and shit tonight, going up to campus (which I've discovered takes 45 minutes when wearing any shoes other than sneakers) to watch it the festivities on CNN (in english!) instead of in our apartment, where I'm sure I could watch it, except I'd rather understand that shit.

This is Why I Wish I Could Sleep In

2009-01-19T01:56:00.000-08:00

I've spent the last four hours doing absolutely nothing while sitting in front of the computer, reading every post on Jezebel and Feministe and Daily Intel, watching that god-awful episode of Gossip Girl in which the directors seemed to have fired every single good writer for the show (The half brother is dead? Come on, what a cop out. And Uncle Jack is totally unconvincing and a terrible actor, and like, why is everyone so OMGZ DAN AND SERENA SHARE DNA AND THEIR KIDS ARE GONNA BE DEFORMED AND SHIT when um, 9th grade biology class taught me that it doesn't work like that), after I managed to shower, get dressed, make coffee, eat breakfast, wash dishes, clean my room, and write out my entire schedule by 8:00 AM. I had planned on going to the gym until I woke up sore like a motherfucker, and of course I can't go back to sleep once I'm up.

New plan: Make Sunday my no-gym day, so that I have something to do on Monday mornings other than go insane that no one is updating their blogs since it's like, 5:00 AM or something in the US.

Highlights Roll

2009-01-18T22:27:00.001-08:00

Italy Roundup: Week One

2009-01-18T12:11:00.000-08:00

Oh, what to say, what to say. So much has happened in just the first five days of being here. But let's see, where did I leave off? Well, orientation started pretty much right off. And I'm glad, because as afraid as I was that orientation would be time consuming and pointless and boring, it really wasn't. They had informational meetings about traveling in Italy, shopping in Florence, community service, academics, and personal safety. The moral of the personal safety meeting ended up being essentially that letting a drop of alcohol touch our lips will inevitably result in being arrested for accidentally committing a crime and rotting in prison, or in death by drowning in the Arno. Oh, and American girls should stay away from Italian men. At all times. Because, you know, if you make eye contact you're obligated to sleep with him.

Despite these dire warnings, my friends and I decided to go out on Friday night. We got bar recommendations from a few people who had been here for a while, wrote down the most detailed directions possible, and proceeded to get completely lost. After ending up by the Arno and having to backtrack a few dozen blocks, we finally found the bar, Naima. The moment we got inside it was obvious that not a single person in there was Italian, except for one table of 35 year old men speaking in Italian. We got a drink, spent a bit, then got incredibly bored and left. We ended up at an Irish Pub for drunk munchies, where the menu was surprisingly (or not so surprisingly) devoid of Irish fare but had incredible pizzas.

The next day was a little more successful. We went on a walking tour given by a beautiful but probably gay graduate student who acted like he wanted to be doing anything other than giving a walking tour. But he gave us some recommendations about where to eat, and we all got free gelato at the end. But the tour wasn't a complete waste of time, since we met some guys in the music program to hang out with. We all wandered around the city for the rest of the day, going across the river and up to Boboli gardens (although we didn't go in because two of us didn't have our free museum cards yet and I lost mine on the bus on the way to the Uffizi), over the Ponte Vecchio, across back across the river over Santa Croce, Then we managed to get to Mercato Centrale a few minutes before it closed to get some food for dinner (we had the boys over). We made pasta with sauce with chicken and panzanella and drank red wine and prosecco (as good as I hoped it would be), and then went to a Jazz Club called, creatively enough, Jazz Club Firenze. Great music, and a good mix of Italians and foreigners.

Oh and one note on the head of the music department here: fucking awesome. He had a session for the music kids, and my friend Jennie and I didn't know whether or not to go, since we weren't full time music kids, just taking lessons. But we did, and he basically abducted all of us and took us to the Uffizi (the bus to which I took out my museum card that gets me into state museums in Florence for free, put it on my lap, then stood up letting it fall to the floor and get lost forever (but I'm pretty sure I can get a new one)), and explained all the art to us. Turns out he only runs the program half time, the rest of the time he works at the Uffizi and runs a jazz festival with his brother. And he KNEW WHO WE WERE. He asked us our names, and right after we said, he knew exactly what instrument we played! Let's absorb this for one moment. I go to NYU. I have NEVER had a professor have any idea who I was. I don't think my advisor knows who I am. To this day. But Antonio Vanni immediately said, "Alexandra, violin," "Jen, musical theater" and explained to me that my lessons are going to be downtown in the conservatory and that he would love if we could start up some sort of ensemble for the classical kids, but that he was worried at the difference in skill level between me and the other violinist, since he knew I had been playing much longer. Add to that the fact that he's cute as can be, and basically you have two girls who worship the ground on which he walks.

Well, classes start tomorrow. I totally forgot that whole paper and folder and textbook thing is going to be necessary. So I'm basically bringing nothing to class tomorrow.

Good Morning. Let's See Some Pictures!

2009-01-14T23:41:00.000-08:00

Just to make you all jealous, here's the view from my bedroom window.

Firenze, in all it's Angry Moped-Riding Glory

2009-01-14T14:53:00.000-08:00

No, that is not my picture. Not yet. It's still the rainy season in Florence, and will be until the end of January, at least. So it's wet and gray. But it really is that beautiful.

So my flight was um, interesting. The flight was packed full of NYU kids going to Paris, and either stopping there to study or going on to Florence. There ended up being a lot less people on the second Florence flight, but it was crowded nonetheless. I wasn't sure I was really meant to hang out with the people I was on the plane with. I think I inadvertently ended up taking the Frat Boy Flight ("BRO LET'S GET WASTED TONIGHT MY SISTER WASN'T SOBER MORE THAN TWO NIGHTS SHE WAS THERE YEAH DUDE THAT'S SWEET LET'S DO IT"), which as you might suspect, made me a little nervous about the kind of people that attend this program. And everyone seemed to be living in this one dorm, Via Maffia, while I was the only one out of everyone I met in Via Micheli.

So I slept through the flight to Paris, which wasn't terrible. The flight attendants were ridiculously nice and joked with us and force fed us (even though I politely declined to eat dinner, since they served it to us at what was the equivalent of 12:00 AM and I was like ew food take it away I just want to sleep. However, Charles Degaulle in Paris is the most confusing airport ever. We had a three hour layover where I got my first migraine (I think) and realized that I definitely had nothing in common with the people with whom I was travelling. But anyways, the flight to Florence went smoothly (we flew over the Alps! Stunning! Incredible! Glacial! And now I feel no need to go to Switzerland, unless a lot more chocolate is involved.) It went smoothly, that is, until we actually reached Florence.

The pilot said about five times that we were getting ready to land. And then he came on, and in his nice french accent, said that we couldn't land in Florence due to wind, and were being diverted to Pisa, an hour away from Florence. Of course, we al freaked out since every single one of us packed two suitcases plus extra carry-ons, which ended up being significantly more than we weigh. We had to collect our baggage in Pisa, then wait for a bus to the Florence airport, where the NYU people kindly waited to pick us up. By that time I was so exhausted and had such a headache, that if you poked me with a pen I would probably have started crying hysterically. But then again, that's just me.

But we finally got to the campus, and after checking in they drove us to our apartments. And here's where everything starts to go uphill. My apartment is lovely (pictures soon to come, when I have daylight hours to take them, as the dark gives them no justice), with marble stairs leading up the three floors, a lift WITH A LIFT KEY AND DOUBLE DOORS, a gas range, a washing machine, and a double refrigerator. We have a balcony overlooking the neighbor's backyard, and my window faces the Florence Botanical Gardens. I love it.

Today after orientation stuff my roommates (NYU seems to have outdone themselves placing us with people similar to ourselves) and I went out for a celebratory first night dinner, where I managed to speak Italian without making a fool of myself and ate ridiculously good food. Then we wandered around Florence for a good two hours, found the Duomo, and I fell in love. I think I'm really going to enjoy living here. I just need the damn rain to stop.

Three Days

2009-01-09T14:48:00.000-08:00

It's finally hitting me that I'm leaving on Monday. I have a habit of turning into Scarlet O'Hara whenever I'm under any significant amount of stress ("I'll think about it tomorrow, at Tara"), and I actually managed to get all the way through oh, yesterday before realizing that I'm not just pretending to pack, I'm actually getting ready to spend four months in another country, on another continent. I think the best way of describing my mood right now is finely calibrated terror.

If I think about it, though, my apprehension and stress levels have manifested themselves in almost everything I've done this break. Which is to say, not much. I'm sorry I've been m.i.a. for the majority of this past month. I've been spending a lot of time with my family, trying to cram it all in. For someone who is as close with her family as I am, not being able to go home every month is going to be a bit of a shock.

