hi, society.

What goes around...

2010-01-15T17:19:00.003-05:00

This time I have to draw attention to another designer whose spread in the Vogue Spring/Summer 2010 lookbook was even smaller than that of Tsumori Chisato. I usually glaze over the collections that are at the very end of their section. The quarter-page spread only showcases about 10 looks and has no information about the designer or their inspiration. Luella Bartley's collection, however, caught my eye and, at the risk of being presumptuous, I find her inspiration to be more than apparent.

Luella Bartley's world this season is a veritable 1960s paradise and I think it's simply wonderful. I can't wait to bust out my 6 euro polka dot top and have a go at it myself. And just look at that black dress with the heart cut-out detail...I'm in love. Check out the rest of her collection here -- it's a treasure trove for those who are feeling nostalgic and lighthearted.

More Idealism and a New Favorite

2010-01-14T18:23:00.007-05:00

I absolutely adore the Vogue Collections lookbook. My first year of college one of my roommates had one and fawned over it as though it was a volume of Biblical proportions. She was wealthy, had articles of clothing that would have devastated my bank account, and flaunted her fashion knowledge as often as someone was around to listen. I saw that glossy Fashion Eden then as something completely foreign. I know that if I had browsed its pages with her I would not have seen the clothes, but the names -- Chanel, Chloe, Balmain, YSL -- in other words, "don't even think about it, Rachel."

What I realize now is that my former roommate used fashion as a way to distinguish herself from others as so many girls of means do. This is what I'm working to fight against. Fashion should not be used as a way to suggest superiority over others because of a lack in self confidence. It should be, rather, an extension of your personality. Properly wielded, fashion is a weapon to make one feel secure and confident. It is not a tool to make others feel small and excluded.

When I study the collections in the Vogue lookbook now, I see them tools for inspiration, ideas that can translate to my daily life despite my inability to throw down 600 dollars on a summer frock. The next few posts will be dedicated to my new favorite designers as discovered in the Spring/Summer 2010 Vogue Collections. The first is Tsumori Chisato.

I find her charming for several reasons, one of them being that her Wikipedia page is strikingly brief, as is her spread in the Vogue lookbook. While other designers received a large paragraph dripping with detail, they succinctly describe the Japanese designer's collection as "both charming and witty, with myriad free colour combinations, motifs and flounces, pleasingly rounded volumes and draping for a relaxed and relaxing season." I want to draw attention, however, to what is possibly one of my favorite pieces and would be easy to overlook amongst its big name peers.This dress is just a dream. The print is gorgeous, the silhouette is flirty and feminine, and it looks like it would be remarkably comfortable. I adore it and hope that I can replicate it when the temperature rises in a few months. Moral of the story is: Check out Tsumori Chisato's collection here.

Today

2010-01-13T11:18:00.003-05:00

Today I begin something again. I have a nasty habit, like many others, of never finishing what I start -- books, blogs, journals, etc. The only way I can continue writing, I think, is if I write exclusively for myself. I will no longer haunt the pages of Google Analytics wondering how many people are reading my musings. It would be naive of me to say that I don't care if people read; I do. I can, however, only write about that which I care about or the endeavor is pointless.

I've been fascinated by fashion for a small time all things considered. I grew up in the country where camouflage and sports team sweatshirts were chic. Studying abroad in Florence, Italy fanned the small flame, I suppose, and here I am. Armed with The Thames & Hudson Dictionary of Fashion and Fashion Designers and the last two Vogue Collections (Fall/Winter 2010 and Spring/Summer 2010), I plan to learn about fashion and document it for myself along the way.

I have to confess that this is not just some frivolous occupation. I am determined to prove something. Some are born into the world of fashion, or, at least into a world in which high fashion is within reach. I would like to prove that however genius designers are, their creations are born from imagination. Thus, wearing labels, or not wearing them, does not dictate anything since imagination is something afforded to all. I would love to own a Dior gown or a Chanel knit suit, but I don't have the means. Does this ban me, or others like me, from being fashionable or respectable? No it does not. So begins my mission.

(Photo courtesy of The Satorialist)

It's time...

2010-01-09T08:14:00.005-05:00

for something new. I want to release my thoughts in to the great beyond of cyberspace once more. When I came back from Italy the first time, there was nothing to write about. Charlottesville, Virginia, while beautiful, isn't terribly interesting. It's home. I don't come across situations that challenge me every day.

But am I just going to stop writing? Moral of the story is, I miss writing -- however out-of-practice I may be. This time, it's going to be something different. I'm not going to write about things I encounter during my day, or it won't be the centerpiece. I want to have a purpose and since I'm not sure if anyone reads this thing, especially since I haven't posted in a millennium, I have to write for myself.

So I'm going to do a little remodeling, then it'll all begin again.

In love again

2009-08-01T11:15:00.002-04:00

with this song. Rediscovered it a couple of weeks ago.

2009-07-31T15:20:00.004-04:00

Already?! I know, but there were some things I had to draw attention to.

1.These shoes are just delicious. I want them. If only the company wasn't based all the way across the pond. Via Irregular Choice.
2.I have these in Nude/Red, but that might have been a bad choice after seeing these. While I was in Florence Emilio Cavallini was on my walk to class -- it was hard to ignore the rows of boldly-printed, bright-colored legs, but who'd want to?

That's all for right now. I'm posting tomorrow about an upcoming project that I hope will be finished by the end of this month. Lots of goodies to come.

xoxo

Gilles-Marie Zimmermann

2009-07-28T09:12:00.004-04:00

Beautiful photography via gmzimmermann.com.

This is precious.

2009-07-27T19:26:00.001-04:00

2009-07-26T15:57:00.007-04:00

Thus begins a new portion of my blogging repertoire. I'm just lusting after too many things these days to keep it all pent up inside -- instead I'm releasing it to the masses on the internet (maybe Twitter?).

Now for the lust list:
1.I love this t-shirt. When my sister and I were in Quebec City our sole mission was to find a t-shirt with French print, but all we found were shirts with "Cape Cod" tauntingly scrawled across the fronts. Five years later I stumble across a hot pink shirt with the phrase "I'm too sexy for this shirt" translated in French in block letters. Destiny? (via alex andchloe.com)
2.Brian Lichtenberg racerback tanktop. Probably just want it because it looks more than just a little like Chanel. (via karmaloop.com)
3.So worth all that money. I've been lusting after this for a while -- it might be the image of this stereo from Urban Outfitters perched on my shoulder while walking to class.
4.I've been on the fence about peep toe shoes; they've always seemed a bit awkward to me. After trying some on, however, I might be rethinking my stance. Especially after seeing this Valentino pumps. Seeing as they're on sale for $465 (original price $775), I'm not sure I'll ever get to experiment with this particular pair of shoes. ::sigh:: (via valentino.com)

More lusting to come.

Overloaded and Overwhelmed

2009-07-22T15:49:00.005-04:00

I've only seriously been paying attention to the blogging world for less than 24 hours after my summer sabbatical, and I'm on sensory overload (or maybe my eyes are watering from playing too much Guitar Hero).
I also hopped on the Twitter bandwagon just to see what it's all about. Not sure if it's a mistake or not -- really just not sure what it is to begin with. Am I supposed to update it every time I do something newsworthy? Isn't this like my Facebook status? Should I Twitter about how I'm confused about Twitter? Maybe I'll direct message Lady Gaga about that later.

Anyway,
Here are my favorite links so far:
1. As I'm interested in all things fashion these days, Nubby Twiglet's Blog as well as BetseyJ's are some damn good reading material. They have plenty of great links to all things fashion; expensive, inexpensive, and just educational. Information on the both of them can be found on their sites.
2. Unfortunately, exploring fashion blog feeds my online shopping problem. I'm powerless to stop it. Girlprops.com has inexpensive, crazy jewelry for the cost-conscious while Alex & Chloe provide a little bit of the opposite, though not quite Cartier level.
and finally...
3. A fun video from CollegeHumor.com.

Since I'm so out of the loop you'll have to forgive me if all of these links are old news -- I'm trying.

Heart Necklace by Alex & Chloe

Love.

I am ashamed;

2009-07-21T20:23:00.009-04:00

I've been terribly absent. We'll just look at that as my vacation. Once I stop posting for a week or more it gets harder and harder to do it again. That "posted 5 weeks ago" is just staring me in the face.
I find that once I put goals online I'm more driven to follow them, so here goes:
-- Keep posting regularly
-- Finish my two photography projects that I didn't do in Italy
-- Keep shopping at Goodwill/making my own clothes
-- Continue reading as much as I have been (Left Hand of Darkness I will finish you!)

Okay, hold me to those. Moral of the story: I'm back yet again. I needed about a month vacation from thinking about my life critically and now you find me vastly unaware of politics, still incredibly poor, not very driven, but infused with happiness. Excellent.

Here are a few photos of my summer thus far:

Hope yours is as good as mine.

Hot.

2009-06-15T14:37:00.003-04:00

As a budding (hopefully) photographer I'm always on the lookout for the new and interesting. Annie Leibovitz will continue to be my idol for two reasons:
a) her work is beautiful, interesting, and always surprising
b) she started off as a photographer for Rolling Stone in its younger days, and learned as she went.

It's nice to see what other people come up with, their styles, what they find interesting enough to immortalize in a photograph. Today I stumbled upon Jasper Goodall who has a new series titled "Poster Girl." This is a quotation from his website:

Poster Girl is a series of works by influential graphic artist Jasper Goodall, that explore themes of fetish and fantasy. Whilst the work itself can be seen as erotic art, it is equally about looking at the world of fetish and erotica with an appreciative yet critical eye. It is erotic art but it is also about erotic art - the images are a result of Goodall's musings on erotica and sexual fetish.

Risque? Definitely, but also really fascinating. Just check out these pictures.

Bad Bambi

Tigress

Pink Polish

However you feel about the topic of sexual fetishes and erotic art, you have to admit those are some eye-catching photographs. Jasper Goodall's show is being featured at the Electric Blue Gallery in London - www.electricbluegallery.com.

LUST LUST LUST

2009-06-13T18:24:00.002-04:00

Somewhat later in life than some girls, I'd say, I've fallen prey to the weakness that is fashion. My wall is covered significantly with pictures from my Vogue Italy magazine - the models annoy and fascinate me in the same breath. The Chanel model who wears tight patent leather pants, ankle boots to match, a chain belt, leather jacket, and hot pink t-shirt printed with the famous interlocking Cs seems to say as she throws back her hair, "God, I'm so sexy you can't even comprehend it." She might be right.
LUST LUST LUST literally runs through my head when I'm looking at some things and here are my latest obsessions:

Selina Dress at MotelRocks.com

Les Chiffoniers' Leggings

Snap-On Hoodie from IsThatOT.com (beware of the bizzare)

Nike Women's High-top Vandals via Sneakerhead.com

Lust Lust Lust. I want.

The Funk List

2009-06-13T07:34:00.006-04:00

I miss Italy, I need to do something more stimulating than swiping cards, filling out Incident Reports, folding t-shirts, and roaming around the AFC (even though I love working there). So, I'm going to volunteer at the Charlottesville SPCA today to get in my puppy fix - no matter what I say in the future, do not let me adopt one. Even if I beg and cry, don't fall for it.

Other things on my "Funk List" - the list that will get me out of my funk - include:
- Keep reading
- Pay more attention to politics
- Fix up my apartment
- Take at least one big trip (Austin, TX?)
- Keep up my Italian
- Make/design clothes

I'm all about the anti-funk today, so I think my anti-funk song would have to go to...
Santogold. I know she was MTV's posterchild when she first appeared, and she's now old-ish news, but I love this song.

Ladybugs and Puzzle Pieces

2009-06-11T21:16:00.002-04:00

Everyone always says (yes, everyone and always) that you'll find something when you least expect it. In fact, I remember an anecdote from a movie about a little girl who would spend hours looking for ladybugs when one day she fell asleep, woke up, and they were crawling all over her. Oh, wow, how insightful movie, I wonder what commentary you're trying to make about life.
Or, when I was a little girl, well, maybe just a few years ago, I'd be working on a puzzle and furiously searching for a specific piece. Sure enough, when I gave up all hope of finding that piece and moved onto another one, I'd find the stupid piece I was looking for before. I might still have anger issues from that very situation.
So this is my formal complaint to Life as some sort of entity that might listen to my thoughts. What's up with this business of leading people on wild goose chases only to reward them with the chases' objects just when we've given up all hope? There we are, with bruised and battered egos, demoralized completely, then you hand us a "Get Out of Jail Free" card just to mess with our heads. Unfair? Completely.
I've pretty much decided that I'm not going to listen to anything that ends with the words "when you least expect it." Besides, maybe Life will be fooled if I pretend to give up hope just to get what I've been wanting. Outsmarting Life not a good way to spend my days? Well, it's summer; I'm not exactly pressed for time.

Dan Auerbach knows what's up.

For Wade

2009-06-05T02:12:00.004-04:00

who made this boss layout possible, bringing to my attention that rotating the image 180 degrees then flipping it horizontally would simply be the key to so many wonderful things.
You love acoustic guitar, and hey, Tommy Emmanuel deserves his little 15 minutes of fame, too. Here's "Antonella's Birthday," my favorite part comes at 1:45 - look at those fingers caress (because there's no other word for it) those strings:

He's so rock and roll with his strategically unbuttoned shirt - what a legend.

Neon Indian!

2009-06-05T00:43:00.002-04:00

The above picture is not really what I'm going to write about - it's a t-shirt from threadless, but it's pretty perfect nonetheless.
Anyway, thanks to Marcus (again) there's a good summer song by Neon Indian called "Deadbeat Summer," and guess what, thanks to my genius I found it on YouTube.

