a different kind of monster

Hi, I'm Ali, and it's been 3 days since my last fiery pontification on why I hate Taylor Swift.

Screw it; I'm leaving Taylor Swift Hater Rehab. Although that's not really an apt description of this particular hatred of mine. I'm sure Taylor Swift is lovely, doesn't deserve to be degraded, and makes all the little woodland creatures flock to her when she skips through the forest.
What concerns me is that the media/people around me extol a figure who subscribes to and owns such a lurking brand of latent, archaic sexism in her music.

Why aren't people talking about how heinously disenfranchising Swift’s schema of relationships are? Swift, who is now 21, NOT FOURTEEN, is a grown woman, yet the media coddles her like she's the next coming of christ. The media rewards Swift for writing her own music as if she singlehandedly invented the process itself. Swift writes decent and predictable songs, and that's okay. Every song is about the same unrequited love, unmet expectations, and tragic heartbreak.
She's the musical equivalent of the Twilight Series, except that, for whatever reason, no one criticizes Swift fans like they do Twilight fans. As a huge Twilight fan, I accept said criticism and derision, and admit that it is in fact, horrible writing. Which is why it is perfectly fine to like Swift, as long as you don't subscribe to just about anything she says or emulate her in any way.

Is Swift a "good role model"? Absolutely not. If my daughter were ever to submit herself to the sort of helplessness and self-victimization that Swift not only has sustained but basically reinvents with every new song about a boy who broke her heart, I would smack her with a copy of The Feminine Mystique. Every time a young girl puts up a poster of Swift up in her bedroom, Betty Friedan convulses in her grave.

The fact that Swift thinks she is the quiet, comely girl in the corner who the boy never notices in lieu of the shiny, morally bankrupt cheerleader is a complete mockery of girls who were ever ACTUALLY quiet and comely. In Swift's video of You Belong With Me, she purposefully looks dowdy, mussing up her otherwise perfectly curled mane and donning a pair of enormous glasses. Which she has to do to make the point, because she's actually tall, blonde, and gorgeous (despite unbecoming narrow shoulders).

Swift's definition of "outcast" is a carbon copy of the classic archetypes; outcasts are in the band, wear T-shirts versus short skirts, and dance around their bedrooms awkwardly. This is nothing new. As far as I'm concerned, all the "villains" of Swift's teenage dream/nightmare (aka the cheer captain who straightens her hair at 5:15 in the morning every day before school) deserve the guy, because they play dirty and look slutty, which is an awesome combination.
"I'm in my room it's a typical Tuesday night/I'm listening to the kind of music she doesn't like"

...

..

.

Someone enlighten me; what music could Swift's protagonist possibly be listening to that has more street/indie cred than the hotter cheerleader's music? I'll wait.

But honestly, this isn’t about a specific weird and misguided lyric of hers. It’s about the fact that somehow Swift is considered a better role model than Lady Gaga (I know I can hear your groans, this bitch is going on about Gaga again, but let me assure you that everything, absolutely everything, relates to Gaga) or Nicki Minaj. Are they sexually suggestive and explicit? Yes. But they also threaten to poison and kill people, which is awesome. The level of empowerment that prominent female figures such as Minaj and Gaga are promoting and asserting is so much more exciting and creative than the predictable drivel that Swift is pumping out. Also, if you base your outlook on romance/relationships/boys on one of the many misled popular beliefs/coping techniques of Swift, it makes you a stupid person.

BOOM, ROASTED!

Dr. Douchebag & Awesome Sluts Vol. I

[Despite the title this is not about cheesy porn, sorry to disappoint.]

Ali here, blogging from the couch. Scintillating, I know. I'm watching Chelsea Handler and for whatever inane reason, Dr. Drew Pinsky, that Hollywood "rehab" hack, is judging the shit out of Miley Cyrus for the now-notorious video wherein she smokes salvia.

First of all, it's obviously just awesome the Cyrus is tripping with her friends instead of "dating" Taylor Lautner and sleeping with Hollywood's worst playboy and writing mediocre songs about it, all the while clinging desperately to some ridiculous, infantilized, virginal ideal. Anywayz... more on that later.

Cyrus 18. She's clearly been wanting to slut it up since she was 14, when she first realized that she was a pop icon and that she could date hot aussies. I think we should congratulate her for making it to 18 without any DUIs or sex tapes. 18 is the age that you should be smoking weed with your friends which should be considering more scandalous than smoking salvia, seeing as the latter is actually legal, but whatever...