I've also been having mini (and sometimes not so mini) emotional breakdowns, crying hysterically at the smallest thing, and generally overreacting to slights, intentional and unintentional. For me, stress generally manifests itself in self-hatred and recriminations about my weight, which is unfortunate, since I've definitely put on holiday weight that I'm now trying to lose. Which adds more stress.

Well, the living room is covered in all of my things. I leave Monday night. I think I have to finally wrap my head around it.

I Have Officially Run Out of Space on Every Bookshelf in My House

2008-12-30T16:59:00.000-08:00

Anyone have some shelves they would like to get rid of? Because I don't see myself giving away my books any time in the near future.

Mreh, Christmas

2008-12-24T19:01:00.000-08:00

I wasn't feeling Christmas this year.

I woke up, feeling kind of off (I've been eating whatever I want lately, which means things that I usually avoid like the plague, like sugar and fat) and queasy. I asked mom if I looked like I gained weight since I got home, and she answered yes, a bit, so I weighed myself and it was the truth. Oh well. I knew it was gonna happen over the break. I'm considering my relatively chill reaction to be a sign that I'm getting a lot better, and that's I've pretty much left my eating-disorder days behind. I was prepared to gain the weight, and after Christmas I'm prepared to lose it.

I think I'm past the days of really loving Christmas. In fact, I'm pretty sure I was more excited to see Slumdog Millionaire last night than for Christmas to come. Probably cause our traditions are all different this year because Nonna can't travel, and because this semester was so stressful I never got to do the Christmas-y things I usually do, like see the tree or go to a show or see the Nutcracker. Or, maybe I'm just getting older.

On a less emo note, Slumdog Millionaire was SO GOOD. Like, indescribably good. It was one of those movies that makes you feel hopeful and happy and didn't even make you feel slightly cheap for loving a movie with such an unrealistic plotline. And the soundtrack was absolutely amazing. M.I.A. collaborated with AR Rahman on a few of the songs (O...Saya), and it reminded me why I liked her so much when she first started, before the schizophrenic, coked out, overproduced mess that was the majority of Kala (Paper Planes and 20 Dollar being my two exceptions). It hearkened back to the good old Arular days, and to Sunshowers in particular.

So go see it. I'm off to do Christmassy things.

My (Ideal) Christmas List

2008-12-18T05:31:00.000-08:00

1) The book 2666 by Roberto Bolano.
2) This: http://www.urbanoutfitters.com/urban/catalog/productdetail.jsp?itemdescription=true&itemCount=60&startValue=1&selectedProductColor=&sortby=&id=15956956&parentid=W_ACC_SCARVES&sortProperties=+product.marketingPriority,-product.startDate&navCount=288&navAction=poppushpush&color=
3) A ton of money for Italy.
4) This: http://www.urbanoutfitters.com/urban/catalog/productdetail.jsp?itemdescription=true&itemCount=60&startValue=1&selectedProductColor=&sortby=&id=15439060&parentid=W_APP_VESTS&sortProperties=+product.marketingPriority,-product.startDate&navCount=60&navAction=poppushpush&color=
5) A new perfume, preferably Bond No. 9's Bleecker Street, or, for a slightly less damaging-to-your-wallet choice, L'Occitane Amber travel sized ($17! Secret Santa !!!)
6) A life time supply of Edy's Slow Churn, with a handy new refrigerator to put it in (Still need to try the Samoas flavor, that Maddy so kindly texted me two days ago to tell me was HEAVENLY - with REAL pieces of Samoas!).
7) A recording of the complete works of Ernest Bloch.
8) While we're on the topic of Ernest Bloch, the sheet music for Bal Shem. I want to learn a lot of small pieces next semester. So add Clair de Lune by Debussy to that list. And I'll find some other ones.
9) An A in all my classes except Not-for-Profit-Management, cause even Christmas Miracles aren't that miraculous.
10) A good Italy guidebook.
11) Dinner at Momofuku Ko. Oh wait, none of you have $200 dollars for both of us? Cause I'd expect someone to come with me.... sigh, why are we so resolutely middle class?
12) Fun headbands. A few thinner ones I can wear around my forehead.

Umm yeah I think that might be it. So get to it, kiddies.

Jk, jk.

(maybe)

Alex's Packing Strategy.

2008-12-12T09:31:00.000-08:00

It's simple, really. Just follow these steps!
1) Survey all items in apartment.
2) Put all items on bed.
3) Stare.

Hijinks

2008-12-08T04:42:00.000-08:00

I didn't leave the room once yesterday. Actually, I went downstairs to get the paper. So I left the room once, but I didn't leave the building once. I spent the whole doing work and when I wasn't doing work eating ice cream and watching Carnivale on the internets. I'm completely addicted to that show now, which is a bit unfortunate due to my inclination to watch it a) instead of writing my final sociology paper that is due thursday but that I have to finish before wednesday night because I have a take home final wednesday night and b) right before bed, which makes it difficult to sleep when the last image left in my mind is a dancer from the carnival who was lynched by crazy miners who then carved HARLOT into her forehead (just like in the Bible!). So I had to get in bed and listen to some happy music (Fairytale of New York, which for some reason always makes me happy even though it's definitely not a happy song) and read for a bit, and by the time I calmed down enough to go to bed it was 12:30 and I was too fucking cold to fall asleep. So after covering myself in 50 million blankets, I woke up at 5:00 burning up. I took off all but one blanket, was comfortable, and fell asleep for a remaining one hour. I'm now so, so tired.

Things Finals Week Means I Can Do:

2008-12-07T06:01:00.000-08:00

1) Let the room become unbearably messy, because stress = inability to move my shoes 10 feet from in front of the couch to my closet.
2) Not wash dishes until I need to use one and all the silverware is gone and I realize it's really hard to eat ice cream with a knife.
3) Eat ice cream. All the time. Speaking of which, I'm out and should probably go to the grocery store while Edy's slow-churn is still on sale for $3.99 instead of $6.99 (!!!)
4) Eat whatever the hell I want. Yesterday that included pho (in a bowl that probably holds an entire liter of soup), ice cream, an Italian pastry (my mom came to visit and went to Ferrara right when it opened, so my sfogliatelle was warm right out of the oven), brussels sprouts (mmm dinner), and loads of chocolate. And then I weighed myself this morning because I'm a masochist but I didn't gain any weight so I was happy.
5) Sleep late. Aka 7:30.
6) Not go to the gym. It's cold, my unlimited metrocard finally expired, and I HAVE TOO MUCH TO DO.
7) Not bathe. Hey, I'm not sweaty because I never go to the gym. So who cares if I don't wash my hair for three days? No one has to smell me but my roommates, and they don't count.

J-Date Dreamin

2008-12-02T04:29:00.000-08:00

Is it bad that I sometimes really wish I was Jewish so I could join J-Date? It just seems like a less sketchy, less Christian (obvi) version of eharmony. Which I also sometimes wish I could join. The people on the commercials just look so damn happy.

