This is an epic tale of a Girl and a Bee.

It is Tuesday night; the streets are loud with laughter from the nearby bar. I sit in my bedroom, music blaring through my broken ear buds, and I decide to write.

This evening I walked across the city to listen to Bill Viola speak. He was supposed to inspire me, make me a young artist eager to create, and give me hope for the rest of my life. Instead he spent his time reciting Japanese death poems, reflecting on his experiences with Facebooking the Dalai Lama, and how a woman decorated museum statues with her scarves. Nothing related to his films being played on the screen and I walked out more excited to leave than anything. I was disappointed. I wanted to be enlightened. I wanted to be taught. I wanted to have an experience to tell my Grandchildren (okay, actually, maybe I did not really want that, but it was a good idea at the time.)

My sister, Gabrielle, back in Salt Lake, wrote me a message today saying that a bee attacked her. When asking for details, I realized how entertaining the story was. Although she is in pain, she gave me permission to blog about it and share it with you. Let me give you a background fact: Gabrielle is afraid of bugs. When I say afraid, I mean, she hates them above anything. They terrify her, torment her, and they recently developed a passion of attacking her. Now that you know that, imagine the most beautiful girl ever telling this story. Her words are italicized, while my exaggerations are not.

I was sitting at the table doing my homework like the studios student I am. And well he, the large bee who was the size of Godzilla, was flying around my head whispering threats in my ear like a devil sitting on my shoulder in a cartoon. Dad hit him away twice. Naturally, the bee got angry. So angry that steam was flying out of his little nostrils. He latched onto my nose and stung me and then bit me. Like the way Edward bites the pillows in the intense sex scene in the last Twilight book (cannot wait until I see how they produced that in the theater.) We, being my Mother and Father and I, couldn’t get him off.  I would hit at it hard and then mom hit at it. Then mom punched at it (well she punched at the bee, that happened to be on face, so there for she punched me, which might explain the broken nose (kidding) but do not call parent/children control, because I know she was only trying to help save me from being eaten alive by this ferocious beast and that she really did not mean to smack her knuckle sandwich into my nasal passages. I wonder if a similar incident happened to my sister and that is why she couldn't breathe and had to get surgery.. hmm) and it came off!!!!! I cried like a five year old. I put ice on it, because we had no more bags of frozen peas and I was not going to put a frozen chicken breast on my eye (because that would just be wrong on more than one level) and when I woke up this morning my eye was swollen in the corner. I looked like a fat Asian/American but only on one side. So then I cried and didn’t want to go to school but dad made me because he doesn’t understand that swollen eyes are not in anymore. That was so last season when Snookie got in a fight with JWoww at the club at four in the morning because JWoww said that Snookie’s hair was too big to sleep with Ronnie and that she was sick and tired of Snookie’s spray tan getting all over the couch.

Wasn’t that just heart breaking and incredibly funny to you? I hope Gabrielle knows that I give my deepest sympathy to her, but it makes for an enjoyable story. It is almost epic enough to be made into a seven-book tale and placed on the shelves next to “Odysseus.” It made my day. After listening to such an slow, sleep surrendering, speech (check out all those S’s) it inspired me to not only stay away from bees, but to write on my blog.  

Goodnight : ) xoxo

Siena

On Saturday, Joanna and I went to Siena for an Art Show. The show itself was a little disapointing. It was not very organized and was chaotic. But the adventure getting there and the small bit of exploring was fantastic. : ) Here are some shots. 

Today was rainy, but beautiful. I wore my new black sweater as Joanna and I walked around town a little. Perfect weekend.

Goodnight. xoxo

"go and take better photographs than last time"- Charles

Yes, that is the kind of response my postcard photographs achieved. BUT i also agree. They were not my best work. I just could not capture what I imagined. I just need to befriend every guy who lives on the top apartment overlooking each monument. That is all I need - a different view than the ground.

I redeemed myself in film photography later in the day by developing two perfect prints, plus an experimental one that turned out artsy and got me all excited.

Today is the beginning of my weekend. We do not have cinema class tomorrow. (in my mind right now, I am singing "Cheers to the weekend" by Rihanna. . . oh look, no you are too.)

The weather has been perfect the passed few days.  It is cold enough to wear a sweater, but the sun is shinning. I love it so much.

I apologize that this post is random one liners, but I have nothing to update you on really.

 Rachel leaves tomorrow morning. Joanna and I are going to hang out with Felix ( i think ) and then on saturday go to Sienna.

I need to go grocery shopping.

