Explorations

This morning I got up and went to the Museum of the Opificio del Pietre Dure, or the museum for this workshop of precious and semi precious stones that was established in the time of the Medicis. It was incredible workmanship, and yes there were many shinies. However, since this is not an uber popular place the placards were all in Italian. I muddled through as best I could...I now know, for example, that "porfiro" is the Italian for porphryr, or however you spell it. I spent only a short time there, and then I went to the Museum of San Marco, where I get in free because I have this handy dandy membership card they gave us for state museums. I wasn't really even thinking when I went in there what exactly was IN san Marco...so I get inside, where once again, there are no English explanations of anything, and I start realizing there's a lot of stuff by Fra Angelico. Ah, very nice, lovely, lovely. Including one piece, Sacred Conversation, we just looked at in our Renaissance Art of the Courts. But I'm still somehow not putting two and two together from my Art History survey classes, not even after I see on the map "Fra Angelico's Cells Upstairs". I think ooh, those frescoed cells! Awesome! But I still don't even realize, until I reach the top of a flight of stairs, exactly what the important artwork it that resides in San Marco--Fra Angelico's Annunciation, one of the most famous of all the works by that name, adorns the wall directly opposite the stairwell. My jaw, quite literally, dropped, partly from seeing this iconic painting and partly from my own stupidity at not remembering the connection.

The frescoes themselves were great, and the cells weren't small and dank--they had pretty windows onto the courtyard and ample space. However, they were freezing even with the benefit of space heaters. There were no fireplaces in the rooms. These poor monks were probably too busy freezing their balls off half the time to care about sinning. Interestingly, not all the frescoes were unique...there were two images that he repeated, identically, over and over. They were both Crucifixion scenes, very gory ones, with blood spurting dramatically all over the place. One had a black background, one had a white background and was differently shaped. I counted 5 of the black ones and no less than 7 of the whites. It interested me to think how they divvied up the room selection--I mean, did you have to have a certain level of seniority to get a cell with a nice fresco like Noli Me Tangere? Did the newbies get stuck with the Crucifixions? Or was there some sort of merit system, like if they catch you eyeing the nuns you get a bloody Christ...maybe if they catch you eyeing the choir boys you got a Virgin Enthroned in Heaven, or something. All very interesting. I bought a print of the Annunciation, and then I went back to this shop I was in yesterday and bought a seal in the shape of a D, and some wax, so I can make seals on my letters. Heehee. I feel deliciously medieval.

Random Musings

I realized, while watching Meredith pen the great american novel last night, that I really need to include more information in my blog. Because, you know, this is going to be my basic memory of the entire trip, having, as I do, a terrible memory of my own. I got up early today to do some homework and check out a vintage shop meredith had mentioned to me near the school. It wasnt so much vintage as your basic secondhand, BUT I found a gorgeous rabbit fur coat for 70 euro. Thats $85 for you gringos. Luckily or unluckily, I had decided not to take my money belt with me today, so I had no credit card and not enough cash. Im going to ask Meredith to go back with me after our Baroque class to see if I actually want to buy it or not. My worry is getting it back to the States, together with my cream colored coat. Thats a lot of coat to fit in my suitcases. I stopped in at a Mailboxes Etc, we have not one but two of them on our street alone, and found out that to ship merely 1 kg to th east coast it costs 35 euro. 10 kilos costs 100 euro. Jesus! Oh yes and my other worry is being stoned by my anti fur mother. See, but the rabbits are already long dead, and its so pretty, and I wants it, I wants it!

So, random things about the city in which I live....Im having the hardest time trying to find something to get drunk on. I dislike wine immensely, beer is out of the question, and Ive asked several liquor dispensing individuals about the possibility of an Amaretto sour with no sucess. Sara reported having had one but that it was terrible. Now, if I can just find out where one purchases sour mix, being unable to find it at the tiny supermarket where we shop, I can pick up the lovely economy size bottle of Disarrono and have myself a wonderful time. As it stands, this Friday we intend to purchase either the $4 vodka or $6 rum and get drunk in our apartment before we go out.

Everyone and their mother here wears boots. I don't know how they manage it with the insane cobblestones that are far too easy to trip over. In Rome, I actually saw a woman at the Colosseum--which had some of the worst cobblestones, plus slanting, uneven stairs inside--in stilettos. The insanity! So basically you're easily pegged as a foreigner or just a poor dresser for not wearing your jeans tucked into some kind of boot. Ah well. I have been spoken to in Italian several times, so maybe I just look like some kind of Italian country mouse to them. Oh and I helped an Asian lady find the Duomo yesterday! Except I think I sent her the wrong way, and I lost my wonderful Rae-given Berlitz map shortly thereafter. So it wasn't really a good thing.

I must admit that I'm suffering from the lack of reading material. I was very excited by the idea of the Paperback Exchange, but sadly it was not at all as whimsical and cheap as I had hoped. It was depressingly upscale and used English novels were priced about 6 euro. There was a bargain section, but the selection was so meager I almost considered buying "Middlemarch" because it was fifty cents. Except then I realized it would probably make me want to kill myself. I've finished reading Lamb twice, and read Carla's pride and prejudice, but I need more books. Stay tuned for news of Michelle's Booksearch.