Yesterday: Hour by Hour

2008-11-24T05:23:00.000-08:00

7:47 AM: Wake up, with the distinct feeling that I haven't moved once, even an inch, all night. Realize I am still wearing a bra. And leggings. And socks. And that there is a trash can next to my bed. Mercifully, I note that it is empty. I get up, pull pajamas out of my drawer, stumble to the bathroom and put them on. Wash my face, which seems to be covered in dried tears.
8:15 AM: Survey the complete disaster that is our kitchen. Every single dish we own seems to be piled on the sink or on the counter, along with a multitude of beer bottles in varying stages of fullness. At least the wine bottles made it to the recycling bag. Clear off a bit of space and make coffee. Wonder if my stomach will feel better if there is something in it, so I have an english muffin. Not satisfied. Have another english muffin. Still not satisfied. Find leftover lasagna. Ahhh, perfect. I eat it cold, cutting off bit sized pieces right out of the pan and eating with my hands.
9:00 AM: Sit on the couch and call my mom to tell her I feel like death and want her to come make me soup. She laughs at me for a while and tells me it serves me right. She then tells me all about the new paint in the kitchen and living room and how it's beautiful. I get as excited as someone who feels a pounding headache coming on can get.
10:00 AM: Maddy wakes up. Laughs at me. Then goes back to bed with Logan. I find Monsoon Wedding on the internets, and watch it while Sonia stumbles into the common room. Thank her for putting me to bed last night and holding back my hair while I threw up. Oh, the wonders of being my friend.
10:15 AM: Sonia says toilet is clogged again. I stare at the sky and skake my first, cursing NYU. NYU has replaced God with the thing I curse most frequently.
12:00 PM: Finish Monsoon Wedding. I always forget how much I love that movie. Spent the next couple of hours wishing I was Indian and being really happy that the main characters in the film aren't at all skinny.
12:15 PM: Finally take shower. It doesn't make me feel better.
1:00 PM: Finish rest of lasagna with Maddy and Sonia. Still not satisfied, and worried that I will throw up if there is nothing in my stomach, I make pasta. Settle down on the couch to watch Shaun of the Dead.
2:00 PM: Shaun of the Dead over. Turn channel to Hotel Rwanda and try to do music homework. Epic Fail.
3:30 PM: Start watching army movie with Denzel Washington. Only continue to watch it for the beatifulness that is Howard E. Rollins Jr. in an army uniform.
4:00 PM: Get bored, wonder back into the bedroom. Change sheets, realize that my music homework actually isn't due tomorrow. Score one for the hungover girl! Work on transposing and harmonizing my song instead.
6:00 PM: Eat leftover tofu straight out of refrigerator. Not satisfying.
7:00 PM: Somehow end up downstairs for the book club meeting. Sit on floor in corner and only offer one lame comment on the census despite Brian Waterman being like "Alex, if you guys in the corner have anything to say just shout it out, we can't see you." I eat their pizza instead. Mmmm, cheese.
8:30 PM: Finish transposing my song. Decide I'll do the rest of my homework in class instead of paying attention.
9:00 PM: Finally tackle the dishes. By now I've taken several advil, something I probably should have done in the morning. Feel much better and don't want to vomit at the smell of the sink.
9:30 PM: Pajamas. Book (The Arsonist's Guide to Writer's Homes in New England).
10:00 PM: Bed. Fall asleep in seconds.

Total:
Advil Taken: 2
Movies Watched: 3 1/2
Homework Done: Next to Nothing
Calories Consumed: More Than Those Consumed During Entire Weeks
Days Til Thanksgiving Break: 3

And I Will Watch the World Burn From My Ivory Tower

2008-11-21T19:31:00.000-08:00

For the past year, every time I have sat at the breakfast table, with my oat bran cereal and mug that holds 4 cups of coffee (give or take a quarter cup) and looked at the front page of the New York Times, I have felt a knot in my stomach. Because barely a day has gone by when there hasn't been some sort of ominous story about the economy. Last year about this time it was the decline of the dollar, and then it was a rise in unemployment, and then it was the mortgage crisis, and then the folding of Lehman Brothers and the government takeover of AIG and Fannie May and Freddie Mac and the layoffs on Wall Street and suddenly the world seemed to be crashing down around me, a feeling no doubt made worse by the fact that I had only a superficial knowledge of investing and Wall Street and the economy to begin with. It's true that the things you don't understand are more scary than the things you do. I feel as if I had a thorough knowledge of what was going on I wouldn't sit at the table paralyzed by fear for my generation's prospects and the idea that we are going to have to deal with the serious, serious mistakes of our parents.

My fears about the economy in general have only been made worse by the fact that until recently I've been having a sort of quarter-life-crisis (thank you, John Mayer, for giving the sudden feeling of having no clue where you are headed at the age of 20 an actual name!). This semester has been really formative, because it has shown me that two of the careers that I had been tossing around really aren't for me. First, taking this class on the business of not-for-profit management has shown me that I'm really not cut out for business. I don't have the slightest bit of business sense, as shown by the fact that my teacher's comment on my midterm research paper was essentially "You missed the point of this assignment, but great sociology paper" (I got a B, which although lower than what I usually get, I'm ok with, because I let myself get a B in one class per semester and this one is definitely it). And I honestly don't have any interest in getting better at it. Cash flows bore me to tears. So do business models of all kinds. I'm practical, but I don't feel intellectually stimulated by numbers.

I've also realized that I don't think that I'll be going into arts administration either. I love my internship, but mostly for the people who work there. Everyone is wonderful, but honestly I can't see myself going there day after day and doing that sort of thing. I need ideas and theories and to feel as if the things I'm doing are making a difference to the world on a grand scale, that I'm helping people.

Which leads me to what I think I've decided to do. I've been looking up public policy graduate programs, and I came upon social policy, which is a sort of boutique strand of public policy that focuses on, surprise, social issues like health care and poverty and the arts, and basically anything that affects people's daily lives. It's not as economics-driven (hooray!) as public policy. And as I was investigating different programs, I found that both Harvard and Princeton have dual phd programs in sociology and social policy, which is pretty much a dream come true. NYU's program (at the Wagner School for Public Service) beats out Princeton's (Harvard is first, obvi) by a lot. So I honestly think that's what I'm going to do.

With the economy showing no signs of getting any better, I might as well go get myself into a 7 year phd program. I mean, I love to learn, and thinking is kind of my strong point. And maybe 7 or 8 years from now the economy will be on the upturn and I'll be able to get a good job with the government, or even better, a think tank, and then I'll be able to make a decent if not extravagant living and actually be challenged by my work.

So maybe the paralyzed feeling I get at breakfast is a good thing. It'll drive me to do something that I might not have otherwise, had the economy still been getting better. And ultimately I think I'll be happier.

Furbies! Are! Real!

2008-11-19T09:24:00.000-08:00

Bahahahahaha. I really don't know if I'm horrified by these creatures or if I want one as a pet. They're called pygmy tarsiers, and scientists thought they were extinct until a few days ago when a scientist from Texas A&M found one in Indonesia. They measure only about 4 inches long (!!) and weigh only about 2 ounces (!!!). If you want to read more about them, here's the website: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/27786771/

An Ode to the Friendly, Unpretentious Hipster Bar

2008-11-18T18:01:00.000-08:00

A contradiction in terms? Yes, I thought so too. But continue to read about my Friday:
Came home from work, after a pretty easy day. Decided that although I wanted to do something, it would probably be better if I didn't spend money on going bar-hopping. Put on my pajamas to ensure that I would spend the night in front of the television. The following conversation ensued:
Sonia: Pajamas already?
Me: Yeah. I gave up on tonight.
Sonia: Well, I guess that's for the best.
***Ten Minutes Later***
Me: So...do you want to go out?
Sonia: Kind of, you?
Me: YES.
So I put clothes back on and we watched Arrested Development and drank beer until it was late enough to go out. We decided to try this new bar (for me at least, Sonia went once before) on the LES called Happy Ending, which we decided to go to because it has a dance floor. After the bouncer almost turning Sonia away because he thought her id wasn't her (it wasn't, but it's real, and who is he, her father?), we went in, and hung around until we decided that it totally wasn't out scene. Far too many yuppies in work clothes and girls in cocktail dresses. And no one was dancing! So we just went to our beloved default neighborhood bar, Botanica. It's probably my favorite place ever. It's small and the drinks are dirt cheap, and best of all, the people are so fucking nice. Like, no other bar has the kind of clientele that joke around with you on the (massive) line for the bathroom, or bouncers who chase after your id when you (me) accidentally throw it down the stairs and when you apologize smile really wide and yell "No problem!" And the men are absolutely gorgeous, and there's plenty of them. Which is always important, even when you're not interested in actually picking one up (which is me, always). In short, I love Botanica. I don't know why we ever try to go anywhere else.

Thursdays are Never Productive

2008-11-13T18:29:00.000-08:00

I always make grand plans for Thursday nights. I'm always convinced during the day that I'm going to get home from work and immediately get started on my homework so I don't have to do it over the weekend. Today I even went so far as to make an hour by hour schedule for myself. It was:
1:00-7:00 WORK
7:00-8:00 DINNER
8:00-8:30 PRACTICE TRIADS
8:30-9:00 RESEARCH OBAMA CAMPAIGN'S USE OF TECHNOLOGY
9:00-Bed CATCH UP ON SOCIOLOGY READING
And um...yeah. I ate dinner and practiced triads. I then proceeded to clean my room, which is at least something, I guess. I've been letting my shit get too messy lately. It got to the point yesterday when I kind of felt like I was having a minor panic/claustrophobia attack and I actually had to open the window wide and stick my head out to get some air and calm down. But anyways, my little space is much cleaner and I feel much better for it.

