after italy.

insomnia;

2009-01-26T02:59:00.002-05:00

don't ask me why i am not sleeping right now.

the national have a new song out, "so far around the bend." it's for the red zone's new benefit compilation, dark was the night, which comes out february 16th, incidentally the same day that girl talk plays at wellesley. they are streaming a new song every day on the cd's myspace:

here is the song, too (courtesy of 4ad's cute little widget)

bryce dessner is collaborating with visual artist matthew ritchie for a two-day arts and music and performance piece wonderful nonsense extravaganza at mit this wednesday and thursday. special guests include aaron dessner and an mit/wellesley chamber string group (. . .) it's called darkness visible and i'm really excited to go. also, it is free!

wintersession has come and gone with nary a whisper. we start school again in a little bit over a week, but not before serena and i journey to new york for restaurant week at convivio, bklyn vs. bmore curated by todd p and possibly even drinks at pdt. one of janna's friends bartends there, so it's not a sure thing but far more likely than if we weren't friends-of-friends. also also, totally didn't know that janna had an argentina blog, even though one) it is not defunct as janna is home and two) she knew about my blog.

e.b. came and went and left a trail of broken hearts in her wake (kidding) though her visits to wellesley have all been epic. the last one also brought a most welcome guest, the famed (infamous?) phillipp s. penka, real person. eebs, know that every theme party and inevitable shitshow that happens this spring will be thrown in your honor, and that you will always be an honored guest in spirit. but in a less creepy, pseudo-eulogizing way. it is 3:15 in the morning after all, you can't expect me to be that coherent.

i'm going to rename this blog.

good night.

so maybe i lied

2009-01-02T14:45:00.002-05:00

now that no one's reading this anymore,

i've discovered the perfect recession-diet food: kale. at super stop and shop in old saybrook (that's in connecticut), kale is 50 cents a pound. and it's bulky but light, so yesterday at said super stop and shop, i bought a rather humongous bunch of anti-oxidant-packed kale for a frugal 37 cents. steamed with a little bit of garlic and then dressed with olive oil and salt, it is both delicious and almost absurdly healthy for you, being a 'superfood' as designated by diet gurus everywhere, and more legitimately, the usda.*

if you want a side of cholesterol with your leafy greens, kale is also much like sage, eminently fry-able. once again, i would first heat some garlic in a sauté pan until carmelized and then throw in the kale until it's crisped up a bit and bright-green. blame it on the top chef marathons, i think.

* claim has in no way been sustantiated through internet research. but i bet it's true, really.

all things must past

2008-12-25T13:35:00.003-05:00

so here we are. i'm home now, as you know. merry christmas, everyone. and this is the end of the blogging experiment. i thought that when i started "actually italy," describing a new environment would give me the confidence to write about myself. i've always had trouble with journaling, memoirs, etc. because of the inherently solipsistic nature of writing about yourself. it's just one of my too-many weird emotional hangups, i suppose. and that's the reason why i stopped writing here. i was afraid that my daily activities were (and they were) too mundane to be of interest to anyone, because they were too mundane to be of interest to me. paradoxically self-centered, i know. nevertheless, the end is the end and i have reached it. i'm really happy to be returning to wellesley and seeing all of my friends for second semester, especially the january visit of darling, 21-year old e.b. andersen bartels. for rory, rachel, emma, and e.b., best of luck to (the rest of) your time abroad. everyone else, thanks for listening.

l'arboro di natale

2008-12-08T11:20:00.003-05:00

last night, kristin, gabriele and i decorated the christmas tree. it made me want to go home. this is ironic only if you are my parents reading this, and know that our family at home hasn't even bought trees in the past two or three years. you see? don't even remember the last year we did, though that could be due to my awful memory instead.

today is a holiday in italy, the feast of the immaculate conception. it was a long weekend, so of course a lot of people left for one last trip. i didn't, but i did finally go to the bargello, which is the national sculpture gallery, where donatello's bronze david is kept. it was actually kind of fortuitous that i procrastinated for so long, because it was under restoration until about a week ago, and when i saw it, it was bright and shiny new.

also, since this is the last week of classes, i obviously did what i always do when finals are upon me: not work. instead, i watched in the valley of elah with katie w. and her friend ashley. at least they had to watch it for film class. i had no such excuse. but it was quite good. i recommend it highly. it's dreary, but not too preachy, and that's all we can really ask for in these iraq war films. though i will say that it does not nearly have the same amount of bright, young, good-looking things as stop-loss. because i am a shallow and irreverent human being.

i'm coming home in ten days. i can't really fathom that. or how i'm going to fit everything in. i've bought eight (count them, eight) new books since i've come here. and i still haven't started infinite jest.

exhausted,

2008-12-01T07:57:00.002-05:00

thursday night, thanksgiving: the nonna (patrizia's mother, busybody and all-around annoyance) finally leaves, after staying with us for five weeks. we breathe a collective sigh of relief, most of all patrizia "i put an ocean between us." to celebrate, i go out to watch a movie at the odeon, the english-language movie palace, which was showing bird's nest: herzog and de meuron in china as part of their 'festival' of films about contemporary art. the movie was quite good-- it was in english, german and chinese with italian subtitles, or, all four of the languages i 'know' how to speak/read/write in various capacities (a generous assessment, to be sure). what was both entertaining and a bit confusing was trying to either listen to the languages while also reading both the english and italian subtitles. cognitive dissonance, certainly!

friday through sunday were spent on a hectic, wet but generally fun trip to ancient italy: ancient rome, pompeii & herculaneum along with naples (for the archaeological museum) and sorrento (just because). even though i had been to all of the aforementioned places besides herculaneum, it was wonderful to hear about roman esoterica from the mouth of charles ewell, scholar/aracheologist extraordinaire and my professor for the ancient etruscan and roman art class that this trip was part of as well. also, herculaneum was probably my favorite part of the trip, being more manageable in size than pompeii and more importantly, far less crowded. we also went to a place called villa oplontis, located halfway between pompeii and herculaneum, which was only discovered in the 1960s and thus far more well-preserved than the other two. the examples of decorative art, especially the paintings and mosaics, were breathtaking. what i really find amazing about roman decorative art is that it never was regarded as 'art for museums.' these frescoes were all simply decorating the dining rooms and bedrooms of wealthy romans. the famous alexander mosaic was found in a dining room-- as part of the floor. we saw that in the museo archaeological in naples, which other than that, doesn't have much to recommend.

thanksgiving,

2008-11-26T10:36:00.002-05:00

so maybe i'm ready to go home.

paris was nice enough. no, no, it was very nice. i finally went to see ste-chapelle, the 'jewelbox' chapel on île de la cité that is probably more stained glass than structural components. i walked along the rive gauche (left bank) again, and stopped at mariage fréres for tins of tea and ladurée (not on the left bank) for macaroons. i went to the musée rodin and saw my favorite sculpture of all time, probably, the burghers of calais. also there was the thinker, the gates of hell, ugolino, balzac and the kiss, along with an entire room of equally-impressive sculptures by rodin's mistress, camille claudel.

on saturday we went as a group (more or less) to chartres cathedral and versailles. it was truly magnificent to see finally see chartres after studying it so many times; unfortunately, due to a memory-card mishap, i do not have photographs of those iconically mismatched towers. oh well, they were nice. versailles... was the same as the last time i saw it, in paris, in the third week of november. i actually really do like that aspect of symmetry - it'd been five years to the week since i'd been in paris last. i saw all the signs for beaujolais nouveau and once again, i saved all of my metro tickets.

and, on saturday night, a group of us went to go see ra ra riot in this little (well, not that little) club on the outskirts of paris (past pére-lachaise cemetary), also in celebration of ryan's birthday. the show itself was very nice, and the entire experience of going to an indie rock concert, or any concert at all, which i hadn't been to since nextech way back in september. after ra ra riot, these exquisitely hilarious french rappers (think mc solaar but not quite) came on stage, and by that time, everything was funny. none of us had any idea what they were saying; but boy did we think it all hilarious.

the sleeper trains there and back (again) may have killed my nascent love for love distance travel by train. or maybe it's simply trenitalia. the trains were delayed both ways, which meant that to paris, we lost nearly two and a half hours of friday morning and back from paris, i didn't end up having enough time to go to my first class, which i really did want to go to (it was italian). walking home from the train station in a downpour on monday morning didn't enhance my mood, either.

okay, that's about it for now. i'm going (back) to rome, again, this weekend with my etruscans & romans class, led by the indomitable professor charles ewell. i'm also only in rome for one day, and spending the rest of the time in pompeii and herculaneum, sorrento, naples, and along the amalfi coast. it'll probably be too cold to go into the water, but i know the view will be nice. until then, signing off.

and, i mean, some things that i've done recently, too

2008-11-16T12:17:00.003-05:00

Weekends this November: five.
Weekends this November I will have spent in Rome: three.

This is the truth, because I went two weeks ago with the Michelangelo class, last weekend with the All-School trip (my 'free' trip to Rome) and I am going in two weeks as part of my Etruscans & Romans class. Now that we're clear.

Anyways, this weekend I was supposed to go to Rome with Ariel, but a continuing sinus infection and new stomach virus rendered her mostly incapacitated and I basically ended up taking advantage of Syracuse University in Florence's free transportation and lodging while seeing Rome on my own. This was extremely nice because 1) no matter how much I enjoyed Renaissance Rome and the private viewing of the Sistine Chapel last weekend, the trip was mighty hectic and I felt like I could barely catch my breath the entire time and 2) the two previous times I was in Rome in September were Russian visa-related/bureaucratic nightmares that stressed me out way too much to enjoy any part of Rome at all. Okay, bitchfest over, onto the wonders of Rome:

On Friday, I left the group almost as soon as we arrived at the train station. I walked from the train station to Santa Maria degli Angeli, a Renaissance-era (the interior was designed by Michelangelo, apparently) basilica hidden under an ancient Roman bath-house. It had the most impressive proto-Baroque organ I have ever seen and very nice porphyry columnar work. I also ran into the Manifestazione, the Italian students' protest over educational reforms implemented by the government. There were banners, shouters, and an overwhelming odour of marijuana. It was like I was back in Ann Arbor again. I walked towards the Quirinal Hill (my favorite of the seven) and stopped by the Palazzo Barberini, where there was a very nice museum of High Renaissance and Baroque art, in an altogether pleasing palatial environment. To enter the museum, you walk up this very nice winding spiral staircase (not at all like the one in St. Peter's) and then since the museum is in an old palace, everything is airy and spacious and the natural environment that the paintings are in are just so nice. And yes, the artwork there is very high-quality, too! They have Raphael's La Fornarina (The Baker), reputedly a portrait of his mistress; two excellent Caravaggios (Judith and Holofernes and Narcissus) and one of Hans Holbein's protraits of Henry VIII.

After Palazzo Barberini, I went to a restaurant called Birreria Peroni for lunch, on the recommendation of my Italian professor. There, I ordered, per her recommendation as well, a dish called scamorza arrosto, which ended up being an entire roasting dish of melted cheese. Mm-hm. Delicious, yes. Incredibly unhealthy, certainly. After lunch, I walked to the ancient Roman Forum, ran into the protesters again and ducked into the Capitoline Museums for a good dose of ancient Roman art and artifacts. There, I saw the enormous head, left hand, right hand, left hand, and right (I think) kneecap of Constantine. Wonderful, really it was. Also there in the museums is the Capitoline She-Wolf, that famous sculpture of the wolf suckling Romulus and Remus. Fun fact, the babies underneath the wolf were only added later for the necessary propaganda. Oh, Rome, my love. Unfortunately, by that time, I was dead tired and still had to walk all the back towards the train station for our hotel, so I missed out on seeing the Dying Gaul. Curses.

At the hotel, my lack of friends meant that I got a room to myself for the night. Go me, obviously. I also fell asleep at seven pm and didn't wake up until seven am. You know those kind of nights. Necessary, and I'll just see the Trastevere the next time I'm in Rome. Saturday morning, I spilt from the group once again and went exploring in the suburbs, to the ponte Milvio, which is this bridge where lovers go and fasten locks onto the bridge pilings before throwing the keys behind them into the Tiber. Romantic, yet polluting. The hopeless romantic in me had to see it before I left Italy; and the ironic pragmatist in me chuckled when I saw the enterprising vendors selling locks and keys at various intervals for those less-prepared lovers amongst us. I caught a tram back towards the center of the city (the bridge is kind of south of nowhere-type) and just wandered down the via del Corso, one of the main arteries of Rome. Ostensibly, I was looking for the Museo del Corso, which had an exhibit of Dutch Masters. Unfortunately, I never did find it, and by the time I stumbled upon a Basquiat thing going on at the Palazzo Ruspoli (whatever that is, I googled it) which utterly made up for missing a Vermeer or three. I don't think the exhibition had a lot of his famous famous paintings but it did have one called Suiting, Tuxedoes that I really liked. They made me check my camera at the door though, so I couldn't even take any stealth photos. And I went to Muji in Rome. Obviously.