OH MOM! I made your italian salsa mix (tomattoes and onions etc.. ) and it is perfect! so fresh and delicious! I am so glad you made that the day before I left so I could remember how to do it. It isn't as good as yours, because I lack your special touch, but it is defiantly tasty. I think of you after I eat it and can taste those onions on my tongue! : ) hee hee



Ciao Bellas! xoxo

I write this while staring at the Duomo as stars appear behind it on a black canvas.

I think I am dyslexic.

I am not just saying this; I really think that there is a small percentage of this learning disability in my brain. I constantly write backwards, putting the wrong letters first, in the wrong order. “Is” is easily written as “si” but I just casually change it thinking that maybe I writing fast.

It has become kind of obvious in Italian Language class. I have a hard time pronouncing, reading, and writing, the words even though in my head I know the right from the wrong.

It also may be a reason why I can never spell anything correct. It is not enough to reroute my learning and making life harder, but I defiantly think it is there.

ANYWAYS.

Today, after Language (which I could tell you about, but nothing new has happened in that class and no new “sex jokes” have developed) Joanna and I went and played cards on the steps of the plainest churches in Florence. It has no decorations, is flat, square, and blends in with the color of the sun. Now it is beautiful, but compared to every other Italian church, it is quite boring.

After cards we walked to Joanna’s favorite gelato shop. Let me tell you, this is the best. It was delicious and was the perfect way to end the afternoon.

After getting home and talking to Rachel, the three of us decide to rearrange my room. Now we have dancing space! Just what I need!

This weekend, Rachel is going to Germany while Joanna & I are going to Siena for an art show. I am very excited to travel and explore a little. And plus, everyone knows I am a sucker for art shows big to small.

As a closing statement.. MY SISTER GOT HER PERMIT TO DRIVE! Yahoo!! Great job Gabrielle! I am so proud of you (yet so terrified!) Love you and Miss you more than anything!

Have a good night. Ciao. xoxo

For Grandma : )

Yesterday, I went to Santa Croce and a lit a candle for you Grandmother! I love you!

Also, yesterday I went into the dark room to develop film. I open my canister and there is nothing but shreads. I was flabbergasted. So I went back to my camera and my film never rolled all the way in. Do not worry, I salvaged my photographs. Charles said I did not wined it up correctly but I think that my film was attacked by a monster. 

Happy Hump Day! xoxo 

Fact: Italian’s are naturally more hairy compared to other ethnicities.

* This is not a proven fact so do not quote me for your next “The History of the Abundance of Hair, Cultures of Other Civilizations, Other than America’s, have Upon their Bodies” essay

In Florence I have begun to turn into a true Italian, but not because of my language, or the way I dress, or the color nail polish I wear. I still scream American when you see me walking down the street singing to Dragonette (a musician) while smiling to everyone. But if you look closer, you can see the change.

This change is found in my eyebrows.

As surprising as this may sound, my Italian adjustment is evident in my eyebrows. They are growing as fast as an antelope being chased by a cheetah. Although cheetahs are fast, the antelope still surprises them and make the fierce animal work for its winning prize. I use this metaphor to describe the hairs and the tweezers I have to use, to attack them every day in order to find the “used to be perfect shape” of my eyebrow. In Salt Lake City I do my eyebrows every once in a while, cleaning them up. You know, the usual monthly primping.

 I have been in Italy for twenty days and I have plucked more hairs from above my eyes than I have my entire life.

I guess I should not complain. People thrive for large, bushy, lushes eyebrows. Old women, whose jobs are to serve crappy food to students in elementary school at noon every day, loose theirs and paint them back on thick and full (sure, they are a neon purple color, but some people just like a little color on their face.)

I do not know what is making them grow so fast and so frequent.

I am guessing it is the air. The scent of vineyards, basil, pee, and Vespa exhaust, must have some hair hormone growth power that not even Al Gore (the knower of all things pollution and internet) could make a movie about or promote in a failed presidential campaign.

 We could blame it on the pasta I have been eating or maybe all the fresh fruit, meats, and cheeses. It would make some sense, considering that all the products used to preserve or enhance our groceries back home would be removed, there for eliminating the plastic clogging my skin pours. (This would also be a superb explanation for my new development of zits, on my usually completely clear and smooth face.)

Nevertheless, my eyebrows are sprouting like weeds on my Mother’s front lawn in Salt Lake: full in abundance.

I pluck them every morning. It is like one of those nightmares where the day just keeps repeating. I wake up, brush my teeth, wash my face with my bursting beads cleanser, look in the mirror and say “good morning beautiful,” scream because I think I have caterpillars on my forehead, turn on the high power light, stare into the magnifying mirror, and rip hundreds of long, dark, thick, hairs from my pours striving to remove the fresh uni-brow from between my eyes.

