Roni blogs from 35000 feet

So, I think I am almost over Michigan.

i just think that this is insane. I am connected to the internet at 35000 feet.

I am currently engaged in a google chat and on facebook.

This is so awesome, I shall write a limerick:

i am very high in the air
yet i am blogging without a care
this is so insane
internet on the plane
and it is entirely without fare!

(it is a 'christmas gift' to first time' wi-fi on board" users)

But this is so incredible that it also deserves a haiku

Internet on board
chatting, blogging, in the clouds
I really love this.

Yeah, I have a way with words. Epic. These will definitely be going into my soon-to-be self-published haiku/limerick anthology. Pre-order now.

Okay, so I am a little sleep deprived. But planes are not conducive to sleeping.

I could relate all my transfer dilemmas and how for a brief moment in time my name was Xavier Joseph Sca...something, but perhaps the harrowing tale of my trip is best reserved for a time when I am more in control of my mental facilities.

And it is not over yet. There could be more excitement yet to come...but i hope not. I hope everthing is mundane and I arrive on time and someone picks me up at the airport, which means I really hope someone in my family checked their email and saw the new itinerary I sent from Paris (and the internet was not free there!)

♥

mamma mia! ho nostalgia di casa!

Oy, oy, oy! The closer I get to coming home, the more distracted and homesick I get.
I've got two more papers to write, one of which I must hand in Monday morning--24 hours from now, but have I penned a single sentence? No. Instead, I find myself facebook stalking like a lunatic and reading the entire archives of people's blogs. I'll be touching ground in Utah Thursday night so you think I could just power through what remains of this semester, but my longing for home just increases as it gets closer!

So, I totally love Italy, but I've totally fallen into routines and it just feels like...the place that I live. This complacency, I guess you could call it, it's just Florence. I pass the Duomo several times a week, and when I'm bored pop by the Uffizi, but I miss my mountains. The other day a woman asked me if Italy or Utah was more pretty. And, who'd have thought, my instinctive answer was Utah. The architecture and history of Italy is richer, but I miss the simply beauty of nature, which is covered by the edifices of the city in Firenze. Plus, some of the inherent beauty of home just comes from having so many people I love in such close proximity.

I know logically that Thursday will come soon enough, but time is dragging just a bit.

So, I went to Rome

Part of the Olympic Stadium built by Mussolini. He was all about physical fitness.

The Palazzo of the EUR. It and buildings of a similar style were built for an exhibition that Mussolini was planning in Rome in 1942. However, the exhibition didn't happen because of a little thing called World War II.

Anyway, this trip to Rome was not about hitting the Colosseo or sitting on the Spanish Steps (although, I did actually go and sit on the Spanish Steps...). Instead, we were focusing on studying the little remnants of fascism in Rome, AND we got to see Cinecitta' which is the Italian equivalent of Hollywood. It was built in 1937 after Mussolini commissioned Luigi Freddi to study the Hollywood studio system. All the greats filmed there: Rossellini, Fellini, even Martin Scorsese! He chose to film Gangs of New York in Cinecitta'. Parts of his set are still up! Turns out Italian Cinema has been in crisis since about 1976 and Cinecitta' isn't a real booming place with shots being filmed on every corner. The fact that the Gangs of New York sets are still up is a testament to this. (There was also a bunch of really cool sets from an old HBO series called, Rome, that was filmed at Cinecitta', and a mock-up of the city Assisi for something being shot.) But I don't have any pictures of this stuff because Prof. Zagarrio said via email "Don't act like tourist and don't take picture."

It was quite the field trip because Prof. Zagarrio is a master of off-color comments. It keeps things interesting, and surreal. I really can't remember many specific things he said...and some I probably wouldn't repeat, but I kept thinking, "Is he really saying these things?"

But the sky is always more blue.

Buon Giorno di Ringraziamento!!!

So, it pretty much goes without saying that Thanksgiving does not exist in Italia.

At no time did the legendary Trojan exiles lead by Aeneas sit down and eat with the indigenous Etruscans to celebrate their first harvest of olive oil and figs.