It's finally beginning to register with me that oh hey, I'm actually going away next semester. And I'm getting SO EXCITED. Handing in all my visa information did it, really. And now all I can think about is where I want to go, what I want to do. I've decided what I want to do for spring break is go to Barcelona via the south of France. So I'll probably take the train, cause the Eurorail goes straight through Nice and Marseilles. I also really want to make it to Amsterdam at some point, and Vienna as well. I want to go to the opera in Vienna and Milan and go to all the museums everywhere. I got dinner with a friend and her roommate a few nights ago, and the roommate had done the NYU in Florence program last semester. She said she loved it, but only after a few months. She made the point that a lot of people have warned me about, that it's very very small, and very very touristy, and far too many NYU kiddies are happy to just go to the American bars and drink all the time. And that's pretty much the exact experience I don't want to have. I'm going to try my hardest to become fluent in Italian, and I want to actually use this semester to experience everything I possibly can. I want to be so tired by the time I get home I can't leave my house for a week. I've been less stressed about the money aspect of it lately too. My mom has told me that she's getting me my plane ticket for Christmas, which lifts a huge burden off my shoulders ($900 ticket=less fun things Alex can do), and my nonna has promised to help me out. I'm also being a huge miser this semester and barely spending any money at all.

In other news, JIM KIM IS COMING TO VISIT THIS SATURDAY! Then I'm cooking dinner and watching Newsies with Jade. Then on Sunday Mom is coming in to do some shopping, so we're going to have a girls day. I miss her a lot lately. I think it's just getting to that time of year. But it's going to be a fun/busy weekend. Which is probably why I should have done homework tonight?

I need a new novel, preferably one that has nothing to do with child molestation. For some reason, the past three books I've read have all had a plotline that revolves around a child being abused and its consequences on the child and the people around him or her. And honestly, it gets me down. I don't pick up books being like yes! Child abuse makes for a wonderful read! I just pick books that look interesting and then when it gets obvious that the child in the book was molested I'm just like Fuck. Not again. So...any suggestions? I really want to read Roberto Bolano's 2666 but I don't have the time right now to read a book that is 1000+ pages of hardcore Literature. But I don't want to read something airy superficial either.

Testament

2008-11-08T20:15:00.000-08:00

It says a lot about my social life when Tarik, my friend the night security guard, says "Wow, I don't usually see you at night!" when I walk into the dorm at 11:00.

New Secret Crush

2008-11-07T15:35:00.000-08:00

Or not so secret. And a little creepy. A lot creepy. Kind of?

You got to admit, the man is pretty attractive. And forceful. And when he gets mad he stabs the table. With knives! As Mitch pointed out when I was telling him all about my love for Rahm Emanuel, he's basically Karl Rove, except attractive and a democrat. Weird how the exact same qualities that make Karl Rove scary as fuck make Rahm Emanuel really sexy.

AHHHHHHHH

2008-11-04T20:14:00.000-08:00

HE DID IT HE DID IT HE DID IT

AND THE USA IS NO LONGER ROYALLY FUCKED AND I AM SO HAPPY AND THIS IS WONDERFUL

Surprising Discoveries

2008-11-04T16:17:00.000-08:00

Today I was sitting in the bathroom at work being all nervous and tense about the election when I looked at my underwear and noticed for the first time that they say things like "Color Outside the Lines!" and "Laugh at the Rules!" and "Let Yourself Daydream!" and I was like Wow, Thanks, Underwear! Who knew that inspiring words of wisdom would present themselves in the bathroom?

The Lord Will Prevail (right?)

2008-11-03T03:40:00.000-08:00

Just so that no one can claim the republicans have a monopoly on praying for Political Change:

Dear God Please please please let Barack Obama win the election tomorrow because if he doesn't you know as well as I that this country is going to Go to Shit since John McCain will probably die of his melanoma (which never goes away but just lays dormant until it reoccurs but you already know that because you're God and all-seeing and knowing and stuff) as soon as he's in office leaving the country in the hands of that Insufferable Bitch Sarah Palin whose religion ACTUALLY BELIEVES that God (not you, I'm sure, but some hard, illogical, unforgiving God) will make money "flow from the coffers of the unbelievers to the believers" which if you take it to it's logical conclusion pretty much gives her and every other so-called "Christian" in her sect free reign to lie and cheat and steal from people as long as they are HEATHENS which pretty much means everyone outside of fucking Alaska which is just one more reason why we're Royally Fucked another one being the fact that it will be a return to back-alley-coat-hanger-abortions because John McCain doesn't believe in "The Health of the Mother" but I'm sure you know, God, that abortion doesn't end because it's illegal but it just gets more bloody and dangerous and disgusting, and speaking of blood and how if McCain gets elected the whole world will just decide right then and there that although we've been heading down this road for a long time the USA is finally just one big fucking joke and be even less willing to do things like help out in Iraq or Afghanistan which is another place that is royally fucked because we took our troops out to invade an occupy a country that had nothing to do with 9/11 in the first place and are now in such a morass that You Only Know how the hell we'll be able to leave and our soldiers who come home are mentally ill and until the democrats in congress stepped in WERE BEING DENIED HEALTH CARE AND MOST OF WHAT THEY DESERVED (like a college education! and why do you think you're average poor kid from the Bronx joins the army? so they can go to college, not because they have some great urge to Fuck Up Iraqis) UNDER THE GI BILL and wow let's talk about being Christian.

So in short, dear God (the God that I, and most rational people believe in, and sure as hell NOT the God in whom Sarah Palin and her fellow "Christians" believe), you know as well as I do that Barack Obama is the right choice for this nation. Please throw around your influence up there just a bit.

And to close, IF ANYONE HAS NOT ALREADY VOTED OR IS NOT PLANNING TO VOTE I WILL PROBABLY STOP BEING YOUR FRIEND. And please vote Obama/Biden. I won't stop being your friend if you vote McCain, but I may not speak to you for a few months/years/decades.

Top 10 Places I Want to Go

2008-11-02T08:43:00.001-08:00

I've been thinking about everywhere I want to visit lately. Although that list pretty much encompasses everywhere, there are some places at the top of my list. And Italy is at the top of my list, but I'm not including it because I actually am going there!

1) India
I've wanted to go to India since some time in early high school when I went through an Indian-Authors phase and read tons of novels by Indian authors set in India. I'm not sure exactly where I'd want to go while I was there yet, but I know it will take several trips. Which I'm totally cool with.
2) Barcelona
Another place I've wanted to go since mid-high school. This time I read The Shadow of the Wind and fell in love with how the city was almost a character, it had so much life to it. It just seems beautiful and gothic and fascinating, and it's where I want to go for spring break next year.
3) Greece
I want to see the white houses. And the blue sky. And Greek men. And eat lots of dolmades.
4) Mexico City
Last summer I read The Savage Detectives by Roberto Bolano, Mexico City was the main setting, at least for some of the book. The book left me with the impression that Mexico City was this lively place teeming with ideas and literary movements and romance and sex and all of these wonderful things that I usually feel are lacking in New York. And it's beautiful and colorful and it's going through this art renaissance.
5) Oaxaca
No, not because of La Catrina. But because it's Mexico's version of Napa Valley, or Italy's Tuscany, where they have the most complex and wonderful food.
6) Portland and Seattle
I feel like I could live in one of these cities if New York doesn't work out. They have wonderful food scenes, they're cheaper than New York, and they are huge classical music cities.
7) France
I want to go to Paris, I want to go to Nice, I want to basically go everywhere.
8) Cuba
Mostly if I could go back in time and see it before it became a broken down time warp.
9) Dublin
Yes, I've already been. But I don't consider spending a day shopping really experiencing Dublin. I should have seen a few plays, and walked around the old section a lot more. I'll do one of those literary tours where you read James Joyce and Oscar Wilde then visit all the places referred to in their books.
10) Laos
Yeah, this was an Anthony Bourdain inspiration all the way. It looks beautiful and so foreign and wonderful.

Who's coming with me?

Addition to Things I Don't Understand

2008-10-31T07:05:00.001-07:00

11) Why I'm getting red bumps all over my face that itch.
Don't have much more to say about that. I cover them with concealer. I just don't know why they're happening.

12) Why Men Insist on Thinking That Mustaches are a Good Look
They're coming back. I haven't seen so many hipsters with mustaches in forever. And they're gross. They're universally unflattering. At best they look ridiculous and at worse they make you look like a creepy child pornographer from the 70s.

13) Why My Weight Shoots Up When I Eat a Cookie but When I Eat Rich, Catered Food For Two Weeks In Napa I Don't Gain a Pound
That one is pretty much self-explanatory. And explained in detail in my previous post.

Hallowe'en!

2008-10-31T05:02:00.000-07:00

Happy Halloween!