I finally re-joined the Syracuse group Saturday afternoon on the excursion to the Galleria Borghese, Cardinal Scipione Borghese's own "pleasure palace," the "Playboy Mansion of its day" (tm Sebastian, best guide ever) which is now filled with masterpieces of the Baroque, mostly Bernini and Caravaggio. Most importantly, it has Bernini's Apollo and Daphne and Rape of Proserpina. Seeing them was absolutely breathtaking, one of the first truly "wow, pause" moments so far in Italy. I think the only other one so far was when we went to the Laurentian Library, but that's not the point. The point was that you could see where Bernini sculpted Proserpina's tears and Pluto's fingers' indentations in her thigh. The point was after you took a turn around Apollo and Daphne, you could see the procession of her transfiguration, from the bark forming around her torso to the tips of her fingers turning into laurel leaves. The point was totally getting a talking-to from a humourless guard about "no pictures! no no no pictures!!!!" in the galleries.

After returning on Saturday night, I met Katie for a late dinner, where again I consumed a singularly unhealthy amount of dairy product, this time in the form of a gorgonzola-and-mozarella calzone that was supposed to have tomatoes in it as well but so emphatically did not. And then, gelato from Grom, this time caco (persimmon) and torrochino (torrone/nougat). It's not that I haven't gained weight, it's that since there are no dryers in this country, none of my jeans actually fit anymore. Deceptive, you see.

THEN, of course, Katie and I go out for American brunch this early/late afternoon. We went, this time per my roommate's recommendation, to a little restaurant tucked away between piazza Signoria and Santa Croce called La Via dell'Acqua, where we waited for an absurdly long time for absurdly good food. Katie got scrambled egg whites and turkey bacon while I ordered blueberry pancakes and a side of fried ham (really prosciutto cotto, but who's complaining). It was almost life-changingly (though still not as good as Egg) good, the blueberry pancakes, because they aren't even my favorite breakfast food! Like, that's how good the pancakes are, or, conversely, how much I miss the concept of Sunday brunch. Either way, delicious is the bottom line. And there was American coffee. Don't get me wrong, I will take a macchiato, always, but there is just something so comforting about a biggish ceramic mug, filled with coffee, and it even comes with a spoon of mini chocolate chips.

book reviews

2008-11-16T12:00:00.002-05:00

From the three I bought at the Persephone Bookshop in London over fall break:
Actually, this is pretty counterintuitive and completely a ploy to avoid work. Anyways, the three books I bought were Miss Pettigrew Lives For A Day, Farewell Leicester Square, and They Can't Ration These. I've finished Miss Pettigrew and am about two-thirds of the way through Farewell Leicester Square. Miss Pettigrew was thoroughly diverting, but reminded me to no small account why exactly I always (strive to) read the book before watching the film. I don't like the film any less, but just like what the shopkeeper at Persephone told me, the book is very different and I would like the novel much more. True on both accounts. Mom, you would like the book - definitely read it when I return. Farewell Leicester Square is quite good so far, and easier to get through than I thought it would be. It's basically about the discrete anti-Semitism of bougeois London in the interwar period; about a Jewish film director named Alec Berman and semi-self-inflicted, semi-environmental prejudices that he faces. The author, Betty Miller, does a great job of probing the psychologoical depths and paralyzing self-doubt (hey!) of the characters, especially Alec and his gentile wife, Catherine.

Obviously, The Brothers Karamazov, started in the second week of September, still has not progressed beyond page three hundred seventy-something. Dimitri is furious, Ivan is totally giving me the "I told you so" look and Aloysha is already praying for my immortal soul. And Infinite Jest? Pretty sure it has a fine coating of dust on its thick spine. Shame, shame away.

they're here!!!!

2008-11-09T13:11:00.002-05:00

Pictures from fall break and this weekend.

Rome, without the strife.

2008-11-09T11:02:00.003-05:00

Before this weekend, I hadn't a good impression of Rome. This may or may not have been because the last two times I had gone there for bureaucratic/emotionally draining/Russian visa-related reasons. This time, it was equally as hectic a trip, but much more enjoyable. I went for Friday and Saturday with the Michelangelo and Botticelli classes. They packed in an obscene amount of activity, but I am (mostly) thankful to have been jerked around mercilessly for forty-eight hours. Most importantly, we had a private visit to the Sistine Chapel on Friday night. That was amazing. It ended up being about seventy people (not an inconsiderable number, but whatever) but having studied the ceiling, it was an unreal experience. Earlier on Friday, we got to climb up to the dome of St. Peter's, where we caught the sunset over Rome - also magical, obvs. The actual climb up, and down, the dome was one of the most hair-raising things I have ever done. Imagine an endless spiral staircase that is also at around a 45-degree angle. I... understand vertigo now, a little bit? But the views were so utterly worth it, baby's got the bends or whatever. Then on Saturday, we went back for the Vatican museums. There, I got to see the Laocoön, Apollo Belvedere and the Belvedere Torso. Um, I saw the Laocoön. The Laocoön. Biggest. Fucking. Moment. Of. My. Life. (Sorry, mom.) Then of course, the Raphael rooms, where the School of Athens is. And, and, on another one of the walls, the fresco of Mount Parnassus (the writers) where he included, of all the people, Sappho. I dissolved into giggles immediately, of course. Oh, Sapphic chic. Oh, Wellesley. Love y'all.

Of course, after the ridiculousness of seeing Laocoön (still obsessed with this, as you might be able to tell) we go to the church of Santa Maria del Popolo to see Caravaggio's Conversion of Paul and Crucifixion of Peter. That particular Crucifixion is known for it's realism, most famously in the dirty feet of one of the figures.

Look:
We first looked at that painting in Humanities at Pioneer (oh yes) and then I had forgotten all about it. Seeing it again reminded me of how much I liked it. It's probably my second-favorite Caravaggio, after the Supper at Emmaus. And THEN, we go to the church of Santa Maria della Vittoria to see Bernini's St. Teresa in Ecstasy. Saturday was basically one huge orgy of masterpieces. And of course, I had walked by Santa Maria della Vittoria about four times (it's really close to the train station) without having ANY idea that the sculpture was even in there. Absurdity.

Okay, I'm tired and I still have to upload ALL the photos from fall break and ALL the photos from this weekend. You'll get an update when that happens.

Love,
me

Okay it's coming.

2008-11-06T12:32:00.005-05:00

Russia: the short version:

Was wonderful, daunting, exhausting and utterly unforgettable. I still am a little bit amazed that I went and came back alive, uninjured, and in a sound mental state.

Highlights: I saw Swan Lake at the Mariinsky Theatre with the Kirov Ballet, with E.B. and Ilana. Even without much context or background, I knew that the company was/is one of if not the best in the world. And it wasn't just the dancers, even though the dancers were untouchable. The holistic experience of the space, the design of the ballet and the orchestra! Oh, the orchestra! The ballet was definitely one of the best things about the trip, in my life, ever, you know.

I went to te Hermitage and the Russian Museum, which were both excellent. Though I liked the Hermitage, especially the Rembrandt room and the third floor, where all of the modern art is (including Matisse's The Dance), it reminded me a little too much of any old European or American art museum. Or, it just seemed like I was looking at art that was really similar to things that I could see here in Florence, or back in the States. On the other hand, the Russian Museum was excellent because I was exposed to all new artists and artworks. I'm pretty sure the Rodchenko (Black Spot) was on loan, but even so, I saw so many things that I liked. Here is what is probably my new favorite painting: Nathan Altman's portrait of Anna Akhmatova, the poet.

Also, E.B. (bless her heart) and I went to all the small, weird museums, like the Museum of Bread. And the Museum of Hygeine. And the Museum of Arctic & Antarctic. And the National Zoological Museum, with (the famed) Bryan Billings and Lauren and Vicky, E.B.'s friends from Smolny. Seriously, in what other country would there be an entire (newly renovated!) museum devoted entirely to hygeine? And and and, the Kunstkamera. How to even describe that weird and wonderful and very quite disturbing place. It was St. Petersburg's first museum, where it exhibited Peter the Great's collection of 'curiosities,' which was a nice euphemistic way to say 'mutant babies preserved in brandy for three hundred-plus years.' I love Russia. I saw the churches, (Spilled Blood, Kazansky Cathedral and St. Isaac's) and sat in on a much less awkward Orthodox mass, which was really peaceful and nice, quite unlike the hectic pace of Russia. E.B. and I attempted unsuccessfully to go to the Summer Gardens twice (in the rain! It rained all week, actually) before finally succeeding on the third attempt. At the souvenir market behind the Church of the Saviour on Spilled Blood (try saying that three times fast) there was an artist selling these wonderful black-and-white photographs that are mounted on hand-decorated card stock mats. I'm not going to lie, it's kind of cool to be known as "the girl who went to Russia" by my professors. My favorite professor here, Ingersoll, is kind of scatter-brained and definitely still doesn't know my name, but wants to see my photos from Russia. Anyways, I think that's kind of cool.

I got to go to Smolny, too. The study abroad program there is so, so different from Syracuse. Well, it has about the same proportion of girls to guys, but that's about it. It's 25 kids, dropped in Russia, moored only by their wits, and Bryan Billings. I'm kind of in awe of everyone who does it, who goes to Russia, because it's a really hard country to live in. It's... rough, unrefined, still very different from western Europe, but all of that is concealed, almost lulling you into a false sense of security. It's a country that I wouldn't have survived in if I had visited by myself.

Oh! And I spent an unexpected extra six hours in Moscow because I had to take a later train. Don't worry, parents, everything turned out fine in the end, and that is what matters. Nevertheless, instead of taking an afternoon train from Moscow, I took an overnighter, and Bryan, bless his heart, phoned around frantically until he found me a chaperone, which was a very sweet and unnecessarily nice gesture on behalf of a complete stranger. But, my knight in a... shiny, white, commemorative Lithuanian Olympic team parka took me to see Red Square (St. Basil's Cathedral, the Kremlin, and the Lenin Mausoleum) before I actually finally departed for Petersburg. And for that I am very thankful, because it would have been a shame to not see those sights.

After Russia was a whirlwind of transportation and (more) rain. I took another overnight train from Petersburg to Riga, as my flight to London left from the Riga airport. Riga, unlike Moscow and Petersburg, was of an eminently manageable size, thank goodness. That's another thing about the cities in Russia: they are enormous. Or, they really make you realize how tiny of a city Florence really is. And it wasn't just the size/population, the scale is dumbfounding. In Moscow, the width of a normal street would be the width of an entire piazza in Florence. But Riga, Riga was/is a Medieval city and thus much more similar in scale to Florence, which was conforting. I walked around in the morning, saw two churches - St. Peter's and the Dome (cathedral) of the city and went to two museums. First, I went into the Museum of the Occupation of Latvia, which traced first the Nazi and then the Soviet occupation of Latvia. It was one of those sobering museums, detailing the hardships of occupation, and what was really moving were the museum's vast collection of personal artifacts made by political prisoners whilst in Gulag. Then, to lighten things up, of course I went to the Museum of Decorative and Applied Arts, full of, not folk art like I had expected, but modern and contemporary jewelery, book covers, weaving and other textiles, ceramics, et cetera. Very interesting stuff, definitely, a lot of things that looked like they could have been in P.S. 1.

LONDON, finally! I have been itching to go to London for so very long. And even though it poured the day I was there and I didn't wear my Hunters, it was okay because I was finally in London. I got an early start that morning by going to the markets at Portobello Road, which was nice and completely my scene, but knowing I didn't want to/couldn't buy anything meant that it also felt a bit empty. Nevertheless, I was really happy to finally finally see everything. And, moment of utter and complete validation, the none-too-easy-to-impress employees at the Paul Smith store in Notting Hill liked my bag ! It's the brown leather bag with purple trim I bought in Perugia a couple of weeks ago that is, in a word, perfect. One of those 'destiny' items, you know? Anyways, that was kind of like ultimate validation. I also finally went to the Persephone Bookshop, not the one in Bloomsbury but their new store in Notting Hill. It was... everything I imagined it to be and more. Funny story about how I left Italy with two books and returned with six...

After the outdoor portion of this journey, I hopped back onto the Tube to go to the Victoria & Albert Museum, because of course I love nothing more than decorative art, apparently. Entering from the South Kensington tube stop, the tunnel deposits you directly into the 'Europe from 1600-1800' wing, which is of course basically every reason that the French Revolution happened - Sevrés porcelain and gaudy Rococco reliquaries and everything beautiful yet utterly superficial. I loved it all.