I started classes yesterday. Italian looks like its going to be fun, if I could just stop calling it Spanish class. Museology looks to be hard but interesting; we go to six museums during class hours, and have to visit another six on our own and write reports on them. I didn't really know what museology entailed, but I started reading the textbook today and spent half an hour learning about market research and viability assessments. It's eerily utilitarian, something I never expected from any art history class.

Meredith and I have Baroque in about an hour, but I think I need a panini to hold me over until then. Yes, I have consented to like these meatless sandwiches--and I like the ones at the bar across from the school best because they're 1.80.

Note

Also, I bought Italian sneakers because my darling pink ones are dead. These ones are basically the colors of the german flag--red in front, black in the back, and yellow in the center. I feel so European.

We're going to Venice for Carnival on the 18th!!!

Back in Firenze

Home, sweet home, or at least close to it. It's wonderful to be off that damned tour, since most of the kids we were with were more interested in getting shitfaced every night and stumbling around hung over the next day than with actually enjoying what we were seeing. After a large group of these moronic girls stayed out till 630 am our last night in Rome, wake up call being 7am, they were all complaining when we stopped in the gorgeous hilltop town of Assisi for a tour of St Francis' birthplace on the way back to Florence. We're off the bus for five minutes and one of them is whining, "ugh, i've already seen enough of this place. let's go". Five of the guys didn't even bother with a tour, they just slunk off to a bar and came racing to catch the bus when we left. It annoys me, so much, that they're wasting this opportunity, when so many people who would have a far greater level of appreciation can't be here. Anyway, we don't have to associate with them anymore. Thank god.

I don't have any classes today, so it's mostly errands. It got colder...apparently we were just being treated nice the first week! Oh well. Ps, my webshots page is up, I put the link up top. If it doesnt work, just search webshots home for my username, which is infinitchaos.

Roma

So here we are in Rome on the orientation tour. I'll be honest--I already miss Florence. Florence is an adorable mini city, everything is reachable on foot, everything is clean and mostly quiet besides the hum of Vespas; Rome is a real city, complete with filth, homeless people, noise, scary people, etc etc. Florence already feels like home compared to this. However, Rome does have amazing sights, many of which we saw today--MANY, I say, because we walked all over the freaking city. And this is not a walking city entirely. We walked from the Vatican to Castel St. Angelo, across the river, took a bus to the Coliseum, and then walked back to our hotel which was not exactly nearby. Its been a long day and I have earned the booze I hope to shortly be imbibing. The Vatican was maginificent, although we didnt get a full chance to see its treasures; it was mostly St Peters and the Sistene Chapel. Ive taken a ton of great photos, so exciting, plus surreptitious video inside the Sistene Chapel. Carla has been taking short, humorous videos of all of us at various points of interest, which we will soon compile into a wondrous cd of hilarity and friendship.

First Post From Florence

Where to begin, where to begin...well, the apartment that I share with Meredith, Carla and Anna is utterly gorgeous. I was expecting somewhat of a slum or at least cramped accomodations, but we have more space than we know what to do with! This place, 33 Via San Gallo, was built mid 17th century by a Florentine musician. It was passed around from hand to hand before being purchased, 100 years ago, by my landlords great grandmother. In short, I live in a former Renaissance palazzo! Our ceilings are like 20 feet high, we have a closet complex thats like the size of my room at home, antique furniture, a washing machine in the kitchen, and a window that opens onto an interior courtyard. At night, delicious smells of cooking from someone elses apartment float up.

The past two days have been orientation, as well as exploration. Unlike many of our fellow compatriots, we've been doing our best to explore the city, which is small and quite safe. The men are just as appreciative as the stories claim, though I haven't been physically molested yet haha. More like they whistle and say things to us in the street, or in one slightly pathetic case, run up to us from inside a store window waving madly. We haven't gone out and partied yet--it's incredibly exhausting after we walk for hours and hours, especially to come home to a building that requires about 60 feet of staircases to get to the second floor! Old, vastly elegant stone staircases, with marble statues in the walls, but it's still a goddamned hike to get up there. Sara lives about a 20 minute walk from us. It's so surreal to be with her in the same city! The food is ok, we haven't really gone out to a fancy restaurant yet, though, just little bars and cafes for food. Pasta is not available here as snack food, which is disappointing, though I did get some nice penne at the Mercado Central, the giant fresh food market, yesterday. Tonight we're making dinner at our apartment for the first time, just spaghetti and risotto, plus we bought a dessert wine to go with it--this will be my official first wine. God knows if I'll like it or not, but I intend to try. Last night was our welcome dinner at Palazzo Borghese: this is a picture of where we ate . http://www.dimorestoriche.com/immagini/dimore/539_01.gif Now, it would have been a lot nicer had we actually sat down, since we'd been walking all day, but they had us do it buffet style at these little standing tables, which was kinda weird.

I really can't say enough about Florence. The city itself is gorgeous, everywhere you look the most exotic sights are attracting your eye. The architecture, the art, the landscapes, even the people are fascinating. It's rather embarassing that I can't communicate with them, so I look forward to my Italian class.