So, why is Dr. Drew suggesting she "get help"? Obviously, Billy Ray will tweet some shit about disappointment, and TMZ and E! will speculate about the public's reaction to it in a shocked and scandalous tone, but honestly, this shit is legal. Thank god Pinsky is on a show as irreverent as Chelsea Lately, because as soon as Pinsky tried to lace his "joking manner" (i use this term loosely. every time Pinsky tries to be funny a D-list celebrity injects meth into their eyeballs) with serious hints that Cyrus should seek help, Chelsea and the other panel guests would shove his bullshit back in his face with comments like "when are you even a doctor", and "why would you want celebrities to get clean, your career is based off the probability they won't".

While salvia isn't exactly my thread count of Egyptian cotton, it's not the predecessor of some sort of Lohanian breakdown of Cyrus' in the future. Might this happen anyway? Possibly. But I'd hazard a guess that Cyrus and her friends were driving back from somewhere and passed the token, weird, goth shop (Madison's is called Amsterdam) and were like oh em gee Miley, it's totes your bee day, and decided to trip. The media is obviously about to try to make this a huge deal, but Pinsky is just vainly trying to assert his legitimacy in the public eye.

I hate "Dr." Drew Pinsky. Why is he awkwardly toned? Go be a real doctor. And I think Miley Cyrus has too many teeth but I so respect her for acting out and wearing slutty clothes and having awkward stripper hair, because at least she isn't pretending, or adhering to absolute caricatures of the least constructive sort of archaic feminine archetypes, ahem, Schmaylor Schwift.

I'm up too late and ranting.

Things

Exciting Things.

1. Today Beauty & the Beast comes out of the Disney vault, woo!

2. Apparently Chelsea Handler & 50 Cent's camps AREN'T denying reports that they are romantically involved. Best Hollywood couple, ever.

3. Chanel's Spring 2010 RTW line.

Unsurprising Things.

1. Todd Palin does not know the difference between inflectional and possessive apostrophes. http://gawker.com/5656514/leaked-emails-sarah-palin-doesnt-give-out-endorsements-for-nothing. And is also rude and childish.

2. Tea Parties are not libertarians, they are just crazy Christians posing as reasonable people who are upset at the economic climate of our country. http://www.politicsdaily.com/2010/10/05/tea-party-is-much-like-the-religious-right-only-moreso-surve/

arachne's surprise

i will graduate college in less than a year. i have done nothing amazing by normal standards. i have a vague ambition, which is to pursue that feeling i get when i'm silently reveling in something beautiful and nobody knows it because i'm just sitting in some coffee shop, reading some silly words. there's some couple in the corner breaking up and some harried student sitting next to me and neither party is aware that my world just shifted just a bit. i look up, shocked that no one has noticed that there is a crazy girl crying into her book, but i look back at my book and god is still waiting in the margin. if i'm late for something, i shut him away and promise myself later. if i'm not, i order another iced mocha and wedge myself sturdily in those words.

i want to spend my days, 9-5, in barnes and noble. i want to greet the woman who is at the first stand, trying to sell the b&n version of the kindle, like a next door neighbor who's watering her flowers. i'll take a sneak peek of the magazine section while i walk to get a coffee. then i'll begin the day with the heavy stuff, like A People's History of the United States by Howard Zinn and try to get through everything David Foster Wallace has ever written and take a crack at Anna Karenina one of these days, maybe even Vanity Fair. i'll take a quick glance at Joyce, sigh, and say not today damnit, it's friday. then i'll spend an hour or two on pop culture stuff, maybe work my way through oprah's book club and the bestseller lists and whatever Michiko Kakutani liked most as of late, even though she's a bit harsh for me. (ps, did you know she won a Pulitzer Prize for Criticism?? i mean, obviously literary criticism is implied, but damn, i didn't even know they awarded pulitzers for that kind of shit. isn't that the prize for being the biggest bitch of them all?)

with my hectic morning done, i will abscond to the sections with big picture books about Warhol and Escher and the roman emperors and how to draw manga and the books of 1,000+ personality tests and fluffy bits on astrology. back to the coffee section for a quiet lunch paging through a book called Sex with the Popes, shooing crumbs away from the crease. i round out my day in the journal section, smelling the books bound with leather and writing all my thoughts in the oldest looking ones, aka definitely not the Ed Hardy one, which is pretty janky. same goes for the one with audrey hepburn on it, because i'm just kind of over her, and because sequins have no place in books.

by the end of my days i will have woven the most gorgeous tapestry. i will weave, even if the best weaver is an ungainly, unremarkable spider. even if the only one who can appreciate the beauty is the spider herself, because that will be worth enough.