Nonetheless, with the huge American diaspora in Florence (it's a hotspot for study abroads and any scholar of the humanities as well as well-to-do tourists), I'm sure I could find something. The NYU campus is having a dinner with all the festive foods and at church, to provide solace to the missionaries, which are almost exclusively American, they are having a little "Thanksgiving" dinner, but I would rather lay low at the apartment, attempt to chip away at some reading, gorge myself on rice pudding (my current treat of choice), and prepare for a Thanksgiving skype with la famiglia. I'm a little bit hermitish, I guess. Maybe it is a symptom of homesickness because that sort of flared up this morning.

However, I don't have class on Thursday, and I wasn't going to stay cooped up in the apartment all day, so to celebrate Thanksgiving I went to the Uffizi. It was not too crowded, so it was especially nice. I really don't know if I have a favorite painting. To be honest, I am much more into modern painting...after the camera liberated painting from the obligation to depict reality. But I really do like byzantine and renaissance art; I think they are windows (both visually and in what and how they choose to depict what they depict) into ages past.

But, anyway, I have millions of things to be grateful for. To get in the holiday spirit, and because gratitude should be a habit, and should be expressed regularly, here's a little list of things I am grateful for, in no particular order:
1) My family. So, it's a cliche; I don't care. And even in a list where things are in no particular order, my family is still first. I love them.
2) My friends. To keep up the cheesy sentiments, they're the family you choose!
3) The color "dusty rose"
4) The internet.
5) That I am studying in the beautiful city of Florence.
6) That I get to be home for Christmas (and that I was able to change my flight for nothing! So all, I'll be home from the 10th of December to the 17th of January!)
7) For all the wonderful people I've met here.
8) For church, I really always to have a simple, sweet peace and church. It's the kind of thing that keeps you centered. And to be specific, I am thankful for a loving God in heaven.
9) La bellissima lingua italiana e tutte le opere che spero di capire un giorno!
10) Good books.
11) Good movies.
12) Gelato.
13) Cell phones. I use mine as a phone, alarm clock, watch, and flashlight.
14) Muffins! And the package my mom sent me!
15) That feeling, when you listen to a really good song, or see a good movie, or read a good book, or hear an amazing speech and you experience an overwhelming conviction of your own worth and know that you can do anything and that everything is right and good and if its not it will be alright. In the book The Perks of Being a Wallflower it is called "feeling infinite." Maybe this is an abstract thing to be grateful for, but I think you know what I am talking about.

So, here's a picture of Florence: Thanksgiving 2009

Maria Giovanna.

Doesn't that sound (or since you are reading this, look) like the most beautiful name. Turns out it is the equivalent of Mary Jane in the slang sense, like Marijuana.

One last chance for Maria Giovanna. One last time to kill the pai-ai-ain

I was looking up a girl I volunteer with and she goes by Mari, short for Maria, and I heard someone else call her Maria Giovanna, so I thought Giovanna must be her middle name and I entered both names onto the facebook search engine, and all that came up were pictures of cannabis.

It seems way too pretty to be slang for Marijuana. Even though, Marijuana is sort of a pretty word itself; it has all those long vowel sounds.

My little old man

To make up for the lack of posting, I will do two posts back-to-back, because just as I hit "Publish Post" on my Baaria entry, I remembered my little old man. It is a short, little Italian anecdote that might be a welcome diversion.

So, every Saturday, I see this old Italian man as I walk to my volontario. He sits outside of Tabaccheria in a lawn chair and basically says, "Buongiorno" to all who pass the scarcely frequented street. Anyway, for several weeks I just uttered my customary, "Buongiorno," in response to his salutation. Then he asked, "Da dove vieni?" and I responded, "America." Then he said, "You are very cute." I swear, in Italy a girl can get enough compliments to last a lifetime. Anyway, when I saw him today he said, "I am happier when I see you." It was just nice and sweet and, I guess, one of those silly, little, simple things that pick your day up just a smidgeon.

So, I am wildly enamored with this film. Maybe because it has been dictated that it is a good film, it was nominated for an Oscar, and the buzz is that it will win (in the Foreign Language Films category, of course). I actually went and saw it at the end of October (they were showing it with English subtitles so I jumped on the chance to see it AND understand it). I could give you the summary, but it kind of eludes summary. It's one of those multi-generational epics that traces the life and family of one character from childhood to adulthood. It incorporates how the city Bagheria (Baaria in Sicilian slang, maybe like Spanish Fork is Spanish Fark in Utah Valley slang) changes in the course of those years, and has some very folkloric elements.