I always have a habit of imagining what movie scenes I would put songs in. If my life were a movie, this song would go in a scene of me in my new room. It'd be one of those scenes where time speeds up by showing me doing various things in a sequence: making my bed, sitting in my chair typing on my computer, folding clothes, sitting in my chair, laying on my bed blowing bubbles, hitting my head on my desk repeatedly, and repeating the whole cycle all over again.
Summer anthems aren't always about sunny nirvana - sometimes summer is boring. It's a wasteland of free time or time spent working behind a counter for hours on end. It's hot - the type of hot that glues people to plastic lawn chairs and makes retractable awning sales skyrocket.
This song, however, makes me feel like all of that is bearable and maybe even pleasant in its own right. When we're not busy we can recognize the humor in normal things, or it forces us to amuse ourselves. Have you ever made faces at yourself in the mirror and then laughed at its ridiculousness? Were you busy?
Listen to Neon Indian.

Projected Summer Jams

2009-06-01T14:29:00.006-04:00

I always read a certain phrase on iTunes that has to be a tried and true marketing trick: this is the song/track/hit of the summer. For some reason, probably not a particularly complicated one, those of us that still enjoy the benefits of a few months off salivate at those words and click 'Buy' every time.
What's in a summer jam? Gauging our reaction, it has to contain something like these ingredients: a whisper of freedom, a few obnoxiously-printed Hawaiian board shorts, even more too-small bikinis, some Banana Boat sunscreen, too much free time, and of course, more than enough sunshine.
Either way, I've found some summer jams. The first one, "Now We Can See" by The Thermals was at the end of a long, harried musical treasure hunt. One of my new roommates heard it while driving but sadly missed the name and band. The next few days he unsuccessfully tried to hum the tune only getting blank faces in response. Now all's well, and here it is:

Likewise, I was driving with the windows down back home, when I heard Grizzly Bear's song "Two Weeks" from their new album Veckatimest. Marcus was right, this music video blows my mind. Couldn't resist making that joke and now I regret it. Here it is:

Anyhow, I'm debating whether or not I should put my favorite Discodust find up here or if that will scare the summer crowd away...maybe next time. Let the first two soak in like those healthy UV rays.

25 Days Later

2009-05-27T22:40:00.005-04:00

Almost like the film 28 Days Later minus zombie-like, enraged infected people. 25 days after my homecoming has been characterized by challenges, but returning from Italy has been nothing like other life transitions I've endured so far.
I'm not sure what I expected, though history is not in my favor. Two summers ago saw me sobbing on the plane next to a very uncomfortable woman, and walking around at my job like the living dead until I finally moved into my first college dorm room.
Here I am, back from Italy and probably the most important life experience so far, and I'm completely fine. I miss it, but like I missed my family while I was gone. I knew I'd see them soon.
I could tell you every detail since I've gotten back, but who wants to read that much? I will say that the Blue Ridge Mountains rival any Renaissance Cathedral, and, best of all, I feel as though they're mine. I can't wait to drive up to Shenandoah and disappear for a few hours among the trees - it's a nice change from disappearing among centuries-old stone and crowds of tourists.
I'm home, but I'm not going anywhere. Keep checking back here.

Consolation Prizes

2009-04-29T06:32:00.002-04:00

I apologize for being out of touch lately. I'm packing to go home. 'Nuff said, eh?
Here's some ear candy in the meantime.

sorry, great song.

Late of the Pier!

I sympathize.

Coming home on Saturday!

My literary life...

2009-04-24T06:52:00.003-04:00

and the wonderful delusions that come with it. As I was writing in a letter to a friend the other day, I've long since liked to pretend as though my life were some epic novel. I've read about people such as this in my English classes - heroines that seem to think that life is one ironic story. They see heroes in ruined men who only have the capacity to disappoint, see in themselves a resolve to suffer solely because it makes life more beautiful.
For some reason this gives me hope and this has mostly to do with the poetry life can contain when sought out. I have no reason to believe that my life isn't, in some way, literary. I had a trying semester that ended badly, I stepped out of my world, journeyed to a new one, and had a life-defining experience. I was in denial, faced the truth, felt acutely all of the actions that could have morphed into an elaborate tapestry of regret, finished a book on a train to Paris, and instead, I forgave myself. Then I began to live. I could have become more guarded, could have decided that my open nature was unwise, and changed in order to feel less. Instead, I've embraced even more who I am because I've had to reevaluate the reasoning behind it.
If I imagine my life as a novel (hopefully a well-written one), it gives senseless things definition. Characters, the ones at least that play a part in an important experience, leave prematurely, but usually come back at the most appropriate time. I leave this city that witnessed my most honest and raw moments; in a plotline, it doesn't follow that I won't return.
There have been many times already that I've felt as though this life view was foolish. Real life isn't poetic, loose ends are left untied every day. I look back, though, on everything up to this point and I simply see no reason not to be hopelessly Romantic (yes, capital R) in regard to life. Forgive me for wanting to live in a world where things are unpredictable in their beautiful predictability, their poetic endings. Forgive me in advance for inflicting upon you, those I'm close with, all the multi-faceted intrigue of a dynamic character. It's just my nature.

And in the word's of Gibran, who now seems to be the author of this transitional stage in my life:
Almustafa, the chosen and the beloved, who was a dawn unto his own day, had waited twelve years in the city of Orphalese for his ship that was to return and bear him back to the isle of his birth.
And in the twelfth year, on the seventh day of Ielool, the month of reaping, he climbed the hill without the city walls and looked seaward: and he beheld his ship coming with the mist.
Then the gates of his heart were flung open, and his joy flew far over the sea. And he closed his eyes and prayed in the silences of his soul.
But as he descended the hill, a sadness came upon him, and he thought in his heart:
How shall I goin peace and without sorrow? Nay, not without a wound in the spirit shall I leave this city. (Gibran Kahlil Gibran - The Prophet)

Yessss,

2009-04-23T06:38:00.001-04:00

an Italian song I like!

Just look at those dance moves. Irresistible.

Eye Contact

2009-04-23T06:06:00.003-04:00

Recently I've gotten into conversations regarding a specific habit of mine: eye contact. I personally feel as though it's one of the most revealing gifts you can give to someone - whether it's a friend, a love interest, or a complete stranger. It shows curiosity - something I have in spades. I want you to know me, if only for 2 seconds as we pass on the street. I want you to be curious, too.
Throughout my time here, actually, throughout my entire life, I've made many friends in unique situations that I will most likely never see again. Why? Eye contact. It invites people in. In a world full of people who remain inside themselves, only thinking of another destination, that meeting next weekend, the late flight; eye contact makes someone snap out of their own thoughts. Whether or not the question that arises is "Who is that?" or "Why the hell is she looking at me?", it pulls the person out of their infinite vacuum of introspection.

Eye contact, and being comfortable with it, is one of the most valuable lessons to learn. Just imagine the amount of interesting people one can meet if the other person feels comfortable enough open up. Some of the most intriguing conversations and individuals I've come across in my 19 years have occurred as a result of eye contact.
This isn't to say that eye contact only applies to people of the opposite sex. Once, while I was in Scotland I let and older woman have my seat. She looked like my Nana and I made eye contact with her, smiling - it was returned sweetly. Before she got off the bus I told her that she reminded me of my Nana, sharing also that I miss her every day. The woman, mercifully and wonderfully, gave me a hug and kissed me on the forehead. Needless to say, it was a profound experience in a mundane background - a crowded bus on the way to the airport.
I received an email from a man I met in the London airport on the way back to Florence - we struck up a conversation in the obscenely long line to pay Ryan Air for some silly expense. He's been reading my blog and offered this commentary about our chance meeting:
I noticed that, with very little effort, you were able to strike up a conversation in such un-aesthetic circumstances as a queue to pay a check-in fee.
Here's the thing, a rather hippy-ish comment if I do say so myself: everyone has something intriguing inside of them. Why hide it and why not seek it out? Eye contact.

I'm just sayin...

2009-04-18T07:02:00.003-04:00

All of my writing energies in this moment in time are being devoured by one of two things: writing my Art History paper or sleeping. I apologize.
This post is going to be a certifiable journey through randomness - a beautiful place where my shoes chill in the refrigerator and giraffes attend Mustachio Bashio parties. Rudabaga!

Anyway...
I've been making lists in one particular notebook of mine, and here are a few selections from these lists so far - feel free to judge me based completely on what's written below.
Things That Make Me Happy
- Texas Pete Hot Sauce
- dancing
- nail polish (especially hot pink, dark purple, or navy blue)
- crushes
- sneakers
- eye contact
Words That I Like
- sizzle, ravenous, fuzzy, decadent, smuggle, skulk, moxie, enigmatic, cantankerous, archaic, stupendous, gummy, presumptuous, facetious
Good Movies
- Meet Joe Black, The Magnificent Seven, Sin City, Kill Bill (both), The Shadow, Back to the Future (the first one), High Fidelity, Aladdin, Stranger Than Fiction

Speaking of Aladdin...

seriously? It's worth mentioning that watching Disney songs in other languages is infinitely amusing.

Look, I'm just saying, this may be a completely pointless use of my time - posting lists and videos that only I find hilarious - but I'm doing it anyway. I'm frustrated, so here's a list of questions.
- Why do we need reasons for everything? How did this semester go by so fast? Why can't people just be honest? Why do things have to be complicated/difficult? Where does that sinking feeling in your stomach come from medically? I'd like to know; I'll put it on my list of Things to Google.

Now here's one more list.
Things I'm Honest With Myself About
- I'm terrible at taking criticism
- I don't want you to be indifferent, because I'm not
- I'm slightly scared about leaving Italy
- my imagination is eerily good at creating mental mirages

To end in randomness - a mirage is also, incidentally, a car.

The Cure

2009-04-16T08:07:00.000-04:00

for just about anything.

Moment of Infinite Bliss

2009-04-14T08:37:00.002-04:00

Sometimes things just fall into place perfectly. These moments cannot be planned, forced, or manufactured.
I was sitting in Caffe Amerini as usual, just finished some good pasta, Daniel's package of yogurt covered pretzels and dried pears in hand, and was already happy enough. I had already eaten one of the pretzels but the pears still remained unopened.
Smiling, I opened the bag and selected one carefully - the first one is always the most important. Biting into it, images of high school rushed back: Kate and I getting these dried pears in Yoder's before a soccer game, sitting in Ethan's Miada in the parking lot talking, skipping 5th block for an extra 25 minutes at home, navigating around Charlottesville in Daniel's massive pickup listening to Def Leppard...then as if I wasn't swimming in incandescent joy already, this song came on:

In that moment I felt as though bliss stretched on and on like an endless highway situated in the sublime regions of my imagination. These are the moments that make me grateful for being easy to please.

Decisiveness

2009-04-14T05:06:00.004-04:00

I always pride myself on being decisive. When other people are shifting uncomfortably, staring into the dark abyss of not knowing which movie to watch, I'm the obnoxiously blinding light that will negate their confusion. We're going to watch "The Big Lebowski." Done.
Decisiveness comes in handy - I'm staying up late tonight, we're going to see this movie, let's go to this restaurant - but does that also translate to more serious decisions?
I've been thinking lately about how I can see my life going in so many different directions. I can go back to Charlottesville, graduate with an English major and try to write for a respectable publication in the US. I can see myself living in Europe, in Edinburgh for my Masters or in Italy working with Art; I can see myself going completely wild, learning Hindi and moving to India for a few years just for the experience. Is this indecisive? Should I go get a Tarot Card reading to put me on the right path once and for all?
Basically my view on decisiveness works like this: when time is wasted in limbo, I step in. Let's not waste 30 minutes deciding what to do tonight; we're going to Fiesole to watch the sun set and then after that we'll go back and cook some dinner. I don't want to spend time talking myself into and out of something, I just want to try it. If it was a bad call, then I'll know that sooner, be able to make a note of it, and move on.
This being said, I'll probably write a post next week about the virtues of not making rash choices and taking time to think things through.

Two songs by Pink Floyd that factor into everyone's decision-making:

Random outbursts of song.

2009-04-11T22:20:00.004-04:00

Lately my journal has been accumulating many entries centered around one common wish: why can't my life be a musical? I'm fully aware that this is not a particularly unique wish, but I find myself thinking about this a lot.
As I was on my way to and from London (I promise I'll cover that subject more in-depth later), I listened to my iPod continuously and of course wanted to live in such a way that breaking out into spontaneous dance sequences and music numbers would be seen as perfectly normal and acceptable.
Similarly, if my life were not a musical, and simply a movie, I often wonder what songs the soundtrack would feature. For example:
I want to be heartbroken to this song.

This would be my travel song: train, plane or automobile.

And, I can't leave this out, this would be my falling in love song, but only in my musical, and not the movie.

Tonight, on the way back to Florence I listened to that song, lip-synching and staring out of the window. If my life was a musical I might have opened my mouth and let my eager vocal chords be heard. Ideally, the other passengers would not have been phased and would have kept on reading their novels, sleepily leaning on those shoulders, unsuccessfully whispering. Meanwhile, I would have kept gazing out of the raindrop-covered window singing, "Just open up your heart and let this fool rush in, oh, open up your heart and let this fool rush in." My forehead would have crinkled strategically, conveying my naive and pleading heart.

Oldies but goodies

2009-04-07T15:51:00.003-04:00

As mentioned before, I've been listening to Patsy Cline lately, whom I adore. During "Back In Baby's Arms," my childhood favorite, Patsy's voice lilts "don't know why we quarreled, we never did before."
I have two notebooks, one is my journal/diary, the other is a notebook solely for lists. I have a favorite word list, and quarrel is going on there immediately. Why did quarrel get elbowed out of the English language by words like "baller," "bling bling," and "Facebook friend (the verb)?" OMG! He defriended me on Facebook!
Poor quarrel is there sulking in the dusty and cobwebbed corners, rarely used, rarely heard, mostly forgotten. I feel bad for it, and I think it should return from its tragically long exile. Couples that quarrel are probably much happier fundamentally than those that fight. I want to have rows, not blow-ups. I want to quarrel.
When I imagine a night of quarreling I see a quiet night alone with my man; we pick a fight about something silly, something domestic. It gets a little out of control and after a while I look up at him and say sweetly and softly, "I'm sorry, I don't want to quarrel anymore." Afterwords, we dance slowly to the jukebox, maybe to Patsy herself, he in his cardigan sweater and button-up, and me in my apron and starched dress. His cigar smolders, abandoned.