i don't even know what 'baccalaureate' means

so, my friend emily suggested i relate a particular experience of mine, and while i'm loathe to put real life situations involving the embarrassment of others in my blog, in fear that i will be somehow followed and killed, i will take a chance on this one because it's just that good. also, i do not remember his name. (sidenote- the vehemence of my irrational fear of being followed and killed via something i said online can be directly traced through my mother, who, if you know her, is always suspicious that some sort of new adventure will end in death. this is mostly a good thing to remember.)

being the lazy, maternal sort, nannying for a summer job is incredibly appealing, and while i've since accepted a job offer from a normal family now, i had been trolling the uw-madison job center website for about a month. mostly, these listings are penned by women, but every so often a man is the primary contact for nanny jobs. this is rare, and as my mother has pointed out, amazingly dangerous. apparently awhile back a girl answering an ad for a babysitter on craigslist was murdered upon arriving at the house of the man pretending to need a babysitter. it's a very serious concern, and thank god my mom is always cognizant of any chance, remote as it may be, of bodily harm or death.

obviously, craigslist is ridiculously shady, and normal people would always, always use caution if for whatever reason they are driven to this site, which is, in conjunction with porn sites and chat rooms, basically the underworld of the internet (sidenote- if my parents stop reading my blog i'll relate the story of how some of my guy friends at madison ordered strippers off craigslist, but here are the sparknotes: "strippers" on craigslist are actually hookers).

for reasons related to his home life situation and NOT in any way related to a quiet yet yearning romance, i will call this man Mr. Darcy.

i emailed Mr. Darcy responding to his ad for a part time summer nanny, and he promptly returned my email, asking when it was convenient for me to meet for an interview. i immediately phoned my mother, hoping to ameliorate her growing resentment toward me for what some could deem chronic unemployment. upon telling her i was meeting with the father of the children, she kind of flipped and said that was dangerous. as always, more hilarious than my mother's actual fears are the ways she intends to neutralize any threat. her first advice was that i bring my roommate kathleen along, who aside from having an actual job herself that she must get to, ostensibly could find nothing more thrilling that coming to a nanny interview with me as my bodyguard. her next piece of advice went something like this:

"okay, ali, what you have to do is drive by his house tonight WITH kathleen and look for some sort of evidence that he actually has children. you know, toys in the yard or something".

after i rejected the admittedly brilliant idea of a late night drive-by, she arrived at the most logical and non-psychotic way to go about this, meeting at a neutral location in the daylight. i emailed Mr. Darcy and we agreed on a local starbucks. i roll up to the starbucks, kinda nervous, and am greeted right away by a normal looking guy. emphasis on the "looking". we exchanged the customary pleasantries and then, the firecracker that started off this mess of an interview, he goes "so, i've never done this before".

maybe it's just me and my addiction to MSNBC's late night special To Catch A Predator, but that sentence carries a weight that no first time nanny interviewer really wants to wield. feeling more like a predator/escort than is decent at 9am on a wednesday, i laughed nervously (the prototypical reaction to hearing "i've never done this before" ) and was absolutely silent for about 3 minutes as Mr. Darcy told me that he's always been home with his kids, and has thus never required a full time nanny.

the following half a hour was minefield of red-flags: firstly, he mentioned that he works "odd hours", which for me, immediately connotes bouncing at a seedy "burlesque club" named Cruisin' Chubbies, or something. next, he casually mentions that his wife will be home but, and i quote verbatim, "she never really leaves the bedroom, and hasn't been in the kids' lives in a while" (disclaimer: the actual reality of this situation, especially for said children, is incredibly unfortunate and a bit sad. however, for the sake of entertainment, i am portraying it as simultaneously terrifying and hilarious, which it veritably is.)

now, the previous statement begs the question, how can a mother who lives presumably down the hall from her two children be absent in their lives? answer: she is an obvious recluse, mentally insane, or hidden in the attic. with each of these options sounding more appealing than the next, i was getting a bit weary and really weirded out by about 9:15am.

the rest of the interview with Mr. Darcy consisted of him alternating working in some really interesting gems ("how would you work conservation of the environment into my kids' every day lives?") with casually dropping some real bombs ("my son has some serious behavioral issues and my daughter sometimes refuses to eat altogether, how would you deal with that?")

the whole time i was basically feeding Mr. Darcy droid-like answers to his asinine questions while imagining the ways in which Mr. Darcy's troglodyte of a wife would inevitably murder me, were i to accept his employment.

i left the starbucks feeling confused and vaguely dirty, not unlike an escort. foiled again, damn you Mr. Darcy!

in an unrelated, unwarranted, and i'm sure largely unappreciated tangent, i am so over people taking time out of their days to imply how superior they are for NOT reading the twilight books. go do something else so we cave people can wonder about those big bright dots in the night sky while you reconcile the impossibilities of the human condition by NOT reading guilty pleasure books. assholes.

and let me just point out that the 8-16 year old girls who, while admittedly ascribing to the long and unhealthy tradition of those pesky Unrealistic Expectations for future relationships, are learning what words like "irrevocably", "masochistic", "omnipresent", and "disconcerting" mean. that, in this english major's opinion, is worth a little self-indulgence.

excuse me, maitre d? i did not order this.

the one thing too many people take for granted is that sometimes it is necessary to stop the truth from getting in the way of telling other people how you feel. i won't let the truth stop me from telling you how i feel, and i'm committed to that. it used to be an act of protection, and now it's an art.