I really want to see it again.

But, why did I all the sudden decide to share this new film obsession with you? Well, I was just youtubing (yes, I believe youtube has become a verb) bits of it because I was trying to find a clip in the original Sicilian dialect that the film was shot in (which most Northerners and all foreigners who learned Italian in school CANNOT understand) and the standard Italian it was dubbed in. Anyway, I was watching the trailers (set to the stunning music of soundtrack god Ennio Morricone) and I seriously almost started crying because I remembered how beautiful the film was.

My film professor, ol' Vito, or I suppose out of respect I should say Professor Zagarrio, thought the film was good, but just a little too much. Too much melodrama emphasized by unnecessarily grandiose camera movements. So, there's a little criticism to kill the hype, so when you see it, you won't be devastatingly disappointed if it doesn't change your life.

But it changed mine, at least a little bit.

I guess lacksadaisical is not a word.

That is all. It is the one thing I learned today.

(Well, I also watched a lot of reruns of "Friends" on the internet, so I also learned that Rachel still has feelings for Ross. You see, I am very lackadaisical--notice "LACK"adaisical not "LACKS"adaisical--and that is how I came to know the one real thing I learned today.)

I think my problem is that not working and being in a foreign country put me under the false impression that I am on a vacation. I need to say, "No internet, Roni!" But the internet can also be used for good (research) as well as evil (online Boggle/"Friends"). My resolution for this coming Monday will be to be a better student...I will come up with ways to quantify that after I see what happens after Ross said Rachel when he was marrying Emily!

Deliciously tacky tile

In the bathroom we have some real stunning decor.
I also am mildly obsessed with taking pictures of my reflection.

La stagione della pioggia

Welcome November! The season of the rain.

I certainly don't miss the sweltering, humid heat of August.

Although, I would like my clothes to dry.

And I do worry about reckless scooter drivers going too fast on slick, wet roads and skidding into something. Sometimes, I'm a little bit like a mom.

And it would be nice if the bottom of my pants could stay dry so I don't get too cold in class. But I could buy myself some boots to remedy that situation. I finally get that tucking your pants into boots is not just a fashion statement (loathed by some of my acquaitances...you know who you are), but also a practical way to keep the flared part of your jeans from getting soaked.

But I love the rain.

It makes going outside an adventure.

I could totally handle life in Seattle.

I love weather.

But I miss the snow. I'm hoping for a hearty storm the day AFTER I fly in for Christmas. I will be building a snowman, lying in wait with ready-made snowballs in my mittened hands to launch a pre-emptive assault on my brother, and challenging whoever will brave it to run around my yard barefoot with me.

Then I will go inside drink hot chocolate and sit by the fire until I can feel my feet.

rainy sunday morning

it is a rainy sunday morning and church starts far too early.

i let myself get distracted by the internet so now i am going to be late.

i should take the bus, but i'm not sure which buses travel in the vicinity of church because i almost always walk.

well, i really need stop blogging if i am going to make it.

My experience in Italy by the numbers...

Number of times I embarassed myself at the grocery store: 1 (I took grapes out of a premeasured box...thereby ensuring that someone will not be receiving all the grapes they paid for)

Nationalities I've been taken for: 4 (American, obviously, Italian, French, and once Russian...I'm suprised I haven't gotten German yet with the last name Scheidler).

Cities I've Visited: 2 (I flew into Rome then went straight to Florence. I intend to get out more!)

Number of Times I've been asked by a gentleman to go out for coffee: innumerable

Times I've Accepted: 0 (I should be less of an ice-queen, but I'm shy!)

Museums I've Visited: Ahhh...I don't really want to count. Maybe, around ten.

Least Favorite Museum: Museo Salvatore Ferragamo--shoes are great, but I got a little bored.

Number of Times I've been asked for directions: lots

Times I've gotten people lost with faulty directions: ? probably at least once...

Times I've been lost: Too many to count, but I always find my way eventually.

Times I've let babies under my supervision fall off couches: 1

Times I've walked around in high heels: 1 and the blisters ensured that once is enough. High heels are for sitting in and for briefly standing in (to show of the leggies) but not for walking in.

Hours I've spent on internet: Too many. Get to work Roni.

Books I've bought (excluding textbooks): 2--and I even read one of them.