Patsy Cline

2009-04-06T17:29:00.002-04:00

is always a favorite. This song reminds me of driving through the countryside, passing general stores with rusted soda machines and men in overalls. She's the part of my childhood soundtrack that taught me how to be heartbroken with class and dignity...or at least, if I ever learned that lesson it would have been from her.

I accept your apology, Feist.

2009-04-06T16:47:00.002-04:00

Rediscovered Feist's "So Sorry" today when sifting through my iTunes library. I wish fighting could be like this song.

As I see it...

2009-04-06T13:49:00.005-04:00

fashion is a big deal, especially here. Beth and I have remarked many-a-time on how back at UVa we'd go to class in sweatpants and a t-shrit 75% of the time, simply not caring how we looked to our TAs and groggy classmates. I saw a girl on the street today wearing athletic shorts, a t-shirt and flipflops and I was appalled - this just isn't acceptable.
Since being here I've really gotten into fashion, but is that completely superficial? Maybe. I want to be a fashion photographer (though not limited only to that sphere), I get excited about putting outfits together, I love flipping through Vogue, and (thanks to Colleen) I always check The Satorialist for ideas.
I admire the way clothes can transform someone. For example, if I trudged out of my apartment on a rainy morning in sweats and a t-shirt, I would feel tired, meek, and a little drab. If I, on the other end of the spectrum, strutted out in heels, jeans, my leopard print tank top and a vest, I'd feel rather empowered as evidenced by today.
Listening to the remix of "I Kissed A Girl" (I know, bad song choice), I catwalked around Florence. Squaring my shoulders and holding my head up, I played chicken with people on the sidewalks seeing if they'd move to let me pass - I won most of the time. I'm going somewhere fabulous in these shoes, can't you see that?
I can pretty much attribute this new affinity for fashion to: a) Italy's obsession with it but b) also it's laid-back nature in concern with labels. Sure, people walk around with Gucci and Chanel bags, I see Fendi and Roberto Cavalli every day on my way to school, but I don't feel any less fashionable because I don't have a huge label plastered on my chest. No one cares. The person is more important than the label they're wearing - that's how fashion should be. Spend 1000 euro on a dress if you have the money, but don't scream about who made it. Make it yours instead - define the clothes, don't let them define you.
The simple fact is, clothes turn heads. If you can rock an outfit enough that it merges into your personality, accentuates your mood, and doesn't overshadow you as an individual, you're going to have a good day. Feeling classic? Wear some black. Feeling alive? Radiate color as you walk down the street. The point is: do yourself a favor and make it obvious how awesome you are through one simple glance. Oh, and always listen to David Bowie.

Photos by The Satorialist

I still love this song

2009-04-05T07:05:00.001-04:00

especially when I imagine Steve Carrell dancing to it.

peace love ecstasy.

The Russians Are Coming!

2009-04-04T13:30:00.003-04:00

Title is movie reference to 1966 film of the same name, and is worth seeing. Strangely enough my walk home from Caffe Amerini reminded me of it as there was a Communist demonstration against Berlusconi a couple minutes from my apartment.

Maybe you can help me with the translation Italians - something about the Man being happier? What?

Apologies and Photographies

2009-04-04T12:38:00.009-04:00

Sorry for the long pause in posting, as mentioned in the previous post, the parents were in town and when I wasn't with them I was most likely sleeping. I have decided that I don't post enough pictures (besides just not posting enough period), so I'm going to catch up on that. Here are a few of my favorites lately.

What has two thumbs and parents in Florence?

2009-03-28T18:25:00.004-04:00

This girl.

Some People

2009-03-26T10:23:00.005-04:00

Juxtaposition

2009-03-25T16:59:00.005-04:00

Back when the "New Material" post was written I went through a life transition that was both tangible and intangible. Among the intangible lies a change in my daydreaming habits. Before coming to Italy the Renaissance period fascinated me. I've seen countless films set in that time period, and I never seem to tire of them. I listened to classical music and painted scenes colored with words that the notes inspired in me - needless to say these scenes never graced the time in which we now live. Now my headphones sing with synthesizers instead of pianos and drum machines instead of timpani. I remarked a couple of weeks ago how my daydreams no longer flock backwards some 500 years, but forwards to futuristic nirvana.
Today, though, as I sat in Caffe' Amerini, I strolled back towards old friends in my 16th Century Poetry anthology - Marlowe, Donne, and Sidney, to name a few. I discovered a new poem by Donne that gave me chills, copying it meticulously into my journal, and afterwards I contemplated its significance. The poem, titled "The Sun Rising," addresses the Dawn and says lovely little things like this:
She is all states, and all princes I.
Nothing else is.

Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere:
This bed thy center is, these walls thy sphere.

Hardy a modern/futuristic way of expression, however beautiful it is. Can my two realms of daydreaming ever coexist? I'm not sure they can outside of the simple act of reading Sidney's "Astrophil and Stella" while listening to arguably over-the-top synth anthems.
But I like juxtaposition. I like what it does to us. It's fitting that I'm dreaming in the 16th Century and floating around in spacy bliss in the same mental breath. This means my imagination is not bounded by what makes sense. Since when have imaginations been subjected to rationality anyway?
Whenever I think of juxtaposition a favorite image comes to mind. College students often are not fortunate enough to have a wide array of kitchen ware, but we usually do manage to get our hands on cheap wine and champagne with relative ease. This leads to sometimes drinking said "champagne" in coffee mugs. Last time this delightful phenomenon happened to me I giggled at its peculiarity and also did something quite curious - I subconsciously clutched the mug close to my body as though its contents would warm me, fully knowing they wouldn't.
Some things just don't make sense when put side by side - Renaissance and Future, Champagne and Coffee Mugs, My Nana watching School of Rock late at night, eating McDonald's in Florence, etc. We do things to try and put them back into context, which is natural, but being flexible with what is considered normal and "strange," is refreshing.
I think John Donne would have enjoyed flashdancing in Kanye shutter shades and some boss Nikes.

Is that even legal?

2009-03-22T14:30:00.002-04:00

Beth once posted about intangible transitions - when does a person stop being one-dimensional and start being a dynamic character in one's life?
Speaking of intangible transitions, I got this email last week from Serena, a woman at Palazzo Rucellai:

Dear students,
This is to remind you that tomorrow is the deadline to have your money back from the canceled match: Fiorentina-Napoli. After this date I won't refund you any more
Ciao
Serena

This got me to thinking...at midnight tonight does the money really stop being mine and transition into being yours? Is that even legal? I'm pretty sure that the 20 euro I paid you is still MY 20 euro even after midnight on the deadline. However, if it is legal I'd like to say the following:

Dear Mom and Dad,
This is to remind you that tomorrow is the deadline to withdraw money from your bank account. If you do not withdraw all of your savings by tomorrow, I will not refund you after it magically becomes mine at midnight.
Ciao,
Rachel

Bboying in Napoli

2009-03-22T07:25:00.005-04:00

Quiz Me!

2009-03-21T18:10:00.005-04:00

Lately I've been taking lots of online quizzes. This usually occurs either late at night or in the morning before class. So far, I know these things about myself:
-My pimp name is Scandalous Money.
-If I were a time of day, I'd be a Sunrise.
-My vocabulary is only at B+ level. I resent that, and I'd like to know how they came up with it.
-If I were a pair of boots I'd be combat boots, which makes me want to retake the quiz.
Lastly,
-If I were internet slang, I'd be "OMG!" OMG, I would?!
On some level I agree with most of the results, especially the pimp name, but all of the questions I've answered have been pretty basic, or the answer choices don't even contain things that I would ever do, like, or say. I choose anyway.
This got me to thinking about the little boxes in which we put ourselves and the labels that inevitably get thrown in there with us. I hope I'm not projecting my mental processes onto others but, usually these labels are pretty specific. For example this question, "How would you describe yourself?," was followed by the answer choices: Visionary, Inquisitive, Talented, Observant, Creative, or Daring. Or, "What's the first thing people notice about you?" : Your confidence, your brain, your intensity, your charm, your sense of humor, or your heart?
While I'm not sure if any of those describe perfectly who I am, or what people think when they meet me, I attempt to pick one that I think best encompasses all of the labels that I've made for myself.

Is this a bad thing? I think being forced to oversimplify yourself, climbing out of your personality box and looking at it, is healthy sometimes. I'm Inquisitive. My boots are made for Strutting. I'd prefer to be able to Read Minds. I like the mental flexibility that's afforded to me by taking these arguably silly quizzes. I'm forced to suppress all of those complexities that come rushing when I read questions that force me to sum myself up in only one word. Online quizzes won't listen to me as I have a 10 minute conversation about why I wouldn't necessarily say I'm just inquisitive.
I'm a big fan of quizzes, and just being quizzical in general. I've realized that I have a lot of subconscious, or not-so-subconscious, quizzes that I subject people to - mostly having to do with someone's ability to respond to random questions (take notes). If someone can respond to something like, "If you were a bathrobe, what would you look like? Would you be fuzzy or silky? How many pockets would you have? Would you be used after a shower, or just to lounge around in?" then I automatically have more respect for them than I did before I asked the question - good, you can think on your feet and you care enough about this conversation to want to steer it to an interesting place. These mental exercises aren't meant to trap you - I'm not asking for a 30 minute response about WHY you'd be made of terry cloth, I just want you to play along and give me some food for thought.
That being said, I think the most dangerous mental quiz I've administered so far went something like this:
"Tell me something."

(Photo by Annie Leibovitz)

P.S. I just found out that of all the mythological creatures I'd be a Mermaid because:
I'm a total daydreamer, and people tend to think I'm flakier than I actually am.
While my head is often in the clouds, I'll always come back to earth to help someone in need.
Beyond being a caring person, I am also very intelligent and rational.
I (apparently) understand the connections of the universe better than almost anyone else.

Incandescent Happiness

2009-03-19T04:17:00.005-04:00

I've always loved the word "incandescent" or "incandescently." An Italian friend told me a couple of days ago that his three favorite English words were: dank, awesome, and schedule. Obviously he's never heard "incandescent" before.
I posted this song a few days ago when on the "Peace! Love! Ecstasy!" post, but I'm not sure if you all heard it since it was kind of hard to spot. Here it is again, and in much more obvious form:

Empire of the Sun - Walking on a Dream

I love this song. Seeing as I love music and I love movies, I have a slight problem (?) in that when I listen to songs I like, I often picture how the music video should look, or in what movie scene I would put the song.
In this case, I walk out of my apartment (the song is playing at this point) and begin my walk to Palazzo Rucellai for classes, the sun is shining. I'm wearing, this is important, my Nike Vandals that are pictured, and beams of light begin to emanate (another good English word) from them. The rest of the song consists of me moonwalking and flashdancing slightly above the ground in an incandescently happy manner - I haven't decided if people should join me yet, that might be too cheesy.
The thing is, that mental image isn't too far from the truth. I'm extremely happy here, though it's just began to hit me that this experience is almost over - a month and a half and I'll be back in Charlottesville. Despite the feelings that were promised over the past 3 months - depression, confusion, desperate happiness at the revelation of the experience's impermanence - I just feel content. I know that I'll be sad to leave, but I'm also really looking forward to getting back and having new eyes for my beloved Charlottesville.
I just looked up incandescent and the definition is as follows: emitting light as a result of being heated.
Things that are responsible for my spontaneous and continuous outbursts of light: new friends, seeing family soon, having another place that feels like home, and of course, my delightfully overactive imagination.

My Inanimate Object Doppelganger

2009-03-16T06:09:00.004-04:00

Doppelganger, hailing from mid 19th century German, means, "an apparition or double of a living person." This pair of shoes is my doppelganger in inanimate form - maybe just because I'm lusting after them, but I'm still pretty sure that if I were a pair of shoes, those would be it. Sure, they're a little obnoxious and ostentatious, two things I hope that I am not, but for some reason this sounds like poetry to me:
Creative Recreation low top sneakers with metallic leather upper; velcro strap; gold laces; rubber soul...um, sole.

Peace! Love! Ecstasy!

2009-03-14T08:55:00.007-04:00

When this girl was in Paris she inevitably encountered some moody Parisians (and some nice ones too!). Bethie and I were on the metro on the way back to our hostel, suspiciously named "Oops!," and a couple of old men strutted on and began to play their accordions. Oh, Paris. While Bethie and I were smiling ear to ear, the rest of the busy travelers were less than impressed. In fact, some of them looked down right pissed off. I unsuccessfully tried to smile at the guy sitting across from us and he didn't even have the courtesy to glare at me - "I'm not even going to waste any energy on you by altering my facial expression," he seemed to say. What's gained by being this way? I would rather burst into a beatific smile on command, and regularly, than nurse a sour expression like a self-inflicted wound.
Walking down the streets in Florence I've tried on multiple personalities. I've done the pouty, I-have-somewhere-to-be purposeful walk. Then there was the jaded, I-live-here-and-nothing-phases-me-anymore strut. They were okay, but I don't think they looked either good or convincing on me. Lately I've donned the incandescently-happy-and-cheerful-girl, what should we call it,... parade. Apparently (I just used a thesaurus) parade is a synonym for walk and I think that's the most accurate.
I've found it's way more enjoyable to connect with the random people I meet on the street instead of brushing them off like flies. Instead, if I feel like smiling, I smile. I love watching people stare after me, wondering why I'm so happy. I sincerely hope I incite them to recall a time where they unsuccessfully tried to hide a smile, and how it burst out of them like a ray of sunlight through a window.
Today I took my happy parade even further. I went to the market today, spontaneously bought a bunch of tulips initially unaware of what I should actually do with them. As I was walking down the street, listening to this song, I passed Rosella's shop. She's a gorgeous Italian woman who's always been incredibly nice to Beth and I...she needed a tulip. So it went the rest of my walk through the city - my happy, hippy parade spreading sunshine and now, flowers - how appropriate.