(ps i'm typing with rubber gloves on)

in a crisis, it is always better to have a cat around. when your live-in leaves you, dogs will always be an inappropriately endearing reminder of the male sex. instead of a dog's optimistic and eager demeanor, a cat will simply brush by you, suggesting that you stop whimpering at once, you silly thing. you are far more fabulous than that, go do something posh and stop moping.

there is no music in a teflon reality

the end is nigh, citizens.

i went to the end of my good friend's college graduation the other day, and as i was walking up to the kohl center, watching all the grads flood out of the doors like little sentinels, i just about vomited and passed out. many college kids will be quick to agree that increasingly, college has become, oops, kindofajoke, and that they don't feel like they did too much to earn a college degree (obviously real people with real majors such as Sciencey Things and Businessy Things are excluded). being an english major, i wholeheartedly agree with this. it's not as though i haven't put my fair share of hard work in these past years. my hours logged at memorial library have served in improving my writing skills and for sure my critical thinking/analysis skills.

so, is it just pre-graduation jitters that make me feel as though life after undergrad is an endless dark abyss filled with looming loan payments and unsatisfying jobs that we call 'temporary' but end up staying in to pay off said loans until we find ourselves 37 and divorced, unable to access even a lingering whiff of our younger days of whimsical naivete and insatiable lust for life?

i wish i lived in a time in which the economical crisis (that seems to NEVER end...) forces baby boomers to keep working, making it harder for postgrads to break into the job market. i also wish i lived in a time where there weren't innumerable editions and editions of The Princeton Review's telling you what the odds are that you'll ever live your dream (they are astronomical, by the way), all the while referring you to some sort of booklet that in 500 multiple choice questions determines what field you should go into (that field is amazingly competitive, by the way). All these sources or references or compilations of bullshit seem to be some sort of bullshitty sentence ending in an ellipsis, suggesting that Clinical Pyschology Is a Highly Rewarding Career, However It Requires At Least 7 More Years In A Graduate School, Is Expensive, And Also Amazingly Competitive...sooooo, you might as well get that marketing degree. Also, There are At Least 250 Asian Immigrants In The Twenty Mile Radius Who Are Willing To Work On A Saturday While You Are Watching A Marathon Of Law & Order: SVU.

but then there are those statistics that make us feel so much better, like that a college degree more than doubles average annual earnings, and that only 28% of the population (as of 2004) hold at least a bachelor's degree.

ah, the sorrows of those raised in an uppermiddle class midwestern suburb, whose parents are paying for his/her higher education and want him/her to go into a field that actually makes him/her happy.

it really doesn't help that i loathe the entire aura and experience of professional interactions and relationships. its so glassy and it tastes like the smell of new car and burnt plastic. also, i make really weird first impressions and have a joke of a resume. maybe we suffer from being easily discouraged. what a horrible, debilitating quality.

italy softened me. it stripped me of my cold calculated view of what would have been my rigidly planned entrance into the real world. before i saw dars reports and professor recommendations, and now i am filled with images of uncomfortably dewy beds of grass and drifting conversations, asking the earth we lie on about the last time it danced.

i wish to read and sing and post sassy blogs and visit cool places and talk with people about what they love most in world. double points if it happens to be "80s power ballads".

the remains of a deity

Ahh, there you are, America! You old cod, right where I left you. It's always in the LAST place you look, isn't it? Damn.

Now that I have returned from my enlightening sabbatical abroad, I find American ohsovery droll. These crazy kids and their wide streets and free water. Damn I'm cultured!

I find it really difficult to answer the ubiquitous query, "How was Italy?", largely because of my well-documented and eternally vexing battle with adjectives, those tricky bitches. My first reaction is, I don't really remember. It's very much like a dream, which is crazy considering that for four months nothing else in the world, or about my old life, seemed real. I think it's because almost everything in your day-to-day is in implicit compromise with the other aspects of your life, whereas study abroad was the sole focus of my attentions last semester, and anything else I experienced fell under that umbrella. It seems as though my Study Abroad Experience is wrapped up in a neat little bubble that is a distant yet pleasant memory, floating further and further away.

