felice anno nuovo!

Here is to the wonderful 2012 and the adventures 2013 will bring.

In honor of the last year, i made this little poem/word vomit of a sentence or phrase from each post this past year. Thank you to those of you who read Verbaledudette. I wish you the best and a Happy New Year!

bless this mess, we tried our best.

 I am on the edge of my seat and near tears with excitement. 

free concert downtown. 

the first impression rose. 

University of Utah.

 a new flavor of man candy. 

audrey verses the job market. 

who would be my male stunt double if I was to have one?

 birthday weekend was amazing.

 screw the idea of waiting for magic, everyday is magic. 

notes from the non business major in a business class. 

call it A.D.D but I call it lack of motivation. 

Oh goodness. 

first kiss. 

we all love sexy man backs.

 internet sensation. 

The British Bad Boy. 

good night and sweet dreams. 

carpe diem. 

san francisco. 

academy of art university. 

sometimes not being in control is the most beautiful thing in the world. 

love is a mixtape.

 sexy olympic games. 

neglected my male readers. 

He is six foot one of handsome.

 brief in words, but definitely not lacking in sex appeal. 

young, exotic, and a professional. 

you know how I like those man butts. 

Mmhmm. 

He is also shy. 

Phoebe, Kayleigh, Emme, Paisley, Savannah. 

roommates. 

perks of being a wallflower. 

raggamuffin. 

photography major. 

self portrait. 

time is such a hungry beast. 

touch me. 

i'm golden. 

wild as the wind blows. 

let's get lost. 

history with an accent. 

it's as simple as it should be. 

HoBro.

 homesick. 

silence is the most powerful scream. 

You have to know where you came from to know where you are going right? 

that awkward moment when your new friend turns out to be your teacher. 

Usually there is fog. 

juices, and water that has floating citrus in it. 

more inspirational and sappy over here. 

Today was just simply sweet. 

Sweet Disposition. 

I have reached the point where I officially know that I have made the right choice. 

i came here to do art, not make friends. 

toned graphic designers. 

rocky horror picture show.

 I am being a bit dramatic, but I did feel special. 

i am afraid to merge. 

people are in a panic. 

verbaledudette gift guide. 

It is decadent. 

It's witty. 

It's interactive. 

helping the locals.

 holiday spirit.

 big city life.

 I was lucky. 

have sex with a guy with a mustache. 

arts festival.

 right as rain. 

desperation. 

gay men will marry your girlfriends. 

haberdash. 

the awful truth. 

500th post. 

cold to the bone. 

i never used to win anything. 

not so silent night. 

Jack White, Of Monsters and Men, Metric, The Gaslight Anthem, and Two Door Cinema Club. 

crying in class. enthusiastic alone time.  

Oh how do I miss my family so much. 

stay gold. 

life’s too short to even care at all.

 Hello from my bed. It may be only 7:00 but I already have my fuzzy socks on and am positioned under the covers. The lights are even off. No, I am not ready for bed; it is just kind of really chilly in this apartment, and I didn’t want to sit in those uncomfortable squeaky chairs in the kitchen. Italians obviously do not believe in decent warming devices in their apartments (probably because they do have a lot more hair on their bodies than other countries… but STILL. I am a hairless American who needs to be warm!) Okay, I am over exaggerating a little bit. Truth is, my bed is comfortable and I like the way the comforter practically glows in the dark because it is so neon yellow.

I apologize for such an awful introduction paragraph. Lets try this again.

Young the Giant’s most recent album is playing through my headphones right now as my feet are cuddling underneath my neon yellow comforter. The only light coming into the room is from the sliding propped open door. This square shadow of light (play on words, eh?) is enough light to frame Rachel’s bed in a halo like fashion. I am wearing my “your blog sucks” tee shirt and feeling really good about life.

Now, wasn’t that better?

Italy was beautiful today. This morning, I woke up with a burst of energy that needed to be set free. I harvested this emotion by going out on an hour long stroll, wandering through streets, kicking leaves up in the small park to the left, and watching old men row boats down the Arno river. It was truly refreshing.