This week has pretty much been utter hell. I had a massive paper due on Wednesday (15 pages! On how nonprofits get funding!) which led to lots of nights with Minimal Sleep and Maximum Stress. I didn't even have time to think about or work on my Halloween costume until Wednesday night. But work on it I did, to the extent of making a lot of tea to dye a white blouse I bought. Now it's beige and tea-colored. It looks like it's been sitting in someone's attic for a while, which is what I was going for. And that's exactly how much effort I'm putting into this costume.

Don't get me wrong, I like Halloween. I just like it a lot more when I have more time to prepare. And to have some idea of what we're going to do.

Last night Maddy and I went to the apartment of one of the faculty-in-residence for a cookie-decorating contest that his daughter held. We understood the email invitation to say "Come decorate cookies that will then be judged" instead of, correctly, "Bring decorated cookies to be judged." Sooo yeah. We showed up, saw lots of great cookies already made and presented, and were like "OH SHIT." Oh well. The family made us vegetarian chili (for which I want the recipe so bad) and then let us eat the cookies. And eat the cookies I did. I honestly felt sick afterwards (I probably had the equivalent of one big cookie. But I don't think my body is used to that high amount of fat or sugar in one sitting). After eating disgusting amounts, we watched the movie Nadja, which was this crazy black and white art film about vampires on the Lower East Side. Great soundtrack. And it was an ok movie, and even pretty funny if you just accepted what was going on and said "Whatever" to anything that made no fucking sense. There was quite a bit of blood though. And even in black and white, copious amounts of blood tend to make me feel weak and giddy. So there was a lot of me shuddering and looking away from the tv.

Afterwards Sonia texted us and asked if we wanted to go to this warehouse party in Brooklyn. Randomly, I said yes, and we got ready and schlepped to Red Hook. By the time we got there, though, it was full. So we schlepped back and I got to go to sleep. Wooo.

This morning when I woke up I made the mistake of weighing myself for the first time in like over a month. And what a mistake it was. I'm up to 127, which is not good considering the fact that I ought to be getting back down to 123 instead of rocketing ever upwards. I'm hoping it was the cookies from last night, and that with a few weeks of dieting I can get it off. It sucks that I feel like I can gain weight in two days that it takes three weeks to get off. So needless to say, I'm not drinking tonight. Or eating candy, but that's usually pretty easy for me to turn down, as long as it's wrapped. Loose candy in a bowl in front of me, not so easy. It's probably for the best, anyway. I'm going home for a haircut tomorrow, and it'll be nice not to be hungover for once.

Ugh. I feel really gross and low self-esteem now. This is why I hate weighing myself. I used to love it, when I was 118 and I could weigh myself every morning and feel skinny, then not eat for another day and be 118 again the next morning. Now whenever I weigh myself I feel like a whale.

Woo Halloween

2008-10-27T19:05:00.001-07:00

So Halloween is two (three? four? I lose track) days away and until yesterday, I had no idea what I wanted to be. But yesterday Maddy came up with an idea that I really love and know I can get into because it doesn't require me to be scary (I hate being scary) or sexy (I can't be sexy) and it just reminds me of my childhood soooooo

I'm going to be a porcelain doll!

It's really perfect you see, because I can indulge my inclination to look old fashioned all of the time. I found a blouse on the Forever 21 website that's really satiny with puffed sleeves and a scoop neckline so I'm going to get it and dye it sepia colored with tea and then wear a black skirt with a pair of shoes (heels! WITH SPATS) also from Forever 21 (read: cheap and uncomfortable) and wear makeup to make myself look pale and doll-like and it will be wonderful.

Now we just have to figure out what we're doing on Friday.

Things That I Do Not Understand

2008-10-23T19:15:00.000-07:00

1) The Stock Market
I don't really understand how the stock market works. I do, however, know enough to get ridiculously nervous every time the newspaper says the market has fallen (but what market exactly, I do not know). I know enough to feel comforted when the stock market is doing well. But how the stock market functions is still a bit of a mystery to me.
2) Why Whenever I Go Into a Subway Station My Sense of Direction Gets Totally Fucked Up
Seriously though. Why do I always feel like the downtown 6 is coming from the wrong direction?
3) Girls Who Wear Ugg Boots with Short Skirts
No one wants to look like a tacky-ass bitch. Take off the Ugg boots. And burn them. Throw Crocs in too, while we're at it.
4) Why No One Wants to Date Me
Jk, jk, don't want to get into that right now.
5) Why Being an East Coast Liberal is Suddenly Such a Terrible Thing

East Coast Liberals are, as a whole, much more sympathetic to Middle Americans than Republicans. Even if we are very far removed from Middle Americans, in terms of religion, distance, and pretty much everything else, our policies are exponentially more beneficial for them than anything Republicans do. Yes, Republicans say they're going to cut taxes. Neat. But when those taxes go away, so do all of the things the government does to help people out. And that's only if those taxes really do get cut. Unfortunately, most middle Americans don't make six figures, which to the Republicans, means they are Unworthy of getting tax cuts. Which leads me to the next thing I don't understand....
6) Why Those Who Are Already Well Off Get Rewarded While Those Who Need Help Get Royally Fucked
It happens in so many situations. The multi-millionaires get tax breaks. Non-profit agencies that are financially well-off get donations and grants while struggling ones are passed over. I mean, I do understand that they're viewed as better investments. But it's just not quite fair.
7) Why More People In My Life Don't Read Poetry.
This is purely selfish: I like poetry. But it's always more fun when you can discuss it with someone.
8) People Who Have Over-Emotional Facebook Statuses
Do they realize that saying that they are "...sad, heartbroken, and confused" just makes people giggle?
9) Why Fashion Is So Damn Expensive
I want to wear Valentino too!
10) Calculus
Never did. Never will. Thank god Seipp arbitrarily added 25 to 30 points to my grade every semester in high school or I would probably not be at NYU.

Diet = Epic Fail

2008-10-13T19:25:00.000-07:00

So the first two days of my diet went horrifically.

Yesterday wasn't too bad, really. I did an hour of cardio in the morning and actually did things like measure out my pasta and stuff. But today was kind of a disaster. I didn't work out today at all, and then I went to get sushi with Lauren for lunch. And ugh, being on a diet is so frustrating. Cause when I go out for sushi I want to actually eat sushi, right? Not just have a vegetarian maki roll and call it a day. And then tonight I just ate dinner cause I was hungry and then had two and a half bowls of ice cream. It was non fat sugar free ice cream. But still. I ate about 22 points when my limit really should be 19.

Ugh, I'm so bad at dieting this year. I think it boils down to the fact that I don't hate myself nearly as much as I did freshman year. I had a really, really awful experience with a boy during welcome week, which pretty much set off a Why-Am-I-Not-Good-Enough-To-Date cycle which manifested itself in me blaming my weight and dealing with it by working out an hour a day (every day) and eating like 1200 calories. For months. By the end of the year I had lost twenty pounds, yes. But my period stopped for a year afterwards. My hair fell out. I wouldn't leave the dorm room to do fun things because I was afraid I'd eat something. And I still thought I was fat. I felt worthless because I couldn't lose those three pounds to reach 115.

I've honestly always hated when girls obsess about their weight, or call themselves fat or ugly. I honestly think that as long as someone is happy with the way they look and who they are as a person weight doesn't matter at all. I don't like people because they are skinny, and I don't think that other people do either (or at least not anyone that I want to be friends with). So why do I have two sides of my personality like this? Why does one half of me hate the media and the fashion industry for portraying anorexic, drug addicted 14 year olds as the image of womanly perfection while the other half of me berates myself and feels completely unlovable for gaining 7 pounds since freshman year?

I really can't answer that. I know that I've always had hang ups about my weight, even as a child. I don't think I ever thought of myself as fat until two of the boys in my second grade class made a "Fat kids" list and I was on it. Doing ballet for years didn't help either, watching all of these skinny little girls prance around just emphasized the fact that I definitely did not look like them. And then, of course, there was the time that my Nonna told me that I "had a very nice figure, even if [I was] big around the bottom." It's not easy to disregard something your peers say about your weight. It is far, far more difficult than that to disregard something your own grandmother says.

I know I have to somehow get rid of this mindset that I'm only lovable and datable when I'm less than 120 pounds. I have to remind myself that oh hey, I never got asked out that short summer when I was 118 pounds, either. So maybe the reason why boys don't like me isn't my weight. But I honestly really don't know what the real reason is for the fact that I get asked out so, so infrequently. I think I'm nice, and funny, and smart, and I have a cute haircut. I'm a damn good cook. I dress well. Yes, I weight 125 pounds. But I work out five times a week and do yoga. I'm stronger and in better shape than I have been in my entire life. I'm a champion multi-tasker, I can never imagine myself becoming clingy, and I realize everyone needs alone time. I think I'd be an excellent girlfriend.