The thing is, why not do something like that once in a while? As everyone has heard since grade school, less muscles are used in smiling than in frowning, so unless you're working on improving your muscular strength around your mouth, just give it up and bust out those pearly whites. I don't care anymore if it's painfully obvious that I'm one of those legendarily friendly American girls, after all, no one criticizes the Mona Lisa for her mysterious smile.
Today as I walked by with my tulips I passed a number of street vendors selling prints of famous artwork. One of them clutched his chest and called out, I kept walking but put my hand on my heart and smiled back at him. One of my new favorite songs shouts, "Peace! Love! Ecstasy!" I wholeheartedly agree.

P.S. Sorry for the creepy mime picture.

I'm actually still 5 years old

2009-03-13T20:55:00.002-04:00

because I still love this video.

I'm using a gigawatt of willpower not to post my favorite Muppets Swedish Chef video.

That was a solidly good day

2009-03-13T17:48:00.007-04:00

I encountered this character on the way back to my apartment and he made me think.
I got up this morning (or afternoon), sat in bed with Bethie for a couple of hours, then decided to get dressed. Pulling on my gray suede boots, I wondered what I should do in order to have the "that was a solidly good day" feeling later. Answer: take Astrophil (camera) and wander.
I encountered the usuals - the golden statue man at the Uffizi, the enamored street vendor who asks for my number, countless caricature artists, etc.
A few hours before I opened my eyes this man woke up and put on his usual outfit - a bright purple suit with green shoes and an orange tie. While I lay sleeping, he tediously put on his grey wig, makeup, and applied the stiff-wired hat to his head. After doing that, he casually walked out of his apartment and out into the Florentine sunlight.

Somewhere during each of our days, our paths crossed. I stood there taking pictures of him, he obliged, but made a subtle nod to a hat with coins inside. I nodded back to put him at ease - we were business partners now, our relationship sealed with a silent and intangible handshake.
At the end of our encounter I fulfilled my promise by tossing some change into his earnings and he beckoned me closer. Stepping out of his pose, he took my hand and pressed it to his lips as the others around us snapped photos. As I began to walk away I saw him feign a love-sick swoon so I turned to pose with him for brief time before strutting off for good, the sound and rhythm of my heels making it sound official.
I had a solidly good day. Did he? How does he feel when he returns home, removes his costume, and becomes just another normal face? Does he think, That was a solidly good day, made some money, I should probably feed the cat tonight?
For some reason I'd like to picture him just as he is during the day. That's just who he is. Upon leaving the Piazza della Republica he goes to a bar with his friend who is feeling extra contented and wearing his favorite suit - a neon blue satin suit with a silver tie. They commiserate on how their hair just doesn't stand on end like it used to and stare enviously at the young bartender who has magnificently stiff neon green locks.
The two men head home to Dr. Seuss-like flats complete with their hot pink cats that snuggle up close to them, purring, and beds shaped like clouds, resting on feather-like trees while I sit here musing on extreme lifestyles.

Reinvention

2009-03-11T15:24:00.007-04:00

I don't know what's clicked. This trippy mindset is ridiculous.
Two summers ago I was having a pretty rough time. It was the summer before college and I was having one of those, "who am I?!" moments much to the dismay of my parents. What got me through it? Friends? Family? To a certain extent, sure, but it was really something else that I would attribute my recovery to - hip hop.
Something about the attitude made me relate to it. I mean, unlike Memphis Bleek, I wasn't on the streets running from the cops again, but I was driving my Minivan to and from a job I really hated, having angsty thoughts the whole time. That's sort of the same...
Point is, at certain not-so-sunny times in my life I seem to always identify with a certain genre of music that makes me feel better. Hip hop said to me, "life may suck right now, there may be hard times, but screw it, you'll survive. In the meantime, you just have material to use for creativity." So I listened to it, felt the angst, got angry at myself and how things were, and survived. I rolled up in Charlottesville in my dirty beige Dodge Caravan blasting Amy Winehouse's "You Know I'm No Good" Remix (it counts as hip hop!) or Mos Def's "Ms. Fat Booty," with my sunglasses and poker face on. I probably looked ridiculous, but true to form, I didn't care.
Now, my new nirvana is electronic music. As I said before, I was listening to this song and for some reason my whole attitude changed in that moment. Instead of the harsh, "yeah, you're here whether you like it or not, but it's gonna be cool," voice, I got a, "you don't even need to be there right now if you don't want to" whisper.
It's not that I'm disillusioned with Italy, I'm not. I was only unhappy with where my thoughts were always drifting. Like two summers ago, I was confused again about what composed Me. What would I do and what wouldn't be something I would do?
As I've always found, the best part about being in the pits emotionally is that you eventually come out. I've discovered one thing that is continually a part of my personality, and it's that I'm a big fan of reinvention when something isn't working out. The most fun about questioning who you are is often forgetting who that person was entirely and just reinventing. Sure, the important foundations are laid quickly and easily, but once that is done, all of the quirks and little odds and ends can create an entirely different individual - and this is what came out this time.

...and my Mama's certainly worth takin' out

2009-03-10T20:16:00.002-04:00

Posting frenzy!
Okay, but seriously, this song is good too, and this one goes out to the Mama. Again, I unfortunately have to use the same format - damn that Man that everyone seems to be angry at.

Scissor Sisters - Take Your Mama

This song reminded me of my mother, obviously because of the title, but just take a look at these lyrics:

Gonna take your mama out all night
Yeah, we'll show her what it's all about
We'll get her jacked up on some cheap champagne
We'll let the good times all roll out
And if the music ain't good, well it's just too bad
We're gonna sing along no matter what.

My Mom, bless her little (or big, as it may be) heart, is two things: easy to please (hey, that's a great quality), and always up for a little singing. When I listen to this song I see that lovely lady above cruisin' the town singin' her usual Beatles song she loves so much when she's on cloud 9, 10, or 11.
Can't wait to take my Mama out all night in a couple of weeks. Here's to takin' our mother's out, showin' them what it's all about, and that we're doin' the best we can.

"you shake those hips, blondie!"

2009-03-10T18:55:00.003-04:00

As my Dad so aptly phrased it, this song makes me feel like dancin' despite what the title suggests. Since YouTube doesn't have the embedding code, I'm forced to clumsily enlighten you to its charms through a link:

Scissor Sisters - I Don't Feel Like Dancin'

Basically, it's a love song about how he doesn't feel like dancing while he watches his girl break it down on the dance floor without him. How sad! My newly awakened disco soul reaches out to him in sympathy. I know if I was in purple spandex flared pants watching my honey get up and bust out something fresh without my rhythmic input, I'd feel jilted. I, however, do not have that problem and do feel like dancin' - though it may be by myself and in the middle of a piazza.

I'll tell you how it goes.

New Material

2009-03-09T12:47:00.007-04:00

I'm feeling rather psychedelic as you can perhaps tell by the new layout. I just thought it was time for a change. I'm getting tired of writing about the same old things even if they aren't things I've ever written about before - I'm always confronted by new experiences over here, but the variation lies in the experiences, not in the fact that I'm confronted by them.
The new title "Electronic Dreams," came on a whim. I've been listening to a lot of electronic music lately from the blog DISCODUST (linked on the right), and as I was listening to this song:

Get Famous! - Slip Away

it just sounded like Electronic Dreaming. I know I've lost most of you by now - I'm up here acid dancing, with winged Nike Dunks on, and the rest of you are quizzically staring up at me wondering what's happened to me.
What has happened to me? Part of it is the fact that I've been sick for about 2 weeks now, I'm on about 4 medications for various ailments, and I'm really tired. This sinus infection is making my tastebuds not work as well, everything is a bit dulled except my sense of hearing and, evidently, my imagination.
Also, I just need a change mentally. Since my brain has been pulled constantly back and forth from the US to Italy, I just feel more comfortable up here in my indecisive world of infinite space and possibility.

Expect more or less the same content - I haven't been writing mostly because I'm just bored with what I've been writing, and also because I've been incredibly sick. I'm excited about this makeover, excited about more varying subject matter, excited about music, seeing my family soon, being free from regret, free from sickness, and hopefully free from creative limitations.

Culture Mild Interest

2009-03-03T08:40:00.007-05:00

Before coming to Florence I attended a mandatory Study Abroad Orientation. Most of the subject matter consisted of something called, "Culture Shock." In fact, our orientation leaders informed us that due to this strange phenomenon, we would be depressed for a large part of our stay in each foreign country, some more than others obviously. I refused to accept this fact - after all, I didn't sign up to go to Florence, Italy to stare out of the window forlornly, pining for the United States (though it still does happen occasionally).
Upon arrival, sure, there were things I noticed that were different, but, as Beth and I discussed once, we took note of the differences, adapted, and moved on. This strange practice is what I like to call, "Culture Mild Interest."Culture Mild Interest happens in moments such as these:
-Upon arrival at the Frankfurt airport I noticed that the stall doors were large enough that there was no space at the bottom. Therefore, when you shut the door to these public restrooms, a complete vacuum was almost created. I found that mildly interesting.
-I was mildly interested as well as annoyed, when I found that in Inverness, Scotland, we had to pay 20 "pound cents," sometimes known as pence, to use the public restroom. I was confronted with this inconvenient truth again in the Milano trainstation. God Bless America and its free restrooms.
-Have you ever noticed that we usually pull on doors in the US to open them when entering a public building? I could be wrong, but I'm pretty confident that it's a rule of thumb. I figured this out when every door I approached in Italy wouldn't open for some reason. Ah, push, that's why.
These things were relatively easy to adapt to, and honestly I think Reverse Culture Shock will be more of a problem. I'm now accustomed to staring unabashedly at strangers, pushing on doors, being able to order drinks, attempting to formulate questions in Italian before I approach a stranger, etc.
In other words, it could be a rude awakening when I return to the US and discover that someone gets offended should I stare at them for an extended amount of time, or I begin to order a drink at a restaurant, only to be carded and subsequently judged afterwards. I find it interesting that upon traveling in a foreign country (Scotland, and now, France), I find myself missing Florence and Italian even though I'm not quite fluent and far from a native. I'm now of the opinion that traveling is an essential ingredient in that feeling of belonging somewhere. As is said in that wonderful Joni Mitchell song, "You don't know what you got til' it's gone," and it's certainly true in many facets of life - home, love, friendship...I often find myself back in Madison County, exploring the tall grass with Taz, laying in the hammock looking at the sky. Now, upon leaving another home, I surprisingly hear Italian come rushing from my vocal chords, attempting to ask where something is. I find that a little more than just mildly interesting.

Love from Paris, pictures and stories to come.

Writer's Block

2009-02-27T14:32:00.006-05:00

Along with my terrible cold, seems to have come a nasty case of Writer's Block as well. As I am a first time sufferer, I don't really know how to combat it, so I'm just going to post a few pictures. Let's hope it leaves soon.

Inside the Duomo

Sunset on the Arno

Random building in Scotland

Hope to be back, on the mend, and writing again soon. Love to you all...

Boss.

2009-02-22T13:28:00.002-05:00

Here's a list of boss things in my life:
- Adding "boss" to my vocabulary after Dad's been telling me that I should since I first began speaking.
- Today's picture that I took of Bethie on the train to Pisa.
- Midterms being over tomorrow
- Moving on
- This lovely Good Earth Vanilla Chai tea that I'm drinking (with a splash of Bailey's)
- Beth
- Getting packages in the mail
- Having people in different countries that I can call if I want to travel in said country

The past couple of days have just been wonderful. They haven't been perfect by any means, but with all of their imperfections included, I've been incandescently happy. When Beth had today's picture as her profile picture on Facebook, a couple people commented and said she looked emo or angry. While I can see that, this picture exemplifies my mood right now. To me, she just looks boss.
I know I keep saying it, but it's been my mantra lately. To me, it expresses a certain level of detachment without being completely unaffected. I can enjoy the moment, enjoy the people I'm talking to, but afterwards, I just keep cruisin' with my fake Ray Bans on, looking out of the window as I approach my next life experience.
Traveling has definitely given me a new life perspective. Sometimes you arrive at your destination and it's not what you expected it to be. Maybe it's not as quaint, or not as delightfully chaotic as you imagined. Perhaps you arrive unsure of where to go next, where to stay the night. What if, upon arrival, you discover you can't return home as expected - you've run out of money, the flight was canceled, or the city whispers a invitation to stay for a while. Improvisational skills are a must in travel, and in life as well. Planning only takes us so far. At some point I think we need to rely on that barely perceptible rhythm/current of life. If we can manage to have enough faith to let it take us where it wishes, we've got an interesting journey ahead. And hey, not knowing what happens next and being okay with the uncertainty, well, that feeling's pretty boss.

Sunny Road

2009-02-22T09:54:00.004-05:00

Wrote you this
I hope you got it safe
It's been so long
I don't know what to say
I've travelled 'round
Through deserts on my horse
But jokes aside
I wanna come back home
You know that night
I said i had to go
You said you'd meet me
On the sunny road

It's time, meet me on the sunny road
it's time, meet me on the sunny road

I never married
Never had those kids
I loved too many
Now heaven's closed its gates.
I know I'm bad
To jump on you like this
Some things don't change
My middle name's still 'Risk'
I know that night
So long long time ago
Will you still meet me
On the sunny road

It's time, meet me on the sunny road
It's time, meet me on the sunny road

Well, this is it
I'm running out of space
Here is my address
And number just in case.
This time as one
We'll find which way to go
Now come and meet me
On the sunny road

Comfort Spirit Food

2009-02-21T14:04:00.002-05:00

This is a picture from a church in Inverness, Scotland. While Bethie and I didn't do anything remarkably touristy while we were there we did feel good about taking pictures at this place randomly. We're so productive!
At good ol' UVa whenever I'm feeling down I always go to the Chapel. It's so quiet, and I find the quiet transfers mentally while I'm sitting there as well. Upon coming to Florence I realized I'd miss the Chapel and it's calming effect during my chaotic, confused, sad days. I overlooked the fact that I can visit any number of Chapel-like churches in Florence when I'm having a less-than-wonderful day. I put my revelation into action today.
I started off studying in my favorite caffe, the place where I walk into and the exchange goes something like this.
"Ciao Rachel, come stai?"
"Tutto bene, grazie, e tu?"
"Bene. Cosa vuoi oggi?"
"Lo sai, Igor."
"Si, si, un cappuccino."
English translation:
"Hey Rachel, how are you?"
"Great, thanks, and you?"
"Good. What do you want today?"
"You know what I want, Igor."
"Yup, a cappuccino."
It's pretty comforting to be able to walk in, Western saloon style, be able to say, "the usual," and not have them look at me quizzically.
After reading for a while I decided to go to the Uffizi where I encountered my new favorite statue man. "Statue man" refers to a person who stands outside the Uffizi and pretends to be a statue so that he might walk a way a few Euros richer at the end of the day - it works. They usually don't move until they hear the sweet jingle of tossed change, but this man, painted gold and holding a golden rose, blows me a kiss every time I walk by. Today, I returned the favor, and he caught it with a smile on his already shining face.
The rest of the day continued with Chapel-like experiences. I stopped inside Santa Marie del Fiore, lit a candle for Nana, then a couple of other churches whose names I don't know - I'll find out. I also finally gave money to the gypsy man who plays guitar with his dog sitting faithfully next to him, how could I resist?
Finally, I visited Romeo, my lovely lion that sits next to Palazzo Vecchio, and held hands with him for a bit. Also made friends with a couple of horses in the square much to their drivers dismay. All and all, I think I had a pretty quiet, lovely day. I like that I've found the near equivalents to the UVa Chapel. Something about the glass inside a cathedral, the space inside, the message, the quiet...all of it equals a good dose of the gentle realization that everything will be fine despite appearances, which is good medicine for a rough couple of days.