I simply love this city. Walking home from school after class today, I really tried to soak in everything I passed. I have become so accustom to the route from casa mia (my house) to the school, that I sometimes take for granted how magical Firenze is. For example, as I was walking I breathed in deeply (with my new nose!!) the smells of home cooking, cigars, and that certain Italian city smell (no, not the pee and beer smell thank you, there is another one that I cannot put a name to.) I was walking down the little side street and I noticed the steam coming out of what looked like an air vent for one of the walled apartments. The way it swirled up and dispensed into the cold air as thick white petals was entrancing. I still smile at the lines of clothes that hang out of windows, even though it is a common sight in my days here. Now that I have lived her for so long, I can look passed the tourist monuments and really fall in love with the sweet subtitles.

I have begun to develop the feeling that every city is like this. Salt Lake City is just as beautiful as here, but I do not take the time to notice its details because I realize that I have taken it for granted. You never know what you have until it’s gone right?

Italian language is one of my least favorite classes because I hate being put on the spot and failing miserably when I am. BUT on the plus side, I love the challenge of trying to learn this new, beautiful, language. I want to learn! Oh goodness, my life is so hard. Just kidding. : ) Italian class was alright today. My fingertips were really cold. I have mentioned my pronunciation/spelling problem before, well now in class it is kind of a joke. For example, we were changing verbs from present to past tense, and Joanna chose my word to be the hardest one in the whole wide world (not really) to pronounce just because we all know how I st st stutter. I cannot remember it now and cant look it up in my notes cause I left my notebook at school, but know that it was hilariously hard (for me.) Oh well. Italian class is one of those classes that you dread going to, but once you are there you are fine, and everyone leaves laughing. Nicola may be an awful teacher, but he quite the character. 

This has nothing to do with anything, but it made me laugh. I thought you would need a little giggle on your Monday. 

Thanksgiving is obviously not celebrated here (if you do not know why… you have some serious problems that you need to figure out before reading any further. Google it.) Despite the country we are living in, Joanna, Rachel and I have decided to make a feast. We made a list of items we like to eat and divided them up between the three of us. I am in charge of a fruit and mashed potatoes. I am thinking maybe doing my family’s favorite apples in orange juice mixture and maybe some pomegranates.

Grandma, when Michael reads this to you, please know that I will not do your mashed potatoes justice and I am sending up my white flag. There is no competition; you have already won. Hopefully I will come in at least a close fifth place on the “good mashed potatoes” list. It cannot be very hard right? I mean I do not have a blender or anything... Is it unsanitary to use a rock? (I am only joking Rachel & Joanna; you honestly do not need to worry about if there are going to be dirt and other earthy materials in your buttery potatoes.) 

All I can say is thank goodness I am not in charge of the turkey.

Music Monday Update: Check out the song “Hotel Song” by Regina Spektor. It is a current love of mine.

I finished Like Water for Chocolate. Please read it. I had chills of wonderful emotion through out the entire thing. It is an easy, magical, read. (Please note that the picture to the right is not the real cover of the book, but an illustration someone did. I found it on google and liked it. That is all. ) 

Also, in the news of the social networking, I think you will find great pleasure in the new follower my twitter account has gained. “Titsoffire” has indeed started to follow my unwitty, too quotey, status update, tweet feed. I feel honored, really. Not many people can say that someone with such a great name is one of their 92 followers. 

My final statement deals with a lot of exclamation marks. Prepare yourself:

MY BEASTIE BECCA IS COMING TO VISIT ME OFFICIALLY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Thank you for reading! Ciao. Xoxo

*title: “Cough Syrup” by Young the Giant

i feel like the lead heroine in a hollywood movie

"Pretty Girls" by Wale is playing on my ipod streaming the bouncing song through my ear buds hidden by the coral hood on my head. I have not been to the library for a while and sitting here now, I have noticed the change in crowd now that the weather has cooled and the light fades into night earlier. It is quite empty and the bodies that occupy the seats are studios, with legs twitching as they study for the big exam tomorrow. I like the calm serenity that the usual bustling terrace now inhabits. Sadly, this change in weather did not mean that the drinks dropped their prices, because I am very thirsty (but not parched enough to spend six euros on a soda.) 