I've just started telling people something along the lines of, "Oh, it was amazing. It was by far the coolest thing I've ever done". That seems to suffice. It makes me feel awkwardly over-privileged.

The difficulty is expounded when anyone asks me what my favorite city was or what the best part was, and my first instinct is to say, well to really understand why it was so amazing, you have to know about the doctor and her clavel, as well as Art's female magnetism. And then that means nothing to anyone else. Now I'M okay with that, but I don't know how anyone else reacts to my kind of vacant expression a vague assertion that yes, in fact, I DID love being abroad, despite how dopey I look.

You might be saying, stop indulging yourself, the "how was study abroad" question is obviously obligatory. Praise Blogah for bestowing the ability to wax poetic about the trials and tribulations of returning from a whimsical jaunt in Europe. Ay me!

It's odd to return from my suspension of time & reality.

Unrelated, but I like to think I'm not the weakest liquor in the cabinet, but I'm losing faith; I have recently realized I am not even remotely smart enough to keep up with Lost. I've watched all the seasons previous to the latest, and I've been trying to keep up, but I can barely follow it. I have such a limited understanding of the goings-on and I'm feeling a little left out. Maybe it's because I hate all the characters.

lately, you have not been mommy's favorite child

OOPS! Forgot about this for awhile. My last month in Europe has consisted of a triage of sorts; deciding what I have time, money, and energy for. it turns out the blog has come last, right behind putting on makeup and checking my bank statements. Anyhow, here I am, spending my last couple days at the Villa and dragging my feet on finals.

Since I left you, I went to the Amalfi Coast, which was another kind of Sicily; pure, slightly tropical, relaxing heaven. The weekend after that my parents came to visit which was a very different kind of fun for awhile! I've just wrapped up my last full weekend in the Villa, and am "preparing" for finals. If possible, the completion of homework has fallen even slightly behind updating my blog on my priorities list. Classes are incredibly hard to take seriously since we're abroad. Other abroad programs vaguely claim to have similar standards to their home school, but it is rarely true, except for here. Tons O' Fun!

Today was my last day teaching my little Italian 3rd graders which was incredibly sad because I want to adopt almost all of them. Except Cristoforo, that little rascal! Pictures will be on the ol' facebook any day now.

This Saturday I will be joining my brother Pat and his girlfriend Melissa, and I'm really excited! Barring the possibility of some remote, previously dormant volcano exploding, sending thousands of pounds of blinding ash into the atmosphere, halting all air travel in Europe, causing the most drastic cancellation of flights since 9/11, we'll spend the next week and a half in Venice, Milan, Cinque Terre, Florence, and Rome.

Wait... oops.

chapter 290, "willingness to be a mutant"

this step began with an awkward stretch, an ungainly gallop, and an overconfident gaze. deafness followed.

venezia & verona

Well kids, I've really been jetting around town lately. Our program organized a one night trip to Venice, so early Friday morning all 44 of us hopped aboard a coach bus for a 3 1/2 hour ride to Venice. It turns out that buses really aren't for me. Or anyone who chooses to travel WITH me. But anyway, we arrived in the city around 11am. I always knew Venice had canals instead of streets, but I guess I never fully realized how deconstructed it is compared to other, cohesive cities. Venice is literally hundreds of little islands, sometimes connected by bridges but mostly by little canals. It also has a fascinating history of being a mercantile and subsequent cultural checkpoint of Eurasia in the past thousand years (I don't have any energy to expand on that, although the vagueness of that statement begs more attention. Whatevs, wikipedia it later).

Our first stop was the glass-making island of Murano, where we saw the glass master in one warehouse blow glass into a reared-back horse, which was pretty damn impressive. Our guide was telling us that it takes about 15-20 years to become a master of glass-blowing, which was interesting considering how easy this man made it look. The glass itself was in a glob at the end of a hollow, metal pole and he rolled it around a lot, blew it in a bit, poked at it with some tweezers and BAM! a glass horse, perfectly balanced rearing back on its hind legs. So, yeah, generally unimpressive stuff. We then went upstairs to their official store and saw some of the most ornate and beautiful glass products in the world probably. Everything from stemware and chandeliers to jewelry and animal statues were crazy impressive and delicate and shiny.