Then then then on to the British Museum - it's kind of ironic the fact that I went to London to see the Parthenon marbles, and my roommate Kristin went to Greece, including Athens, and saw the Parthenon, sans marbles. Ah, the discreet charm of colonialism! Anyways, the stuff in the British Museum, the Rosetta Stone, all important, blah blah blah (it just wasn't really my scene). But what was actually very cool was an installation they had called Statuephilia, which entailed five works by five contemporary sculptors installed into the context of the British Museum. So, for example, you had Damian Hirst's private collection of painted plastic skulls, just hanging out in a glass-front case in the 'Enlightenment Room' (hmmm...) of the British Museum. Or Marc Quinn's ridiculous sculpture, Siren, of Kate Moss. And Ron Mueck's monumental self-portrait installed in front of one of the moai from Easter Island. It was a very... clever exhibit. Seriously check out the website, it gives you a good introduction to what is the what.

ThenIwalkedbackinthewindandtherainandthenIfellasleepandthenIflewbacktoItaly. Whew.

That was... my fall break.

Okay, I'm going to be late for dinner.

Finally finally (finally),

OBAMA.

ALIVE IN RUSSIA.

2008-10-26T03:28:00.002-04:00

It may have taken almost exactly 36 hours, but I AM HERE. In Russia. В России. And yesterday, we went to see the ballet at the Mariinsky Theatre, which was basically a life-changing experience.

midterms

2008-10-19T11:48:00.003-04:00

ahhhhhhhhh.

midterms are upon us, and they aren't the 'midterm' every two-and-half-weeks wellesley kind of sched. they are four exams and a presentation this week kind of midterms.

so quick entry:
weekend was ridiculous. tarquinia/cerveteri/norchia on friday was all etruscans all the time. saturday i went to 'eurochocolate' in perugia with katie. ridiculous, and also a ridiculous amount of people.

most importantly, happy 21st (legal!) birthday to best friend, janna herman AND happy 19th (baby!) birthday to the indomitable miss caroline rose !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Pskov and more

2008-10-15T08:16:00.003-04:00

Today, in my 16th Century Architecture class, we talked about Russia! More specifically, EB, we talked about Pskov! And of course, because my mind does nothing if not wander during class, I thought of you and your ridiculously symmetrical two trips to Pskov. First, some background: my class is mostly a survey of 16th century architecture of Italy, but since my (ridiculous, wonderful) professor is currently also working on a book about the cross-cultural development of architectural history during the 16th century, so today, we talked about Italianate influence in eastern European architecture, i.e. about Pskov, Novgorod, Kiev, and Moscow. Also, today, I found out that 'Novgorod' and 'Nizhniy Novgorod' are not the same places. Good to know. Anyways, we looked at the cathedrals of St. Sophia and St. Theodore in Novgorod, St. Basil's and Uspensky Sobol in Moscow, and actually, as I re-consult my notes, no actual buildings in Pskov. So... I suppose I was just so excited that the institution of Pskov was mentioned in such an esoteric setting that I felt the need to write an entire post about the ultimate non-entity of Pskov in fifteenth and sixteenth-century Italianate influence on Russian architecture. . .

Imbeciles. I'm Living Amongst Imbeciles.

2008-10-13T11:18:00.004-04:00

Things That Have Actually Just Happened, or, "Overheard in the Syracuse Computer Lab."

"Is that how you spell Belgium?"
"Mussels in Brussels! Hahaha, that is so funny!!!"
"How you do you say Bruges? Broo-jes? Bru-gees?"
"The only reason why I know where Bruges is is because of that Colin Farrell movie." (And I'm pretty sure it's not because they've seen In Bruges, either)
"Oh my god, Stella Artois is Belgian, too! It's, like, my favorite beer!" Carly, that statement, and the girl whose mouth that statement came out of, would make you feel shame in calling Stella 'my lady.'

Now I don't feel quite so bad about noticeably rolling my eyes in class, every day.

ALSO: Things I've Learned From All Songs Considered: (well, really Only One Thing So Far)

Did you know: That Paste Magazine Sampler/ Ann Arbor's 107.1 standby Jesse Sykes is also a collaborator with Sunn O))) and Boris? I most certainly did not!

podcast nation

2008-10-13T10:54:00.002-04:00

Hi y'all. Please please please do yourself a favor and go download the September 2nd episode of the NPR podcast All Songs Considered. It's free, and I mean, if you need any encouragement, know that that it's title is "The 80's: Were They Really That Bad?" And know that Bob Boilen, Stephen Thompson, Robin Hilton, and Carrie Brownstein (!!!!!) get into ridiculous arguments about the relative merits and demerits of the music of the 80's. And they play Starship. I listened to it in its entirety today, giggling the entire time and basically making a fool of myself. I've subscribed to the All Songs Considered Podcast, which has done wonders in making me feel connected with the world, especially the musical world (obviously). I love being here in Italy, but FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out, thanks, Rachel) is a feeling that sometimes takes over. I guess All Songs Considered, along with the election podcast (I mean, duh), This American Life, and dilligent downloading of Gossip Girl and Pushing Daisies keeps me feeling sufficiently 'in the loop with America.'

fyi -

2008-10-12T08:15:00.006-04:00

Do not go to a Russian Orthodox mass in a non-majority Russian Orthodox country if not actually Russian Orthodox. You will feel like a disrespectful fool.

Other things I learned this weekend:

The Museo San Marco is free and has a lot of really good, shaded, and secluded places to sit inside.
The flea market at Santo Spirito is probably only worth going to once. But go, that one time! And check out the candied fruit stand there; it's definitely worth it.
L'Olandese Volant is probably overpriced, but the zenzero (ginger) truffles with marzipan are definitively delicious. Also it makes me want to have a mini refridgerator again becaue they sell aged Gouda there, too. L'Olandese --> Holland . . . !
Jogging in Pumas is actually not good for the feet/ankles/body at all. True fact.
The Ponte Santa Trinita is still beautiful. And the pilings are really nice to sit on on Sunday mornings - you can marvel at the sheer number of tourists they fit onto the Ponte Vecchio. Seriously, it's an engineering marvel.
Gelateria dei Neri is as good, maybe even better than Grom. At least I know that they are my two favorite gelaterie in the city. Today, for/instead of lunch, I had cioccolato amaro (dark, dark chocolate) and cioccolato bianco. Incomparable. Of course, I had Crema di Grom on Saturday; and continued tastings will occur throughout the rest of the semester...

Finalmente, a very HAPPY (and slightly belated) BIRTHDAY to the incomparable miss KRISTINA COSTA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Twenty-two yesterday, like the number of exclamation points up there. That's old. And I hope you enjoyed the New England Mobile Book Fair.

And happy NCOD, y'all. You know I love you all.

less belated fotos

2008-10-06T10:13:00.000-04:00

from this past weekend are up on facebook (it is the public link, hi mom!)

belated photos

2008-10-06T09:47:00.000-04:00

from two-weekends-ago in rome and lucca are up on flickr.

the weekend

2008-10-06T08:09:00.003-04:00

Apologies that these weekend update entries are happening later and later. But in my defense, this one was relatively uneventful. Friday morning, I woke up extraordinarily early to catch a train to Rome, to retrieve my passport-hopefully-with-Russian-visa-within. And it was there. It's really happening. I am going to Russia ????!!!!!?!?!??!!!!!! Utterly ridiculous, right? But anyways, that was there, that happened, you know, no biggie. I had grand plans of walking all around Rome again like I had done two weekends prior, but fatigue set in rather quickly, and after walking down via XX Settembre to the piazza Quirnale (that's the piazza from last week that I liked, but couldn't remember the name of) I simply walked down the stairs and went to this little café for an early lunch. And the café was awesome. It's called Papyrus, and if you are ever on the via Lucchesi, on the way between the Pantheon and via XX Settembre, which is a main throughway to get back to the train station, you must stop there. It's one of those little bookstore-cum-cafés like Trident on Newbury Street or R.J. Julia in Madison. All the books they sell are in Italian, but a lot of them are literature in translation, from English to Italian. There I found a publishing company called minimum fax, which publishes anthologies (along with other things, I suspect) of contemporary American and British literature and ficition. Thus I found a poetry anthology that included work by Frank Bidart, fiction anthologies with Zadie Smith and Jonathan Safran Foer, and David Foster Wallace's A Supposedly Funny Thing I'll Never Do Again. Besides the big, open atrium in the front of the store where you can stand at the counter for a cappuccino, there is also a back room, painted this really soothing shade of ochre that has bookcases all along the perimeter and tables set in a concentric circle a little bit within. That is where I sat and ate a delicious plate of gnocchi alla genovese, which is gnocchi with tomato pesto sauce instead of the usual cheese, but equally delicious. And and the waitstaff were all amazingly kind to me, and we had nearly-a-conversation in mostly-Italian, which is pretty big for me these days. After lunch, I knew that I wasn't up for much else, so I simply walked back to the train station and hopped on a slow local back to Florence, got a bowl of ramen for dinner (not bad, but Ippudo NY has nothing to worry about) and hung out with my friend Pete for a little while before going to bed.

Saturday morning I dawdled a little bit before finally leaving the house at around eleven. On the agenda was exploring the Gavinana neighbourhood of Florence, in the Oltrarno. So, a bit of backstory: a couple of weeks ago, when I first met my editor at the Florentine, Alexandra, I asked her if the Oltrarno was like the Brooklyn of Florence. She simply chuckled, a bit derisively, and said, "It wishes it was." Anyways, I went 'home,' so to speak, on Saturday, to a neighbourhood that really did sound a little bit like Brooklyn. Gavinana was pretty cool, though the consequence of arriving on a Saturday afternoon was that almost all the stores I had read about were in siesta, and I had to kill time in a piazza for nearly an hour, waiting for everything to re-open. The stores were cool, though. There is a vintage store there called 'Velvet Goldmine' (+1, duh) where I tried on this wonderful orange, 80s, suede dress that almost fit. It was one of those occasions where you try something on and instantly knew that it tragically doesn't fit you in an un-alterable way, thus it was a catastrophe. It had a scoop back, and massive shoulder pads, too. Oh, I am tearing up a little bit even thinking about it. And I also found a cute (expensive) little shoe store, where I had to resist buying Sigerson Morrison flats. Le sigh. After wandering about for a little bit longer, I climbed up to the piazzale Michelangelo and the church of San Miniato al Monte, where you can get a wonderful panorama of the city, and watched the sunset there. Wonderful.

I met Katie for dinner after climbing down from San Miniato; we went to this 'northern European' market phenomenon in piazza Santa Croce and ate macaroons, gouda, gummies, and Polish sausage with sauerkraut ??? Trust me, it seemed like a good idea at the time. And verily, my stomach didn't like me very much later that night. We sat on the steps of Santa Croce for a bit afterwards, talkin' and judgin' and good things like that; contemplated asking all the girls on our program who brought last season's Tory Burch flats if they were wearing last season's Tory Burch flats, you know. There, we also got accosted by our first oh-so-sleazy Italian man that would not take a hint. He was the kind of guy that everyone has warned us about from before. Anyways, he finally got the idea that we were in no way interested, and we left because it was getting exceedingly cold outside.

I woke up at nine on Sunday morning, and could not fall back asleep. So instead, I decided the appropriate thing to do was to go work out... I know. Thus I jogged. Up to San Miniato, again. Just for reference's sake, it's 4.6 kilometers from my house. Up an enormous hill. And you all know that I have been sedentary for the vast majority of my twenty years. Thus this morning, I woke up and I wanted to die a little bit, even more than usual on a cold Monday morning. But the jog itself was worth it. I ran/jogged/power walked all the way down via Matteoti, crossed the ponte San Niccoló and up the hill to first piazzale Michelangelo and then San Miniato. On the way down, I ran through part of the Oltrarno and re-crossed the Arno at the ponte Santa Trinita. Then I jogged down via Tornabuoni (like the Boulevard Haussmann or Champs d'Élysées of Florence), through the piazza del Duomo (tourist roulette, ick) and through piazza SS Annunziata, where a 'mercato ceramica' (ceramics market) was going on, also excellent. I might have run... nearly ten kilometers yesterday?

Wow. That got out of hand quickly. I guess even low key weekends in foreign countries are packed to the gills in terms of blog-entry volume.