This week in school has been very relaxed (i know it is only Wednesday.) The big break is next week. There is a slow paced (typical Italian) happy atmosphere in the studio. Although I have a midterm in each class this week, there is no stress. 

I mentioned before that I have had a lot of extra time to read. I feel like the lead heroine in a hollywood movie every night as I take a bath. The lights dimmed (just because I can) and my hair dolled up on my head to avoid water. Steam slithers off my exposed limbs into the chilled air as I intensely read Brett Easton Ellis's latest novel. (It is times like this where I lean my head back against the yellow tiles and sigh "this is the life.") The only difference would be in the movie my mascara would not be running down my recently washed face. I am sure hollywood doesn't want their main actress looking like a member of the band KISS after a bad breakup.

 I finished "Lunar Park" by Brett Easton Ellis last night in quick nervous furry. The novel is a horror, but addictivly written in the quick, sexual, tongue of Brett Easton Ellis (I just have to write him full name because I love the way it sounds.) It is a mix between fact and fantasy but is so artistically intertwined that I was left confused of what was real and what was fiction. I would suggest you read it. 

I started to read "Which Brings Me To You" by Steve Almond and Juliana Baggot. Joanna finished it and as she gave it to me stated "I think this was written for me." Instantly I knew it was a cute love story because she is constantly commenting on my "bleeding heart" sappiness. It is the exchange of letters between a boy and girl who met at a wedding. The letters aren't straight out flirtatious, but rather confessions because sometimes we just need to tell a stranger everything just so we feel better by letting it out. It is cute and I have even found myself laughing out loud. 

In Photography (black and white & digital) I GET to do a final project based off of a single idea. The collection at them end is twenty images that support the topic. Here are my two ideas... 

Body language is often stronger than words spoken by mouth. In a country that forces foreign tongue to my ears, I have begun to rely on the swift movement of hands and eye contact as the main sources of understanding conversation. The beauty of posture, the uniqueness of style, and the anonymous feeling of being faceless, describes the character of people without small talk or exchange of ideas. Therefore I would like to pursue my final project in digital film photography as “Headless Portraits,” documenting the people of Firenze, Italy but leaving out the facial features in order to study my subjects in a different, more abstract, light.

In Salt Lake City street artists spray cans of multi colored paints on the walls in attempt of artistic lettering and symbols. When I arrived in Florence I was, in no way, surprised or interested in the amounts of graffiti littering the walls. I was, however, intrigued by the posters glued hastily over one another. For my final in black and white film photography, I am going to capture the plastered art these advertisements and messages expressed. But even this is too simple for me. I want to find something to set my documentation apart from the average tourist who snaps a shot at them while walking by. I was thinking of making a little stick figure that I put in each shot, or maybe placing a photograph of myself hidden in the fold of the torn edges, or making sentences with the bolded words from multiple posters. I am determined to find this niche after a few rolls of film. 

Any suggestions or comments? I am up for both negative and positive critiques. 

Happy Hump day. Goodnight! 

xoxo

"we make decisions in three dimensions."

*The title of this post comes from a school's website that I just stumbled on while accidentally Googling the wrong name. I found it entertaining. 

I have stared at this bright screen for the last five minutes trying to think of something witty to write. Most people would quit and call this writers block. They would walk away and eat something in hopes of it inspiring them, but I am not hungry and I really want to write. The only thing I can think of telling you right now is how much I love the band “The XX” because their songs are playing and engulfing me within their lyrics like a baby swaddled in a blanket.

I mentioned earlier of a press conference I was asked to photograph because I am in charge of documenting photographically the art show, in celebration of Giorgio Vasari’s five hundredth birthday that is taking place at my school this Saturday. (I think I have failed to tell you that I am studying in his studio. His frescos are where I learn Italian. It is just another reason why I am so lucky.) The press conference was held in the city council building about a five-minute walk from my school (honestly, everything is only a five minute walk away.) I was introduced to a few of the artists that have pieces in the exhibition. They looked like they should be Italian artists with their squinty eyes and crazy hair. All of them had charismatic smiles and I am excited to see what each one is capable of artistically. The four of them, including Melania who is not only an art professor at my school but the curator of the event, sat in front of rows and rows of interested journalists. It was evident that I was the only photographer because I was the only one who was not seated and the sound of my camera’s shutter echoed around the high-rise ceilings. I could not understand a word said, but facial expressions spoke clearly as excited but nervous hand gestures guided a stroll through their own artistic biographies and reasoning for their involvement in the show. I took a total of two hundred and fifty photographs in a forty-five minute period. No one was surprised. All in all, my images turned out well and I am now in anticipation for the big night on Saturday where I get to dress up and am in charge of “capturing the moment” all night (no pressure.) 