Tomorrow morning we leave for Rome, Orvieto and Assisi, where I can finally be a tourist and take a million pictures! I haven't been bringing my camera anywhere because I don't want to be looked at as a tourist lol. They advised us that if you frequent the same bars and cafes a lot, eventually they will warm up to you and start talking. PS, bars here serve soda, snacks, and pizza as well as alcohol. Coke is dispensed from a tap next to Heineken. All the bottles are slimmer because the fridges are smaller. The people all smoke, and there are no fat people--none. There is a bidet in our bathroom which no one will use. Our shower is the equivalent of a gentle rain, and the heat is only permitted to be on 10 hrs of the day, by national law. The insanity! I love it. I love every minute of it.

Tonight we went up to Fiesole, a little hill town above Florence, to watch the sunset. It cost a whole 2 euro and it was perfect. Most of the kids on this trip have been preoccupied with seeing how many bars they can hit in one night and how many bottles of wine they can swill down---at the 2nd day of orientation people were already hung over. I don't need the alcohol nor do I need the clubbing, but there was something in the air up in Fiesole, something incredibly tranquil, exactly what I was hoping to find.

Sonnet for Sean

The Road to Florence

I read the maps, the guide books until my
head fairly swims with the unfamiliar:
the names of streets, plazas, the proper way
to greet a man or a woman, tips for
hiding the fact that I’m just an ugly
American at heart. Hard enough to
absorb it all, more so since I can see,
so neatly drawn out, the distance that you
will be from where I am—even the stars
will differ in our two hemispheres.
And yet, there is a piece of what is ours
that in me scoffs at such immature fears,
that, knowing what challenges lie ahead,
rises to meet them, arms calmly outspread.

The problem with having other people read your sonnets is that if they're not trained to recognize what makes a sonnet a good sonnet, it just looks to them like fourteen lines that rhyme here and there. It's not all about the iamb, people--give the spondee and the trochee their due! Ah, English jokes....speaking of English, yesterday when Sean and I visited Northwest, I introduced him to Mrs. Juda, our beloved fierce little AP English teacher, and was shocked when she started telling him what a wonderful girlfriend he had. Such a display of sentiment from her is rather surprising as she's generally a very sarcastic and blunt lady. Fitz, true to form, merely pointed out "whip marks" on Sean's back and asked if I'd fitted him for a collar yet. Unfortunately, I neglected to ask him if that "Dating for Dummies" book we gave him junior year has paid off yet.

The best of all was seeing Mr. Tressler. Sean kindly refrained from telling him, as he previously threatened, that he looked just like the tiger that is his namesake...I don't think he needs to know that Heather transformed a stuffed animal into a likeness by sewing on a mustache. I discovered that the HILL class is going to France this year--bitches! I hate them all! Last year they went to England, the year before that to Italy, and where did we go? THE SOUTHWEST!! Bah. The sting of that loss has not been forgotten, I tell you. Ok, our trip didn't suck as much as the class before us--the 9/11 bunch--they had to go to Canada. But you know I think both trips probably wound up being the same temperature. Now, the HILL class going to France means two things--number one, that when they hit Paris, a certain H. Flan had better be ready to swoop down and attack with witty comments and scathing criticism of Mr Tressler's organizational deficiencies, and perhaps the tale of Tumbly just for good measure. Number two, it means that I am now, more than ever, committed to making it to Portugal! Just for spite! Sara and I will go and dance upon the soil and shout curses in the language, which we do not know, and perhaps hunt down that boat made entirely of wine corks, which was really the only part of our itinerary which we had even discussed before George Bush ruined my life by invading someplace. Rae suggested we make a point of the four of us journeying to Portugal one day, and I agree, I also feel we should return triumphantly to the Southwest, no earlier in the season than May, or perhaps June to be safe. Oh well--watch it snow on us anyway, just for the hell of it.

Time to Say Goodbye

After Sean had left last night to return to Fairfield, I was really confronted with the immediacy of my departure. Now I'm feeling more sad, and more nervous--not about the change, or the culture shock, I don't think I'll have a problem with that--about leaving my loved ones behind. As independent as I pride myself on being, I think I will in fact have a hard time learning to adjust to a Sean-less life. In one year, the longest time we've gone without seeing each other is two weeks. We'll have to wait three times that to see each other in March, and then even longer till I come home. As I said to him last night, if I were still dating some of the guys he so charmingly dubbed the "MacDonald's hamburgers" (to his top sirloin), I'd definitely have many more reservations about such a separation. Everything will turn out ok, I know, but I think homesickness is going to be more of a problem for me than originally anticipated.

Tapping My Fingers...

I noticed today how many more people are on my AOL screen name's buddy list than my AIM one. Then I remembered how I've steadily pruned people off my AIM list, not just people I rarely talk to, but also people whose sole purpose on the list was to be AIM-stalked, plus some people I do kinda talk to but don't want to anymore, and then a couple of people who I just want to forget exist--muahaha. The result is that I've got about 20 people on my AIM list, which is small but just fine. Why bother with people I don't care about?