Ernesto & Martina

2008-10-02T10:53:00.002-04:00

Last night, Gabriele's (my little host brother) half-brother Ernesto, and his girlfriend Martina, came over for dinner. They are awesome. Ernesto is twenty-five and Martina is twenty-four, and both of them are currently in laurea specialistica, the last two years of Italian university, equivalent to earning their master's degress. Ernesto is studying molecular & cellular biology while Martina is completing hers in 'biotechnology.' The reason why they were over for dinner (besides being, you know, family and stuff) is because Ernesto is leaving for Wales in January, to study/complete his thesis research at the University of Cardiff, and he wanted to practice his English conversation with us (Kristin and myself) before he left. Thus, Patrizia's whole plan for dinner was to 'test things out,' to see if we all got on and if we did, us talking with him and him talking with us would make for a great language exchange. As you might be able to tell, I really liked both of them, and I think that this kind of language exchange (pretty much talking half in Italian and half in English) will really help improve my spoken Italian skills. Here's hoping, right?

Also, dinner last night was amazing. Patrizia really went all out starting with aperitifs and rosé (and we usually never have wine with dinner), then lasagna, egg-and-onion quiche, and finally a sinfully rich chocolate torte served with three (!) flavors of gelato: nocciola (hazelnut), tiramisú, and gorgonzola & pear. The gorgonzola and pear gelato, the pungency of the cheese paired with the richness of the chocolate ganache, was surprisingly tasty. If it weren't my own dinner table, I totally would have taken pictures, too.

This weekend, I have to jaunt down quickly to Rome to retrieve my passport from the Russian government, but otherwise I am going to stay and explore Florence. I actually haven't gone to any of the major sites yet, and the weather is supposed to be kind of lousy, so I can foresee afternoons spent in the museums. Also on Saturday, I think I am going to Mass at the Russian Orthodox cathedral, just because I can.

The Rest of Rome, Bologna, and Lucca

2008-09-30T06:56:00.004-04:00

After my epic morning spent in the Russian consulate, I thought that I would take the afternoon to de-compress in Rome. I had a pleasantly full-coloured free map from my hostel and nothing but time left. So, I walked. And walked, and walked, and walked. Rome covers... much more surface area than Florence. And that's your warning. Granted, I was coming from the periferia (the suburbs, the 'burbs), but the size and scale of Rome is far vaster than Florence. Or, now I could kind of understand why most Italians regard Florence as kind of a backwater compared to Roma or Milano. In one afternoon, I walked (yes, I calculated it on Google Maps) 4.6 kilometers from the Russian consulate to the Piazza Navona, and probably more because I didn't take the direct route. Then I walked all the way back to Roma Stazione Termini, another three or so kilometers. On the way there and back, I stopped by the Triton fountain, designed by Bernini in the 16th Century; the Trevi fountain, a mess; and walked up the steps to one of the many papal palaces, whose name is escaping me, but one that I really enjoyed? I stopped for a snack of pinenut meringue-cookie things that were predictably delicious, as has been basically everything I've eaten since arriving in Italy. There are pictures of all of these things coming, I promise.

Speaking of the Trevi Fountain, avoid it if you can. I know it has a ton of history and even more appearances in pop culture magic, but all of that mystique is stripped away when you are actually there. The piazza is literally packed to the gills with tourists wandering aimlessly about, living statues, and street vendors who only seem to sell strange 'souvenirs,' all of which are required to make obnoxious noises. It's very hard to get a good picture of the fountain, and you are (or, at least I was) ready to scream from the sheer number of bodies packed into one small space after two minutes.

The obnoxiously huge crowd in front of the Trevi Fountain:

This was still Friday afternoon, and after arriving at the train station, I decided that I wasn't quite ready to return to Florence yet. So I went to Bologna instead. My friend Rachel, whom I went to high school with, is studying there for the year, at the Universitá di Bologna, and had an apartment with a spare bed. I ended up only staying for a night and a morning, but I hope to go back before I leave here. In Bologna, we met up with some of Rachel's friends from her program and grabbed dinner at a little osteria, Osteria dall'Ursa (restaurant of the female bear). I had a pasta there whose shape was called 'gramigna,' and I'd be lying if I said I didn't order it solely because I was interested in what shape it was. Kind of hilariously, the pasta bore more than a striking resemblance to worms. After dinner the six of us went to an amazing gelateria simply name 'Il Gelatauro.' If you are ever in Bologna, go to 98 via San Vitale and have gelato there. I got cioccalatto e arancia again, mixed with the verde con marron glacés (green tea with candied chesnuts), which was a very... interesting combination. I really want to try zenzero next time, which is ginger-flavored gelato. We simply went home to bed after that, because Rachel had to be up early for a trip to Urbino the next morning, and I was dead tired from my probably-at-least-eight-kilometers of walking.

Saturday morning I woke up fairly early, around eight. I was going to Lucca, a little Tuscan town, maybe an hour and a half from Florence, two and a half from Bologna. The story behind why I wanted to go to Lucca goes something like this: for my internship/position at The Florentine, my first story was to be about the Tuscan locations that Spike Lee had shot around for his new movie, Miracolo a Sant'Anna. One of the towns, Barga, was pretty easily accessible from Lucca, and I wanted to go on Sunday. But first, Lucca.

Lucca was awesome. I loved it. It's probably my favorite place in Italy, right now. More than Florence, more than Assisi. It's a medieval city whose massive walls are still completely intact. Therefore, all Luccans/the Lucchese (and all the visitors) can walk/bike/jog on top of 'la mura di cittá' and take in the views of the Tuscan hills in the distance. When the carabinieri aren't looking, you can even walk on the parapet of the wall itself, until they see you and shoo you off...

Here's a photo of the view from la mura di cittá:

Another of aspect of Lucca that I loved was the size - it was perfect for a day trip or an afternoon/evening/morning excursion. And it's only a five euro train ride away! I'm utterly in love. Anyways, I walked around most of the city that afternoon, went into the Duomo and the other chiese (churches), and generally had a really good time. Oh, a note about the architecture, Lucca is only twenty minutes from Pisa, and most of the religious architecture is in the style of the Pisa Romanesque, which as I discovered, is really kind of heinous. Like, just plain ugly.

Per esempio:

But I digress, and I'll have photographic proof, too. I also ate incredibly well that night, at a little trattoria close to my hostel. I had the full Italian dinner - primi, secondi, plus wine and coffee. I started with a 'piatto tipico di Lucchese,' (typical Lucchese dish) zuppa di farine, basically a barley soup. Then I had trippa alla toscana, tripe cooked fork-tender in a tomato, celery, and carrot sauce. For dessert I ordered crostata con fichi fresce e noci, fresh fig tart with walnuts, and a macchiato. Molta, molta buona. And for the seventh time, pictures to come, soon!

Pictures of my courses:

Zuppa di farine:Trippa alla toscana:

Crostata con fichi fresce e noci:

Sunday morning dawned bright and early, again, and at least I thought that I was going to be in Barga shortly. But once I arrived at the bus station, I was kindly informed by the ticket agent that the only bus to Barga left at 10:25 and returned at 1:00, leaving me a little less than two hours in the town proper, therefore kind of not worth it at all. Oh well. I left, walked around (on top!) of the walls until I got back to the train station, and hopped on the train back to Florence instead. It being the last Sunday of the month, I knew that the flea market at the Piazza di Ciompi was going on, and therefore I obviously had to stop by. I'm not sure if I've mentioned this on the blog yet, but for about a week, I was obsessed with buying this vintage accordion that I found in the smaller, daily incarnation of the flea market there. Anyways, I didn't buy it (probably thankfully) but I knew I wanted to check out the bigger version of the market. And now, instead of wanting to buy an instrument of dubious quality that I can't play, I want to buy cameras of equally dubious quality that I don't have the foggiest idea how to use. Ah, c'est la... But, E.B., I've found both Fed and Zenit cameras at these markets, and obviously I think of your on-a-blanket-in-the-mud purchases.

Then-I-went-home-then-I-changed-and-went-back-to-school-to-do-homework. Lame! But that's what Sunday was like. Whew.

EDIT: 18:04, 02/10/08: With promised photographic proof!

Sono andata a Roma...e Bologna...e Lucca

2008-09-29T13:01:00.004-04:00

Oy vey. Very, very, very full weekend, again. It starts Thursday afternoon, when I hopped on the local train from Florence to Rome, for a mission to get a visa to Russia. You should know that though the local train is very cheap (16 euro and change to go to Rome, as compared to 35 euro for the Eurostar) it is very, very slow. It took nearly five hours to get to Rome from Florence, including a rather interesting delay... somewhere between the two cities; I have no idea what godforsaken town the train simply stopped at for nearly an hour. What made it a little bit more interesting was the mother and daughter sitting opposite me: the daughter started fidgetting profusely at around the half-hour mark of delay, and even with the language gap, I could tell that she was very anxious to arrive in Rome, perhaps to see a long-distance love? That would be the only factor I could think of that would leave her as agitated as she was. Who knows, I just made up one more-hairbrained-than-the-next story about them, just because I could. Anyways, I got to Rome, I had a mediocre dinner in the train station because I was tired and couldn't bother, and checked into my hostel for the night, which was filled with what certainly seemed like an entire high school of German students, but luckily none of them were in my room, 'South America.'

Friday morning dawned bright and early, as I began what was going to be (unbeknownest to me at the time) a very long morning. I have a picture of my breakfast, because the cornetto con cioccalato (chocolate crossaint) that I had was legitimately bigger than the cup my cappuccino came in, and the coffee cup was certainly sizable.

The only good thing about Friday morning:

From there, I left for the Russian embassy, a fairly short and very pretty walk from my hostel. I took a lot of pictures of the Roman houses along the way, all excellent examples of late Renaissance and early Baroque architecture. Upon arriving at the Russian embassy, the most hilariously, absurdly well-guarded building I've ever happened upon, I was told, in a roundabout fashion in very broken English, that I was supposed to be at the Russian consulate for all visa-related matters. Crap. Of course the consulate was nearly two kilometers in the other direction (though I didn't know that at the time, either), and of course it closed (or so I was told) at noon. It being ten at the time, I thought I had plenty of time to walk over to the via Nomentana, 16. After a broken-Italian conversation with the lawyer's office at via Nomentana 16 and instructions from the very courteous concierge at a hotel that the Russian consulate was actually located at via Nomentana 116, I was not hopeful of my prospects. The walk is always less scenic when you are stressed.

I got to the Russian consulate, was let in another ridiculously well-guarded gate, and was told that the visa department was on il primo piano, the first floor. I automatically assumed that the first floor was technically the second first, because Italians and most Europeans count the ground floor separately. Another wait of about thirty minutes commenced outside a closed door, where I bonded with a Russian-Italian baby, but where it turns out was emphatically not where I was supposed to be. An admonishing Russian matron herded me downstairs, promptly told me that the visa forms I had filled out prior to coming were the wrong ones, and gave me new ones. By now, know that it was at least quarter after eleven. When I had finished filling out the forms, it was 11:40. I had been told that the consulate closed at 12:30 by the embassy, which evidently wasn't the case when I returned to the window and another unsympathetic Russian woman of a certain age (and girth) informed me that the consulate actually closed at 11:30. I am firmly convinced that diplomats do absolutely nothing. This is when the tears first started. I knew that morning was the only time that I could go to Rome, and I needed that visa now. Luckily, they took pity on me (but not until after a fresh batch of tears during the payment process) and the moral/happ ending of this story is that I have a Russian visa. Or I will next Friday when I go back to Rome (durrr...) to retrieve it. But now I know where to go, the correct address of that location, and I'm hopefully hitching a ride back with one of the SUF classes that has a day trip to Rome that day.

Next time (because the library is closing soon and I have to go home for dinner), the rest of my afternoon in Rome, evening/morning in Bologna, and visit to Lucca.

photo update #3

2008-09-22T11:54:00.003-04:00

New photos are up, from my third week in Florence ! They are mostly pix from the weekend trips and regretfully, no pictures of Nextech.

revelatory deep thoughts from this morning

2008-09-22T08:00:00.002-04:00

Revelation #1: I don't look good in vests. Not sweatervests, nor that particular brand of Serena van der Woodsen organ grinder's monkey vests, either. They make me look like fat, frumpy, fifties' Frida.

Revelation #2: I would like a song called "Creeper." It's from the new Unicorns album, Arm's Way, which I've finally started listening to even though it came out early this summer. But it is a really good song. Actually, the album is altogether excellent; highly suggested!