These are some images from the event. 

This is Charles (my photography teacher, also he is married to Melania.) It was funny because he stopped to tie his shoe on the way over. I asked if I needed to document this and if it was part of the show. He said yes, joking, but of course I took a photograph. Then we get inside the building and he points to this poster. I ask if I need to take a photo of this. He says yes and then poses. Oh Charles. 

The beautiful, flawless, Melania getting interviewed. 

The book this man is looking at is what Melania put together for the show. It is quite adorable and is on sell for ten euros. I am really thinking about purchasing one for memories and to show off in Salt Lake.  This is also my favorite shot of the day. 

This is Nicola, my Italian teacher. He came to the event to support, but also his father is some amazing artist. 

Overal shot of the room. Notice the balding heads of all the men. Those Italians have hair everywhere but their heads, obviously. 

Again, Melania looking dazzling and puzzled in the sunshine. 

Italian was freezing yesterday which made it a little bit of a challenge to pay attention. I never told you this, but we learned the alphabet last week. It was strange because the Italian’s do not have five letters that we use commonly in English. This wasn’t apparent to me until we asked how to say each letter. Now I want to teach you. Here is your Italian lesson of the day: L’alfabeto

A (aw)

B (bee)

C (chee)

D (dee)

E (eh)

F (effay)

G (gee)

H (aka)

I (ee)

L (ellay)

M (emay)

N (enay)

O (oh)

P (pee)

Q (koo)

R (array)

S (essay)

T (tee)

V (voo)

Z (zeta)

Obviously the words in the (parenthesis) are how you pronounce them. Interesting, eh? I find it strange how they just neglect a few letters. It makes sense why Italian’s cannot spell my name correctly, because there is no Y!

Last night Joanna left to meet Ricardo and she sprayed something near me so much that I could taste it in my mouth. (Is this how my family feels when I spray my “sexual almond” spray?) Rachel went to the library and I had the entire apartment to myself. It is times like those where I get lonely, but it is nice because I can play whatever music I want and read in pure quietness. Speaking of reading, I finished reading The Perks of Being A Wallflower for the fourth time yesterday. I love that book so much that I do not mind reading it over and over again. It is one of those that you can relate to in some way or another and makes you think about your first few high school years. I know I just graduated, but freshman year seems like it happened forever ago. I have begun to read Lunar Park by my favorite author Brett Easton Ellis. I cannot tell if it is a biography or part fiction. So far he has been talking about how he started his claim to fame and also his introduction to seductive life of the real “brat pack.” His writing is so addictive to me that I had a hard time putting it down.

Also last night, around nine o clock, I did not feel good at all. My head felt kind of a balloon and my stomach was dancing around inside of me. Rachel made me some English something tea that kind of helped, but not enough to make me feel like doing anything. I went to bed at nine and fell instantly asleep listening to the entire Florence and the Machine’s “Between Two Lungs” album. Today I did not wake up until nine thirty. Twelve hours of sleep and feel great! I ate a banana for breakfast along with a nice cold glass of water. Sometimes I think I just get to caught up in the moment of being here and do not let myself rest!

It is raining pretty hard today. Walking to school, I slipped on a cobblestone and almost fell. Luckily I pulled out of near disaster with a graceful bend of the knee. The city is darker, covered in a grey blanket, but is still glowing. The lights are fogged creating a ominous atmosphere. In the studio, where I am sitting now, the ceiling is made of glass. This amplifies the sound of the rain while you watch the drops splatter on it. I have a slight chill because my shoes are wet.