This is Halloween

So, Halloween in Italy is nothing to write home about. It makes me miss seeing the hoards of youngsters dressed as the most popular cartoon character of the season. It makes me miss the subpar chocolate confections of the United States (after you've been eating European chocolate anything by Hershey's tastes like chocolate flavored wax). It makes me miss candy corn and those little candy pumpkins. It makes me miss carving pumpkins and having some sublime idea but lack of dexterity con a knife, so I end up with a Jack-O-Latern that looks like it was fashioned by a three-year-old (not that I endorse giving three-year-olds knives...giving me a knife may also be a bad idea). It makes me miss eating all the candy before the trick-or-treaters actually arrive and having to buy more. It makes me miss my family. It makes me reminisce about all our off-the-hook Halloween parties when were we kids with the smoking root beer. It make me reminisce about the parade that we had at Wilson Elementary every year where all the parents could come and see the kids costumes.

It makes me remember the time that my dad told off some kids in his math class who bragged about the pumpkin smashing escapades one particular November 1, which sent my dad into a passionate lecture in which he compared smashing a pumpkin to shaving a puppy and giving it cigarette burns. He was too often a witness to our grief when rag-tag teenagers mutilated our beloved pumpkins as kids.

The last two years I've worked on Halloween, and actually it was a pretty good night for tips, so I miss that too. Although, even though there aren't any parties to be had, it is nice to have this Halloween off. I'm going out for Apertivo at this bar called Kitsch that promises to do something a little festive.

But, man, I miss home!

This is where I go to school

olive trees galore. killer sunsets. historical buildings. an insanely eclectic collection of art that illustrates the insane nature of art collecting in the early twentieth century. it really is pretty sweet.

Something I really like: Skype

Recently, my dear cousin Dani gave a little shout out to Skype on her blog, and I thought I would give the company a little free advertising, too because I also love Skype.

Also, I am accepting new Skype contacts, so anyone who wants to hear the lovely lilt of my voice or see my shining countenance (because I have a webcam now, baby!) should look me up.

Last Sunday, I talked to my mom and watched her make an apple crisp. I really wish that the apple crisp could have been passed through the screen because it looked delizioso!

Skyping with the parentals, siblings, and niece-ling, is always great, but always makes me just a little more homesick when I am done. I can't wait until I can actually give them all big hugs! If only home and Italy were right next to each-other, or I knew how to control time or space!

a mosquito bit my face

See the large blemish on the right side of my face, below my eye? No, it is not a zit, but rather the work of one of the merciless mutant mosquitoes that inhabit Florence. The nights are freezing; we're getting into the thirties (high thirties, but still on the VERGE of freezing) and the soulless buggers continue to torment. However, talking about the mosquitoes in Florence is a nice ice-breaker conversation topic. Everyone has horror stories, and there is no better way to bond than uniting against a common enemy. At a fancy dinner we had to honor a visiting scholar--NYU is all about putting on the Ritz to impress guests--a professor from the University of Connecticut, Betty something-or-other, and I became fast-friends cursing mosquitoes and swapping advice on how to keep them at bay.

You know, I tried to rely on the power of karma to protect me from the bites of mosquitoes. Though they had done me wrong, I refrained from killing those I saw resting against the wall of my bedroom. I thought, if I don't kill their this creature, maybe the karmic gods will influence the entire species to leave me alone. (I also loathe dealing with mosquito carcasses, and killing them against the wall would lead do blood being spattered on my white wall, and it would probably be blood that came from my very own veins). But my pacifist ways were to no avail. The mosquitoes rebelled against the karmic gods, and have been more vicious since I consciously chose to spare their lives.

So, mosquitoes, we are now mortal foes, and while there may be some off-chance that you could infect me with malaria (which, lo, and behold!, is an ITALIAN word--meaning bad air, you know it was common in swampy areas where the air was well bad, and back then they didn't know it was transmitted by the most despicable life-form on earth) but with modern medicine on my side, that's no biggie; they'll be nothing to save you when I crush your hard exoskeleton against my book. (I'll even tolerate cleaning up the disgusting mess you leave behind...no one will get away with my blood without punishment...that goes for vampires too...okay, that last phrase was silly, but it was in good Halloween spirit!)