Next we went to Piazza San Marco, which was easily the most spatially stunning piazza so far. It's really enormous, lined on three sides with three levels of loggias, and faces toward the truly magnificent, staggering Basilica di San Marco. All in all, it's an impressive space, and its right on the Grand Canal. (Fun fact: Angelina Jolie and Johnny Depp are currently filming their new thriller The Tourist in Venice, and we totally saw the light crew setting up shop in front of the Palazzo Ducale adjacent to the Basilica that night. Apparently Jolie is really stuck up and Depp is short but very nice and humble. The name of the movie doesn't really light my fire but the fact that those two are on the screen together should make up for the shitty title. Also, until the end of time I will tell people I was on their set)

Anywho, we tooled around the city for a bit, had a nice relaxing lunch and then went back to the Basilica at 7:30pm for a private evening tour was was amazing. We walked into the church and it was nearly pitch black, except for some satellite lighting the seemed light the space just enough to give us a feeling of how truly grand it is. We sat in the first couple rows of seats and some sort of lackey or priest or what have you began turning on lights. It was actually really dramatic, the first ones that came on were all the way up by the altar, and everyone ooh-ed and ahh-ed when they shed light on the brilliantly golden interior. Once the place was completely lit, we saw it had six domes, making the standard cruciform shape of churches, but every inch was covered it golden mosaic telling stories of Jesus and Saint Mark. Gorgeous.

Another reminder that Venice is basically underwater, while leaving the Basilica we had to jump over a fairly large puddle, which apparently appears every evening as the water in the canals rises. When we saw the Piazza it was similarly puddled, and I heard from some other people that it's usually much worse, almost filling the entire space in a couple inches of water. I'm heading back there in about a month with my brother and Mel, so I should eventually have a follow-up.

Verona was not at all what I expected, in the best way possible. You can tell its a northern city, it's much bigger and there is definitely more money there. It's incredibly clean for one, and also much larger and better preserved than many other historic Italian cities. Pictures should be up on facebook soon, it was all this beautiful white and beige stone mixed with natural oases with robust trees and beautiful, blooming flowers. We rounded out the day by going to the Castle of Verona, and tanning on one of the turrets, such a tourism success!

I'm leaving for the Amalfi Coast on Thursday! More after that. Beaches here I come.

(i couldn't resist)

"Republicans have long seen themselves as synonymous with America, and everyone else as deviant and marginal. This article of faith is impervious to evidence. Surveys show that a majority of Republicans believe that Obama stole the election with Acorn’s help, a conviction that allows them to deny a political reality they find intolerable. More subtly, conservatives have long derided the Democratic Party’s 'dependence' on minority voters, as if these voters are somehow less valid. The GOP’s belief in their right to rule has an unmistakable racial aspect; hence the racial slurs hurled against black congressmen last week, and the right’s repeated comparisons of health-care reform to slavery. This is, in part, white men reacting in furious disbelief that they can no longer rule as a majority, because they aren’t one. Since Nixon, the idea that Republicans constitute a silent majority of decent people—all recoiling from the noisy demands of anti-war protesters, black militants, and radical feminists—has been fundamental to Republican identity. " -Michelle Goldberg, The Daily Beast

Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you for encapsulating all of my problems with many of those who identify themselves as Republican. The good news is, America is slowly waking up. Good morning, liberty.

Galway ate my heart

So, Dublin was fun and vibrant and great, but Galway felt like real Ireland. It's about two hour's bus ride from Dublin and is absolutely worth spending at least three days there. Unfortunately we only had two nights, but we managed to pack in as much as freaking possible, because it's just about the greatest place on earth.

People's favorite thing to ask study abroad students is something along the lines of "what was your favorite city?" and the only sensible answer is, every city. Honestly, every new place I go to is my new favorite place. There are too many levels and dimensions of beauty and wonder and intrigue to really quantify the sites I've seen while in Europe. It's really hard for me to find the words to describe things I really love, but I'll try to do it for dear Galway. It begs my attention, I will not do it justice.

I was inexplicably drawn and attached to Galway. Firstly, it's on the sea, which is absolutely gorgeous. The green, rolling, dewy countryside is seductively nostalgic and watching the sun set over the sea was probably one of the most gorgeous things I've ever seen. Everything felt alive and cohesive and benevolent for a while. God this is horribly cliche.

Galway is a college town and has a really palpable vivacity. We walked across the river for awhile on the college campus, walked up and down the charming cobblestoned streets, wandered in a few squares, and everything felt so warm and inviting and homey. It was an exciting city too, the nightlife was pretty wild. The Irish we ran into really lived up to alcohol stereotypes. And not even the youth scene, we saw middle aged couples getting drunk food at 2am. Brilliant.