I like enjoying my life. I hate feeling worthless because I was hungry and ate one apple too many and went over my weight watchers points allotment for the day. I hate constantly thinking about food and all the things I wish I could eat but can't because OMG THE CALORIES. I mean, yeah, the two and half bowls of ice cream probably isn't the best thing. I might stop buying ice cream for good starting tomorrow. But I think the moral of this whole post is that I feel way better about myself this year than I have in a really long time. And I don't know why I still have days and weeks where I still loathe everything about the way I look. Because other than that, I'm totally confident about myself and my abilities. Sometimes I'm a little over-confident, a little too convinced of my own cleverness. I just wish my perception of my looks would catch up to my perception of my abilities. Cause frankly, nothing that I want in life requires me to be skinny. It certainly doesn't require me to develop an eating disorder and a coke addiction.

I think I'm going to sign off on this blog post and go to bed (I have to wake up ridiculously early to drive my mom to work tomorrow so I have a car, then somehow do my homework, get my passport, and get a haircut before 2:00) with a shout out to the Little Anorexic Girl who lives in my head: Shut the Fuck Up and Leave Me the Fuck Alone.

So there.

Early New Years Resolution

2008-10-12T06:18:00.000-07:00

So after a week during which the Little Anorexic Girl who lives in my head was particularly vindictive, I think I'm going back on a diet. I'm at 125 now, and I want to get back to 121. It seems kind of pointless, but at least it will shut her up for a while. And I think it's a lot healthier/more realistic than trying to get back to 118 (which was when I stopped getting my period and my hair fell out in clumps...yeah not so great), or god forbid, hating myself for not being able to get down to 115.

Anyway, I feel like my jeans haven't been fitting as well as they did a month ago. I got too busy to work out much over the past month and didn't really cut the amount of calories I've been eating to make up for it, and I feel like it shows in my upper arms and my face. It's kind of a drag that my body has gotten so used to being on weight watchers and eating only 19 points a day (About 1500 calories). I'm going to have to cut back to 17 and increase my workouts to 45 minutes. Oh well. I'll just have to get to the gym at 7:30 instead of 8:00.

Home, glorious home.

2008-10-10T05:38:00.000-07:00

It's gotten to that time of year again. Around this time no matter how much I'm enjoying my classes, my social life, the city itself, all I want to do is go the fuck home. I think it's something about the air, really. The crispness makes me yearn for the train ride home, admiring the changing leaves bordering the Hudson. I find the metronorth ridiculously and inordinately comforting. Maybe it's the fact that the Hudson River Valley is one of the most beautiful places on earth, and even though I have no real love for my hometown (my love is for the people who live in it and the memories that are set there), I really feel blessed to have grown up in such a picturesque place. But every time the train gets past Yonkers I sigh and turn on either Miles Davis or Nico Muhly (for some reason those two have become my go-to music for train rides) and stare out the window feeling incredibly happy and at peace. It might also be the knowledge that either direction I'm traveling, from Fishkill to New York or vice versa, I'm going home. Because if this year has shown be anything, it is that I feel completely at home in both places.

NYU has really stepped up to the plate this year, giving us an actual Fall Break (Tuesday off! As well as Monday!!!). According to one of the girls in my soc theory class, NYU wants to take the pressure off us due to the wave of college-suicides that usually happens around the country at this time. I wasn't aware of this trend, but hey, if it means I get to go home and do fun outdoorsy stuff (apple picking, anyone? Trip up to Rhinebeck? Cold Spring to sit at the waterfront and drink coffee?) I'm all for taking the stress off.

Oh, hello

2008-10-09T19:05:00.000-07:00

So yeah, long time no blog post. I've been ridiculously busy the past few weeks. I've been working every day of the week except wednesday (and weekends), and the past two weeks were the first time I felt slammed by homework. I've also been trying to get to yoga and the gym regularly, which is hard. But I decided this week to start going to 7:00 AM yoga on tuesdays and thursdays. It means I have to wake up at 5:45 to get there. Yes, it sucks. Yes, I hate myself every time my alarm goes off. Yes, today I didn't realize I missed the Astor Place subway stop until the train was pulling into Union Square because I wasn't totally awake yet, and then had to practically run down to St. Marks in 5 minutes in order to get to class on time. But God, I feel so good afterward. Yoga is just one of those things that makes me feel healthy and happy and good about myself all at once. It completely wipes my mind by the end, which is something I really need. Usually I'm so stressed out about everything I have to do that my mind runs a mile a minute, so those three minutes of final relaxation are a blessed relief. Yoga to the People actually has teacher training pretty regularly, and I was really tempted to do it until Maddy pointed out that I already have no free time. And due to her practical and true observation, my dreams of being a yoga teacher must be deferred.

So as a quick round-up of the last week or so:
-Sonia's friend Nico came to visit from Germany. We took him to Botanica, which turned out to be really fun. It was just a bar, but the ratio of men to women was almost 2 to 1, a phenomenon that seems positively heavenly to any NYU girl. And they were fairly attractive too, even though in general I don't go for hipsters. As Sonia was being chatted up by a sleazy Cornell drop-out who had a girlfriend I talked to this chemist from Hoboken. He seemed pretty cool, but he ruined it all by trying to kiss me and forcing me to drunkenly explain that I think that kissing strangers in bars is a) gross (who knows where those lips have been?) and b) heartbreakingly desperate/cliche, and therefore I don't ever do it. After that I figured that even though I was having a good time talking to him, I should probably give him the chance to actually get laid so I took off to find Sonia and Nico.

-Finally got the Bartok Rhapsody out of the library. It's fun. And easy. I should be finished with it soon, and hopefully Insun will be like "wow she doesn't suck at all, why am I so judgmental to make her play something so clearly below her skill level?" Yes. Exactly like that.

-Yesterday I went to the Greenmarket and found these beautiful rainbow carrot. (The picture above is not of the carrots I bought. it's off the internets). I was too excited to take a picture of those carrots, and immediately peeled them to make saffron glazed carrots. It was the most delicious thing I've eaten in weeks. And so easy! Peel and slice the carrots, then saute them in butter (or butter spray, which is what I use since calories are my enemy), add a pinch of crumbled saffron, some lemon zest, salt and pepper, and a half cup of water. Then just cover and let cook for 5 minutes until the water evaporates. It's from a recipe I cut out of the NYT magazine ages ago, but never made because I thought I hated carrots. Turns out I don't.

-Yesterday as I was walking out of the Kimmel Center a delivery man for All About Food held the door for me.
"Thank you"- me
"You're welcome." (I start to walk away) "Keep that pretty smile. It's a good one."
And who says New Yorkers are unfriendly?

Forgive the Pedantry

2008-09-19T20:38:00.000-07:00

A few days ago when I was talking to one of my friends who is studying abroad in China, he mentioned how he finally understands what I mean when I say that it's very easy to feel alone in the city. I told him about a quote that has stuck with me since tenth grade, from the story that inspired the (horrible) movie AI. The story is called Super Toys Last All Summer Long, by Brian Aldiss. The quote reads: "She remained alone. An overcrowded world is the ideal place in which to be lonely."

That quote has been etched in my memory since then. For its aesthetic value to begin with, really. It's a very well-balanced sentence. If you cut it down the middle, say, through "ideal," it seems to weight the same on each side. And it just seems like such a paradox. The world is overcrowded, so one ought to be able to find plenty of people to be friends with, or to be in love with. And yet, the sheer amount of life is so crushingly overwhelming sometimes that it just increases any feelings of loneliness one might feel.

Early sociologists who studied the effects of the city on humanity in general came to the conclusion that city life is unnatural. They felt that the constant stimulation, the barrage of people, noise, sights, smells forces people to retreat inside themselves. But by cutting themselves off from the intense stimuli coming at them from all directions, they are also cutting themselves off from other human beings. The danger in this is that it can soon lead to antisocial behavior and anomie, causing the eventual breakdown of society.

I never really bought into that theory of how City Life affects people. I don't think that the city is naturally a corrupting force, any more than I believe life in the mountains or the country side is naturally cleansing. Since humans first came to be, they have been forming groups, families, tribes. I think there's something to be said for the fact that as soon as humans discovered agriculture, they started settling down in large (relatively large) groups. Humans in general have always needed and indeed sought out the company of humans. So it follows that if anything at all could be considered "natural," it would be life in the city.

And yet, whether city life is natural or unnatural, it can be very easy to be lonely here. I think it has a little more to do with ennui than anomie, however. The loneliness is not of the antisocial sort. It leans more towards the self-pitying and even the self-indulgent. After all, when one reflects on how many people there actually are in the city, one tends to start questioning his or her own self-worth.