Last night, with nothing else to do, I spent three-and-a-half hours watching Seven Samurai, which is supposed to be Kurosawa's masterpiece. It was really good, better than the Magnificent Seven, though I like that movie too. I should email Dr. Brill and tell her how much I enjoyed it; she had us watch "Ran" for tragedy class, and it was incredibly intense. She also recommended Rashomon as another of his best films, so I got that from the library too. I have to say, Japanese is not the prettiest language, especially as samurai-actors tend to yell their lines a LOT for no apparent reason. I laughed out loud when one character in Seven Samurai actually asked another "why do you yell so much?".

Four more days of work. I can make that. Wednesday our CEO, Jeff Fluhr, is visiting, so they're paying us overtime to attend a dinner in his honor. I'll just pretend it's a send-off bash for me. They shorted me on my paycheck this week, paying me for 1 week instead of 3, so my director was nice enough to have the accounting people Fedex me another check that came this morning; I now have $1300 sitting at my right hand and mmmmm does it feel good! Today while my mom and I were shopping I saw a white rabbit-fur throw for $125, the softest thing you have ever felt, and I was so incredibly tempted. Well, not really tempted, because that is a ludicrous purchase and my mom would rather put me in a neck hold than let me buy fur, her enemy, but oh god, it would have felt so damned good! Why must such a delicious pleasure require the sacrifice of several dozen small mammals? Why can't they ever make a fake fur that doesn't feel fake? Bah. I wish I were rich and conscience-less, then I could buy fur, fur, fur and never care where it came from...

Anniversary

Where to begin the story of the fabulosity that was our anniversary weekend? Well, Friday night I took the train down to the Havens to play poker with Sean's friends, which is always a fun time. About ten people wound up playing, the only women being me, Richardson's mom "Happy" Richardson, and Little Richardson's rather pissy girlfriend who didn't say anything the whole game. Naturally, Sean and I both lost, and I still don't even know who won, because when we left around 1am there were still three people playing. It was a long game.

Saturday we came back up North, and yes there is a division because the Havens have no snow and we have plenty, to go the the bed and breakfast. It's called the Mansion Inn, it's in Manchester, and I absolutely recommend it to anyone and everyone! To begin with, it's an absolutely gorgeous place. Today we ate breakfast in the formal dining room, just six people but spread out on this massive table, and I felt like I was eating at Norland Park. Yeah, that's a little Jane Austen reference for you literati, you love it, I know. The innkeeper, Marianne, is an interesting woman, full of quirky comments, a former librarian and also justice of the peace who has married couples at the inn---cuteness! Our room was the "Lilac Suite", so named because the wallpaper was dark blue dripping with lilacs. It was amazing. The preciousness cannot be described. I didn't bring a camera unfortunately and then I was going to buy a disposable but then I decided, no, for once I will not rely on pictures to capture a moment, I will force myself to remember it on my own! Ok, so this room had a massive bed in one corner, with five gazillion layers because Victorians didn't like fluffy things, just lots of thin things. It had a fireplace. It had a sofa. It had a wood-lined study with the little roll-top desk thing, and old-fashion closet space, and a gorgeous art-deco peach-colored bathroom. It had a portrait of the girl who used to live in it, there was fresco by Marianne on the bathroom wall, there were two giant bookcases and--love this--a little sign that told you to take any book you wanted home with you (I took "Day of the Jackal", Sean took "The Fat Boy's Book"--long story). And, best of all, there was a diary--the diary of the Lilac Suite itself, with entries from all the people who have stayed there. It was so awesome to read people who had spent their wedding nights --one couple wrote that they had been married by Marianne--or their anniversaries in the same room. This morning, as I sat in the adorable little study, I wrote that I really hoped that the inn would become our anniversary tradition. It was so incredibly special--not the least because, you know, it was my anniversary of one year of being with sean, which is just INSANITY because it feels like we've been together for so much longer!

Oh, but the inn's fabulosity is not over. This morning we had breakfast with the two other couples who had been staying at the inn, both older couples, with such diammetrically opposed lives. One couple, Bill and Shelley Browne, were from Brandon VT, a town of 4,000, where Bill was the town pharmacist. The others, Richard and Thelma Boudreau, were from Baton Rouge. Richard, as it happens, is a foreign correspondent for the L.A. Times, and tomorrow he's leaving for Iraq for six weeks--he was already there last March. His wife travels the world working with developing nations on improving their water supplies--she mentioned Cambodia and West Africa as two places she's been. So it was very interesting, I really enjoyed the company if not the food, which was cinnamon french toast, blegh. I won't provide any graphic details about our private celebrations, but there was a fireplace with a couch in front of it, and that was awesome, enough said. Best anniversary ever, to go with the best boyfriend ever.

Muaha

So here I am, blogging sneakily from the Stub...muahaha. Luckily I do emails so quickly that I can basically chill out my last hour and I've still done more than anyone else. Thank you AIM for training my fingers to superhuman quickness.