Day Two consisted of our daytrip to the Cliffs of Moher and around the region the Irish call the Burren. If you haven't heard of these two, google search that shit asap!! The Cliffs are really one of the most stunning natural wonders in the world. It was nice to enjoy something that wasn't a Renaissance sculpture, fascist architecture, or huge ginormous church. It was simple yet stunning and moving and lovely. I like the idea of something amazing existing without any influence from humans. The Burren is absolutely gorgeous and (nerd alert!) kind of reminded me of the landscape of Rohan from the Lord of the Rings movies... which was filmed in New Zealand... well, whatever. It was picturesque and mountainous and kind of a bumpy bus ride but worth it. We stopped at various castles and this like, sea of rocks, and skirted around the countryside. It was so authentically Irish! I hate my descriptive writing. It was just kind of awesome. OH and we had a boss tour guide who had really cool anecdotes about all the sites we were passing.

If there is one place I want to return to in my life, it's Galway. I got my Claddagh ring and thus am an official Irish lass.

P.S. Angelina Jolie, Brad Pitt, and brood are in Florence right now and it's taking everything I have not to stake out the city sites tomorrow to find/follow/creep on them, and ask them if I can babysit.

finally some description versus me projectile vomiting my sociopolitical ideas on everyone!

After revisiting a few of my previous articles, I realize I am horribly preachy. Anyone that's known me long enough to remember my xanga is probably experiencing every kind of deja vu. But no fear! I have no proselyting to do today. I got back from my spring break trip this past Sunday and man it was good to be home! Living out of a tiny carry on sized luggage bag with all of three outfits in it for ten days is not really my idea of tons of fun and convenience.

Our first stop was Berlin, a city I didn't have too much interest in before I came to Italy, but going there was the second best decision of the entire trip. Perhaps it was the fact that we had the best tour guide ever, with whom I kind of fell in love, Tom. Tom was, and will forever be, amazing. He knew absolutely everything about the city of the Berlin, starting from its Prussian roots, unification, through two world wars, the cold war, and the falling of the Berlin Wall. The whole thing took about four hours and we were hanging on his every word the whole time. For lack of a better phrase, I just didn't realized how crazy and kind of messed up yet fascinating the history of Berlin is. The city itself started as a small fishing village, and basically through the entire 20th century was the epicenter of the world's political tension. It was really insane to see some of the damage that WWII did to Berlin, too, Tom would often pepper his accounts of historical events with "you can see how the bombings during WWII destroyed part of this building and that structure and all these artworks, et cetera. Especially coming from my whole life in the heart of America, our safe defended little bubble to which no harm could ever fall, it was quite a visceral experience to be in a city so obviously ravaged by things I'd only read about in dry, calculated historical texts. It was just so raw being there, Tom really put it into perspective how Berlin has only been stable for the last twenty years and there are still many open wounds that are still very real. (I saw this overwhelmingly gothic boy who couldn't have been more than seventeen with a swastika pin on his imitation leather jacket. Really dude?? The German youth are kind of unhinged in general, but really? )

I was also impressed with the quality of German food and drink. The food is all super hearty and the beer is delicious. They have a tradition there of mixing beer with orange soda or sprite and it sounds really odd but it's really tasty and refreshing! Weiner schnitzel is really, really good. Berlin has one of the most efficient public transportation systems I've ever seen and it's really really convenient! Our hostel was just a 5 minute subway ride away from the historic city center. This paragraph is a relatively uninteresting amalgamation of things I liked because in terms of writing I really don't know what to do when I'm not doing some sort of critical analysis.

Anyway, so at the end of the tour we were sitting on the steps of the Berlin Dome as Tom told us the story of the night the Wall fell. Despite having taken a European history course in high school that thoroughly covered the Cold War, I had never known the full story. As Tom told it, Stalin and the controllers of Communist Germany had decided that the tension between the east and the west could be somewhat alleviated if they pretended to loosen the traveling restrictions between East and West Berlin. Basically they drew up a bunch of fake legislation about chilling out, saying that all the restrictions were going to be removed eventually, and set up a press conference to announce it all (even though effectively they planned to change nothing, "eventually" would turn into never.)

This is where my history gets really accurate... so apparently their press guy was like super cocky and felt like he didn't really need to read the memo, which would have told him that he was to say the Wall would come down, but not put a date on it. He skimmed it and must not have gotten that part. He said the Wall was coming down, and the reporters were like, well, when? And under all that pressure and through the virtue of being kind of a dumbass he was like, "now". And everyone was like, seriously? And this was all live television, so all the East German people basically storm the streets going to all the checkpoints demanding to get through, and the 4 1/2 guards that were there were like so confused because obviously they hadn't heard about this. Essentially the East Berliners stormed that shit down and all the Western Berliners were waiting with champagne and bananas (bananas were a western product that Stalin had embargoed or whatever so no East Berliners had bananas for like twenty years),

Anyway there is about a 98% chance I goofed the history somehow but right as Tom was finishing the story, a German man walked by with his wife and kid and said to us "It was the best weekend of my life!!". It was basically the coolest moment ever. Even Tom was kind of stunned and was like, "yeah that doesn't usually happen, we just got really lucky!"