Oh, don’t you even get me started on my armpits. 

Walking home from school : )

I apologize for the shaking. It is hard for me to keep still and walk on cobble stone. 

Tour of the 2nd Floor of my School

Break Dancing in the Streets of Firenze

photos that should of have been posted with the last post

Open Air Market: 

Fill your own wine bottle up: 

Park Days: 

Ciao : ) xoxo

markets, parks, and a game of old maid

I know that you have all been worried because I have not updated my blog or checked my Facebook notifications for two or three days, but I am here to tell you not to stress. Remember how I told you that Netgear took a leave of absence? Well he hasn’t returned yet, so I have no Internet at my apartment. That is why I have been ignoring you and not telling you my daily situations. It has nothing to do with the fact that I do not miss you, because I do. I really do.

Now, on to more exciting business that needs attending: Friday, after cinema class, Joanna and I walked to this epically large park (for an Italian city. It is about the size of Sugarhouse Park in Salt Lake City) called Cascine. It is about a forty-five minute walk from our apartment, but completely worth it. We set out a blanket, read books, listened to music, people watched (laughing and “aww”ing over little kids and puppies,) had cheese and honey (that Joanna bought at the nearby “state fair” event,) and drank a little wine (that we got from this local place. You buy an empty bottle for fifty cents, and then you fill it up straight from a tap for two euro. You just bring the bottle back and they fill it up again for two euro. It is eco friendly and fun.) It was wonderful to get a little sun kissed and just relax in such a different environment. I say this because in Florence, there is no grass, no plants (except for cactus or fake flowerbeds in people’s windows) and all urban architecture. It is nice to enjoy a little change in landscape. We walked home and made a great pasta dinner. We inhaled it because we were so hungry.

Saturday came and we had to do the same thing. It was much hotter so we did not stay as long as we wanted, but it was much enjoyable. Rachel joined us this time too after she went to the train station to order tickets. The walk home was treacherous. It seemed longer than ever and we were sweating. When we reached the apartment, we all collapsed.

I am going to back track a bit. Before we went to the park yesterday. We went to this open aired market. It is tables and tables filled with fresh foods, jewelry, clothing, and books. Inside you can get fresh meats, cheese, and breads. Everything is so natural and inexpensive. For example I bought two pears for one euro. In the grocery store, it would have been a euro each. I got prosuito (that they literally cut from the cows thigh in front of me) and bread. Together they made a perfect sandwich.

Okay, no fast forward to about 10:00 p.m. on Saturday night. The three of us (Joanna, Rachel and myself) got dressed sexy (which isn’t hard for us to do, right?) and went out to Santa Croce. When I say this, I literally mean we went to the steps of the beautiful church of Santa Croce (Google it.) In Florence, people flock to places where they can sit and since drinking outside is legal, it becomes a natural gathering spot for friends. There were many people there, just hanging out, talking, causally drinking (they do not get wasted just to get wasted like in the States) and enjoying such a beautiful night. We sat in the center of the steps (the center of crowd, aiming to be the center of attention) and started to play this card game that Joanna had taught us. It is originally a drinking game called “asshole” (pardon my language,) but we did it with the alcohol. It is quite addicting, easy, and fun. People started to watch us curiously. You could tell they were interested what these three American girls were laughing at and enjoying so much. A brave soul in a green sweatshirt, grey sweatpants, and neon white Nike’s decided to ask us. We told him, he seemed excited, and so I invited him to play. Soon enough his two friends joined us. As a group of six, we played this for about an hour. Our new Nike wearing friend decided to show us a new game. He tried to explain it and the three of us were lost, but as soon as we started to play, we all realized it was “Old Maid.” This simple childhood game made us laugh so hard until near three in the morning. It was quite enjoyable. We walked home, happy with the successful night, and barely made it into bed where we all fell asleep in the next thirty minutes.

I woke up this morning to church bells ringing at eleven o clock. In Italy, Sunday’s are family relaxing days. Everything is closed and I mean, everything. We all decided that today we are going to relax, do our Italian homework, and just enjoy ourselves. Not go anywhere.

I am not sure, but based off of what I read on Facebook, I think I need to congratulate our Ute’s for winning against BYU. Yahoo! (I think we won because of my sister’s cheerleading make up- that of which I saw through a photograph.)

Have a wonderful day!

xoxo

this post is dedicated to wishing Kramer good luck on his oral Spanish test.