I've been listening to a lot of Satie lately. Erik Satie was a French composer from the early 20th century, a contemporary of Debussy and Ravel. He's very well known for his use of repetition and stark, almost perplexing simplicity. Whenever I start to feel lonely or sorry for myself I put either his Gymnopedies or his Gnossienes on. Played on solo piano with no accompaniment, the melodies are haunting but hummable. At first it seems like there's almost nothing to them, but as they progress one comes to the realization that their hollowness, their other-worldly quality is the truly spectacular aspect of the pieces. In the thread-bareness of the melody lies something more comforting than a down blanket. In their loneliness lies complete perfection.

2008-09-17T19:40:00.000-07:00

"Who's that?"

"Oh, that's just my friend, Jesus."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1iUU6jTqB6k&eurl=http://www.eonline.com/uberblog/the_soup/index.2.html

Don't ask questions. Just go to the website. And I'm sorry it's not a link. Blogger is being a dumb bitch and none of the links I embed show up, and I'm too lazy to figure out what's wrong.

But seriously, do it. It'll make your day a million gazillion times better.

Poetry Moment of the Day

2008-09-17T10:03:00.000-07:00

From the poem "Poem Read at Joan Mitchell's" by Frank O'Hara

If Kenneth were writing this he would point out how art has changed
women and women have changed art and men, but men haven't
changed women much

That section is short. And the whole poem is glorious (one of my favorites) but I can't find it online and it's far to long to type out for you guys. But look it up. It's basically a congratulatory poem to two of O'Hara's friends who have decided to get married, and it's just so full of hope and anticipation and happiness. I alternate between feeling really safe and warm inside and being overwhelmingly jealous whenever I read this. But I just love that section, because it is kind of true in a way. And I do like to think that no one can really change me, or should ever be allowed to do so. It also plays to my, and I think most women's desire to be someone's muse. Even if you're creating art yourself, wouldn't it be wonderful to inspire someone to create some artistic masterpiece?

I mean, I'm not saying I want to be someone's Zelda Fitzgerald. I like stability and well, not being an alcoholic a little too much for that. But it would be lovely to inspire a poem or a painting. I hope this doesn't come off as terribly narcissistic, because that's not how I mean it. And I also don't mean it as wanting to inspire someone else to great heights instead of achieving those great heights myself. But there is something romantic about being the Mona Lisa, no?

Ambivalence

2008-09-16T18:45:00.000-07:00

So....maybe I won't throw caution to the winds.

Cause frankly, I don't want to throw caution to the winds. I want someone to throw caution to the winds for me.

Mreh. Fuck my life.

Love on the F train

2008-09-16T17:16:00.000-07:00

So I think I fell just a little bit in love on the subway today. On the way back from work today, I got on the train at 57th street immediately plunked down in the first seat I could find (I was wearing heels for the first since last winter, and they hurt like a bitch and cut my ankles), which happened to be next to this guy writing furiously in a notebook. He was ridiculously cute, just my type: Indian, with some serious stubble and glasses wearing a plaid button-down and gray jeans. He was solid without being stocky, which is always pleasant to see in a city where most of the men look like anorexic 14 year old girls. I decided to let myself be a creeper and try to read what he was writing. It was completely illegible except for a sentence in capitals saying FIND A WAY TO REPHRASE WITHOUT SO MUCH REPETITION and my first thought was OHMYGOD he's a WRITER which naturally made him about a million times sexier. But anyways I took out the book of new and selected poems by David Kirby that I just got out of the library (and that I absolutely adore) and started reading and all of a sudden he looked over and asked "What are you reading?" And of course, I got ridiculously flustered and just showed him the cover and said "uhhhh David Kirby." And he was like "Ok," and I just prayed to whatever higher power may or may not exist that he would keep talking to me. But to my disappointment he just turned back to his notebook and went on writing. But it was Love. Love, I tell you!

Anyways, every once in a while when I'm reading poetry I find a line or stanza that I just love so much and just seems so prophetic I have to share it. Today it was this stanza from the poem The House on Boulevard Street by David Kirby:

I was also reading the great Marina Tsvetaeva
who wrote there was no approach to art,
that it was instead a kind of seizing,
and I thought, why shouldn't life imitate books?
Why shouldn't I reach out
and take what had already taken me?

And when I read that I thought, you know he's so, so right. Why, for once in my life can things not work out like they do in novels? I mean I realize that novels are escapist and idealized and well, fictional, but they must have some basis in fact to have been thought of at all, no?

So I kind of figured that I should throw my pride and caution to the wind for a little bit and see what happens. I need to stop being so afraid of being hurt. Because I've been hurt many, many times before but I'm still here and kickin and somehow still pretty optimistic a lot of the time. So I'm taking a chance. Let's hope it works.

On Sex Diaries, Hot Messes, and Tasti D-lite

2008-09-15T20:36:00.000-07:00

"12:37 a.m.: Get a text from work crush!! "Are you out tonight." Hmph. What is it with guys under the age of 25 and their vague booty-call text messages? If you're really interested, call me a day in advance when I’m not trashed in a pencil skirt and French-cuff shirt." (http://nymag.com/daily/intel/2008/09/the_overserved_ivy_banker_chic.html)

Um... has a truer statement ever been written? It's just another reason why I wait eagerly and impatiently between each episode (or whatever you call them) of Daily Intel's Sex Diaries. They make me realize that I am definitely not alone in feeling as frustrated with my love life (or current lack thereof) as I do. And they're damn funny. After each one I want to go write one myself, until I remember oh hey, if I'm going to write something for a column called Sex Diaries, I should probably, oh I don't know, be having sex.

So, in other news, I adored my outfit today. It was a white with yellow striped shirt tucked into the super tight pencil skirt that makes me feel like Joan Holloway from Mad Men with my long multi-colored pearls. It was great, until I got to work and looked in the mirror and thought OH SHIT YOU CAN SEE EVERY DETAIL OF MY BRA. White with black polka dots, black lace edging, even the seams. Usually that doesn't bother me. I've been known to wear see-through shirts without a camisole underneath on more than a few occasions. But never, ever, EVER to work. Then somehow in the time between sitting at my intern-cubbyhole on the computer and running down to DROM on Ave A to pick up James Galway's sheet music (Flight of the Bumblebee. Come on, I realize it's for an encore, but can we be less original?) the seam at the back of my skirt split. Like, it wasn't anything indecent really. It was the seam right on top of the zipper where the fabric meets. And the skirt is lined, so there was no ass/underwear peak-age. But still. Combined with my obvious black and white polka dotted bra, I was such a hot mess.

Later on, when I was on the way back from tasti d-lite (yes, I sometimes do go out with the express purpose of going to tasti d-lite. Especially now that Maddy got me a gift certificate, even if it is for the tasti up by union square, which is like, 20 blocks away. I just think of myself as a intrepid explorer, fighting my way through hordes of tourists like Lewis and Clark fought their way through grizzly bears and mountain lions. Except my reward is not the sight of the Pacific but a cup full of green-tea flavored, chemical laden pseudo-dairy product.) a man stopped me on the road:

Man: Miss! Miss!

Me (stopping, because I had just given another man directions to Joe's Pub and I figured he needed directions too): Yes?

Man: You are very beautiful.

Me: Ummmmm....thanks.

Man: What's your name?

Me: Uhhh...not giving it to you.

Man: Ohhhhh you're scared of black men, aren't you.

To which I proceeded to walk away.

Like, come on.

Upon which I ruminate on birthdays, Sarah Palin, and Italians

2008-09-11T20:41:00.000-07:00

So it's incredible how fast my weeks go now that I have no free time to speak of. I wake up, go to the gym, go to class, go to work, come back, do homework (which I have had almost none of so far), sometimes do yoga, then fall into bed dead tired. And the weirdest thing is, I'm actually enjoying this. I like having a busy schedule. I like to feel productive, and staying busy is one way to distract myself from the lack other things (romance? money to go shopping? ) in my life. But anyways, I like my internship a lot. My classes are easy if not terribly interesting, my music TA is the coolest person on the planet (he plays accordian! Has a fro! Is 6'5'' and probably weighs 120 pounds!), and my soc theory professor is an Elderly British Gentleman who taught at Oxford and who is thoroughly puzzled as to how anyone could take Sarah Palin seriously.

But Jesus fucking Christ, the more I learn about Sarah Palin the more I fear for the future of this nation. She doesn't believe in abortion, even in cases of rape or incest. She doesn't believe in global warming. She thinks that attacking Russia would be a good idea if they don't stop fucking with Georgia. She likes guns and shooting endangered species. And she likes the Jesus a little too much for comfort. Basically, she embodies everything I think is wrong with the American people.