Love to you all.

Perspective

2009-02-20T16:26:00.003-05:00

Obviously I can't lay claim to this picture - this is another one of Beth's. I like seeing how I look to other people, it's always handy to have a different perspective. Sometimes an outsider's view is helpful, refreshing, and comforting. Sometimes others have the ability to know us better than we know ourselves, while other times only we can know our actions, our feelings, our hopes.
Not everything is in black and white. Do you know what I'm looking at and why? What led me to that place? What did I do to get there? The answers are probably as blurred as the background - you can make them out, but they aren't completely clear. Even though life is subjective - we feel, we love, we lose...I wish we had more perspective sometimes. I wish we could photograph points in our lives, stand back, evaluate them, and see them for what they really are. I think that if we could do that, our outlook on life experiences might be more accurate, calculated, and serene.
Any number of things could have been running through my head at that moment, I honestly don't remember what I was thinking exactly. I asked Beth the other day what her facial expression would be if she could choose one that exemplified her personality. When she asked me the same question, I said I'd have a loving look. We've all hurt people, but since when have pain and love been strangers? I love people, and since not enough people get to experience that in life I'm comfortable with providing and radiating that love- that's my perspective.

Picture of the Day

2009-02-19T15:59:00.003-05:00

This is a picture I took on a rainy day near Palazzo Strozzi; the puddle reflects a Louis Vuitton window. I really like the picture for its colors - the reds and greens amongst the grayish brown stone, it's quite nice.
For some reason I've been pretty blank lately. I suppose I'm still working off massive amounts of sleep deprivation, but some of the best writers probably slept rarely while they were working. What's wrong with me?
I suppose I'm worried. What more can I tell you? Well, I'll answer that - I still have to inform you about Scotland, and my trip there, which was pretty illuminating as I mentioned before. I'll do that when the pictures correspond to the subject matter, which they will.
I wanted to start of Picture of the Day week with this one though because it's pretty representative of life in general, or at least I think so. We go about our monotonous routines, then there are riots of color at random times, random places in our lives. I suppose I'm living in that puddle right now - swimming in it's vivacity, randomness, beauty, and impermanence.
This is also encouraging for those who don't feel as though their lives are what they want them to be. If you feel as though you're stuck on those cold, hard, drab stones, you do have that lovely puddle to fall into, and I promise it's coming.

Love from Italia
xoxo

Back from Scozia

2009-02-18T19:06:00.002-05:00

After a long hiatus, I have returned. I've decided a couple of things.

1. I must have themes/requests in order to continue posting regularly.
2. This week my theme will be pictures. I'll post one picture every day, and discuss. This achieves two goals - I will post regularly, and I will fulfill requests for more pictures.

Tomorrow I'll write a substantial post; I mainly wanted to let people know that I'm alive and quite well.

P.S. Haggis is delicious.
P.P.S Please keep reading despite the overwhelming feelings that this is a bad relationship, you usually have commitment issues and you don't know why you thought this time would be different. I can change I really can!

Just think about it.

Go!

2009-02-13T06:48:00.002-05:00

I'm in Scotland and I only have a limited amount of time until my internet is up at my hostel. I think I really only have time for random thoughts, things I can blog about later - just think of it as an appetizer, an antipasti, whatever.

1. I had lunch at McDonald's yesterday in the train station and it made me incandescently happy. God Bless America.
2. We get to Scotland last night and the only food we can find, all other places were closed, was Italian food. Amo l'Italia.
3. It's interesting waking up in the same room with people you don't know. Interesting having the first encounter be while you're rubbing your eyes and your hair's all mussed from sleeping.
4. I'm thoroughly amused by my life right now.
5. I apologize if my spelling isn't up to par, thank goodness for Macs with spellcheck.
6. I had a Guiness last night and it wasn't all I had hoped it to be.
9 minutes...
7. This may be the most horrible blog post I've ever written but I'm okay with it. That being said, I should probably stop while I'm ahead. I really miss you all, I just wanted to let you know that I'm alive and well, and will hopefully have my favorite variety of Salt & Vinegar chips in my belly quite soon. Love you!

As Requested

2009-02-11T09:38:00.004-05:00

Jeff emailed me this morning saying, forgivably, that poetry isn't his cup of tea and that he'd like to know more about local color. I realize while Poetry Week was a thumpin' good time for me, it might not have been for others, and I apologize. This is why my email is on my blog! Email me/comment if you'd like to know something specific, like to see a picture of something, have suggestions, etc. Ideally, I'm not writing on this blog just for a sense of accomplishment, but also to entertain - I'd like to succeed at it.

Jeff's email certainly got me thinking this morning, so I began journaling about it, and this is more or less what I came up with.

There are two, relatively easily, recognizable spheres of being in Florence : The Tourist World and The Italian World.

The Tourist World, strangely enough, doesn't just contain tourists, but also the Italians who want to profit from them being here. If that sounds negative it's mostly because it is. I also use the word "Italians" loosely since there are often those not from Italy who would like you to believe they are. Sadly, they often get away with it since Americans can't recognize their accents. Basically, if you're a girl these characters simply want to get you into bed immediately, and as fast as possible, and if you're a boy, they try to cheat you. Needless to say, they're usually more interested in the former. I know this sounds harsh, but once you realize that most of the "nice Italians" you've been talking to are neither nice OR Italian, you begin to expect the worst from the people that frequent touristy places. It is, however, something that I have to deal with as an American girl here. Sidenote: I refuse to wear pajamas and mosquito repellent to deter the undesirables, but thanks anyway for your astute advice Ale.

The Italian World isn't vastly different from The Tourist World in terms of activity, though harder to transition into when starting in The Tourist World. I'm not sure if I've really met any nice Italians that I've been able to see on a regular basis yet. There are the ones I see every day when I get coffee and I've met college students, friends of Vassi's, but I haven't really found any I would consider friends, unfortunately. I'm working on it.

The main differences between the two worlds - the Italian World inhabitant still goes out clubbing, to bars, etc. - lie in location and visibility.
Location - The clubs are farther away from the center, I would say, and the bars in which I've found the best Italian to American ratios are often small, restaurant-like places where you can get a nice glass of wine. There are bigger bars that aren't seen as necessarily "touristy" are still overrun with Americans, but I have a feeling that it's because there are a ridiculous amount of us here.
Visibility - This is where it gets confusing. A lot of my experience here, so far, has been influenced by the fact that I'm fundamentally different from the other half of the population - I have hips and other physical traits that distinguish me from a crowd. As I've told you before, when I walk down the street I get a plethora of colorful comments, which I don't get when I'm in an Italian club, or in a particularly Italian place. I think I'm still, despite my best efforts, recognizable as American.
This is a contradiction. When I'm in touristy places with probably 50 other American girls, the men make me feel like I stand out from the crowd. They call at me, make eyes at me that look like they're trying to melt off my clothes with their eyes - I'm glad that skill hasn't yet been perfected in Italy. However, when I'm in a largely Italian place, standing out from the crowd, the only American girl in the place (besides my Bethie), I feel less visible. Strange.
Another strange observation is this: I've felt more culture shock from my northern brothers and sisters than from the Italians. I have no problem with non-existent personal space, I'm affectionate. I have no problem with not drinking coffee after lunch time, I'll refrain. But when northern boys say candid, vulgar things about girls, or ask me forward questions about sex, this is often the response, "we don't say that in the South." It's comforting to have another southern belle here with me, or else I would feel adrift.
I find it increasingly more interesting how being around another culture makes you realize things about your own. I am, inevitably, making generalizations that aren't always true and I apologize if I've offended anyone. I also apologize if this isn't the objective view of local color that was desired, but this is after all, the world according to me and these are the only pair of eyes I have.
I think maybe my next themed week should be Local Week! where I make it my goal to meet a different local every day. Let me know if you think that would be interesting, and indeed, safe.

xoxo

Abandonment and Random Thoughts

2009-02-10T11:12:00.003-05:00

I'm not sure what poem I should write about today, hence my various confused faces, so I think I'm going to accept defeat and abandon the 7th part of Poetry Week. I'm lost without my Sixteenth Century Poetry Anthology. I might end up putting a poem in this post, though, who knows.

Random Thoughts

1. I finally named my camera, and his name is Astrophil. This may seem strange, but it comes from a sonnet sequence by Sir Philip Sidney titled Astrophil and Stella. The sonnet sequence is loosely autobiographical since Sidney was in love with a married woman named Penelope. He renames her Stella in the sonnet sequence and calls himself Astrophil - one, because his name is Philip, and two, because Stella means "star" and Astrophil translates to "star lover." Thus, my camera is henceforth to be known as Astrophil, or Phil for short. It just popped into my head and while I tried to think of other possible names, possibly Italian, my little Astrophil looked up at me and seemed to be saying, "but I already have a name," so I let him keep it.

2. Journals are curious things. They have their own personalities, just like people. Walking through a bookstore I see with various types of journals the relationships I could have with them. One with pressed flowers inside a gauzy cover seems to say to me, "I didn't want to know that Rachel, please refrain from such candid thoughts." Another one with ornate, oriental designs thinks, this is only your first trip to Europe? You're not very well-traveled, are you? Then I spy my thin moleskin journals with graph paper inside. I want to tell them things, even thoughts I'm not particularly proud of. I know they won't judge; they'll listen. I walk out with them and I hear them gossiping in their three-pack, "I don't think she'll judge us for our perforated pages in the back, our lack of a ribbon to mark her place..."

3. Today's theme seems to be all about personification.

4. I actually do have a poem I've been meaning to share though I'm not sure I'll have much to say about it other than the fact that I think it's beautiful. Here it is, Thomas Wyatt's They Flee From Me That Sometime Did Me Seek.

They Flee From Me That Sometime Did Me Seek

They flee from me that sometime did me seek,
With naked foot stalking in my chamber.
I have seen them gentle, tame, and meek
That are now wild and do not remember
That sometime they put themselves in danger
To take bread at my hand; and now they range
Busily seeking with a continual change.

Thanked be fortune, it hath been otherwise
Twenty times better; but once in special,
In thin array after a pleasant guise,
When her loose gown from her shoulders did fall,
And she me caught in her arms long and small,
Therewithal sweetly did me kiss,
And softly said, "Dear heart, how like you this?"

It was no dream, I lay broad waking.
But all is turned thorough my gentleness,
Into a strange fashion of forsaking;
And I have leave to go of her goodness,
And she also to use newfangleness.
But since that I so kindly am served,
I would fain know what she hath deserved.

Yes, Wyatt was jilted. What I really like about this poem is the second stanza. He describes the event with such tenderness, and seems unafraid to recall the memory with said tenderness. In the third stanza Wyatt remembers himself, and ends the poem with the bitterness of a spurned lover, but in the second stanza he lets himself gets carried away in the sweetness of his memory, or was it a dream? No, a memory.
I wish we could deal with life's disappointments the way Wyatt does in the second stanza. I wish we were unafraid to admit, sometimes, that things we can no longer have were beautiful when we did possess them. I know it's easier to convince ourselves that we no longer want the things that have left us, in our opinion, prematurely, but wouldn't it be nicer to have a life full of sweet memories rather than mediocre ones purely for the purpose of saving face?
I can, with this attitude, look back with fondness on a night spent under the stars, midwestern mountains framing the horizon, the grass giving green highlights to my hair. I can recall an anniversary dinner after which my face hurt from smiling and my hand was perpetually warm from being inside someone else's. I can choose from memories involving a moonlit convertible ride, a hill of prodigious size with a magnificent view, a dinner spread on the floor meticulously prepared, and walks to the gardens at UVa which were wonderfully ambiguous in their meaning. Why would I look upon any of these things with distaste? I look forward to more memories like these, and Wyatt's, that age us in their little life-lessons.

Part VI

2009-02-08T12:42:00.005-05:00

Today I stray from the theme a bit. I'm not sure that I'll be able to be that articulate, and this might be a short post. I saw the David today, about two hours ago, and he became one of my favorite poems.
Poetry is so moving to me because it draws attention to parts of life we might not usually observe, or gives words to an emotion we didn't even notice we felt. More specifically, the reason I love Renaissance poetry as much as I do is because I find it similar to reading in another language. The vocabulary is often strange to modern ears, and at the end of a poem I find that I get the general idea of the poem even if still haven't understood every word. I think that's what I truly love about poetry - the words themselves, while not extremely important as individuals, can convey a message, a feeling that goes beyond pen on paper.

Il David

Today, while Beth and I were gazing unabashedly at Michelangelo's gargantuan creation, I got that message that goes beyond words. I saw the poetry in his furrowed brow, his pupils shaped vaguely like hearts. Beth and I discussed his stance - was he ready to shift is weight to the other leg, or was he completely stationary? Was the symbolism of his over-sized right hand purely physical or was Michelangelo trying to allude to the hand of God?
Never have I been so moved by a piece of art, though I typically stray from the cliche masterpieces - I suppose they're widely acclaimed for a reason.