And not a revelation, but a fun fact from this weekend was that while I was walking on the via Matteoti on Sunday, on the way to La Luna Rossa, an Italian woman stopped me for directions (!) And I knew exactly how to get to where she wanted to go (the piazza Liberta) (!!) But of course I had no idea how to say 'hang a left right here and keep walking until you hit the big gaudy arch. You can't miss it' (!!!!!!!!!!) I actually think that is a far worse feeling than altogether having no idea where anything is. It's been really frustrating lately with the whole language issue, mostly because of my unrealistic expectations. Like, I am fully cognizant of the reality that I'm not going to turn around and be fluent in Italian, but I still kind of want to be, at the same time. I was really happy that I could potentially instruct her, and really upset that it was the simple question of the language that prevented from being helpful. I think my wild gesticulations were truly cross-cultural. Whatever.

Vivoli + Sunday

2008-09-21T09:54:00.002-04:00

Saturday night, walking home, I stopped at Vivoli to sample the gelato there. For those of you who haven't heard of it, Vivoli is supposedly the most famous gelateria in the world, but in recent years, popular opinion has held that it's been trading mostly on reputation. I of course, had to verify this for myself. I got two flavors that night for euro 2.50, which is a little more, but not much more expensive, than at a standard place. The flavors were 'arranciato e ciocciolato' (chocolate-orange) and 'riso' (rice). It was good. Very good. Perhaps not as good as Grom (my gold standard so far) but very, very good. Also, as someone who is somewhat of a devotee/connoiseur of rice pudding, let me tell you, Italy is paradise. Beside the paste called budino di riso, almost every gelateria has riso as a flavor, and I of course, get it nearly every time. Recall the Stuff White People Like entry on Study Abroad: "You acquired a taste for something (local food, beer, fruit). This latter point is important because you will need to be able to tell everyone how it is unavailable in your current country." This is totally going to be me about riso gelato upon my return. I am apologizing now.

Sunday, Sunday, shameless Shun-Day... What to say, what to say. Well, as most lazy Sunday mornings go, I didn't manage to get out of the house until noon, and then the café I was supposed to hole up in for the day ended up being closed, so I'm at another place near Santa Croce called "La Luna Rossa" (The Red Moon), surrounded by a wide range of Italian men watching the Fiorentina-Bologna football game. After nearly four hours (good lord) updating this blog, I have to go do real work now. Sweet.

Saturday

2008-09-21T08:56:00.007-04:00

Refreshed after a very good night's sleep, I was more than ready to tackle Ravenna on Saturday. Ravenna was the capital of the western parts of the Eastern Roman empire (I know, confusing) after the sack of Rome and again after the fall of the western portions of the Roman Empire in 476 C.E.. It's weird and I don't remember the exact history so I won't go around spreading false facts. Anyways, the important things about Ravenna and its port city, Classe, are that as the beacon of light during the so-called 'Dark Ages' post the fall of Rome, they are wondefully well-preserved examples of Byzantine mosaics from the time of Constantine and beyond. The church of Sant'Apollinaire in Classe has the Mystic Meadow mosaic while the Basilica of San Vitale has the really, really, really famous mosaics of emperor Justinian and empress Theodora. Basically, it was everything I studied and was obsessed with in Humanities.
Here are some (poorly photographed) examples of the mosaics at Sant'Apollinaire, San Vitale, the Mausoleum of Galla Placidia, the Neonian Baptistery, and Sant'Apollinaire Nuovo:

Sant'Apollinaire in Classe:

The courtyard of San Vitale:

Mosaic of Emperor Justinian at San Vitale:

St. Lawrence rushing to his own martyrdom (...) at the Mausoleum of Galla Placidia:

Baptism of Christ at the Neonian Baptistery:

The Three Wise Men at Sant'Apollinaire Nuovo:

Dante's Tomb:

In Ravenna, we had the best tour guide/grad student lecturer ever. For starters, his name is Rocky. Yes, Rocky. He was the cutest, too. As I said to my friend Francesca, I simply want to marry Rocky and iron his impeccable linen blazers for him. Also, our bus had several of the Syracuse grad students on it, and being the creeper that I am, I sort of kind of eavesdropped on their conversation. This otherwise super creepy act ultimately made me feel a lot better about myself and my future because they only talked about procrastinating on their symposium and other research, the ethical implications of using Wikipedia, and the difficulties in accessing JSTOR off-campus. They are just like me, and I can be just like them one day!!!!! This is such good news.

Much like Rachel in Ravenna, I ate magnificently yesterday, but only one course. My friend Katie and I got lunch at this little cantina that was attached to a much-more expensive ristorante proper. There, she had raviolini with gorgonzola and I ate tagliatelle with ricotta salata, tomatoes, and broccoli. I really should start taking pictures of what I eat like an obnoxious food blogger, because I want a record of all these delicious meals!

Getting back from Ravenna was the smoothest of all the site visits thus far. I should mention (if I haven't already?) that Syracuse University in Florence has no David Leach-esque character to reinforce the notion of "To be late is unforgivable." Thus, we never leave anywhere on time (but otherwise I in no way miss such priceless little epigrams, I promise). Miraculously though, the buses left only five minutes later than they were supposed to from Ravenna, and we were back at the school by six. Katie and I, not knowing what to do with ourselves for the rest of the night, decided the obvious next step was to go grocery shopping. We also obviously didn't realize how hungry we were, because we left Esselunga with finocchiano (fennel salami), meringues, salt and vinegar Kettle chips, a bar of dark chocolate, a package of hazelnut wafers, and a tin of cocktail nuts. But we spent less than ten euro on the whole lot...? A feast in the Piazza Savonarola followed, with a welcome interlude by some friends from the Syracuse program, and then a late-night walk to Sant'Ambroglio, after which I began the long trek home to bed.

. . . quick interlude . . .

2008-09-21T08:52:00.002-04:00

From these incredibly long posts:

I am currently obsessed with Dent May:

Dent May & His Magnificent Ukulele

Friday

2008-09-21T08:11:00.003-04:00

Friday morning was a little bit brutal. I had slept for the grand total of an hour and a half in that half-dawn between Thursday and Friday before stumbling out of bed and to the school to leave for Assisi. The sky looked forbidding on my walk over, and it opened up properly once the buses left. Nevertheless, I was really looking forward to returning to Assisi. The last time I was there was during the Latin class trip, summer after junior year in high school, where we actually stayed the night in this cute little convent ho(s)tel and spent the day exploring the city.

Assisi is a very typical Tuscan town, which means that it's built directly into the hills that are actually the fringes of the Appennine mountains, which split the Italian peninsula in twain east-west. From the bus parking lot, our group took a series of escalators up to the first level of the city, near the church of Santa Chiara. All of Assisi is clad in this beautiful rose-tinged stone, remnants from ancient iron deposits in the area. Even in the rain, you could easily see the beauty of the architecture. But unfortunately, the breathtaking views from the piazza in front of Santa Chiara and later San Francesco were obscured but the fog. A small consolation was the beauty of the olive trees in the mist - you can really see the kind of venerable silver cast of the leaves and the silhouettes of thousands of trees planted on the hillside.

After taking a moment to appreciate Santa Chiara, our group continued walking up to the Cathedral of San Francesco, St. Francis himself. The building is huge and unique in its design: it's technically a double-decker basilica, along with a 'basement' crypt level that houses the tomb of St. Francis. The upper church is always open to pilgrims and tourists, and completely covered in beautiful frescoes of scenes from the life of St. Francis. Quick art history lesson: until very recently everyone (including myself!) thought that the main cycle of frescoes had been done by Giotto. Vasari said that was so, and the entire art community believed it for the next half-millenium. But recently art historians have examined the work of the frescoes there, and have decided that due to dating issues and comparing it with the confirmed work of Giotto in the Scrovegni Chapel, that the frescoes at Assisi are definitely not Giotto. They also definitely don't know who did paint them either, though. Quote our awesome docent-lady, "If you want to be famous in the art history world, which means you'll be poor but famous, figure out who frescoed the upper church at San Francesco."

Mass and churchy things all happen at the lower church, which is also covered in fresco. Unfortunately, due to some technical difficulties in my little touristy radio transmitter, I couldn't really hear any of what our docent was saying, which is all the more regrettable because I did find her very engaging. As we were filing out of the church, we could here a mass going, which was really quite excellent. I really like hearing the chants in unison of the hymns, sung by the parishioners. It's a very peaceful feeling.

Finally, we descended another level to the subterranean crypt of St. Francis. It... looked like a tomb. We weren't allowed to take any pictures inside the entire church, and I can't really describe the feeling inside the crypt/mausoleum thing besides uh, crowded? We did get to see the changing of the candles that burn directly in front of his tomb, though. An Asian (!) friar exchanged the half-burned tapers for fresh ones, taking care not to let any of the flames go out during the entire process. It was intriguing, but in that way of rituals you witness without necessarily understanding the true motivations behind.

I kind of regret not taking any pictures in Assisi, but it did rain all day, and I just felt like whatever pictures I took wouldn't do the beauty of the city justice. I was also kind of really upset that we didn't spend the entire day in Assisi, and instead after lunch, they herded us back on the bus for an excursion to Gubbio. Where's Gubbio, you ask. I don't rightly know either. It's another Umbrian hill town that we got hauled to, slightly against our wills? It is even more steeply built into the hills than Assisi, but is otherwise not much to write home about. Perhaps out of guilt for not taking pictures in Assisi, I took some of Gubbio, which will be up shortly. But yeah, Gubbio, not that impressive at all. Whatever.

After sleeping for the aforementioned hour and a half the previou night/morning, I did not do anything of note on Friday night besides eat four different types of whole grains/legumes for dinner that night. Actually, this is kind of an interesting story (yeah, that great): I have a feeling, much like Thursday aperitivi, that I will have a well-developed Friday tradition of buying 'sconto' (discounted) prepared salads and side dishes from the Esselunga (that's the Italian supermercato) on the way back from school on the Fridays after site visits. This Friday night's dinner of farina (barley) salad with roasted vegetables (grain #1) and cannellini beans all'uccellino (with tomato sauce) (legume #1) was augmented by warmed-over, leftover coucous dressed in tomato sauce (grain #2) and lentil soup (legume #2). Oh yeah, I am so living the life. Then I did the dishes and fell asleep without brushing my teeth. I still had another site visit to Ravenna the next day.

Thursday

2008-09-21T07:17:00.004-04:00

After school and aperitivi, I went to the Nextech festival with my friend Pete. I invited a lot more people, but since many of them were either tired from the week or preparing to go to Assisi the next morning, it ended up just being the two of us. Firstly, the journey to the festival itself, which I suppose was a mini-saga in itself. A quick geography lesson: my host mom's apartment is on the via Dei Bruni, due north of the Centro and about a 35-40 minute walk to the piazza del Duomo. The Nextech festival was at the ex-Stazione Leopolda, southwest of the city center, a good hour's walk from my house. Therefore, I took a bus to a stop vicino to the venue, but one wrong turn at the Porta al Prato meant that I walked fifteen minutes' in the wrong direction, with a bottle of Chianti in one hand and a map in the other. But after that little detour, and a correct left turn back at the Porta al Prato, I found the coolest venue, ever. I stupidly didn't bring my camera, but you'll just have to trust me that it was the best thing, ever. One thing that I actually really appreciated about the entire operation was that the promoters or designers or whatever really knew how to light the entire space in a way that was atmospheric without being garish or too over-the-top.

Stazione Leopolda used to be a train station, probably before they built Santa Maria Novella, but now it's a reclaimed space, maybe a bit like the courtyard of P.S. 1, but really not like anywhere I've ever been before. The station is set back a bit from the street, and behind these big, Deco-ish wrought-iron gates is a big open courtyard with weird modern sculptures and lots of benches set around the perimeter. Inside, the floor plan is actually kind of similar to a Roman basilica, now that I think about it. There are two enormous central rooms where they had projection screens (one) and DJs spinning (the other). The video projections included a very, very cool series on eyes and a kind of incongruous addition of the Gnarls Barkley video for 'Crazy.' The 'side aisles' of the space were probably the waiting areas of the old station, where they had smaller screens and benches for the revelers who were tired of dancing.

I hadn't heard of any of the DJs or the band that played that night, but all of them impressed me greatly. They were all from various locales in Europe; the live band, Poni Hoax, was French and I think the DJs were from Germany. Chicks on Speed were supposed to play on Friday night, but at the ticket counter on Thursday, I saw that they had already scratched. Oops. Anyways, for thirteen euro, I had a GREAT night of... a trashy, wonderful indie hipster dance party. It felt like I was home, which was a singularly wonderful feeling. And while we were sitting on the kerb before entering, finishing the bottle of wine, I have to say that the people-watching was incomparable. And by incomparable, I mean that it felt like I was in Brooklyn again?