Italy Makes Me Lazy

I think I may have deluded myself into thinking I am on an extended vacay, rather than in an intensive program of study. But the mists of delusion are thinning as I realize all the things I have to do:

Prepare something to demonstrate that I have been making some progress towards writing some kind of thesis about something. (I threw out that I was going to write about women carving out a place for themselves in the Futurist movement, and study the literature from a feminist perspective, but I think I was just trying to be cool. Futurism is so in vogue this academic season.)

Study for midterms--that begin on Monday.

Write an 8-page paper detailing how I feel about my internship (Prof. Giannelli is going to be getting some extennnnnded descriptions--and being that the paper is in Italian there will be a lot of moltos and tantos.

You'd think with these matters on my scholastic plate, I might make an effort to chip away at some of the work, but no. I spent the evening streaming reruns of 30 Rock from sketchy internet sites (I would go through the legitimate channels of hulu or nbc, but because of weird international copyright laws, and the computer's uncanny ability to recognize that it is in Italy, I have to peruse the dark underbelly of the internet and sell my soul for 22 minutes of commercial-free entertainment).

But, for fear that you, dear reader, may think that I am slothful human being, I did visit the Museo Nazionale Alinari della Fotografia. They had a futurist photography exihibit and I learned about the history of photography and remembered how much I want to dabble more in that art form. Or become the subject of some iconic photo--like "elevator girl" or, well, actually all the other iconic photographs I can think about are really sad, like the girl crying over the body at Kent State...but I could be like "elevator girl."

I also went to class at UNIFI (the delightful shortening of Universita' di Firenze), where I spend an hour and a half (it would be two hours but the teacher always arrives 20 minutes late, as if the class were to start at 5:20) being humbled and scrambling to understand whatever bits I can. The oral exam should be interesting.

Anyway, I feel like I've done a little something by writing this. So, I guess I am not too lazy. And I shouldn't blame Italy for making me lazy...I should blame Tina Fey for making 30 Rock too dang entertaining.

More from your favorite American in Florence

So, hands-down Italy understands fruit. I mean, especially the sector I am inhabiting (Tuscany!) is notorious for its wine and vineyards, but I wouldn't know a good wine from grape juice gone bad. However, I do know I tasty juice when the sweet nectar touches my tongue. Peach Juice and Pear Juice, the kinds with the pulp included especially, are so amazingly satisfying. I almost think it is like drinking canned peaches or pears that have been blended, but that sounds sort of gross (not that I am not going to try it when I am in the United States) and this stuff is sooooo good. Oh, and a shout out to A.C.E.--a juice made of oranges, carrots and lemon, another fave. You'll notice that I am holding an empty juice bottle--because full ones don't usually last too long.
I'm sort of paranoid about my footwear. I feel it gives me away immediately as an American. Sometimes I swear I see people, usually gray-haired women look down at my feet with scornful eyes. And these running shoes aren't so bad (they are the ones that saw me through my marathon, so I have a sort of nostalgic attachment to them...I think if they can get me through 26.2 miles they can get me through a Master's program in Italy). If you want to talk bad shoes, i wear this pair of dirt-stained, foam, teal $6 Wal-mart flip-flops almost everyday (because sometimes it is just too hot to wear your lucky shoes). One of the flip=flops actually blew out on me today (but I managed a makeshift repair that enabled me to have protective covering for my left foot for the duration of my journey), so they are retiring and Italy is going to be seeing more of my well-worn Mizuno's (obscure brand, I know, but actually, the name kind of sounds Italian...). Pretty soon here I'll have to spring for some sensible, yet classy, Italian shoes.
I just thought I'd throw in a picture of the Campanile at sunset so you, dear reader, can have a little cultural stimulation instead of just hearing about juice, shoes and...
NUTELLA, or rather Esselunga's cheaper, but no-less-delicious, store-brand rip-off. I love this stuff. I was going to make crepes like an hour ago, but there was no gas for the stove, so I just took a spoon to this bad boy and ate a shameful amount (let's say it was around 250 grams). But, if the gas is ever working, I'm going to fire up the stove and eat me some crepes, and will whip out the fake nutella again.

And just a shout out to anybody who is reading this, I miss you like MAD! To the point of insanity! I love all my friends and family so much and stalk you via whatever electronic means are available to stalk you.

xoxox

The Bane of Beauty

I've put off this entry because it seemed somewhat self-absorbed. I mean to say, "I'm too pretty for my own good" is more than a little conceited.