So, today's poem doesn't contain words. Today's poem is in Michelangelo's chisel and a block of marble. It's in the artist's hands, moving across dusty surfaces and harsh corners. With every strike of the chisel, large and minute, is where today's poem lies. It's in that block of marble's veins, muscles, locks of hair. Standing in awe, I read it like I read my favorite poems. I felt the tension in his brow, the resolve in his stance, the moment before he clenches his fingers, the shallow breath in his chest, felt his shoulders' attempt to relax.

It's poetic, one man's ability to carve something as complex as human emotion out of a block of cold, white stone. I didn't see marble today. I saw vulnerability, perfection, realism, fluidity...and it became one of my favorite works of poetry as my eyes wandered over those lines in his back, forearms, and legs.
I apologize for the tediousness of this post, but I'm in love.

Part V

2009-02-07T05:54:00.010-05:00

First, I apologize for not posting a poem yesterday, but who needs 7 poems anyway? Well, actually, since 7 is an auspicious number, I'll post two more poems, not including this one.

Today's poem is very much a multi-faceted dedication. Last night I went to meet Laura and Fabrizio, and had dinner in their apartment. Laura is my Papa's friend's daughter, and now a wonderful friend. Fabrizio's favorite poet, since of course we discussed poetry, is Giacomo Leopardi and this is his poem L'Infinito - I'm going to write it down in Italian and then copy the translation after, which I think/hope is faithful.

L'Infinito

Sempre caro mi fu quest'ermo colle,
e questa siepe, che da tanta parte
dell'ultimo orizzonte il guardo esclude.
Ma, sedendo e mirando, interminati
spazi di la' da quella, e sovrumani
silenzi, e profondissima quiete
io nel pensier mi fingo; ove per poco
il cor non si spaura. E come il vento
odo stormir tra queste piante, io quello
infinito silenzio a questa voce
vo comparando: e mi sovvien l'eterno,
e le morte stagioni, e la presente
e viva, e il suon di lei. Cosi' tra questa
immensita' s'annega il pensier mio;
e il naugragar m'e' dolce in questo mare.

The Infinite

It was always dear to me, this solitary hill,
and this hedgegrow here, that closes out my view,
from so much of the ultimate horizon.
But sitting here, and watching here, in thought,
I create interminable spaces,
greater than human silences, and deepest
quiet, where the heart barely fails to terrify.
When I hear the wind, blowing among these leaves,
I go on to compare that infinite silence
with this voice, and I remember the eternal
and the dead seasons, and the living present,
and its sound, so that in this immensity
my thoughts are drowned, and shipwreck seems sweet
to me in this sea.

What a beautiful poem. I copied the Italian from the book that Fabrizio and Laura lent to me along with a couple of other books of poetry. Though this poem is about infinity, for some reason it causes me to think also about life's minuscule and delightful details. Today for instance, going shopping in the San Lorenzo market with Laura and Beth was my infinity. I feel a happiness here that is quiet like a firework that has yet to be lit. One of these days something is going to light the fuse, I'm going to fly above the Duomo, stretch my arms as wide as I can, and fizzle, sparkle, burn with delight.

This poem articulates, in a way that I don't think I can, the way I feel here. Drowning, for example, isn't usually a desirable experience, nor is being shipwrecked. Just imagining being shipwrecked here, in my infinity, is divine.
It's also versatile, which is where my multi-faceted dedication comes into play. It can be a love poem, especially with the ending lines in another translation I didn't think was as accurate.

Eternity breaks through time, past
and present intermingle in her image.
In the inner shadows I lose
myself, drowning in the
sea-depths of timeless love.

It can be a poem about the joy of living, a place that makes you feel infinity, the living present and it's sound. It can be about living inside yourself, being alone with the infinity of consciousness (which makes me miss my Father and Uncle Grant..you deep and pensive men, you). There are, appropriately, an infinite amount of possibilities for the relevance of this poem. I'll leave you in contemplation while I go enjoy my infinite incandescent happiness.

I love you all to an infinite degree.

Part IV

2009-02-05T15:36:00.007-05:00

Lately I've been thinking pretty analytically, which has led me to evaluating the cost benefit ratio of being here in Italy. I know what you're thinking...I'm in Italy. There are, however, things I'm giving up to be here. Inevitably I come to the conclusion that four months in Florence and the finer things that come with this lifestyle far outweigh the things I'm missing. Let's list them though, shall we?

(In no particular order)
1. The mountains outside my house
3. Driers
4. DVD player + comforter + pajamas
5. Pretzels, oatmeal, chai tea, salt & vinegar chips
6. Wearing sweatpants to get coffee after 7 pm (Italians don't drink coffee after lunchtime...why?!)

The thing I miss the most, though, are the people that make home, home. In the interest of this feeling, today's poem will be Sir Walter Ralegh's "The Advice."

The Advice

Many desire, but few or none deserve
To win the fort of thy most constant will;
Therefore take heed: let fancy never swerve
but unto him that will defend thee still.
For this be sur, the fort of game once won
Farewell the rest, thy happy days are done.

Many desire, but few non deserve
To pluck the flowers and let the leaves to fall;
Therefore take heed; let fancy never swerve
But unto him that will take leaves and all.
For this be sure, the flower once plucked away
Farewell the rest, thy happy days decay.

Many desire, but few or none deserve
To cut the corn not subject to the sickle;
Therefore take heed let fancy never swerve,
But constant stand, for mowers minds are fickle;
For this be sure, the crop once being obtain'd
Farewell the rest, the soil will be disdained.

This poem is a comfort. Amidst all of the seduction poetry in the Renaissance, the jilted lovers, Ralegh breaks the trend.
Before I flew across the Atlantic many of my friends and family gave me advice that rings similar to this poem - don't be too open, people will take advantage. Of course, my open nature is famous among those who know me, and 7000 km away (I think), I feel at home when I read Ralegh's poem. I can't go out to lunch with Dad inbetween Italian and Renaissance Literature, I can't see my mother after her class, can't see my sister when she comes home for a weekend, can't see people from home that have made me who I am, so I've decided to find things here that are substitutes for the familiar. I've decided to find things that I'm fond of, things that "get me."
That being said, I've searched far and wide, and I've found a place that makes me happy in Florence, a place that will make me feel watched over and protected. This place is home to my new friend Romeo. He's a handsome one, strong, quirky, and for some reason makes me feel calm - he's the stone lion outside of Palazzo Vecchio. I happened upon him yesterday after my visit to the Uffizi (which I will talk about later), started photographing him for my photography project, and I really liked his personality. Inanimate objects can never really disappoint. He'll be my anchor here, the place I go visit when I'm feeling lost, when I need a reminder that love, advice, thoughts, and home can span an indefinite distance.

All my loving I will send to you

Part III

2009-02-04T12:26:00.002-05:00

Men are funny.
Today we explore this statement with one of my favorite Latin poets of antiquity, Catullus.

5

Let us live, my Lesbia, and let us love,
and let us appraise all the rumors of
rather nosy old men to a penny!
Suns can fall and return:
when the brief light falls once for us,
one perpetual night must be slept.
Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred,
then another thousand, then a second hundred,
then a thousand score more, then a hundred.
Then, when we have made many thousands,
we will throw the number to chaos, lest we know,
or rather lest anyone bad be able to cast envy
when he knows how many kisses we have shared.

That's not really my favorite translation, I even tweaked it a bit, but there you have it. Catullus' famous poem, labeled as his 5th in a series. I really like this poem because it at once fits, and doesn't fit a common theme in poetry - the carpe diem seduction poem. Usually (and another one of these might make it into Poetry Week), these poems involve men who haven't yet obtained their loves, and because of that fact, proceed to use this generic argument:
We're only young once, so let's make love.
This poem fits this type of argument when Catullus courteously reminds his lover, "when the brief night (life) falls once for us (death), one perpetual night must be slept (again, death)." However, he seems to lose control when contemplating the idea of kissing, or maybe making love with her. This poem doesn't have the calculated approach that the others do. Catullus begins to charm his love, stumbles in his excitement, and cannot be calculated.
For some reason Catullus doesn't seem as concerned with the act of sex as the others, though their language may be more ornate, their syntax more deliberate. He speaks in earnest.
Men are funny.
I've said to various male friends, "In Florence, all Italians want to do is sleep with American women." And usually they reply, "Yes, all men want that, that's not only unique to Italians." I can't argue. I enjoy these types of poems because while "times have changed," at least some things remain constant.
And we still love them for it.

A Favorite Picture

2009-02-03T09:05:00.003-05:00

Here's one of my favorite pictures I've taken so far. Looking forward to hearing back from you!

(That's for you Daniel, since you asked for more pictures. I promise I'll be better about it.)

Part II

2009-02-03T07:33:00.002-05:00

It's another rainy day in Firenze and I'm sitting here, cup of Ramen in hand, wondering which of my favorite poems best reflects my mood today. I might have to have a theme like this every week. I've come to discover that poems, paintings, passages of literature are very insightful when we we find one that speaks to us, and observe how we respond to it.

Before jumping into the next poem there are a few side notes:
1. Since Janis likes the caviar idea so much I will share with you another snack that isn't very creative, but it still extremely delicious: fresh mozzarella, a little olive oil, and some salt sprinkled over top.
2. Since I can buy alcohol in Italy, I would like to remind my readers that a little dab of Bailey's in a good cup of tea pushes it right over the edge into a semi-religious experience every time I have it.
3. Everyone should invest in an Enya CD - Paint the Sky with Stars is a good one to start. Also, Gregorian Chants are pretty great to listen to, not kidding.

Now for the poem. I'm not sure who I should choose today. The poets will definitely be Renaissance heavy, which you can blame on the classes I've taken so far at UVa. However, since my photography professor (I'm just going to start referring to him as Vassi, you'll remember) told me to take pictures of things I would normally right down, I think I'm going to choose two poems that are somewhat snapshots, and are not, strangely enough, from the Renaissance. These two untitled poems are by Sappho, a female, Greek poet from the Isle of Lesbos that lived around 600 B.C.

Tonight I've watched
the moon and then
the Pleiades
go down.

The night is now
half-gone; youth
goes; I am

in bed alone.

I remember when I first read that poem in Comparative Literature, my first semester in college. It's not particularly complex, none of her poems really are. I'm not sure what this poem says to you, but I can really feel her sadness. It's not an overwhelming, crippling sadness, but a calm sadness she seems to put on every day like an article of clothing. She seems to be simultaneously describing the scene in which she finds herself to her reader, while also realizing herself that "the night is now half-gone." Every time I read this poem I feel the weight of this realization, feel the slump of her shoulders, the looming task of attempting to sleep. I think the main question is what she means by "youth." The answer to that question, though, depends on who you are. Does "youth" literally signify Sappho's youth and her realization that she is aging? Or has something just occurred that has sobered her youthful naivety? Is youth a specific person? I'll leave that up to you to decide.

The next poem, if you can call it that, is one I find very powerful, and also very intriguing. Sappho simply says,

And this I feel myself.

One must keep in mind that many of Sappho's poems have been lost through the vast amount of time they've been in existence, and most that we have are still only parts of the original. I'm not sure what I'd like to think about this line. Would I rather think of it as part of a larger poem, half of a line that tells us what exactly she's feeling, where she is, and why? I think I'd much rather picture Sappho feeling something that should couldn't quite articulate, sitting down, struggling to put something on the page, but only being able to write, "And this I feel myself." These five words are powerful because anyone can relate to them, whether the exact feeling is anger, confusion, betrayal, sadness, longing, love...anything.
I feel a connection to her here, through these 5 words, a literary photograph if you will, which makes me hopeful that words really can act as bridges between people, no matter how impossible the distance.

Trying to bridge the gap and sending my love...

An addition

2009-02-03T04:02:00.002-05:00

Because I couldn't find the words last night...

I hope my future someone and I are like those last lines in Billy Collins' poem - together in sentences, but not immediately recognizable as poetry until placed side by side.

More poetry to come...

Poetry Week! Part I

2009-02-02T14:45:00.004-05:00

I've decided that this week will be dedicated to my constant companions back at UVa - my favorite poems. I'm pretty sure I can showcase a new author every day, if not, what kind of English major am I? Answer: I'm not an English major since I haven't declared yet, but I will try my best to pretend. In the interest of English language appreciation, today's poem is Billy Collins' "Thesaurus."

Thesaurus

It could be the name of a prehistoric beast
that roamed the Paleozoic earth, rising up
on its hind legs to show off its large vocabulary,
or some love in a myth who is metamorphosed into a book.

It means treasury, but it is just a place
where words congregate with their relatives,
a big park where hundreds of family reunions
are always being held,
house, home, abode, dwelling, lodgings, and digs,
all sharing the same picnic basket and thermos;
hairy, hirsute, woolly, furry, fleecy, and shaggy
all running a sack race or throwing horseshoes,
inert, static, motionless, fixed and immobile
standing and kneeling in rows for a group photograph.

Here father is next to sire and brother close
to sibling, separated only by fine shades of meaning.
And every group has its odd cousin, the one
who traveled the farthest to be here;
astereognosis, polydipsia, or some eleven
syllable, unpronounceable substitute for the word tool.
Even their own relatives have to squint at their name tags.

I can see my own copy up on a high shelf.
I rarely open it, because I know there is no
such thing as a synonym and because I get nervous
around people who always assemble with their own kind,
forming clubs and nailing signs to closed front doors
while others huddle alone in the dark streets.

I would rather see words out on their own, away
from their families and the warehouse of Roget
wandering the world where they sometimes fall
in love with a completely different word.
Surely, you have seen pairs of them standing forever
next to each other on the same line inside a poem,
a small chapel where weddings like these,
between perfect strangers, can take place.