I'm excited for the weekend, which is....drumroll.....my one year anniversary with Sean!!!! The only other guy I've had an anniversary with was Greg, and it was the day after we got back from the Southwest and I was so beat--we wound up going out for Chinese. Nice Chinese, my favorite chinese, but nothing spectacular. This time around--oh boy---we're doing it the old-fashioned way, a bed and breakfast in Manchester. So excited...fireplaces and antique books and all!

The time of departures has begun; Jen went back to Brooklyn and Rae to Wellesley, and I won't see either till May (guess which one saddens me more). On Monday Sara leaves, then Heather on Tuesday. People here at the office were talking about making plans for Friday the 13th and I was initially like ooooh but then ohhhhhhh, if that makes any sense...although the next day we will be making the trek to Norwood for Sean to meet the extended fam.

Only two weeks left at Stubhub. Yes. It's so hard to encompass the idea of actually leaving, and I haven't had the anticipated panic attack yet over leaving my mom behind alone....but neither have I attempted to teach her the internet, so we'll see how that goes.

Almost New Year's

Has it really only been a year? 365 days ago, I remember feeling so sad over Sean's departure from Fairfield, and all crazy-conflicted over what exactly my feelings were towards him. Could everything else that has happened since then really have happened? Relativity always seems to be in effect in relationships, so that small durations of time are expanded (see my upcoming four-month stint in Florence) while longer durations are compressed, with the result that, as it so often does, it alternately feels like forever and yesterday that Sean and I started dating. Strangely, this doesn't seem to apply to friends, really. I never get the feeling that it was "only yesterday" that Sara and I became friends, or when Carla and I got to know each other. I guess once you're close friends with someone, it just feels like they've always been there for you.

Last night was, although brief, one of those magical evenings that leave me convinced that someday, when we're all divorced or widowed or otherwise unentangled, the four of us are going to be the next generation of Golden Girls. Now, I'd probably wind up being Dorothy because she's the most sarcastic one; Heather would be Blanche, for obvious reasons; Sara would have to be Rose because I just can't see Rae being Rose, plus she's the perfect size to be Sofia. I'm not sure if we'd live in Florida, though Heather would undoubtedly love the fanny-pack-adorned crowds and have fun mullet-hunting. Maybe a nice brownstone outside of the city? Or maybe, if we all make boatloads of money, we can buy that castle house in West Hartford, and have our suites and our maids with our common areas in the turret rooms. Oh, dreams..... It'll probably never happen--I mean, god willing, our spouses will not all die on us or divorce us--but it's comforting, somehow, to think of us older and grayer but still together.

Since this will be my last post before the New Year, I suppose I should think of some sort of resolution, but of course I never really make resolutions and keep them, not impossible ones like "do not fight when jen", anyway. This is my resolution: to never lose the people who matter the most to me, no matter what kind of distance or differences of lifestyle separate us. That would be the greatest blessing I think I could ever give myself.

Winter

The semester's over, and here I am back in Windsor until the 29th of January. While it was an utter relief to leave that pigsty that Carla and I were forced to call home, it was still bittersweet to be leaving Fairfield and Sean behind. Alas. I'm back at Stubhub, and I'll be working 40 hour weeks again until I leave at the end of January. I was gratified to see how excited everyone one was to have me back, surprised at how easily I slipped into the old routine, and dismayed by how incredibly stressful the last two days have been. It's the week before Christmas and it seemed that every caller had made it his or her personal mission to be as rude as possible to me. It's not my fault that you didn't realize that tickets you just bought for a game in May won't arrive in time for Christmas, nor is it my fault that Fedex lost the gift for your husband/daughter/mother. The real kicker was the possibly retarded man with a severe speech impediment who was yelling at me for "not treating him like a human being" and, later, "not treating him like a VIP" because I informed him that he could not post tickets for a game that happens in two days. Peace on Earth, goodwill toward men...right.

The good thing about so much work is that it will keep me occupied after the 10th, by which time Rae will have gone back to school and Sara and Heather will have already left to go abroad. After the 16th, the Fairfield kids go back to school. It's a depressing thought that I'll be alone with no one to hang out with after work, but then I suppose it's lucky that work leaves me so exhausted that I barely feel like hanging out. Tonight Sara and I were supposed to kibbutz over our Italy plans, make lists and our maps, but I was just too wiped to drive anywhere. My plans for the evening include taking apart my mom's latest crazy purchase, the Wovel---a gigantic shovel mounted on a wheel, which I was bribed into assembling last night--so she can take it back to the store, and watching SVU. Fascinating, I know.

I realized in moving out just how much CRAP I have. Where did I get all this stuff? Why do I keep it? I have no idea. I looked around my room last night and saw cat ears, a sword, not one but two crowns, a wand, a cone, a starfish, more stuffed animals than I know what to do with...and yet I can barely bring myself to part with any of it. Well, the stuffed animals will shortly be pared down. People need to stop giving me stuffed animals, I need to stop winning stuffed animals, because they serve no purpose, barely even a decorative function. Some, of course, are special--Racoony, Mr T the Tiger, Mr Bojangles, etc. But the raccoon I won myself at the Shad Derby? Nah. He may have sat on my desk all summer at Stubhub, but I think his time for donation has come.