I think that Netgear (the wireless internet we were feeding off in our apartment) has run away. We have not been able to really connect to in anywhere in the apartment the last twenty-four hours. I am hoping he is just temporally on leave and will be back soon. It makes it hard to do our homework when we do not have Internet at home. Oh goodness. I guess I should just be lucky that we have an apartment. It is just lonely without Netgear. He has become a brother to me.

Today was my day of photography and I endured it without even the slightest bit of sleep. The passed few nights I have been having the weirdest dreams. They are causing restless sleeping. And then last night, poor Rachel has a band knee after falling, so she had a hard time getting comfortable and then later in the night her nose bled and she flicked on the lights igniting the whole room with brightness. I do not blame here for doing this,  I mean I would. But this made it hard for me to fall back asleep.

Anyways. Back to photography. This morning at nine o’clock I had my super, special, secret class with Charles (try and say that ten times fast.) I am not sure if he liked my apartment photographs or the post cards I picked out. He is very difficult to read. But my next two assignments are to take photos for “postcards” that are unique but still have the same “postcard esthetic” to them.  The other one is to create a slideshow telling a story using only photographs. I think I am going to recreate the tragic love of Romeo and Juliet (that is my favorite story. It is so romantic. Joanna called me a “bleeding heart” because of my sappy thoughts that “love will conquer all.”) It will be creative but challenging.

Later in the day in Film class we made contact sheets and developed a print. It felt so good to be back in a dark room (that is where you develop your photographs.) It is so comforting and relaxing to me to develop images. I feel at home. My contact sheet took a while to get the right lighting but turned out all right. My images are defiantly not up to my standards yet. The print that I developed today was this poster I have been seeing all around town. It is an image of Madonna with a black eye and bleeding a little. I have fallen in love with it. The posters glued to buildings around town are torn enough to hide what the identity of the reason for them. I was listening to my ipod and a crystal castles song came on. Truth be told, the Madonna image is their album cover. I was so excited.

I painted my nails black (with one pink) and I feel so European.

Ciao. xoxo

i hung my underwear out to dry today after washing it.

The Italian life is one of air dried underwear. No wonder they are always so relaxed, their panties are dried by the sun and the sweet smells of pasta, pesto, and wines. I defiantly can get used to this.

oh italian language class. you never fail to make me laugh.

• Today I had Italian Language, remember with the teacher whose english is in small supply? 
  
  
  Yeah, that is him. 
  
  
  Today he wrote "crouche (to sex)" on the board.
  
  
   We just looked at him confused. 
  
  
  He asked if it was right, but we did not say anything because we didnt know if he really meant it. 
  
  
  And if he did really mean it, what was the rest of the lesson going to be like. 
  
  
  Why would he be teaching us the verb "to sex" right after we learn "to go" and "to drink." 
  
  
  He noticed our confusion and turned to acting it out. 
  
  
  He started to bounce his finger up his arm to his elbow. 
  
  
  It looked like he was shooting up drugs. 
  
  
  we realized he meant "to sew."
  
  
  Problem solved. 
  
  
  Goodnight : ) sleep well. xoxo

cinema italiano

Hello : ) Today is Sunday, as you already know, and it was a day complete relaxation at the "Rachel, Joanna, Audrey Apartment." Quite literally. We all went out, took some photographs for class, walked, sweated, got a work out. Then we came home and one by one laid down on our beds think we will just rest for a moment. Next thing we knew, we were all passed out asleep for two hours. It felt so nice and we looked wonderful with our matching sheet marks on our arms and faces.

We woke up just in time to get ready and go see a special movie screening of "September 11th" a movie about obviously September 11th. It was quite sad and it made me quite sick to my stomach, just because I am not good with images of desperation . . . they get stuck in my mind and I can never get them out. It is a curse. The movie itself, despite it's content, was really well done. It had multiple little movies. Each one was "11 minutes, 9 seconds, and 1 image" made by different directors from all over the world. The only criteria was relating it to September 11th in some way. It was brilliantly disturbing and a interesting view on how the rest of the world saw the event greatly affected our nation. They were really creative and emotional. I will admit to tearing up a few times.

The movie theater was beautiful. It looked similar to "Capital Theater" back in Salt Lake, but better. The seats were like yellow velvet lounge chairs with enough room between the rows to walk and relax your legs. And it was very cheap to get in, only four euros (aka six dollars) for a night movie. Yahoo!

Now I sit at home in the living room smacked up against the wall where the internet can be found. It is frustrating to have it flicker on and off, but I guess I need to be thankful for what I have and get to use. Many people go through worse than me on a daily basis.

The movie made me miss my family, because usually I can go an hug them and tell them that I love them after I see something depressing. I love you guys!