But do you know how much free coffee I could be getting?

I have a lot of men stop me and ask if they can buy me a coffee. Once when I was in the city center I had this friendly looking man who wasn't elderly, but was definitely older than my father stop me. I thought he was simply asking for directions because his first words were, "Sei da Firenze?" Are you from Florence? I said, "No, but I live here, maybe I can help you." But he didn't need help, he just wanted to take me to get some coffee. I was busy going about my other tasks, so I rejected him.

And that was just one experience. Just last night there was a guy on the street who asked me out to dinner. He'd known me for maybe about 2 seconds before his proposed date. I wasn't too keen on going out with strangers, so I let him down.

I don't know if it is something about my comportment that makes me obviously foreign (American students do have a reputation), or if Italians are just more of the go-getter type and talking to someone is no prerequisite for a little coffee-date. The first few times getting hit on so frequently was a real self-confidence builder. Especially for this girl, but now fending off interested men has become a chore.

Ciao, bella is not as endearing as it once was. Depending on the inflection, I would translate it as, "Hey baby," especially when it is accompanied by kissing sounds. Some of these would-be boyfriends go about wooing the girl on the street in a nicer way. They use the more formal "Buongiorno" or "Buonasera bella," and don't harass you when you don't respond.

It is tough being this beautiful.

Patti Smith, I think I love you.

So, before I march off to my Community Service in Italian, I have to rehash the amazingness which was the conversation with Patti Smith held in the Limonaia of the Villa La Pietra.

She performed a few songs for us. Including the one that Randi was recently obsessed with--the one with the line, "She is sublimation." And she sang "People have the power." Oh, so good.

But being that it was a conversation, Patti mainly just talked as spurred on by student questions. She talked about enthusiasm and her favorite line from that book The Alchemist that the "the universe conspired to help the shepherd because of his enthusiasm." And talked about all that it takes to be a sincere Christian is to obey Christ's "eleventh" commandment--"love one another." She talked about Christianity being just that simple. People get too caught up in the esoteric and in the power games forget that Christ's message was point-blank.

We couldn't let her go without bring up questions of political activism and she said she learned a very important lesson from Ralph Nader, "When you fight corruption and the institution, you have to be prepared to lose." But Patti went on that this doesn't mean you become all cynical and throw yourself prostrate to the system. You just be a little thorn and hopefully you can make the system bleed. And maybe if enough of us are little thorns, it will bleed out.

But she went on to say that she isn't an activist. She's just a citizen. And she wishes she didn't have to waste her immagination writing songs about Guantanamo and bombings in Lebanon, but sometimes you just have to.

Patti Smith, you're awesome.

Laundry: Italian Style

100 % cotton? no worries. this stuff isn't shrinking.

but i may need to get the iron out.

A night out with Laura and Fabio

here's a picture of Coquinarius

Last Thursday, my night-life loving roommate decided to take me out. She has this friend, Fabio, who has a car, so all of Tuscany was within our grasp. While the evening was still young, we ventured to Chianti--which is not a city but a province--where life was tranquil and there was nothing to do. Except taste wine. Fabio and Laura each got a glass, which they assured me was mediocre. Thn Laura began to insist that only 50% of the wine was made from San Genovese grapes (those specific to the vineyards of Chianti) while Fabio insisted that there was no way Chianti wine would be less than 70% San Genovese, and the argument persisted the entire night.

After being unimpressed with Chianti we ventured back to Florence blasting music all the way. We listened to a little Bob Dylan, Hendrix, and Battisti--the Italian Bob Dylan. Anytime the words to songs were known we were obliged to sing along.

So, as dusk was just beginning to settle, it was too early to turn in. Thus, we went bowling. The venue was called "Crazy Bowling" which shows the sport is not indigenous to Italy. Further, all the balls' weights were expressed in pounds which suggested that all of the bowling balls were imported. Now those would cost a fistful of Euros to ship! I managed to outscore Laura, but Fabio beat us all.

After our game of "crazy bowling" we wandered a few meters over to the billiards where we played a few games of 2-on-1 pool. And I was abysmal. I said, 'Ho un billiardo alla casa mia! Ma non sono brava!' And I lived up to my word. I think in two games, I only hit one ball in. At least I never scratched though.

