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