Tomorrow I have class in the afternoon. I think I am going to spend my morning studying my Italian in a piazza. : ) Have a goodnight.

Ciao. xoxo

Gianluca just called me to see how I was doing. Italians are so nice.

Yesterday I had my first day of cinema class. I think I am really going to like it. It is just watching movies, reading reviews, and then discussing the movie. It makes me want to come to school in my pajamas. (Do not worry I wont.) 

Last night was eventful for me. I went to the ponte veccio bridge and watched live musicians that I had previously seen this summer. It was festive and entertaining. I sung a long to the select few english songs I knew and tried to decipher words from the Italian ones. 

After that, I walked home and met up with Johanna and Rachel. We went and sat on some church steps a block or two from our home. In Italy, people flock to anywhere there is a place to sit. There were many styles, ages, and characters, there to observe. I enjoyed it. We moved on, walking through some streets checking out the scene until we got to Sanat Croce. We sat there and watched people set up for the George Michael's concert that is tonight. Two guys in front of us asked what they were doing. We gave them an answer and that turned into an hour/two hour conversation between the five of us. These boys names were Gianluca and Giancomo. They were totally cute and very funny. I walked away with their numbers. : ) I made friends. 

Now I am sitting in the student center writing and taking pictures with my film camera for class. Yahoo. It is sweaty and hot here. I cannot wait for sweater weather. 

I tried to upload some photographs.. but they wont load. I will post them later. 

Ciao for now! xoxo 

alone in a crowd of people.

When you are in the middle of a foreign country, you observe more with your eyes than your ears. 

Instead of listening to understand, you watch. 

Facial features, hand gestures, and nervous bounces of the right foot, 

become the connection of emotion between 

you and those 

you are 

observing. 

I sit in the library terrace,

  surrounded by unfamiliar faces. 

I cannot read the posters on the information board. 

I cannot understand when someone asks if they my use the empty chair next to me.

 Although I can be seen, 

I feel invisible. 

It is a strange sensation being alone here. 

I long to sit at a table with friends, to communicate, to learn, to share ideas, to laugh. 

I am quiet, shy, and observant. 

I notice the details in the way people converse. 

The way the

 lips 

purse together while arguing. 

The way the 

eyes

 light up when laughing. 

I begin to question the stories of each person more than I do at home. 

I imagine their life, their dreams, how they got here and where they will go 

once they leave. 

I wonder 

if 

people are doing the same to me. 

Do they watch me knowing I am American. Can they tell because of how I am dressed? My hair color and skin tones? The expression on my face? 

Or do they see passed me. 

we decided we look best in colored pencil. it must be an artist thing.

This one has lots of pictures!!

I never know how to start my posts. I feel like it should be formal: Dear readers. But then I feel like that is probably really lame considering the usual content of my blog. Do I even acknowledge you? Do I say hello? It is confusing task being an avid blogger. I want to entertain you. My goal is to make you connect with me in some way or another. Actually I lied, that is not my goal, but rather my goal is to write and hope that you read it.

Italians are naturally beautiful. I am saying this as I am observing the people at this student center. It is like a library, with Internet all over, a coffee shop, bookstore, everything a student could want, in one location. It is three floors, indoor and outdoor, with a satisfying view on all four sides. To the right of me is Duomo, Florence’s finest attraction (besides Mr. Naked David himself.) 

The people here intrigue me. I want to be one of them. Tables filled with friends laughing and playing odd games with quarters. This only proves that no matter where you go, kids will be kids. 

There is free Internet, but I cannot get onto it now. I actually have to get a library card, which will lead me to Internet and giving me the ability to check out books that I will not be able to read because of the foreign language barrier. A library card will make me feel included a bit.

But I have begun to realize I lack the natural European sexy flair (I probably lack the American sexy flair too, but I do not really want that as much I want this.) These girls are captivating. 

I am watching this table across from me, a group of students about my age. This girl is talking to her friend. He has the most beautiful eyes and looks like “Danny” from Grease but more attractive. He is listening to every word she is saying. Complete eye contact. I hope they are in love. They should be in love. The look like they would be in love. I want them to be in love. Wait, no, I want him to be in love me. That’s better.

Today I had Italian Language. It was a much better class than the first, but again I cannot understand him enough to really learn. He also thinks that we are memorizing machines. He asked us to read this page that had all these pictures of books, a door, a pen, etc. Then he wanted us to tell him what they are in Italian after one glance. Also, my sarcasm that saved my ass in French the passed two years is not going to help me here. He does not understand our humor, let a lone our non-humor. I really want to learn, but it is hard grasping what he is saying.

Before class I walked. Like I said earlier, I walk to familiarize myself.