Symphony Adventures

This was, in a way, my birthday weekend, since the symphony tickets were my present from Sean. It was a wonderful night, with a charming dinner at yet another Italian restaurant where I attempted to decode the lengthy list of ingredients to determine which dishes I might actually like (apparently I'm not big on "fancy" cuisine"), and the pleasure of being all dressed up for the symphony itself. It was performed in Woolsey Hall, which is part of Yale's campus, and which is just stunning inside. The music was excellent, though it began with kind of boring Salieri music, then slightly less boring Mozart, but finished strongly with Beethoven, albeit his lesser-acclaimed Fourth Symphony. Sean and I agreed that we dislike that teasing thing that classical music does--doing all this crazy leadup as if to a huge finale but than dancing away to these little delicate little melodies, and then doing it over and over again, before finally getting to the thunderous conclusion. It's like foreplay--it's good, but too much is just really really frustrating.

Last night was just one of those amazing nights when we lay awake in bed in the dark just talking for hours, about anything and everything, and feeling so incredibly close and loved that it was just the absolute best feeling I've ever had. Waking up this morning was, as expectedly, slightly less grand, since I am infamous for my not-morning-person-ness. Sean was disturbed by my fiendish aversion to the sunlight--ie, insisting on hiding under the covers even though the shades were closed. He also decided I'm inhuman in that I always sniff unfamiliar food before I'll try it, and if it doesn't smell right to me, I won't. He says this is catlike and weird, but I think it's a perfectly decent way to determine which foods I will like and which I will hate. Even if I do taste the foods that smell weird--like many, many instances of my mom's kitchen creations--I never like them. My nose does not fail me!

Today was a busy day--we helped Linda a little bit with the basement work, picking up the carpets and getting a bookcase. Sean and I built it together, which was much easier than I anticipated, and it's so pretty! All dark wood. We got all his books into it, and cleaned his room and partially Hubbard's porch, which made her so happy. Poor Linda, she works full time, is working on this basement thing, and has to deal with Hubbard's comments and her sister's demands--she really needs a break. I felt so bad for her. I need to come up with some sort of good gift for her, since I already have Hub's--who apparently mentioned to Sean something about a sweater for me, eek.

I never stop wondering at what I've done to be so incredibly blessed.

Self-Aggrandizing Recollections

Well, despite the cold it's been an interesting few days, and I feel like recording recent events. Last night was english major career night, which itself was not too interesting; however, after I asked Dr. O'Driscoll, my weirdo world lit professor who I was quite certain did not like me, if I could go, she said "well, you're going to grad school of course, right?". I replied in some combination of er, um, not really, too expensive, to which she then responded by telling me I need to go into a phD program which will pay all my expenses. Again I hedged a bit because, after all, how many jobs are out there for English professors? This is the part where Sally looked me with this strange eagle-eye stare of which only she is capable and said, in her equally odd french-english-irish accent "i only tell this to one or two students per year. think about it." and then proceeded to continue staring at me as I backed away. It was the strangest thing, almost like being caught in the gaze of a hynoptic snake, except I guess you really have to see Sally in action in order to appreciate this comparison. Anyway, not that she suddenly won me over to English grad school, but it was nice to hear, especially from a professor who I felt was stubbornly refusing to love me in the way all professors must *grins*

Speaking of, I had a chat with my Philosophy professor, Dr. Brill, the other day--she's so nice, and quite the excellent dresser as well (Sara, I feel like you would totally appreciate the way she dresses, she even has a similar figure) and anyway, Dr. Regan had apparently talked to her about how he had me in Comedy and now she has me in Tragedy, and he told her I was interested in a Fulbright, so she offered to be my second advisor in the process after Jesus, which was really nice of her. Incidentally, she went to Frieburg or however you spell that, the same place TJ's going, and she really loved it.

Dr. Bridgford, meanwhile, who is such a constant source of praise for her students (Kay and I had a long chat today about how much of a picker-upper just talking to Dr. Bridgford for like five minutes can be, she makes you so certain that you'll be a complete success in life) told me on Monday that she and Jesus were at some dinner together last week and that they were apparently excited to discover that they both have me in class--and even better, he told her that he looks forward to reading my papers because they're so well-written. Manna from the heavens--and it sucks so badly that I'll probably never have a class with him again, unless he offers Arts of Spain.

Finally, this morning's meeting with Dr. Sapp offered one really amazing and, unlike the above, practical piece of good news, related to the Greenwood Press internship I want for fall. I told him how Katy, the know-it-all, gave me such a horrible impression of the job, how she said she'd tried to quite, etc etc, but that Bridgford said it was a great experience. Dr. Sapp just looks at me and says "Er...is she a friend of yours?". No she is not, so my mind was immediately saying "Go on....". Apparently, they've had a terrible experience this semester, but not with the internship--with HER. muahahaha. He said to ignore her completely and that they have no intention of placing her anywhere next semester. I know I shouldn't feel malicious glee about this but I kind of do. So he said I can apply while I'm in Florence, interview when I come back, and if I get the job I won't go in there acting like I am the be-all-and-end-all of publishing knowledge, because that's apparently what put her on Sapp's shit list. More than any malice, though, I'm just legitmately excited about the opportunity, and so glad that it's not some crappy coffee internship. I really need to find out if I like publishing, so I can start deciding what the hell I'm going to do with the rest of my life.