Then the pinacle of the evening, dinner. The three of us went to the restaurant where Laura works as a waitress, Coquinarius. Fabio and Laura downed two bottles of wine (although Laura did insist in pouring glasses for her two co-workers on shift). And we ate the most delicious antipasti including prosciutto stuffed with different things, and bread with brie, honey, and almonds. Oh, and stuffed zucchini! Mmmm. For the main course, on Laura's suggestion I ordered raviolini with pear and cheese. Yes, pear. I was worried that I would detest the flavor combination, but it was sooooooooooo gooooooooooood! I was too full to try any dessert, but Fabbio and Laura insisted I taste theirs. Interestingly, Fabio also insisted that the Americans at the table over try a bite of his dessert. They were slightly abashed, but gave in to the opportunity to eat a bit of chocolate cake.

Laura and Fabio then commenced to talk with a French couple sitting across the aisle from our table--in French. I thought of counting to ten or saying 'je suis une jolle fille' just to hop in the conversation, but refrained.

Now it was midnight, and while Laura and Fabio had no intention of turning in, I was spent. So I was brought home where I slept quite well after a busy day.

Note that the post before this occurred the same day!

What I did today. And before 2, at that.

I visited the church Dante attended. The very one in which he first saw his great inspiration--Beatrice. It was a cozy little church. And by that I mean small. Very small.
I got stuck in the rain. I am now donning a very frizzy ponytail.

I took a picture of Firenze from the upper levels of the Palazzo Pitti.

I took a picture of the outside of the Palazzo Pitti; I'm not sure of its historical significance--However, I think Napoleon Bonaparte had it renovated as one of his residences after he took over Italy in the late-18th early-19th century.

It was huge! And loaded with amazing art. I had gone for the futurist exhibit "Gianna Futurista" but also wandered the halls jam-packed with Renaissance art including a few Boticellis and Raffaels. Amazing.

And the best part is I have a special "amici" card so I can go for free as often as I desire.

Catch-22

I always meant to finish that book, but have not gotten around to it as of yet.

Nevertheless, while I may not be facing the Catch-22 of a World War II fighter pilot, I have my own dilemma:

I can close the balcony door and drown in a pool of my own sweat,

or

I can leave the door wide open and be eaten alive by florentine mosquitoes.

Right now, I'm opting for leaving the door open. While the mosquito bites will surely be driving me mad by morning, I'm hot now. And the breeze is so nice. I could write a love letter to it.

l'appartamento mio

This is the ingresso/entrance. That is a futon, potential visitors.
This is the kitchen. Complete with a microwave and a washing machine.

Here's cooking with gas in the kitchen.

This is the bathroom, equipped with a bidet.

This is the giant balcony connecting to my bedroom.

This is where I sleep.

FIRENZE

You are viewing original Roni Scheidler photographs. It is about a thirty minute walk from my domicilio to the the centro di Firenze so strolling to the Duomo di Santa Maria dei Fiori is just a pleasant giro away. Once you know the way. I wore out my legs to the extreme meandering the cobbled streets of Florence thinking that I would rely on my intuition to guide me to my destination. Unwise move. By the time I made it the the Duomo and wandered a bit then found the road back to my apartment I thought there was a mild chance that my legs would never take another step. And the next morning my feet were rebelling against holding my body vertical, although the most virulent protesters against my excessive walking were my calves. Man, did they ache for a few days.

Florence is great, and everyone knows I am a dedicated Italophile, but I miss everybody. Nothing instills you with more appreciation for home and all if its comforts (especially friends and family!) than the dawning realization on your first week abraod that you will not see them for ten months. I miss you all and hope that you will correpond with me (facebook, email, a letter!).

Alive and in Florence

For once, my travel plans went off without a hitch. Now unexpected overnight stays in Atlanta no last minute running to a different terminal to catch the last flight to my destination. It was almost too easy.