I discovered today that all those photographs taken on my pinhole camera did not work because the film never rolled. I have to shoot it all again. But that is okay.

Well I talked you ear off long enough, I am going to go get a sandwich from Pino’s because I deserve it for being such a nice person. Why am I a nice person? Well today I smiled at everyone I saw and picked up some woman’s scarf and returned it to her as she was walking away. I think that deserves a panini. I hope you are having a great day.  : ) I really do. 

xoxo

Ciao Ciao. 

We accept the love we think we deserve.

I finished the novel "The Perks of Being a Wallflower" by Stephen Chbosky, today and it has easily become one of my favorites.  (Yes, the title is from this story. Yes I know I am supposed to put quotation marks around it or else it is called plagiarism.. but it looks funny and presentation is everything. So get over it.) For those who have not read this amazing tale of fiction, I suggest going to the local library and borrowing it. And if you can/ wish- you may go to the book store and actually purchase it. (If you are like me.. I like to write in and highlight my books. I do not know why.) Every page was a new surprise. The story had me afraid, nervous, happy, laughing, crying, hoping, dreaming, wondering, and never gaining boredom from it. 

About the Book: 

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to receive letters from someone you've never met? In the novel, Charlie, a 14 year old boy- just entering high school, writes to a mystery person about life, love, and all the other things involved with growing up. He stands on the outside of life, making beautiful observations about how life doesn't always make sense. The people surrounding him make many efforts to have him "live his life" rather than sit on the sidelines. These attempts, along with the pains of growing up help Charlie to come to shocking realizations about his past. Stephen Chbosky created an amazingly, amazing, accurate picture of an introverted teenager growing up. Charlie is one of those rare charaters who feels like a friend you never want to lose. This novel paints a beautiful picture that everyone should see. So go read it. 

One of my favorite parts was a poem that Charlie read and shared throughout the novel. 

Here it is: 

Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines
 he wrote a poem
And he called it "Chops"
 because that was the name of his dog
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
 and a gold star
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door
 and read it to his aunts
That was the year Father Tracy
 took all the kids to the zoo
And he let them sing on the bus
And his little sister was born
 with tiny toenails and no hair
And his mother and father kissed a lot
And the girl around the corner sent him a
Valentine signed with a row of X's
 and he had to ask his father what the X's meant
And his father always tucked him in bed at night
And was always there to do it

Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
 he wrote a poem
And he called it "Autumn"
 because that was the name of the season
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
 and asked him to write more clearly
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
 because of its new paint
And the kids told him
 that Father Tracy smoked cigars
And left butts on the pews
And sometimes they would burn holes
That was the year his sister got glasses
 with thick lenses and black frames
And the girl around the corner laughed
 when he asked her to go see Santa Claus
And the kids told him why
 his mother and father kissed a lot
And his father never tucked him in bed at night
And his father got mad
 when he cried for him to do it.

Once on a paper torn from his notebook
 he wrote a poem
And he called it "Innocence: A Question"
 because that was the question about his girl
And that's what it was all about
And his professor gave him an A
 and a strange steady look
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
 because he never showed her
That was the year that Father Tracy died
And he forgot how the end
 of the Apostle's Creed went
And he caught his sister
 making out on the back porch
And his mother and father never kissed
 or even talked
And the girl around the corner
 wore too much makeup
That made him cough when he kissed her
 but he kissed her anyway
 because that was the thing to do
And at three a.m. he tucked himself into bed
 his father snoring soundly

That's why on the back of a brown paper bag
 he tried another poem
And he called it "Absolutely Nothing"
Because that's what it was really all about
And he gave himself an A
 and a slash on each damned wrist
And he hung it on the bathroom door
 because this time he didn't think
 he could reach the kitchen.

"It's kind of like when you look at yourself in the mirror and you say your name. 

And it gets to a point where none of it seems real. 

Well, sometimes, I can do that, but I don't need an hour in front of a mirror. 

It just happens very fast, and things start to slip away. 

And I just open my eyes, and 

I see nothing. 

And then I start to breathe really hard trying to see something, 

but I can't. 

It doesn't happen all the time, 

but when it does, 

it scares me." 

- Charlie, The Perk of Being A Wallflower