In other news, my birthday came and went. I wasn't really into my birthday this year, as shown by my conversation with Sonia monday night:

Sonia: Tomorrow's your birthday! What are you going to do???

Me: Ummm....go to yoga?

So needless to say, I wasn't really feeling it. I actually think I might have outgrown birthdays a bit. But I did get lots of nice birthday wishes and calls and tasti d-lite gift certificates, for which I thank everyone. I think I'll try to celebrate this weekend or the next, whenever Sonia can find a halfway convincing fake id.

The Festival of San Generro started today. So far I have avoided it like bubonic plague infested bodies rotting in the canals of Venice. I was all excited last year to be living next to Little Italy just for the San Generro festival. Now I just fucking hate it. It's loud. There are drunk people everywhere. It smells like sausage and peppers all the fucking time, which just makes me hungry, until after a while it starts to turn my stomach. It's basically like the Week of Hell. And in a way, it just enhances stereotypes of Italians as these gluttinous mafiosa types. Not all Italian Americans are the Sopranos.

That's one of my biggest pet peeves, which I was totes planning on elaborating on tonight. But I'm just too tired. So I'll save that rant for another time.

This is My Year?

2008-09-07T15:48:00.000-07:00

I'm falling into it again. That cynical, bitter old-maid feeling that inevitably seems to develop when I come back to New York in the fall and walk around seeing all the skinny model-couples holding hands in Nolita talking about jetting off the to Hamptons for the weekend and looking happy and in love and glorious. And then I come back to my room and stare out the window at all the young-professional couples who seem to live at Bar Martignetti and wonder why, in a city of 8,250,567 people (according to the most recent US census, which does not count illegal residents if they can't be found, so probably even more) is it so damn hard to find a boyfriend? Somewhere in this huge sprawling city there has to be a man who would consider dating me, and who would be able to deal with the fact that I'm ambitious and hard working and even that I'm a little emotionally inaccessible a lot of the time. Maybe my exasperation is slightly premature. It is only the second week here, after all. But my classes are already a wasteland, and everyone at work is either gay or married. Yay.

Whatever. I will not let myself start out this year feeling defeated and unattractive. Sketchy men on the street think I have Great Legs! It's a start.

Anyways, enough. Last night Sonia and Maddy and I finished off two bottles of wine and had a girly gossip/spill-your-guts fest (does anyone else hate that phrase as much as I do? It's just so vivid. And kind of gross. Like if you opened your mouth to say something and your stomach lining and intestines spilled out instead of words. Actually, that's kind of what's been happening to me lately, in a figurative sense. I've almost completely lost my filter and have put my foot in my mouth more than a few times lately) and then woke up late this morning and got brunch at the Waverly diner, where Maddy and I waxed rhapsodical about diner coffee and Sonia drank tea out of this glass mug that I immediately wanted to steal. It's really one of the most comforting places in the world. Then we walked around enjoying the beautiful weather and street fair on University Place and spending an obscene amount of money on text books we went home cleaned and re-arranged, and I spent a few hours trying (unsuccessfully) to understand Comte while trying to stave off a post-wine headache and the feeling that someone punched me in the kidneys. I don't know that that is attributable to the wine. Or even if it's my kidneys. But still. It hurts!

Maddy just told me I'm a tortured genius, listening to Schoenberg and blogging away. Oh, if only. I'm just a little college girl who needs to be self-indulgent and pitying every once in a while before I can snap out of it. Which I have now done. Sorry for dragging you through the mire with me.

Fuck Sarah Palin

2008-09-05T20:37:00.000-07:00

I was going to write a whole diatribe explaining why Sarah Palin makes me physically ill, but then I started to feel physically ill. Sufficeth to say that if I was ever tempted to call someone the C-word, it would be her.

(Let it be known that I was going to use an unflattering picture of her. I found quite a few. But then I decided no, I'm better than that. I don't take low, vicious jabs at people who I don't know. Unlike Sarah Palin, as it were, who believes that community organizers have no purpose and that poor people can just go suck it, or that women [except her daughter, of course] shouldn't have any right to choose whether or not to have a child. But ugh, I feel the gag reflex kicking in. Must stop writing about Sarah Palin before I cry or vomit or both.)

Cure-All for Low Self-Esteem or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Catcall

2008-09-03T17:54:00.000-07:00

I've been collecting catcalls again. This inevitably happens when I'm feeling down on myself for one reason or another and need a general, albeit sort of sleazy emotional pick-me-up. But today I was wearing my high waisted shorts with a white blouse and a blue scarf around my head (I looked quite the 50s housewife, but really, when don't I?), took off my ipod, and went to the Greenmarket for vegetables. And lo and behold, I got two "beautifuls" within the first 20 minutes, and the piece de resistance, a "Great Legs!" The trick to really appreciate being catcalled is to totally ignore the person who made the comment to begin with. Never look at their face, because they are inevitably gross and sleazy. Rarely does an attractive, well dressed man catcall. But rest assured believing that if the creepers say it, then the attractive, well dressed men think it. I suppose you can judge by Looks, but I never make eye contact with anyone on the street, so that doesn't work for me.

Now, this might be the most anti-feministic thing you will ever hear me say, but every once in a while I need this. I'm very used to being liked and respected because I'm intelligent, and I'm very happy about that. But honestly, very rarely does a member of the opposite sex tell me I'm attractive. So every once in a while it is nice to have outside assurance, from someone who isn't my mom.

90210 = Worst Show Since One Tree Hill

2008-09-03T04:42:00.000-07:00

Not to insult all you lovely people out there who still watch One Tree Hill. I'm sure it's just for nostalgia for six years ago when it started, or because you still have a creepy crush on Chad Michael Murray, or because you like innocent tales of fratricide, stalkers, and marriage at 16 (she wasn't even pregnant!). But honestly, in my humble opinion One Tree Hill just fucking sucks, and so, sadly, does 90210.

I was really looking forward to 90210. I wanted (at best) for a version of Gossip Girl for the West Coast Set, where I could really care about the characters, or at least hate them enough to keep watching. A show where (usually uncomfortable) societal truths are raised in witty and infinitely quotable banter by characters wearing dresses that my entire savings account couldn't buy. Or at least a complete guilty pleasure that I could watch after class and work with a glass of wine (or a bottle) for a good soporific effect.

90210 was not that show. In fact, the only reason I watched the first (two hour!) episode in horror was because as bad as it started, it just. kept. getting. worse. Why? Well:

1. Every Single Female Character Was Underweight

I realize that 90210 is not trying to create a set of role models for today's middle school-aged girls. If they were, they would not have their 15 year old characters doing pills, or stealing, or any of the other stuff that makes for Good Teen Drama. But seriously, did the producers go out of their way to find underweight actresses? Like, did they put on the description "No one with a BMI over 15 need apply?" I remember back to my 10th Grade Experience, and I don't think I knew more than five or six girls who were as skinny as the actresses on 90210 (one of whom I know for a fact was anorexic). But most of my class mates were feeling the effects of puberty. What bothers me most about the 90210 actresses is that young middle school and younger girls will see them, think "I guess that's what high school girls ought to look like," and end up with the sort of unhealthy and unrealistic body image image problems that I, and so many women my age, have to grapple with to this day.

2. They Weren't Even Well Dressed

The actresses who looked like Holocaust Survivors weren't even well dressed! Seriously, they looked like they entered Charlotte Russe blindfolded and somehow ended up with the tackiest items that they then proceeded to put on all at once. Part of the fun of Gossip Girl is being like OMGZ I SAW THAT DRESS IN THE PRADA STORE WINDOW WHEN I WAS WALKING ON BROADWAY YESTERDAY. 90210 should learn from that.

3. Cyber-Bullying is Bad. But No One Could be Insulted by the Cyber-Bullying on that Show.

For real. Even back in high school, if someone made a badly animated video of me dancing with a cow and put it on the internets, I would have looked at them in disgust and thought, that's the best that you can do? I can hurt myself better than that.

4. Beverly Hills 15 Year Olds do NOT Listen to Tilly and the Wall

Now, I adore Tilly and the Wall. They have graced my ipod for several years running now, and I think their new album is terrific. But no one would have them play their Sweet Sixteen. If you're that rich, you're getting Chris Brown, or Rihanna, or whatever emo pop-punk band kids are listening to these days.

These points, plus the terrible dialogue and acting, mean that this show was a complete failure that I will

not be watching again.