I met up with the ladies and I familiarized myself with the “sandwich” man today. He is this cute fifty year old man that makes amazing paninis. They were huge and cheap and nothing but delicious. I wanted to leap into his arms and give him a big thank you kiss on the cheek after I tasted my first bite. Yummy.

Remember how I bought a hair dryer? I was so excited to use it today so my bangs would be able to look slightly normal. I went to plug it in and the little prong things are too large for the outlet. I was devastated! I ran around the apartment desperately plugging in my little hair device into every outlet. No such luck. I went to Melania, the problem solver of my Italian life, and she told me what to do and made Charles, her husband, show me where to get the adapter. I will promise you that the next time you hear from me, I will be hair happy. Hopefully.

“S&M” by Rihanna is my theme song.

People seem to tie my name to it even though there is absolutely no comparison between the lyrics and me. At all. It was the song for Take Five, Kramer thinks of me, Audrey Marshall thinks of me, and nameless other people probably think of me. Anyways, it has followed me to Italy. Every night, EVERY NIGHT, it plays down the street at this little concert venue we can hear from our apartment. When I say concert venue, I mean restaurant that plays really loud music while people eat pasta. It is so funny. Of all songs, the Italians have to love that one. It makes me so happy.

I think I am going to die of second hand smoke. No one at home smokes, but here everyone does. Just being outside I know that I am inhaling mountains of ashes into my lungs. The odd part is that I do not notice it. The secrete killer. Da Da Da Da.

I am dying about how cute all these guys are. . . oh my goodness. They are vintage classics.

Rachel and I walked around the city tonight here is a bit of what we saw: 

Have a good night! : ) 

I watched sweaty Italian's prepare for a George Michael's concert today in the piazza while eating a pear.

Ciao! Today was my second day of school, but I will start off by telling you about my first. (One comes before two, no matter what country you live in.)

            I only had one class on Monday and that was “Italian Language.” I was excited to start this course because I would like to know half of the statements I hear and read here.

            I did not have anything in the morning until 2:00 so I took a shower, tried to look nice, ate some breakfast, watched the neighbor’s, and then went on a large walk around the city. I decided that in order for me to become familiar with this city, one must walk around it daily. The more I get lost, the more I get found, which leads to the less of me getting lost. I did that and then went to class.

            Now an authentic Italian man named Nicola, that speaks little English, teaches Italian Language. He is a shorter man, nice style, dark Italian features, with a nervous smile. He had kind of an awkward round about way of teaching. For example, he would ask us to tell him something in Italian. Being our first class, I could not say anything. I pulled my “How do you say _ _ _ __?” line that is ever so sweetly, you know that one that captured Madame Colmar’s heart freshman year? I do not think it did the same for Nicola. He was funny and cute, but I know I am going to have a hard time grasping this language. I am also not very good with speaking up in class. I get all shy and well, when there are only two other students, you have to talk more than you want to. Joanna (which I discovered ever so embarrassingly does not spell her name with an H) has a cute accent already from being here before and knows a few words. Rachel speaks French, so she naturally sees the combinations between the words and the sounds. Then there is me, who cannot even speak English.

            Today I had Art History in the morning taught by the ever so sweet Linda. Oh my I just want to hug this woman and push her in a zip lock bag and take her home. She is like four feet tall (probably a little taller but you get a better image if I say that) and has the sweetest little voice. She doesn’t teach in English a lot and so she feels the need to act out the images that are clearly on the screen. She also does not know little words in English. For example the word: cubs. We were looking at a statue of a lioness and her cubs. She struggled so much and then finally gave up and called them “lion baby.” You want to correct her, or help her, but she is so cute and in this teaching groove that you cannot interrupt her. I have this class with Rachel, the history lover.  I think it will be good filled with lots of field trips and we do not have to buy a textbook.

            Photography is going to breezy and fun. Charles, my teacher, is exactly like Frank back at East High. Except for instead of being German, he is of course, Italian. It will be fun to play with film in such an inspiring surrounding. And you all know how much I love the darkroom. The smell of the chemicals (do not judge me) and the magic of your image developing is so great to me!! Ahh so much happiness.

            So that was my first two days of school. But I have to tell you about something else! Last night I was talking to this guy named Freddy on facebook. I will not go into extreme details, but I met Freddy at this party, didn’t really know him at all, stalked his facebook, and well I talked to him for a good few hours last night.