I've always loved that poem, largely because I'm a big fan of personification. Those who know me might describe me as empathetic; I therefore enjoy finding emotion in unexpected places. Words, when strung together like a favorite grandmother's pearl necklace, popcorn on a Christmas tree, can hold an immense amount of meaning. Rarely, though, do they hold meaning by themselves. Light, hand, smile, eyelashes, search, breath...those words mean nothing by themselves, but what if I told you I could use them to describe Beth sitting next to me? I like how Billy Collins forces you to imagine what woolly, static, hairy, and abode would look like at their family reunions. This causes me to imagine what words like comfy, delightful, harried, vibrant, complacent, and sumptuous would look like if they ever knocked on our doors.

I wonder what word I personify.

Random Thoughts

2009-02-01T09:42:00.003-05:00

In no particular order...

I apologize profusely for not writing more often, and in advance if I ever spell anything wrong since I'm living, eating, breathing, speaking, and writing Italian. Every time I start to blog I feel like a broken record. Everyone knows I'm in Florence. Let's move on.

I need to paint my nails.

I would like to read Jane Austen's Persuasion and finish A Room With a View during the course of my stay, but I'm really not sure if that's possible.

I'm having really vivid memories of my living room and how comfortable my couch is. It's not necessarily making me sad but I think I might go into my living room here and pretend I'm back in Wolftown at some point.

I love Beth.

I really enjoy the words, duplicitous, superfluous, snafu, idiosyncrasy, and more delectable (oh! that's another) English words. Despite my love for Italian, English really is a wonderful language.

I really enjoy adding "bears" on the end of adjectives as some of you already know. "Are you happy bears?" is much more fun than just asking "Are you happy?" During the course of my stay here the phrases "unsanitary bears," "deceitful bears," and "contented bears," are not uncommon bears to hear. We're silly bears.

I love bears.

Also, why wasn't I born in the 17th or 18th Century? I feel like I would have enjoyed myself much more, despite not being able to vote, own property, go to school, have a career, or divorce my husband if I caught him cheating on me. Okay, nevermind, I feel grateful to be alive in this time period. But can't I just visit?

Perhaps booking tickets for Scotland today and listening to Enya is a lethal combination but I think this is what I'd do if I found myself in 17th or 18th Century Scottish Highlands...

I'd find a horse, start riding, and let the Scottish wind blow through my abnormally long hair (there aren't any hairdressers in 17th or 18th Century Scotland). I'd get caught in a rainstorm, a particularly loud one - a torrential downpour - and twirl around, unafraid of getting struck by the lightening. After said rainstorm, I'd get back on my horse and keep riding to our unknown destination.

Finally, I (let's switch to present tense instead of conditional) spot a castle on the horizon - a beautiful stone building on the water, set against the rolling green, mountainous Scottish hills. I ride across the bridge and come to a stop before the intimidating iron doors. I hear music inside. Wet from the storm, tired from riding, but still curious, I peak inside a stained glass window on the side of the cliff. Inside the room's golden glow are people dancing. There's a beautiful blur of plaid tartan prints.

Chameleon Complex

2009-01-30T12:22:00.005-05:00

There hasn't been much to report lately. Last week was insane, this week has been pretty laid back. Nonetheless I will recount my week should there be information worth noting.
Tuesday: Class was canceled for me and Beth, so we wandered around Florence (Ponte Vecchio, the other side of the Arno...) taking pictures for our photography project that's due this coming Tuesday. It was a lovely day, finally, after copious amounts of rain.
Wednesday: Beth and I decided to go to our favorite bar, Astor, that is a stone's throw from our lovely apartment. We met two Italian men (well, one was Albanian who spoke Italian), Alex and Roberto, and ended the night by doing ballet in front of the Duomo. Has Italy made me graceful?

On one hand, I'm happy to disappear completely within the Italian culture. It's nice to be able to go to a cafe and order something completely in Italian as a sign of respect. Of course Beth and I could survive here without knowing any of the language since most speak English here, but we would just be perpetuating the image of the American Tourist. The American Tourist who only knows English, refuses to try to speak Italian, or try to get to know any of the people.

Of course Italy speaks through it's history and places. Florence is a gem with its significance in the Renaissance, the masterpieces that reside here, and the architectural feats that are still as humbling as they must have been when they were created. There's Rome to the South, a giant in our world's history, with the Vatican close by. There's the Pieta' in the Vatican, the David here in Florence, The Last Supper in Milan...of course I could go on.

The people of Italy should not be ignored on any trip here. Yes, they can speak English like many other people around the world. Does that mean that we as Americans shouldn't attempt to learn anything about them?

A friend of mine told me last night that he still felt as though he was in America. Of course it can feel that way here. There are hoards of American students roaming the streets, and most of the locals have at least learned enough English to do business with Americans. While I'm happy to disappear into the Italian culture while I'm here, I can also guarantee that I will always be recognizable as American, and I've come to accept that. Though I try to don less conspicuous shoes than my Ugg boots, attempt to only speak Italian with those I encounter on the streets, I suppose I radiate American like UV rays in July. I can, however, guarantee I will continue to try and fit in throughout my stay - not because it necessarily makes me comfortable, but because it's a sign of respect to my host country. I'll leave you with a picture of an Italian man I took while on Ponte Vecchio - I wonder if he knew I was taking pictures of him. If so, he was a fabulous model.

Missing the good ol' US of A and sending my love as always.
Mi manchi tantissimo, io penso sempre di te, e non vedo l'ora di rivederti.

Disclaimer and Business Matters

2009-01-28T13:27:00.002-05:00

As Horacio (I miss you!) pointed out, my Funny Quote of the Day is, perhaps, not so funny for some people who read this blog (there are oh, so many of you). I posted it, not because I necessarily agree with it (even though...I kind of do), but because of the irony. Oh, what a true UVa student I am, discussing irony on my blog while abroad in Florence. Hey, at least I don't pop my collar.
Business Matters
1. How do you like the new format? Black background gives it a little more edge don't you think? How about the picture?
2. That being said, please comment! If you have a spare moment I really like hearing from all of you, even if it's someone telling me that William & Mary is better than UVa, seriously, everything brings a smile to my face.
3. I added on a Follower "gadget," so if you read this often enough, please become a Follower. I'm not really sure what the perks will be yet. Depending on how many Followers, each one could receive a scarf from Florence, and if there are more, perhaps a piece of biscotti! Maybe I could set up a password protected part of the blog for Followers - I just realized how cult-ish this is sounding, but I'm semi-comfortable with it.

Okay, comment away!
Sending my love.

Funny Quote of the Day

2009-01-28T07:59:00.002-05:00

"People from UVa are really snobby."
"No we're not, we're just better than you."

Love, Rachel

Sustainable Lifestyle?

2009-01-27T17:29:00.004-05:00

Lately Bethie and I have been discussing the ever so cumbersome idea of a sustainable lifestyle. We've been wondering if the lives we're leading over here can be transported overseas and remain relatively intact (even if baggage claim loses them for a few days).
There are a few red flags that signify, to me at least, that we're fighting a losing battle.
#1 We're in Florence, Italy. While the following reasons might not be in any particular order, this one deserves to be at the top. Renaissance art masterpieces reside about 10 minutes from my apartment, on the walk to school I pass Gucci, Roberto Cavalli, Louis Vuitton, Fendi...what?!
#2 Our most commonly devoured snack is caviar, italian flat bread, and brie cheese. When I get back to the States either caviar will be too expensive to buy on a daily basis, or I'll lose the desire to eat it when my roommates constantly ridicule me - whichever comes first.
#3 Our homework consists of walking around Florence taking pictures for our photography projects due on Tuesday. So drab, so boring. I miss reading an endless amount of pages in thick course packets. Oh, have I mentioned we don't have class on Fridays?
#4 We live relatively near Rome, Pisa, Lucca, Genova, Malta, Switzerland, Greece and all its islands. Where should we go this weekend?
Honestly, you're probably really frustrated with me for writing this post. It sounds like I'm bragging about how awesome my life is. But there are things about this lifestyle I will not miss when I get back to the states. Things such as: not having a drier in my apartment, never being able to wear sweatpants in public, not having breakfast foods or chai for that matter, not having a Mom within 40 miles, the Italian medical system, sketchy men named Leonardo and Mario, and again, the bathroom at Crisco. I really can't tell you how horrendous that room was. I almost gave up government secrets.
Anyway, point is, awesome lifestyle, but I still miss home tremendously. I'm going hunting for good blog post material tomorrow. Until then...

Sound for Thought

2009-01-27T06:00:00.000-05:00

This is what my day sounds like today.

Going Out In Italian

2009-01-27T05:12:00.002-05:00

Leondardo da Vinci himself was famous for leaving his works unfinished and, well, I'm going to follow suit. I'm going to tell you, instead, about the "going out" culture here in Firenze since many of you have been wondering. Last week I went out on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Saturday night. Excessive? Perhaps. Give me a chance to explain myself.
Tuesday: The Inauguration and The Beatles cover band (as you know already). There was no chance I was going to pass that up.
Wednesday: Again, as you know, what started out as one drink, quickly turned into a night of hanging out with new friends and strolling around the city.
Thursday: Beth and I went to an Art Opening at Palazzo Strozzi at the request of our Photography professor and met one of his friends, Luca. After seeing many odd installations, DVDs, sculptures and the like, we accepted his invitation to go for a drink. He told us that it was his friend's birthday party but that they should be finished by the time we got there. Wrong. There were about 50, extremely happy Italians sitting down when walked through the door. The rest of the night went something like this - drinks at the restaurant with the birthday girl, bestowing italian nicknames (I'm the "genio ribelle" or, rebellious genius), then off to a very European club called Doris. We returned home around 4 am.
Friday: Sleep.
Saturday: Went out with Vassi (our professor who is around 30) and Luca again. First to a bar, then to a club called Crisco. Beth and I were wondering why we weren't getting in while we watched 5 men walk up and immediately pass through the door. Vassi then informed us it was a gay club. When we finally walked in I saw that all the bartenders were men and had wigs on, and it all began to make sense. Again, the rest of the night can be described like this: a bathroom I would rather not remember, strange looks from men, funny conversations with the fake-blonde bartenders, etc.
What is the point of all this? The point is, each night is different. Each night begins with uncertainty. Refer back to an earlier post where I said something like being caught up in the current, and just riding the wave. Florence is a city, not a large one by some standards, but a city nonetheless. Any night can begin with humble origins, then end with a secret bakery, a gay club, a quest for McDonald's fries, or new and interesting friends. Tonight Bethie and I are going to see The Beatles cover band - tomorrow I could be blogging about going out with the band afterwards to a club with The Who, Elvis Costello, and Led Zepplin. Who knows.

Part 2

2009-01-24T06:39:00.003-05:00

I. Concrete Events
a. Inauguration Day!
b. Beatles Cover Band (Tuesday)
c. Wednesday Night (Colin, Aussies, hilarity ensues)
d. Last night (finally met real Italian people, more hilarity)
II. Ideas
a. "Culture Shock"
b. Colin again...oh, Colin.
c. Photography Class

I. c. Wednesday night Beth and I decided to go to this bar near our apartment called Astor. I had been there with Calen the night before for a little bit and really liked the atmosphere - there had been a black light, which I'm all about of course. We went, not intending to meet anyone, just to get a little dressed up and have a drink together. Of course we ended up falling in love with the bartender, who's name is Ezequiel, and who also happened to be Brazilian. Awesome. We had a lot of fun talking to him, especially after he made us a delicious drink called The Green Vision - what's not to love?
We'd been there for about an hour when a British guy came up to the bar and ordered a Corona. His name was Colin, and he was probably in his 50s. Well, Colin stuck with us the rest of the night. I quickly figured out several things about him: he LOVES Krakow, Poland, is still mentally in his 20s, and LOVES Americans. He was a scream, and probably mentioned Krakow a total of 7 or 8 times during the conversation. Basically, he spends his time traveling, and as I later found out from Beth, sells Harry Potter paraphernalia on E-Bay as a sort of career, I suppose. "Oh, Colin" has become a popular phrase with me and Beth, as though we've known him for years.
Then after the bar closed, I ended up outside McDonald's near the train station, with my new friend Mike from school. I was the only one outside who spoke Italian, the rest were Americans and Aussies, so it was up to me to find out why the doors were locked - typically doors being locked is the universal language for being closed, but we were still hopeful. In the meantime, I made fast friends with an Australian named Evan, who was pretty lovestruck - oh, Italy. He was a really sweet guy, a race car driver with an impressive resume, and of course the Australian accent is always entertaining to Americans. I was happy to show him around Florence (as much as my limited knowledge allowed) for the next couple of days.
That wraps up Part 2, still more to come. I'll leave you with a picture of the square outside the Duomo at night, and maybe...a song.

Sending my love as always...

So Much to Write...

2009-01-23T12:05:00.006-05:00

that I need to make an Outline before beginning (and possibly split this blog post into multiple posts)

I. Concrete Events
a. Inauguration Day!
b. Beatles Cover Band (Tuesday)
c. Wednesday Night (Colin, Aussies, hilarity ensues)
d. Last night (finally met real Italian people, more hilarity)
II. Ideas
a. "Culture Shock"
b. Colin again...oh, Colin.
c. Photography Class

Okay,
I a. Let's begin with a photo.
If that doesn't explain how the night went, I really don't know if I'll be able to do it justice. I originally wanted to watch the Inauguration with Italians but I think I overestimated their level of interest in our politics. I'm glad I watched it with my classmates, though. We were all packed into this American bar called The Red Garter watching a big screen, and the atmosphere was so charged with excitement and happiness that I don't think any of us could stop smiling. Everyone was clapping and cheering, drinking pints, making new friends...it really was inspiring.
b. Then afterwards, while my friend Calen and I were talking about how excited we were, how life felt a bit different after the Inauguration, we decided to go to see...a Beatles cover band. In Italy. It was such a good experience. Calen and I couldn't stop smiling, singing the songs...especially after the Inauguration, we were probably two of the happiest people on the planet. The band played songs like All My Loving, Nowhere Man, Ticket to Ride, Hard Day's Night, If I Fell...they even had the suits.