My night was good enough for me not to get home until five, ante-meridien. This was perhaps a poor choice considering the fact that both of us had to be on the bus for Assisi at seven thirty. The walk home took a while, obviously, but it was surprising how many people were still out on the streets at that hour. Don't worry, Mom, Pete and I walked back together, and the streets of Florence are absurdly well-lit at night. We ran into two independent sets of other Syracuse kids out on the way back, too. I stumbled into bed a bit past five, knowing that I had just experienced something unique to my stay in Florence, though I hope that some other ridiculous event happens at Stazione Leopolda so I can go back. And that was Thursday.

internships and the nextech festival

2008-09-18T08:24:00.003-04:00

I got it! I am now an intern for The Florentine, Florence's bi-weekly expat newspaper. The internship is through Syracuse, and my first story is going to be about the locations that Spike Lee used when shooting Miracle at St. Anna, which is set in a little Tuscan village. I'm hopefully doing internet research on Sunday and travelling around the actual places next weekend. Tomorrow and Saturday I am going to two school trips, to Assisi on Friday and Ravenna (!) on Saturday. And, fingers extra extra crossed, I am emailing Scott Schuman to see if I can interview him, because Florence is so frequently featured on the Sartorialist.

Starting tonight, the Nextech Festival starts in Florence. It's festival of "musica elettronica e ambiente visivo" so basically DJ sets, live electronica and lots and lots of projection screens. And even though we are leaving for Assisi at 7:30 in the morning tomorrow, I am still going to this show tonight. I will sleep on the bus. Plus live music of any sort is so very few and far between in Florence, that I should take advantage of it whenever the opportunity presents itself, right?And Chicks on Speed are playing tomorrow, so I might go to all three nights? I'll have a full report after the weekend.

all about my mother

2008-09-16T13:05:00.003-04:00

Only not really at all. But my mother did send me an email today, asking why I wasn't writing more about the day-to-day aspects of living in Florence. I think my problem is that I have a hard time believing that my daily activities are interesting for other people to read. But... apparently they are? Anyways, today was the first day that I went to one of the little bars around school for lunch instead of grabbing a sandwich on campus. I should note that bar in Italy denotes a casual place for snacks throughout the day, and not necessarily a place only for drinks. Bars in Italy sell panini and sometimes primi piatti (first courses, usually pastas or soups) during the lunch hour, and snacks, bus tickets, and pastries along with drinks and other sundry needs. Anyways, this particular bar I went to was called Masaccio, and it's located on the via Masaccio, less than a five minute walk from the Syracuse campus. They have a selection of about twenty sandwiches, and after having one with melanzane e gorgonzola (eggplant and gorgonzola cheese), my new plan is to eat through the entire menu, and then start creating my own sandwiches, which you can do as well. The sandwiches cost less than three euro, and are more than filling washed down with a bottle of water from the fountain in the courtyard of the Villa Rossa.

My host mom, Patrizia, is also a wonderful cook. Last night, she made pasta with an eggplant-and-tomato sauce, followed by this delicious egg, mozzarella, and bread omelet cum casserole. My roommate Kristin took three helpings and I ate nearly as much, it was that good. I love the concept of the Italian meal in that in its multiple courses, affords you the opportunity to try (and eat) as much as possible in the pantheon of Italian cuisine. Also over the weekend, I had pane con lampredotto at the flea market in Santo Spirito. Lampredotti is the last stomach of cows, and in Florence pane con lampredotto is classic street food. The sandwich is made with lampredotti cooked in its broth, seasoned with salt and pepper and topped with parsley sauce and hot pepper. It is tasty, filling, and very cheap-- my three requirements for a good meal. The other kind of classic Florentine street food is trippa alla fiorentina, which is tripe simmered in tomato sauce and put on a sandwich. I saw a stand surrounded by people at lunchtime in the piazza Sant'Ambroglio, and I think I will go for lunch sometime this week.

This weekend is going to be hopefully excellent, with two day trips to Assisi and Ravenna. Assisi I've been to, but I am very much looking forward to going back to the church and monastery of St. Francis. In Ravenna is both the chapel at San Vitale and the church of Sant'Appolonnaire in Classe, home of some of the most beautiful Byzantine mosaics, including the mosaics of Justinian and Theodora in San Vitale. I'm so excited to finally see them in person.

um.

2008-09-16T08:56:00.000-04:00

no one here knows who david foster wallace is.

sad

2008-09-15T13:18:00.001-04:00

Apparently David Foster Wallace was found dead yesterday of an apparent suicide.

Here's the New York Times article.

second photo update!

2008-09-15T12:59:00.000-04:00

Look at that efficiency! Pix from the second week in Florence.

dailies

2008-09-15T11:44:00.002-04:00

Today in Italian class, we talked about our favorite colors. When it was my turn, I asked "Come se dici 'teal'?" and was rewarded with the blankest of looks from my Italian professor. I think this means this country isn't for me. Otherwise, today and the past weekend have been really good. I think I am switching out of one of my art history classes (Art of the Late Medieval and Black Death) and into a class on 16th century Italian architecture instead. Even though I'm real interested in the material of the Black Death class, I absolutely cannot stand the professor and her undying love for her own voice. Whatever. Over the weekend, I went flea-marketting, which was very rewarding. On Saturday, even though it rained intermittently all day, I went to the market at Piazza del Ciompi, where I found the most amazing antique accordion. I've been obsessing over it ever since, which is really bad because one, it costs 150 euros and two, how the fuck am I going to bring/ship home an accordion? I've been playing (and I know I've been playing) a psychological game with myself, asking everyone I know (and plenty of people whom I don't) to tell me that buying an antique accordion of dubious renown when I don't even play the accordion is a very bad idea whilst knowing the entire time that I will (possibly) eventually cave and buy the damn thing. It's a vintage accordion! I think it's made of Bakelite! If I can bargain down to under one hundred euros...

Sunday might have been even better because Katie Wingate, a Wellesley girl on the program, and I went to the monthly flea market at Santo Spirito, across the Arno. There, I did cave in and spent 90 euros (my first big purchase, not including books) on a vintage Fendi purse. Even if it's fake (which I really don't think it is) it's a beautiful piece of leatherwork. I also obsessed over it the rest of Sunday, which we decided meant that no matter what, it was a good purchase. I also bought beautiful clip-on daisy earrings (which match my daisy-chain necklace) and a brown velvet sheath dress that will take me through the entire fall here.

found in translation

2008-09-15T08:30:00.002-04:00

Luckily for me, certain cultural institutions transcend all national borders. I am talking of course, about Chinese takeout, which was Kristin and mine's dinner on Friday night due to a miscommunication between us and our host mom. I never thought I would ever have a conversation in English, Mandarin, and pidgin Italian, but I can certainly cross that little item off my list now. Grease, sugar, and pure MSG never tastes as good as after a day of hiking, climbing, and avoiding marble dust. I am talking of course about the site visit to Carrara and Pietrasanta on Friday, which wasn't so much a rock pit as a marble mountain, and a quarry inside the mountain. We... got to wear hard hats? We learned from our droll, British (was that redundant? Perhaps) tour guide, who was also an artist in residence at Pietrasanta, that colored marbles get their pigments from various natural sources, and therefore the pink marble such as the kind used on the facade of the Duomo in Florence gets its color from the shells of fossilized shrimp. It may be a stretch to say, but I'm saying anyways that the Duomo is clad in shellfish. Definitely not kosher, literally! I crack myself (and only myself) up.

Photos

2008-09-15T08:15:00.001-04:00

First photo update is finally up on Flickr !

piazza s.s. annunziata

2008-09-11T11:47:00.003-04:00

Is my new favorite piazza (it used to be Piazza San Marco, but then I realized that the bus stops really did distract from the ambiance). Yesterday was an interesting day because of my coffee-drinking habits. My body reacts weirdly to caffeine when I don't eat enough at the same time, and yesterday an extra macchiato between classes meant that I was feeling horrible by mid-day. I went home to take a nap, which ended up lasting four hours. Oops. It was five by the time I got my very-hungry self back out to the city. I ended up going to this little vegetarian cafe called 'Caffelatte' out in the San Marco area of the city, on the Via Degli Alfani. And even better, across the street from this cafe was a record store called Rock Bottom. It was wall-to-ceiling vinyl with rare titles and original pressings hanging on display, including a first-press edition of Chirping Crickets (from Buddy Holly & the Crickets) that was on sale for 1,100 euros. Hilariously, a first edition of Placebo's Placebo is worth 65 euros. But the store is awesome and I can't wait to go back.

Weekend plans, weekend plans... I have a class trip to Cararra and Pietrasanta tomorrow, which is mildly exciting, and where the buses leave at seven, which is not. I am also unsure about the weather tomorrow, in the big fucking rock pit under the potentially beating sun. Whatever. What I am most excited about this weekend are trips to several flea markets around the area. On Saturday, I am definitely going to the Sant'Ambroglio farmer's market and the flea market at Piazza Ciumpo near Santa Croce. Sunday is the monthly flea market at Santo Spirito in the Oltrarno, across the river from the main center of Florence, which is supposed to be really, really good and full of little antique treasures and things like that. While it is not necessarily buying from on-a-blanket-in-the-mud, I am sincerely excited for potential treasures. I need a coin purse at the very least, and possibly a new school bag.

you know you love me,

2008-09-09T08:39:00.003-04:00

OH MY GOD FINALLY. iTunes, the Internets, the Villa Rossa, and the Entire Fucking Universe finally conspire to work in my favor for thirty minutes. The final product? Both new episodes of Gossip Girl, downloaded onto my computer and into my life. OMG Jay McInerney. Tinsley fucking Mortimer (looked kind of like a zombie, if you ask me). This is going to be the best week, even if the bitches in my Ancient Art class could be the sixth and seventh children of Sarah Palin (wow, am I really that awful a person? Apparently. How long have I known that I am guaranteed a spot next to dear old Brutus in the afterlife? At least since the age of eleven.) and even if it's going to be 35 degrees on Friday when I have my first field study trip, to the marble quarries of Cararra, a.k.a. A BIG FUCKING ROCK PIT WITHOUT SHADE, I know that all is right in the world if Chuck Bass is part of my life. I miss New York summer. I miss cheap street food and getting lost everywhere. Inexplicably, I haven't gotten lost in Florence, yet. I miss shows that actually stop in this godforsaken city. Apparently, Florence is west bumfuck compared to Rome, Milan or even Bologna. Looking at fall concert schedules, people like M83, Duffy (shut up I think she's kind of cool) and Fleet Foxes are touring Italy, but only ever stopping in Rome or Milan. ALSO, Okkervil River is PLAYING IN BOLOGNA (a feasible distance away) but on the same weekend as a field study. The field study is a trip to Pisa scheduled for Saturday while Okkervil River is playing in Bologna on Friday night, which means that it is still kind of possible for me to go, but would necessitate some creative finagling of transportation, because the three cities are in a rough triangle with each other within Tuscany. More importantly, it means hoping & praying that the state-owned rail service doesn't strike that weekend, which it is apparently wont to do quite frequently. It's going to happen, though. It has to.

Tuesdays are my busy days, and even so I manage to have a three-hour break between my two classes in the morning and one in the afternoon. I am way looking forward to my upcoming class, which is a what is called a 'maxi-seminar' on Michelangelo, I suppose because the enrollment is capped at 25 instead of 15. The class and materials should be really interesting, though I am worried about the quality of people enrolled, somewhat. Does it make me a horrible person if whenever I overhear people discussing classes I am also enrolled in, I wonder "do I really want to deal with you in my class? Are you really going to say those things with a straight face?" Probably. C.f.: Sarah Palin references earlier. I am so, so going to hell. Speaking of hellfire and Southerners, this kid J.T., who is a architecture student at the University of Kentucky, has a voice and personality that is a dead ringer for Jack McBrayer/Kenneth the Page. I am actually kind of dreading the day I inevitably call him Kenneth by accident. Reason #254 why I am so glad no one from this program will (hopefully) ever find this blog. Otherwise, once again, oops.

Currently listening to: Jennifer O'Connor.

Weekend Update

2008-09-09T06:35:00.002-04:00

Just FYI, I wrote this all yesterday, and backing up what I've written below about flaky internet connections, I didn't get a chance to post it because the internet on my laptop died.

I don't know how much I am going to use the internet in the coming semester. A conflagaration of circumstance and laziness may render computer usage, including blog updates, photo updates and Facebook access in longer but infrequent stretches. What I am trying to say is that the only reliable source of wireless access is here at school, in the Villa Rossa complex, which necessitates either hauling my laptop back and forth from school everyday, along with textbooks and other sundry supplies, or using the computers (most of which date from circa 2004) in the basement of the Villa Rossa. Since so many students flood the wireless connection here anyways, it's hard to keep up a consistent stream of web access without copious "page load errors" and "the connection has timed out"s Combined with the uncooperativeness of Flickr, it's a rough life for me sometimes. But not really at all; did you think I was serious? I will beat the internet connection to death just like all 279 of my peers. Now if only the latest episode of Gossip Girl would load. Le sigh. You can't have everything...