            He told me about why he chose his major and such… but as he was giving reasons he told me about how “there's like three major types of relationships I- it, I- you, and I –thou. "I- It" is seeing people as objects or really defining labels that makes it difficult to connect. So like a cashier at a grocery store, they're there just to charge you and check you out. Or a random person sitting in your class, you just go to the same school. Then you can introduce yourself and that's the beginning of the next phase "I-You", where you acknowledge them as a human being, but aren't quite comfortable and honest. This usually consists of small talk and simple interactions like that friend of a friend and things like that. The third is the best. It’s where you connect and trust and open up...and you engage in dialogue not just conversation. It has a huge range depending the relationship you define yourself having with a person. . .”             

            I really liked this, so that is why I shared it with you. I think it ties in with me being in a foreign country a lot. Am I just going to label everyone as an “Italian that won’t understand me so why should I try?” Or am I going to try and actually hit level three?  It was kind of motivating. I mean Freddy knows his shit. He was inspiring. (If you read this Freddy, please understand that “knows his shit” is a huge compliment in my blog language. It is like better than “he is the most amazing person on earth” or “he has the moves like jagger.” It is top notch.) His words were addicting and made me focus on how I treated people today. I really tried not to just label, but to get to know. I had to share that with you, because it changed my view of human interactions.

            You might just think I am weird, and this is okay. I feel like I have rambled on long enough today. So I will talk to you later.

xoxo

I woke up to rain and church bells.

Happy Sunday from my apartment.

 It is currently 4:21 p.m. and outside it is only lightly raining. The temperature has gone down significantly and the air is clear. The skies look like Michelangelo painted them himself.

I found internet in our apartment today, against the main wall. It was kind of a thrill because we all need it a little each day. When we are at school, we want to focus on art. At home, we want to focus on us and communicating.

This morning, we all woke up naturally, without a care in the world. After eating breakfast and discovering that the open aired market is closed (like most of Italy on a Sunday) we walked to a high point of the city to enjoy the nice view. It was breath taking, literally. The Italian's love their stairs. We hiked to the top until we reached Pizzale Michelangelo. It was covered in tourists. A light rain dripped as we watched the city like Gods. It is amazing how compact all the buildings are. I have seen the high sites of Italy a few times now and I still gasp in amazement at the details and architecture. It is simply unbelievable. After we enjoyed, we walked down to this little sandwich place for a cheap lunch. Then we just toured our way back home through the streets and across the bridges.

Tomorrow classes start. I am very excited. I have been here for five days but it seems like longer. I have gotten so accustom to life here.

Here are some fun shots today I captured:

Rachel's socks drying out our kitchen window. (The family below, that you see their window and little deck area, likes to laugh, sing, and clean dishes at three a.m. It makes me miss my family and our fun kitchen parties)

Some street art I found on our walk today. I love how every wall is stained with stuff like this. 

Big City Life. 

Saturday night left overs in the streets. I loved how there is a glass, a lemon, and beer. Everything you need. 

More street art. Each one displays the artist's message. the best part is trying to figure out what they are trying to say to us as viewers. That is why I love art and want to do it. 

This is a city street. Pretty typical. Notice how the buildings have their individualities in design and colors, but are still so close to each other. I may be stretching this metaphor, but it is kind of like how we are all different, but we are all smooshed together in this world to create a whole.  

This is a view of my new home. 

Here is Rachel. : ) 

You know how I love my Italian Passion. This was the sweetest couple. I really love how anonymous his face is and all you can really see of hers is her smile and happiness. They look happy. I hope they are. I really do. 

This was just the "fencing" at the top of the hill to keep the tourists from falling and dying. Notice how even this has history and intricate memories engraved upon its withering stone. 

This is Johanna's hand holding a sat on, but fresh, rolled cigarette. 

On the left is Johanna and on the right is Rachel. They look so happy because they are not climbing up stairs anymore, but down them. Oh those Italian's and their stairs! 

This path just made me want to follow it, get lost in it, and never be found. It beckons curiosity. 

And finally this is Johanna standing by our kitchen window, a glass of water in her hand, watching the rain begin to fall. 

Also, I did not know if I told you this, but my roommate Rachel has a blog too. She puts up more videos than words. I would suggest checking it out. It is kind of fun to see my experience through some one elses
point of view. The website is www.ramblinrachel.blogspot.com

Ciao! xoxo

Italian is made for poetry, it is simply beautiful, while English is made for song.

Last night was pretty laid back. After leaving school, Rachel and I stopped and got some water, and met with Johanna at the door to our apartment. We made small pizzas for dinner and then took an hour-long walk around the city. It was beautiful outside but very hot. It’s not the kind of hot where you can really feel it. It is the “I am sweating so much so it must be hot” kind of hot. Do you understand?