As I said to Sean last night, there are just so many options that I really just don't know what to do. M.F.A and M.L.A.s might be nice, but those programs usually don't pay for you. Publishing might require me to be in the city. Art history, I don't know if I have the requisite passion, at least not a specialized passion. Creative writing--now there, I feel like I can be much more passionate about the field, and it does interest me, but would I really go get a phD in that, and would I have a job afterward? Kay told me that I'm way too practical about this and that she doesn't factor in the job market in her plans...but I'd really like to have a job, you know. Then there's the Fulbright issue: number one, am I going to do a proposal (if so, on WHAT) and b, should I bother doing it if I decide not to go to grad school? I mean, if I'm headed into the workforce anyway, a Fulbright will be a year when I have no job and I'll have to start from scratch when I get back. It's just so much to think about. I get anxious just thinking about the future. I told Sean how jealous I am of his clear path, his determination. I have determination too, but I lack a particular place to apply it at the moment.

Bah. I have to study for Mullan's crazy test. Brr.

Snow

As so often happens, I have failed to regularly update here. Lately, Sean and I have read through a lot of the older entries, especially ones from freshman year, which were plentiful, excitable, and sometimes even nonsensical. Despite inward groans about how ridiculous I often sound, it's so valuable a thing to have, simply because I can really see how far I've come. It's of special value to me as well since I don't have the greatest memory for events, even if there are a few (fusco, dirk, tommy) that I would greatly prefer to forget.

I hope I have a chance to update my journal from Italy, I really do. Even though I'll probably be keeping a print journal for one of the few times in my life--the others being my first Europe trip, and then the Southwest trip--just so I can really record my reactions to things as I see them. I found my mom's journals from her trips to Europe once; her handwriting wasn't as good then, so maybe I still have a shot at such perfection? lol.

So, as my time winds down here, I've started to really feel what it's going to be like, being separated from Sean for four months. This does not please me. Especially after, while reading the orientation manual, I found out that since the mail service is unreliable, letters can reach the US anywhere from 3 weeks to 6 freakin' months! Now yes, you may all chant "email!" but honestly, can an email ever compare to getting those crazy envelopes with the red and blue border and an international stamp? No way.

Everything will turn out as it should, I know that. Work will get done, tests will get done, the time will pass. Apparently some of my housemates were wondering over dinner if I had plans to dump Sean before I go abroad, and my mind could not even wrap itself around the magnitude of the stupidity that I would require to be able to do such a thing. Please. Almost one year later, I can say without a doubt that it's been the best year of my life.

Quickie

These days I seem to alternate between frantic anxiety about the future, and an almost zen-like acceptance of the scary inevitabilities of life. Sometimes I'm making myself near sick with worry about where I'll live, what kind of job I'll have, how Sean and I are going to handle being separated, etc etc, and sometimes I just think that it will all work itself out and there's no use worrying about it right this second.

I forced myself not to open up Greenwood Press' website to download the internship application before bedtime, because that just causes more stress and plus, I have to talk to Dr. Bridgford about it first. I've decided I want to intern fall semester, so I can get an earlier taste of whether or not I'll be into publishing. I think I'll also apply to the grant-writing program in Bridgeport. The New Yorker one sounds glamorous, but I hate the city and fetching coffee for a semester would make me hate it even more.

The knowledge that Sean will be in grad school until 2013 is a weird and foreign thought at best, and it's usually one of the things I worry about the most (this is one thing that you single people can feel a measure of satisfaction in, that you don't have to factor another person into your future plans). Long-distance relationships are never easy and heaven knows I haven't loved them in the past, but I have an incredible amount of confidence in our relationship and its ability to thrive even under adverse conditions. It will just be quite the transition when I no longer get the pleasure of seeing him on a daily basis (thinks of Sara's flower/gardener analogy, smiles). We'll be OK, I know we will. I just have to suppress the childish demand for everything in life to be easy.

Carla always emphasizes, as a Protestant would, the virtue of sacrifice, and how you can't-have-it-all-you-have-to-choose blah de blah--well dammit, I DO want it all and I intend to have it, one way or another. I'm like the Antigone of the post-modern Jean Anouihl version: I want everything to be beautiful and amazing and with all of the infinite possibility that the world ever held when I was a child and if I can't have it then I'll just let my uncle wall me up inside a tomb and hang myself. OK, so maybe I'm not quite like Antigone. But I'm still greedy, I still want so many things--most of them aren't material things, it's more ideals that I desire. Like the library with the roaring fireplace and the cushy chairs, or the living room aglow with holiday decorations like you see in those ridiculously smarmy television commercials, or the yellow kitchen with the green plates! (I really want that last one).

I think the best way to describe the way I feel is the part in HP4 (that's the Goblet of Fire) when Mad-Eye puts the Imperius Curse on Harry and tells him to jump on the desk and he resists--he says that he was both trying to jump forward and trying to stay put and just wound up just crashing head-first into the desk. Yes, that about sums it all up. I think with that it's bedtime.