Anyway, I was being very frugal and bought the cheapest ticket to Florence I could find. I thought, I can just sleep and relax as the great steel marvel that is the steam-engine driven train propels me to my destination. I knew I had booked a regional train and new that meant no air conditioning. I thought I could handle it. But the ride was five hours long, and sleeping was not so easy. This is because everytime we would stop, which was every 5-15 minutes the beautiful, beloved breeze would stop blowing in my face and I just sat in the blaring sunlight. I was also to afraid to fall deeply asleep because I was paranoid about things being stolen. But anyway, I made it and though my winks of sleep were few and far between they did manage to rejuvenate me and allow me to make it to my final destination.

My apartment is quite awesome. I have taken pictures and will post them as soon as our internet is up. I am currently at an internet cafe.

Mi sono laureata!

Yep, I did it! I have a bachelor of arts degree. I wonder if that means it would be appropriate to sign my name Veronica Scheidler, B.A.

I have actually been done with classes since mid-June, but something about donning that cap and gown and listening to speakers talk about all of your accomplishments while admonishing you to be humble that makes you realize--this is kind of a big deal!

However, there was one point in the ceremony where I offered to hand back my diploma. Turns out I can't follow simple directions and messed up the processional. My mom can tell that story. She gets quite a kick out of it.

So, yep, I did it! Thanks to everyone who has supported and encouraged me! I couldn't do it without you! I owe an especially large amount of gratitude to my parents! I hope the copious amount of exclamation marks sufficiently illustrate the depth of my appreciation!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Now, it's off to Italy...

I have a place to live!

So, finding an inexpensive lodging from the comfort of one's computer is not so easy. Especially, if you are looking for a lodging in a foreign country. All the appartments on craiglist for Florence were mainly geared toward tourists planning a short-term romp in the land gelato, pizza, and the Renaissance. So, I just started doing general searches in Italian and stumbled across this Italian site that was akin to craigslist and found loads of offerings.

I set my heart on this one shared room that had cheap rent, high speed internet, and a washing machine. I first expressed my interest via email, probably a month ago, and was sent additional information and then was told they were still deciding for about a month. Foolishly, I had invested all of my hopes in this room and hadn't worked out a back-up plan.

Sunday I received an email that said the roommates would decide who their next cohabitator would be and was asked "Sei ancora interessata?" Are you still interested? Nonchalantly, I replied, "Si, sono ancora interessata." Then several hours later, I thought, "Playing it cool will not work; I'm down to the wire!" So, I wrote an email that said, "Actualmente, voglio la camera con tutto il mio cuore!" Actually, I want the room with all of my heart.

Monday, no word.


With Italy being 8 hours ahead of Mountain Standard Time, I had expected an email to be in my inbox when I woke up. I checked my email nearly every hour until I realized it was 2 am in Florence. I had resigned myself to believing that my correspondent had found a better potential roommate. I frantically sent out emails to every other room that I was potentially interested in Monday night.

Then, Tuesday morning, my email inbox was full. Several of those I had emailed in my desperation provided information about their rooms, but I glanced over those to read the one from Angela, the landlady I'd been writing to.

La camera e' la tua.

i think this will be my room

Now, with such wonderful news I should end this post. But, I want to treat myself to a miniature rant. The Honorary Vice Consulate, a lawyer in Salt Lake City, will be gone until Monday! So I can't send my papers to the official San Francisco consulate until he gets back and I can apply before him, in person.



However, while they say there can be crazy hold-ups on visas, I was told to expect that I should have it back in 2-3 weeks--once it is sent out.

NYU in Florence

So, I am a graduate of Brigham Young University with a Bachelor's of Arts in Humanities with a history emphasis.

Thus, a new adventure begins...

I applied to the Italian Studies M.A. program at NYU, hardly expecting to be accepted; however, around mid-may a large envelope bearing NYU insignia arrived in the mailbox. I thought to myself, "They don't send rejection letters in such sizable envelopes. Maybe I've been wait listed." But no, glory be, I'd been accepted. I immediately began to peruse craigslist for housing in Manhattan.

Then...twist!

Turns out NYU has a center in Florence where they offer graduate classes in a setting where that Master's degree can be earned in a year or less. Turns out that they will also give you $3000 and a 30% tuition discount to study there. Turns out it is set on an 65-acre estate donated to the university in 1994 with grounds and an art collection worth $500 million. Turns out, housing can be a lot cheaper in Florence.this is a picture of the Villa La Pietra

So, I have a one-way ticket purchased to leave the ol' US of A for Italy on August 25.

Now I just have to hope my housing and visa go through!