            While walking, Johanna pointed out the hot spots to go and what not. It was interesting how you could notice the Italians, the tourists, and the American students on study abroad, so easily. The Italians were naturally beautiful, the tourists were decked out in backpacks with their jaws on the tops of their toes, and the Americans were loud and obnoxious. It made me depressed that I was American seeing them act this way.  

            We ran into a little street concert that consisted of about five old men and three young girls singing classic American songs. It was quite entertaining and they were quite good.

            Our school and our apartment (so close to each other) are in prime locations. We did not need to walk far to reach the main piazzas and tourist locations.  Although I was only here for a few days this summer, I feel like I know the city pretty well. I recognized a lot of stores and streets and what led to where. This made me feel more confident about my surroundings because anyone who knows me knows how hard it is for me to find where I am going. I print out Google maps for everything and I have to tell people to tell me specific step-by-step instructions while driving. You all should be very proud of me.

            After our walk, Johanna’s Italian best/boy friend met up with us and came over to the apartment. His name is Ricardo. He was quite charming with a great sense of humor. I loved listening to him speak with his broken English. He made the most ugly English words sound beautiful. (It is like when we were in Rome this summer and this guy asked me if “that was the way to the toilets” and he pointed. I looked at him like he had just announced his love for me and wanted to take my away for my happily ever after moment. They just have a way with making everything sound so goooooood.) We were talking about how choppy and raw the English language sounds compared to some European languages. Ricardo’s response was that “Italian is made for poetry, it is simply beautiful, while English is made for song.” This boy knows what he is talking about.  

            Rachel went to sleep, still recovering from an exhausting travel over here, while Johanna, Ricardo, and I played cards and talked until 3:00 a.m. (It was quite funny because when Johanna was winning, with perfect luck, Ricardo said that she had an “enormous ass.” We stared at him for a bit in awe of the insult he just delivered. This is when he explained that in Italy, they say that when you have “lot’s of luck.”) It did not feel that late at all. And besides it was a Friday night, right?

            Ricardo then left and we went to bed. I could not fall asleep until about 6:00 a.m. because of the heat. I was sweating profusely. It was evident that you could see the sweat marks on my pillow, which was disgusting. I also think I am just having difficulties adjusting to the time change. I go to bed very late, but wake up earlier than everyone else. It is quite odd.

       I have this problem with not having Internet away from school. It is nice is some ways because you are not always on it, but I want to be able to communicate with Salt Lake City, and when I am school it barely reaches noon there by 7:00 p.m. here. It is frustrating. Plus, I am not really one for writing blog posts and then updating the blog a few days later.  Ugh. That is the only thing that sucks about our apartment.

            Also, I am not too sold on this shower thing. Like you cannot get comfortable and you get cold because you are literally using a garden hose. It is kind of awkward. I also feel like I make a lot of noise banging the hose on the side of the bathtub. Oh well. All part of the experience, right? Push may come to shove and I will end of loving this more than anything.

            I finished reading “Less Than Zero” by my favorite writer, Brett Easton Ellis. It was really good but really depressing and nothing like the movie. In the movie, the characters speaking characteristics are perfectly in line with the novel, with a similar plot. The story is about these college kids dealing with drugs, sex, and rock n roll, in the 80’s. The one thing that really bothered me is that in the movie, Clay (the main character/narrator,) is the good guy. He doesn’t do drugs, always helps, is in love with the beautiful girl, and cares about his friends. In the book he is a stand by and just watches his life deteriorate around him. He just stands witness to his best friends being abused. I loved Clay in the movie but found him emotionally blank in the book. It definitely hits my all time favorites though, I suggest reading it. 

Today we went with Charles around the city to get to know the surrounding stores, banks, and piazza's. I have only been here for three days and I feel like I have lived here forever. I am so excited to blend in and be inspired by the beautiful city. Charles showed me this place that is kind of like the Italian student hang out/study building. After telling him that I love to people watch and write and just observe life, he though this would be the best place for me. I am very excited because he says that no americans usually come here and it is the best way to meet Italian students. You can meet them when you go to the clubs on the weekends, but I have learned from stories and warnings from different people that those ones only want to sleep with me really, so not to really trust their love spills. I think this place is going to be my new Coffee Garden (except I will not go into debt from going there every day.) 

Tomorrow is Sunday. I think the girls and I are going to go to this really beautiful, famous, view across the bridge. And then classes start on Monday. After a week of class, I think I will be able to come up with a Skype schedule so I can communicate with everyone during the small hours I have internet. 

Here are some photographs: 

This is Ricardo. He made coffee for us. 

Our main room.

Johanna's Bedroom

Our very yellow bathroom.

Ciao :)