I'm pretty sure that wraps it up for now...I'll be posting more often hopefully. The problem is, I keep wanting to write, then more things happen to the point where it seems incredibly daunting to write it ALL down. If I break it up like this, though, it doesn't seem too bad. I hope you enjoyed - stay tuned for the rest.

Back from the Dottore

2009-01-19T07:36:00.001-05:00

Just got back...I have something like strep throat. The doctor was really nice, but she prescribed 3 medications for me, which is not so nice. I have a note from her since I'm missing classes today. I'm fine, but I miss my mother.

Homesickness and Sickness in General

2009-01-19T05:41:00.007-05:00

I was pretty homesick a couple days ago - the fated first time. I'm not really sure what happened, but I think it was all the italian men, those crazy italian men. Sure, it's nice to be checked out everywhere you go, nice to hear "che bella" "troppo bella" "hi, baby," or just to see them stop in their tracks to look you up and down while they're walking with their friends. I think my favorite was yesterday when Beth and I were walking. We walked by two older (30-something) italian men who looked at us as we were coming towards them and looked at eachother, shrugged their shoulders and nodded. I could see the thought process and I guess we passed the test, but they seemed picky about it - victory!
Anyway, American boys don't do that, that's for sure. You go to any college guys apartment and there's a picture of a skinny, tan, naked woman who is holding a bottle of alcohol, dressed in some ridiculous outfit...I've come to accept that it's normal, but it really does bother me - no wonder there are so many people with eating disorders in the US (yes, college boys, it's all your fault). Here, they seem to be more appreciative of everyday beauty, which is really nice, but I was missing being able to trust people. It's remarkably easy to pick up a boy at a club, especially if you speak Italian - they're really impressed with that these days. It is not, however, easy to find a guy you can trust here, and I really miss my good guy friends back home. I actually just generally miss everyone...
Beth and I had a fantastic afternoon yesterday, which cured the majority of my homesickness. We got up late, when to the BEST sandwich place I've been to so far (I Due Fratellini), only to find it was closed. So we went to Coronas Cafe' instead, which was pretty good. Then we spent a while roaming around trying to find a good gelato place. We finally stopped in the San Lorenzo market to see our favorite old man (he looks exactly like the cliche' old italian man) who has been to Richmond (!!!) before, and asked him for directions. I think he mistook us for Italians, which is always a nice feeling, and doesn't happen very often if I wear my Ugg boots around.
During Orientation they told us to find something that cures homesickness, for example, the woman who was talking goes to Ponte Vecchio and has a cup of coffee. I think mine will be going to the sandwich place (it's just that delicious) or going inside Santa Maria Del Fiore, two places it's pretty impossible to feel sorry for yourself.
Today though, don't freak out Mom, I'm going to the doctor because I'm pretty sure I have strep throat. I haven't been to class today but they'll write me a note saying I have a valid reason. It's pretty miserable, especially being in Florence because there's so many other things I could be doing than staying home with a sore throat. I made myself some tea, have the address of the doctor, and I'll go in an hour or so. I'll make sure to keep you updated on how it goes. In the meantime, I'll post my favorite pictures from a couple days ago...

Sending my love...

Best song ever. At the moment. And a little Rachel.

2009-01-14T17:08:00.005-05:00

Beth and I are obsessed with this song...

Okay see you later...

Class and Laughter

2009-01-14T10:12:00.002-05:00

It's Wednesday and I've been to all of my classes that I'll be taking here. I really like all of them, as well as my professors.
Italian - Still can't believe I'm skipping Italian two and three and going to four. It's seriously so much fun being able to understand (more or less) everything my teachers tell me in Italian. I know the other kids here are having a lot of fun, but I feel like I'm getting so much more out of it. Being able to walk the streets and talk to anyone without being afraid of them actually responding in Italian, is incredibly liberating. Even if they ask me a question in English, I'm in the habit of responding in Italian anyway. Basically, I think that being able to speak the language is the sole reason why I won't be as homesick as the other kids in my program.
English - We're reading Boccaccio's The Decameron in English class...a HUGE book filled with 100 short-stories told over 10 days by 10 people. My professor is really brilliant but also sits down at a desk like ours during class, and talks to us. I can tell it's going to be a really awesome class.
Art History:Leonardo - Ahhhh I love this class. It might be difficult to stay awake sometimes as it is from 4 - 5:30 (my third class of the day), and involves lots of slides. My professor, however, is really interesting, and is passionate about the subject. I was thinking yesterday, with all of these professors here who have dedicated their lives to the study of one person, or one family, how risky that is. People can disappoint you, alive or dead, and I would imagine through years of research, you could form a relationship with your subject. What if you discover something about them that you didn't expect? Would you feel betrayed? Would you appreciate them more deeply at the sudden reminder of their humanity? I think it's possible to depend on and possibly love someone who died a long time ago, and who you've obviously never met. I wonder if I could turn this into a paper...
Photography- Photography will be awesome. The first class was pretty technical; we talked about the first cameras, how they worked, how they evolved, what's inside our cameras, how lenses work, how light travels, how our eyes work...all in the first class. I've always wanted to learn the technical side of photography - how to mess with depth and light, that sort of thing.

So laughter...one thing I've noticed about Italy so far is that Italians frequently tell us that Americans laugh a lot. I've been out to dinner almost every night since I've been here and it seems like a pretty accurate generalization. I think it's interesting that Italians are widely regarded in America as a culture where people take time to enjoy life, where the pace of life is slower - but apparently laughter doesn't necessarily go hand in hand with free time. This is one cultural difference I'm afraid I can't mask. I laugh loudly, I laugh often - especially here in Firenze.

Pictures (Finally)

2009-01-13T17:32:00.007-05:00

Here are some pictures of my apartment! This is the door that goes into my room...

Our room...

Our terrace...

A Room With a View :-)

I hope you like them...seriously...it's magical. I'm loving it, but I miss home. Especially Yoder's right now...I'd like some pumpkin bread. Tell me what you think!!!

Finally!

2009-01-13T12:08:00.002-05:00

I finally have internet!!!!!!!! So I'm going to get caught up on blog posts...I wrote this one a few days ago:

Dear Home,

It’s awesome here. I already have so much to write about. The plane ride was pretty painless. Compared to everyone else I had a pretty smooth ride: no delays, only one two-hour layover, and both of my bags got here safely. Beth, my roomie (!), got here at 1:15 am last night because one of her flights was cancelled and she spent about 9 hours in Frankfurt, or Munich, I forget which. Another guy I met today had his flight cancelled in Paris, I think – moral of the story, I got here pretty easily.
I love flying, especially at night. I only ended up getting 2 hours of solid sleep on the plane (solid for the plane anyway), but I got to watch the sun rise from about 35,000 feet in the air, which was pretty cool. I love looking at the lights below when it’s dark. Seeing all of those cities from so high is really peaceful for some reason.
Seeing Frankfurt from the sky was especially surreal since it was covered with snow. It looked exactly the way people from America perceive Eastern European countries – a little barren, snowy, with old castle-looking buildings scattered throughout the countryside. It was pretty, but in an intimidating and somber way
My favorite moment was probably seeing the Alps on my way from Frankfurt to Florence – it was pretty breathtaking.
I made friends, not surprisingly, on each flight I was on. On the 8-hour flight from Dulles to Frankfurt I sat next to a woman named Harriet who was probably in her 60s. She was interesting, but a little obnoxious. She told me she had stepped foot on foreign soil in about 20 different places during her lifetime, a fact I quickly discerned that she was pretty proud of. She told me about her tour through Russia, all the crazy flights she’s been on, her daughter and her escapades in Ecuador, her trip to Rhodes, Greece with her sister, and more. She was a good travel partner for a first-timer like me though, I followed her pretty closely throughout the Frankfurt airport; we tried on perfume together (Opium smells much better on you, Mom). We then met a doctor who was on his way to Vienna to give a talk on a rare disease found in children. These kids, there are only about 40 of them throughout the world, are diagnosed when they’re about 2 or 3, then their skin starts thinning, they get wrinkles, and usually die in their teens of diseases that only the elderly contract. Apparently by studying these kids we can learn more about aging in general, which is what he was giving his talk on. Oh, the people you meet while traveling, huh?
Getting to Florence was pretty anti-climactic. The airport isn’t beautiful at all, and the outside of it looks like any American city. I ended up waiting to get a cab while the organized us for about 2 hours, but then I was finally put in one – I sat in the front seat so I could talk to the driver. His name was Emmanuele, and he was pretty awesome. I practiced my Italian with him a little bit and he said he was pretty impressed. The highlight of the trip was probably when I noticed another taxi driver on the road kept giving us weird looks and I finally asked him, “Chi é?” (Who is he?) Emmanuele enthusiastically said, “É il mio cugino!” (He is my cousin!) Apparently everyone in Italy really is related.
We finally got to my apartment, a tall wooden door in a small alley, but unfortunately, no one was there waiting for me like they told me. Emmanuele and I had another wonderful Italian conversation filled with shrugging and hand gestures, so even though I was a little worried, I was pretty happy. He called someone who told him that if I just waited there for a bit I’d be fine (Relax Mom, I’m okay). So I waited for about 10 minutes inside the apartment building – just one large room with a staircase at the end of it. Finally I got in my apartment and explored a little. It’s HUGE, and really pretty (in my opinion). We can see the Duomo from our balcony, and it has lots of endearing quirks that might stop being endearing once this Honeymoon period wears off.
My roommates are really sweet. It’s me and Beth, then three other girls from Penn State: Mica, Kristen, and Alli, who are all from the same sorority in Penn State. They’re really fun, and Beth and I are already getting pretty close. Our beds are about 5 inches away from each other in a huge room so I guess that’s kind of inevitable.
So today, Orientation was probably the longest thing ever; we were there from 9 am to 3:45 pm with only one hour-long break. On the upside, we were at this beautiful Villa on the top of a hill where there was a really great view, so I know there’s probably no reason to feel sorry for me. We made friends with a solid group of guy friends already, and have (maybe) found a good pizza place we can frequent that’s close to our apartment.
Tonight, Beth, Mica, and I went to eat there and as we were sitting down a guy walked in and randomly started selling the men who worked there a dozen roses. We listened to them haggling, and Beth goes, “Yeah, they’re going to give us roses.” Sure enough, the man started gesturing towards us, we started laughing, and we ended up with a single rose each – what a good introduction to Italy. I think we’ll be going back there again.
Long story short, I’m really happy here. There are things, of course, that I’ll have to adjust to. The shower is pretty horrible, but at least we have hot water. We have to be a lot more conscious about how much energy we’re using, the drinking culture is a lot different – I know it’s hard to believe, but there’s no such thing as “pre-gaming” in Italy. Things I think I can adjust to would be: wine with dinner, roses with dinner, being about a minute walk from a beautiful cathedral, listening to the bells every hour, delicious pizza, the sound of Italian everywhere, tiny little streets filled with shops…I could go on. I’m really looking forward to getting to know this city.

I miss you all.

I'll post pictures at soon as possible.

Today

2009-01-06T01:51:00.002-05:00

So I leave today at 7 pm and I'm really ready to be in Italy. Tonight Mom and Dad made cheeseburgers and French fries - delicious, and I'm still awake right now watching The Perfect Man with Hilary Duff. Why? I have no idea. It was on TV and I need an excuse to stay awake though, I must say, this isn't a very good one. It's about a teenage girl whose mother keeps dating losers, men who either break her heart or are just plain obnoxious. She comes up with a plan to invent a secret admirer, "the perfect man," who will prevent her from being so desperate. I don't really even know why I'm taking time to explain the plot line.
Maybe this movie isn't so bad though. I mean, it's not stellar, but I think we all need a healthy amount of cheesiness in our lives. The things we see in the movies rarely happen. Will I get to ride around Rome on a Vespa Roman Holiday style with a Gregory Peck-like journalist? Probably not. Will my roommate and I find attractive best friends to hang out with in Florence like Mary Kate and Ashley did in...every single one of their movies? - not that I've seen all of them, of course. It's easy to be cynical about this movie: a girl creates a fictional secret admirer to make her mother happy, and the man she models him after turns out to be her mother's soulmate. Meanwhile, a boy she met the first day of high school falls in love with her and teaches her that love exists. Why are we taught that things like this can never happen? I think we should see these moments as possible, and when they come up in life, recognize the cheesiness, but also the rarity.
I'm going to Italy tomorrow, and as much as I try to avoid doing cliché, "cheesy," things, I think I'm going to try and soak in as much as possible over there - especially the moments that seem too overdone. I guess they're overdone for a reason.
And on that note, I leave you with a clip from Roman Holiday. It's one of my favorite parts - Audrey and Gregory are touring around Rome hitting up the typical spots. A typical tourist spot...and a moment in the movie which is, appropriately, unplanned, spontaneous, and genuine.

The Countdown

2009-01-01T13:05:00.002-05:00

Happy New Year Everyone! T-minus 5 days until I leave for Florence and it still doesn't seem real. We'll see how this whole blog thing goes. I'm always nervous when I write things that I know will be on the internet for everyone to see. I second guess almost every sentence thinking it's never clever enough, never "witty" enough. I'll try to let loose and just write this time though since I'm going to try and update this as often as possible. Hopefully I'll be able to conquer the intimidation factor.
So I've packed all of my clothes, but in true form I still have lots of last minute things to do before I leave. How does one really prepare for 4 months in a foreign country? I've almost given up trying to attain the "perfectly-prepared" feeling before I leave. To a certain extent this is just one big current I'm caught up in; I just have to ride the wave and deal with the obstacles when they pop up.
As I said before, this really doesn't seem real yet. People keep asking me if I'm excited and I really am, but I'm excited about what seems to be an intangible thing. There are so many ways this trip could go - depending on the people I surround myself with I could get a lot out of this, or exponentially more out of it - there's no way it's not going to impact my life in some way shape or form.
Basically, I promise to write a lot. I'll try to post pictures and songs that I've been listening to. I really want to keep in touch with all of you and have some connection to home when I get homesick. I hope I write things worth reading, post things worth listening to, and maybe, just maybe I'll hold your attention for 4 months. Here's to optimism, and to hoping you come visit me here pretty often.

Van She - Kelly