Missing the Old Days...Except Not Really

So I just saw pictures of Greg and his band online from some recent gig--somehow he looks exactly like I always think of him and yet in another way I thought "whoa, who's the crazy bearded guy?". Nostalgia is a strange thing, it's welcome and unwelcome at the same time. I wouldn't trade my life right now for anything, much less the constraints of high school, but things were so much more innocent back then, if I may pretend to be so jaded at only 20 years of age. We didn't have to think about much in terms of our concrete futures besides getting into college--now we have to think about the real world, careers, relationships, and all of that. How long ago, the days when Sara and I were dating the drummer and lead singer, respectively, of a little band called Untold Inside. Even now I can't help laughing at the thought of those days. I would pay in gold for a copy of that CD, if only Heather and I could drive home from Northwest one more time yelling out the lyrics. Heterolifemate, I will always think of you when I hear "to breathe, to feel, to know I'm aliheeeeeve"...

But going forward to current times, Sean and I actually went on our second date of the semester this weekend--dating is so different when you see each other all the time! I do so love dates, though, even though the butterflies of the old days are gone. There's nothing as beautiful as strolling through town on a Saturday night with someone you love holding your hand. Not to mention the fact that there were PENGUINS, oh yes, we saw March of the Penguins for the second time, baby penguins are so frickin' cute it's disgusting, I want one desperately as a pet, and with that, goodnight.

Plotting

I really don't want to live here next year, I've realized that. As much as I love 121, I love how we've decorated it, I like having the theater parties conveniently in my basement, I just can't stand the thought of putting up with the rest of this crap my senior year. I'm tiring of always finding our house filthy, so filthy, in fact, that Sean and Mike said they had to breathe through their noses the other night in our living room! I don't want to spend senior year tidying up and grumbling with Carla about how everyone else is a pig. Carla shouldn't have to freak out and clean all the time. For crying out loud, 87 is cleaner than our house, and they're MEN!

I also just frankly don't want to live with these girls anymore. It's not that they're bad...Ioanna, for example, is a wonderful girl, but she's constantly screaming and running up and down the stairs and generally going mad. There's always people coming in and out like the place is a homeless shelter (theater people generally don't knock, either). Let's face it, I don't like people. I'm a misanthrope at heart, though by the grace of God I manage to co-habitate with Carla. Plus I'm not theater either, which automatically puts me at odds with everyone else in the house. I don't blame them, or anything, it's just something that they're involved with and I'm not. So yeah...it's noisy, filthy, and I guess I'm just getting more and more annoyed with it as time goes on. It's the only thing that's really making me count the days till I move out and go to Italy, because otherwise I'd just want to be thoroughly enjoying all my time here. However, it's difficult to enjoy life in 121 when you have to pick through rubble and crap just to find your backpack in the morning. Argh. Unfortunately, Carla does want to live here next year; mostly she wants to live with Anna, who will be her roommate in Italy. However, we have promised each other that we'll be roommates next semester no matter where we end up. I've just got my fingers crossed that it's not right back here where we started.

This grumpy entry is officially closed, and I will now return to half-heartedly pretending that I absolutely WUV this house.

Sigh

So I just sent Sara off in a Fairfield Cab--after discovering that no, the shuttle to town does not run at 11am on a Monday, hoes that they are--after three wonderful days of almost pretending that she really went here and would never ever leave me. It was so much fun, especially the hayride/pumpkin picking which was chosen as the best moment of the weekend...yeah, non-theater people can do superlatives too, so what now! But alas, all good things must come to an end, and back she goes to Providence to dance for pennies on the streetcorners.

Weird to think we have only two months left of the semester. As soon as Sara left I got this sudden wave of fatigue, of ennui, if you will--suddenly I just wanted the whole damn semester to be over so I can go home and pet my cats and play with the dog and spend time with my friends. How domestic of me, I know. Last night at the party I realized I'm getting a little bit tired of college crap. Nothing out of the ordinary, just the usual--drunk scandalously clad individuals, girls crying on the back porch, in the basement, and on the stairs, waking up to people sleeping on the couches/futons/floors and trash, crushed chips and cans everywhere. Bleh. Then again, I'm really not much of a party person to begin with. I enjoy the prep time and the first hour or so before it becomes a madhouse, but then it's like hm, perhaps I would like to retire upstairs and just chill out. This is except when I'm drunk, of course, which I didn't feel like doing last night, so Sara and I just chilled, and hid in the bathroom at one point pretending to be in a tawdry lesbian hookup, except no one banged on the door quite like we had planned despite Sara's moaning. Good thing I snagged all the comfy couch pillows early to make my bed on the floor upstairs, because people were crashing on the couches this morning and even though I liked the girls, I was still like HA bitches, who slept on the soft shit?

The slide library feels even more confining and boring than usual this morning...I can't believe Eliasoph actually answers his cell phone "Pronto!". Pretentious bastard. Hm, I hope it's not possible for anyone to ever find this journal from this computer at work. Methinks I'll be deleting site histories right about now...conveniently covering up my porn trail, as well. Sweet.