This past weekend was termed "Full Immersion" with your host families, which, unfortunately, could mean anything. Some girls I knew literally did spend the entire weekend with their host families, more often than not in said host families' beach houses on the coast, escaping the oppressive heat of the basin that Florence is located within. Seriously, it's supposed to be 35 degrees all week. Anyways, not having the privilege of a seaside escape, my weekend was nevertheless highly enjoyable. I went out with my roommate Kristin, her boyfriend, and a smattering of their friends from the metro-Boston area on Friday night to a bar near Santa Croce, where some random dude (literally, just 'some dude,' all Lebowski connotations intended) ended up buying two rounds of drinks for the entire bar. I still don't really understand. Anyways, that happened, whatever.

Saturday, I slept in and then spent the day exploring the city center (henceforth known as the Centro Storico) first with a couple of friends, then later by myself. I took a bunch of photos, especially in the cathedral Santa Croce, home to Michelangelo's and Galileo's tombs and a monument to Dante. Once I figure out the intricacies of Flickr and possibly find a better/steadier internet connection, the photos will be up. Of course, I found about four excellent, foreign-language bookstores already. There is the Paperback Exchange, located in this little alley off the Piazza del Duomo, where I bought my textbooks and also has a fairly well-curated selection of new and used books, and as the European additions, have different designs than their American counterparts. Tangentially, I love finding different, nation-specific editions of books. Design-wise, one of my favorite books is the copy of Special Topics in Calamity Physics that I bought in South Africa. And dangerously, the Paperback Exchange has a frequent-buyer card that rewards you for every 10 euros you spend up to forty euro, where your four stamps turn into twelve euros' worth of credit. Of course, my financially-irresponsible dilemma is whether to spend the money sooner on new books and get the discount before leave, or to tear through all the books I brought with me before going on a buying spree; not to mention the lifetime of headaches that is packing all of them into my suitcases at the end of year. Other bookstores I found over the weekend include Libera Lef, full of ridiculous Taschen and Phaidon titles; Melbookstore, which looks to be the largest of the bunch clustered around the Centro Storico; and Liberi Martinelli, whose second floor has an adorable and comfortable reading lounge tucked away in the back. There is also a Grom gelateria kitty-corner from the Paperback Exchange, and an excellent wine bar, Coquinarius, where I had dinner on Saturday night, making the ten-meter stretch of the via del' Oche the most dangerous street in all of Florence, at least currently. My Moleskine Firenze notebook has gotten a lot of use in the past few days (hi Carly!).

I didn't end up doing much on Saturday night. Walked back to my host mother's apartment and stayed up reading Time Out Florence, plotting my next move. Sunday was another lazy morning. I walked my roommate out towards the Centro Storico later in the afternoon, since she has had a tendency to get lost on the way to and from the city center. I stopped at the piazza San Marco, currently my favorite piazza, and finished reading The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay there before walking back using a different route that took me through the piazza Independenza and by the Basso Fortress, which was less than what I'd hoped it to be. I'm trying out some different routes in these first few weeks to see which one I like the best, and to explore various parts of the city. I've taken in a fair amount of Florence so far, and forty minutes' walk (the time it takes, roughly, to walk from my homestay to the city center) has already become nothing. On Sunday, Kristin and I finally met Gabriele, our host mom's son and our host-little brother. He's ten and very mischievous yet sweet. The four of us had dinner together on Sunday night before going out to celebrate the festival of [LOOK THIS UP ON WIKIPEDIA] out in the streets near the piazza le Cure, the closest big piazza (square) to Patrizia's apartment. I'm not clear on the specifics of the current celebration, but I do know that the tradition holds for children to stay out late and run around, shooting little clay balls out of blowgun tubes, kind of like spitballs but slightly less gross, at paper lanterns and unsuspecting pedestrians.

Yesterday was the first day of classes. Kristin and I walked to school together, which included the slightly-interesting interlude of a first-hand encounter with Italian futility. Our host mom's apartment is located outside of the city center, and we have to cross a set of train tracks to get to school every morning, or at least we did with the route we took today. Either way, Kristin and I get to tracks, see a multitude of would-be pedestrians and drivers already milling about. We wait for about five minutes and see one train drive past, but the railroad gates don't go up. Another seven or so minutes later, no sign of either the train or the gates opening, we both hop the barrier and run across to the side, sick of waiting. Okay, maybe not that interesting but it's an anecdote that kind of illustrates what I've found to be the pattern of government futility that Italians tend to complain about. I've also seen several graffiti-ed icons of Berlusconi with devil's horns. Anyways, that little episode of derring-do also managed to make us late for school, which turned out not to matter much in the long run-- a lot of people walked into the gates after us. It turns out that I got into the section of Italian that I wanted to (at 8:45) and I had my two classes this morning, Italian and Art of the late Medieval and Black Death. I don’t know if I have mentioned this previously, including but not limited to the preceding paragraphs, of the female-to-male ratio of this program, which stands, charitably, at about 4:1. As luck would have it (jury’s out on whether good or bad) both of my Monday-morning classes contained men ! The overwhelming knowledge that they are already fully occupied with their burgeoning harems remains the only reason that I feel comfortable writing about them in a public forum. So, cute architecture boy from my Italian class, and hipster-with-potential from my Black Death class, I hope you never find my blog.

It Almost Feels Like Italy.

2008-09-05T08:38:00.002-04:00

Oh my god I think I'm in Italy, mentally. It took a week, but it happened. Starting on Wednesday, we had three days' worth of Orientation in the Villa Rossa, the big Syracuse University in Florence compound. It's located in a piazza, the Piazza Savonarola, located slightly northwest of the city center. What's kind of really amusing is that today, coming back from buying a planner at Florence Copy (there's a whole 'nother story) I noticed that the Villa Rossa is directly across the street from the Chinese consulate in Florence. I am totally going over there on Monday and saying hello. Well, maybe not, but I am giving the idea some serious thought. Speaking of Savonarola, the piazza is awfully tranquil for such a fiery fella. I like the fact that the school is out of the hustle and bustle of the city center, away from the crowds.

Funnily enough, the hotel that we stayed in during orientation was the same hotel that I stayed in the last time I was in Florence, with the Latin trip. Sadly, I did not remember this until the second morning, when I recognized the subterrenean taverna that the hotel relegated the group travellers to during mealtimes.

The planner: I finally bought the right planner, after two false starts. The first Moleskine planner I bought ended up being a monthly planner; and the second started in calendar year 2009. Now, finally equipped with a 18-month Moleskine Weekly Planner 2008-2009, I can start the vicious cycle of color-coding and labelling that has gotten me a fair share of loveable mocking already. No matter how frustrating the multiple purchases were, I really appreciate the fact that the third planner I purchased came at the third time I went to Florence Copy, the store having been in siesta the first time I went and closed the second. The symmetry really pleases me.

I met my host mom and roommate yesterday afternoon. My host mom's name is Patrizia Frigau, she is a 45-year old single mother with a 10-year old son named Gabriele. My roommate, Kristin, and myself don't get to meet Gabriele until Sunday, though, because he is spending time with his father this week. Kristin, my roommate, is from Sudbury (MA) and is an economics major at Trinity College in Hartford. She seems like a really nice girl. Our room in Patrizia's apartment is really quite awesome, even if the location isn't, necessarily. She lives even further north of the city center than the school, and it's about a forty-minute walk to the Piazza del Duomo, Piazza Signoria, etc. It will be hard to get home after the buses stop running at night, I think. BUT the room we share is really great. She lives on the top floor of a five-story apartment, and the two of us have the second floor of her own apartment, in a big attic/loft space, with our own bathroom and everything. There are two futons and just a ton of space. Patrizia is a math teacher and psychologist and an excellent cook. I am really excited to live with her for the next four months! I think meeting her and unpacking all of my stuff was really pivotal in making me feel like I'm staying here. I'm going to be walking around the city and taking the same meals and (hopefully!) speaking the language for the rest of the year. It's both daunting and the most exciting thing that I've ever experienced. Much like New York this summer, I hope I can feel just a little bit like a local at the end of this experience. Doing so in New York was easier than I thought, but I have a feeling achieving the same level of comfort in Florence is going to be harder than I can imagine now.

I also registered for classes this morning. My last name was in the second-to-last registration block, so I feel really lucky to have gotten into all the classes that I wanted to. I'm taking four classes, three art history and one introductory Italian course. The art history classes are: Ancient Art: The Etruscans & Romans; Art of the Late Medieval Period & Black Death; and a seminar on Michelangelo. Additionally, each class comes with required field studies, which means that I am "required" to go on trips to Siena, Carrara, Assisi, Arezzo, and Ravenna, "required" to have a private tour of the Sistine Chapel and "required" to go on a three-day journey to Naples, Pompeii, and Herculaneum. Coming into this program, I expected everyone to be Art History majors, which turns out isn't the case at all. The people I've met have been English and Economics and Sociology and Chemistry and Psychology and everything-else majors; I've actually met the fewest fellow Art History majors.

This afternoon I have a meeting where I turn in my permesso di soggirno (permit to stay) forms and then I think I'm going to a used-book store called the Paperback Exchange to look into buying books for my classes. Also earlier this week, I re-found my favorite store from the last time I was in Italy, this tiny little mercantile that seemed to ply trade only in antique postcards, off the Piazza Signoria. Later, hopefully, I'll be going back into the city to experience the nightlife with some friends. I've made friends! They don't seem to hate me (though only time will tell) !!

actually (finally) italy

2008-09-03T16:39:00.002-04:00

(c) e.b. andersen 'too many capital letters' bartels. i am SAFE and SOUND and using a VERY unfamiliar keyboard in italy. it took me five minutes to find the apostrophe key. it's been that kind of day. italy is very, very hot (still in the low nineties) and... i don't have much more of an opinion of the country beyond that right now. talk to me in a week, perhaps?

housekeeping things:

my address in florence
ami d. li
c/o syracuse university in florence
piazza savonarola, 15
50132 firenze
ITALIA

my cell phone number (florence is 6 hours ahead of eastern standard time)
+39 3493 39 1615

my skype name (this is also free)
ami.li10

cray cray

2008-08-24T19:22:00.003-04:00

(c) m.c. g. zipprich.

Anyways, this week is going to be a mess. Let's assess: Monday is low key, sandwiches in Astoria and shopping for Things I Need For Italy. Tuesday, Jenny comes to town !!!! We hang out and do things like watch Rushmore at McCarren and eat barbecue on rooftops. Thursday morning at probably the asscrack of dawn, me, Jenny, and my mom haul ass back to Connecticut, where I have a doctor's appointment. I sit in my room and fume silently as the next two days are consumed by neverending packing. Saturday the entire fam packs up for Brooklyn where we send Jenny off to the airport on Sunday and me off on Monday.

Some days I think the universe is playing one huge celestial joke, my life.

soon soon soon

2008-08-21T19:36:00.002-04:00

Home in Connecticut this next few days. Just got back from Ann Arbor. Had six cavities filled this morning. Just think, in less than two weeks, this blog will actually be written in and about Italy.

puzzling:

2008-08-15T10:56:00.003-04:00

i just gave myself a papercut on a plastic name-badge holder. what does one call such an injury?

yes i realize exactly how 1) irrelevant and 2) twitter-like this post is. yes, i feel shame.

nick and nora [sic]

2008-08-14T11:50:00.003-04:00

was i the only person who was just a little bit flabbergasted to hear bishop allen's 'middle management' as the trailer song to the new michael cera movie, nick and norah's infinite playlist? i mean, it wouldn't have been that bad except for the fact that the movie looks positively wretched. and... bishop allen was my band. my found-them-on-the-blogs-in-2004. when you ain't no picasso was still on blogger and didn't have a hideous redesign. jesus, i pre-ordered the broken string. i netflixed mutual appreciation; not the masterpiece of mumblecore. actually, that masterpiece has not yet appeared, but who's counting. and now, they are a trailer band...?!!

in other news, grills are like "really shiny, expensive retainers." will you marry me? seriously, i mean it.

Olympic Balladeer's Voice Was Dubbed

2008-08-12T10:49:00.003-04:00

oops.

but she is still way cute (below, left) whereas the girl with the voice (right) is was deemed too buck-toothed to be seen by most of the free world watching the opening ceremonies. totalitarian gay politburo mafia at work here, people.

observe:

photo: telegraph.co.uk

regionalism:

2008-08-11T11:47:00.004-04:00

I'll always be a proud midwesterner, but a New York slice beats a Chicago pie every time.

