How is lightning like a violist's fingers?

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

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

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

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

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

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