The Golden Ratio of Delicious:

Excessively Cheesy Heart Attack Disaster:

The New York slice is slim and sophisticated, much like a New Yorker.

The Chicago pie is... fat and Midwestern.

On the other hand, the Chicago dog is untouchable.

Photos: flickr

you know how to flatter a man

2008-08-11T11:09:00.007-04:00

Okay, so I'm all for Michael Phelps, USA, rah rah rah and all that good clean patriotic fun, but these photos are too much:

Photos: New York Times

on the other hand

2008-08-10T21:01:00.003-04:00

general minutiae from this week:

the olympics started. yay, go team. pet peeve: how many people have said free tibet (thom yorke, you don't count, see below) without really knowing anything about the tibet saga. it's all bitch whine moan china and you try to make tibet a self-sustaining, international-law-defined country. can we all just get over the fact that human rights suck kind of everywhere and more importantly no way is the u.s. going to piss off a country that has absorbed some obscenely large amount of trade debt in the past five years. i suppose it's cliched to say that we live in an irreversably globalized society in which it is pure economic suicide to divest/disconnect from/generally fuck over another 'great power' but it's still mostly true. whatever.

second-to-last week of work, thankfully. fun, sort of. the people were nice. the tasks were menial and mindless, but it was nice to contribute to the end of tuberculosis, one baby step at a time. the office is decorated with 1930s-era WPA prints illustrating the deadliness of 'consumption' and my inner AP history geek smiled rejoiced. i thought about la bohéme and la traviata an awful lot.

saw radiohead last night at all points west with the lovely miss serena alexandra wales. that was a near-religious experience, duh. i never understood why anyone found thom yorke any kind of attractive until last night. the man is damned sexy. and he can dance, true fact. and and he was wearing excellent red skinny trousers. they played an obscenely long two-hour set that included famous songs (the bends, no surprises!!!!!!!!) and new things, including an absolutely adorable one called 'bangers and mash,' which included thom banging on a baby drum set. there was also a prominently placed free tibet flag onstage, but whatever. it was fucking radiohead. babyboadrum. freetibet.

i bought the new nico muhly CD and finally gave it a good listen this weekend. it is SO GOOD. he is a new contemporary composer, who's worked with phillip glass and björk. he is also the son of professor bunny harvey of wellesley college. the new yorker did an interview with him back in february and i texted my friend e.b., who had taken drawing from bunny harvey (so a full-name person) telling her her that i thought he was cute. her response: "i think he's gay." there isn't much else to that story, i suppose. anyways, the album, mothertongue, is so so good. weird as fuck, yeah, but really good and still eminently listenable, which is really my only requirement for contemporary classical music. and the last suite of songs on the CD are variations of the old folk song 'the wind and rain,' which is totally one of my faves ♥ * !

on the agenda: falafels at taïm, eating through flushing, a trip back to ann arbor, ~~torture~~ packing for florence, the blog actually beginning to talk about italy.

i won't fuck us over i'm mr. november

2008-08-10T20:45:00.004-04:00

I own this t-shirt, thought up by the National as a little fundraising gimmick for Barack Obama himself. I love the National. I'm pretty down with Barack. But did anyone in the National or on the Obama marketing team realize that the song "Mr. November" contains the lyrics "I'm the new blue blood / I'm the great white hope" ? I mean, not to read too much into it or anything, and not that election politics are anything but reading too much into it or anything like that, but isn't it a little bit ironic...

Now is when I wish blogs could accurately convey that 'really, you really did just do that' kind of quizzical look.

Also, only middle-aged white men seem to comment on it.

Also, what the fuck, Russia.

thoughts re: twilight

2008-08-05T15:44:00.006-04:00

Is this what adults felt like when the first few Harry Potter sequels starting hitting the shelves? A juggernaut, a sort of behemouth of children's literature that reduced said adults to be both out-of-touch with anything outside of the New York Review of Books and marvelling at the possibility that their offspring could be sophisticated enough to re-discover reading in the nascent years of the Internet age. I was part of Hurricane Potter, dutifully buying each book at midnight, finishing them within the night and sleeping off the drama in the following daylight hours, much to chagrin of my Circadian-regulated parents. I've read each book at least three times, asides from The Order of the Phoenix, which I still maintain is 800-plus pages of contrived verbal vomit and misplaced teenage angst. But that's vitriol for another day, or perhaps never. I read the fanfiction religiously. Entire summers were whiled (wasted?) away in anticipation for new chapters of favorite works as high as it was for the books themselves. But gradually, as I aged, the unrequited love between Harry James Potter and Draco Lucius Malfoy diminished in my fevered brain. I moved onto 'real' books, away from the children's and YA fantasy that had fueled so much of my elementary and middle school years.

I suppose what that extended preface was trying to say is that the release of Breaking Dawn, the fourth and final volume of Stephenie Meyer's Twilight books this weekend, coincided with realizing whether my utter ignorance of these books marks a tiny first step into the world of adults, away from the in-between state of teenager-dom that the first two years of college seems so conducive to cultivating. These thoughts are no doubt exacerbated by the fact that I turned twenty two weeks ago, my panic age. When you're twenty, you are no longer a teenager and no longer automatically excused from teenagers' errors. You are upbraided for lack of maturity; you are twenty, dammit, act your age. I've always tried to be on the up-and-up concerning books, which includes keeping tabs on my favorite authors from when I was younger. Thus, my reaction towards the Twilight phenomenon was originally of bewilderment - how had it gotten so popular so quickly? This was the kind of novel that I would have eaten up. (Side note, I was a devoted reader of Amelia Atwater-Rhodes back in the day-- she was the same age as me! She wrote achingly beautiful vampire novels! Of course I had a crush on Aubrey! Having recently unpacked all of my books and re-skimmed In the Forests of the Night... I was perhaps too easily impressed.)

Maybe I'm too jaded to be shocked at the devotion that Bella and Edward inspire amongst the droves of the teenage girls of America. Maybe it's because having gone through a similar level of devotion for Harry Potter, I'm hard-pressed to admit another series engendering such fervent reactions amongst its readers.

The New York Times posted an article a couple of weeks ago about how the youth of today (how is that I am no longer youth? Riddle me this!) are reading, just not books. They're reading fanfiction and blogs and there is an academic divide between those who think that all reading is good, no matter what the medium, and those who believe the only subjectively worthwhile reading is that which comes from the printed word. It presented the reality as dichotomy, providing no room for the possibility of evolution in the minds of young readers (like myself! The patent self-absorption of a personal rears its ugly head! This entire entry really just is about me!) from the days of fanfiction towards a lifelong appreciation for literature.

In defense of fanfiction, even though the characters are not original, the author is charged with sustaining the personality of the character in a wholly believable fashion. In an original work of fiction, the author at least gets the benefit of the doubt from his or her readers by virtue of characters being an organic creation with no preconceived notions held by the readers. The case of fanfiction is not unlike writing under a microscope, with the author's responsibility to and respect of the fandom on the line, he or she is charged with creating new plotlines and/or universes in which beloved characters must fit into while staying true to an original artistic vision within the plotting. Bottom line, it's hard. And fanfiction should not be automatically relegated to 'bad' when there is plenty of original fiction that is either more derivative than fanfiction or simply awful. In reading fanfiction, one can develop the same eye for picking out good characterizations, literary style, and plot as one can reading straight fiction. Appreciating both is possible and reading both can only broaden one's literary horizons and eye for 'good' writing.

Of course, because everything that is said on a personal blog will always circle back to the author and her self-obsession, the person I just described/ranted about was really only me and how I will one day read Infinite Jest but at the same I still have about a half-dozen fics that I re-read whenever I'm feeling especially hateful towards the cop-out epilogue of the last Harry Potter book.

looking forward:

2008-07-31T16:40:00.002-04:00

If you happen to read the Sartorialist, you will understand my giddy anticipation of arriving in Florence. That blog will have you believing that Florence is crawling with nothing but nattily-dressed men and women of all ages, kitted out in impeccable haberdashery and most endearing knitwear. No amount of cloth sacrificed to the manpri will depress me as the hope of a man as dashing as this fellow lounging about the next corner will linger. I'm hoping to get at least a crash-course in analog photography before I leave and shilling around in piazzas, being That Foreign Creepster taking pictures of all the little old gentlemen in their straw boaters.

Also, these make me wish most desperately for outsize man's feet. Purple suede with tassels? Who could resist!?

srsly?

2008-07-30T21:09:00.003-04:00

I am fully aware that the three people who read this blog care nothing about baseball. That being said, Farnsworth for Pudge? Really? I'm still in a state of shock. 2005 was the last time Farnsworth pitched for Detroit; he became infamous for his role in a benches-clearing brawl with Kansas City. Then there was 'Farny,' the little man who lives inside his head and advises him on his pitches. but but but... DAVE! MIKE! MR. LEYLAND, SIR?!!?!!??? You traded for pr0FF3ss0r_F4rnsw0rth?

Anyways, Brandon Inge, Web Gem-producing, 9-hole home run-hitting, who-the-fuck-is-Miguel Cabrera upstanding citizen of the world will always be 3B for the Tigers in my heart. Even if that heart is firmly living in 2006. This is what happens when you trade away Mike Rabelo for Fonzie Bear and Rick Ankiel v1.0.

no homo

2008-07-29T23:19:00.003-04:00

This week, I turned into a gay man. First, I saw Mamma Mia! Tonight, I just finished watching The Birdcage. I'm not just a gay man. I'm a gay man with a Christine Baranski fetish.

durrr

2008-07-29T09:50:00.003-04:00

http://bits.blogs.nytimes.com/2008/07/29/facebook-shuts-down-scrabulous/index.html?hp

well, that blows.

Russia

2008-07-29T09:31:00.004-04:00

Today on the elevator at work, a Russian (or former Soviet state) woman complimented me on the dress I was (and still am, rest assured) wearing, calling it "Cute. No no no, not cute. Sexy!" To put things in perspective, I am wearing a floor-length teal maxi dress. From all the stories, and first-hand observations of those on the Brighton Beach-bound Q train, former Soviet state women are a wholly intimidating lot. To receive such a compliment is, for what it's worth, highly gratifying.

I predicted that today would be a good day, upon receiving yesterday's mail. The New Yorker came a day earlier than usual (!) and with it came a letter from Carly, swathed in an envelope designed to look like a topographical map of Connecticut. Crazy. Mail comes in a very predictable cycle this summer. Usually, the New Yorker arrives on Tuesday, Time Out New York on Thursdays and Netflix DVDs two days after I send the previous one in, like clockwork. Thus, the surprise of letters and packages and postcards always seems to serve as little welcome hiccups in the cycle.

summer in brooklyn, living with my mom

2008-07-28T21:03:00.006-04:00

Starting last summer, back in Ann Arbor, my mom and I starting going on 'mom dates'; generally outings to see movies or to go shopping. My dearest friend Rory Pavach takes sole credit for the 'mom date' lexicography. It all started when the movie Once was released - a classic mother-and-daughter sort of event. My mother and I went to go see it, so did Rory and her mom. My friend E.B. (of e.b. in p.b., to your right) went to see it with her mother. This summer's quintessential mom date movie is of course, Mamma Mia! (refer to A.O. Scott and Anthony Lane on why the exclamation point is an absolutely necessary inclusion) which my mother and I saw last week at the local Park Slope cinema. Time for full disclosure: I was raised on this stuff. Like, I knew the lyrics to Abba Gold by the age of ten. In all honesty, it's still one of my favorite albums. Probably in my top fifteen, if not my top ten. My family made the pilgrimage to Toronto to see the show within a year of its opening. I've seen nearly every film that prominently featured the Swedish visionaries. Which is to say I've seen and loved both and Muriel's Wedding and The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. My heart is filled with a deep and steadfast love for Abba that rivals any drag queen worth her salt. And I loved the movie, in all its gloriously awful grandeur. Even Pierce Brosnan's singing. Even the cannonball. So do yourself a favor this summer. Grab your mom and watch this movie in all its frothy, saccharine splendor. I dare you not to sing along (quietly, of course).

Yet another reason to love Tracyanne Campbell and Camera Obscura, the twee-est: their cover of Abba's "Super Trouper," the b-side off 2007's Tears for Affairs single. Also, excellent album art:

hello.

2008-07-28T20:12:00.003-04:00

So I take the plunge. This blog is called "Eventually Italy" because I was originally to start a standard college-student-abroad operation until I got way too bored this summer and said 'fuck it, I want to start blogging now.' In the interim, the blog will feature thoughts on music, food, books, pop culture, life crises; standard fare with a side of paralyzing self-doubt.