Basically, the entire thing was kind of magical, Berlin is amazing, and stay tuned for an Ireland post!

a teeny tiny piece of an eternally vexing and convoluted pie, mmm cherries

I am not a political science major, nor a political strategist. I read books and poems in my college classes. My knowledge is limited with respect to American politics and governmental policy, but there are some things I feel confident about criticizing, and one of them is the ridiculous amount of euphemism involved in politics. I was reading an article written by Meghan McCain, which was very eloquent and she seems to be a very well spoken young woman, despite that weird picture of her on her twitter. Whatevs, so she was writing this article in response to George Washington University's College Republicans organization rescinding their support of her on the basis that she's not a "pure" republican. Famously, Ms. McCain differs from her party on the issue of marriage equality. Among other Republican tenets, she claims she is, in fact "pro-life".

As a college student with a decent exposure to critical analysis of language, every kind of red flag goes off when I hear a euphemism as asinine and misleading as that one. Instead of brushing it off as political jargon, and shoving it under the umbrella of politico-speak that people tend to unilaterally accept, it’s worth approaching this problem through both a critical literary and psychological lens.

When any ol' Joe/Joanne says they are "pro-life", no one interprets that as a blanket policy on their lives. I know it, you know it, the Pope and Dalai Lama know it, Joe/Joanne is anti-abortion. When someone says they are "pro-choice", they mean they support a woman's right to choose to have a baby or not. This is again one of those stupid political jargon backwards ways of saying things that seems so slight but is actually wholly detrimental. By dancing around the touchy subject of abortion, we run the risk of not fully grasping the implications of the actually issue. Call it what it is, people.

People vastly underestimate language and I’m damn sick of it. Every single word you say reveals something about yourself, and when you are dealing with societal and governmental issues that have significant weight with people you can’t afford to throw around the world’s most vague and arbitrary terms, in hope that constituents will forget what you are actually implying and just go along with your perfectly pressed suit and combed hair. Honestly, I don't care how white your teeth are or what kind of font adorns your campaign posters, you are a politician and thus inherently self-serving and unreliable. No textbook or lobbyist or well written essay in defense of bullshitting can do anything that would make me think any differently. Politicians have been the same for literally thousands of years, beginning with the Roman Republic and Empire. Rhetoric is a key persuasive device. The hard part is finding a population educated enough to digest this rhetoric as opposed to swallowing it whole.

The "pro-life" euphemism is an interesting beast, because it doesn't directly imply anything negative. Identifying yourself as "pro-life" connotes a benevolent spirit of morality. Where it does the damage, however, is in the subtle implication that people who don't identify themselves as "pro-life", are, in fact, "pro-death". (While one could argue that the term "pro-choice" functions similarly to "pro-life" by implying some people are against choices altogether, I still feel as though "pro-choice" is significantly more germane to the actual issue, and thus an acceptable, direct way of expressing one's opinion on abortion).

Some might say this is "looking too far into it" or "over-analyzing". I firmly believe there is no such thing as over-analyzing, except in one's personal relationships pertaining to deeply rooted insecurities (obviously I've never experienced this and know my mature and intellectual readers haven't either...).

I cannot stress enough how strongly I believe one needs to cultivate their language like a garden, weeding out the unnecessary and usurping words and nourishing those that directly express one's desired intent. Little literary and oratorical issues that are ubiquitous in politics go unnoticed by many, who inadvertently make themselves susceptible to sheep-dom. Unfortunately for us, propaganda is aimed to swindle/convince the public into supporting something based off of any number of things; tag lines, bright colors, font style and size, etc, and it's quite an undertaking to challenge the conventions of language that people blindly accept.

Obviously, no one is an orator all the time. I myself employ my fair share of profanity and "awesome"s, "like"s, and "sweet!!"s. This is my colloquial speech, which everyone is entitled to. The key here is that I'm not a public figure, let alone a political figure with any kind of mass influence. However, language is still important. It can be subtle and beautiful and confrontational, but in a field as important as politics it should never be subversive, indirect, ambiguous, or meaningless.

Honestly thought, pro-life? “I am for living, the one thing that unequivocally ties all people together. I support the only thing I’ve ever known”. Seriously??

anniversary in the greatest city in the world

Now, I'm not one to over-romanticize relationships, and I don't want to be too sappy, but Italy and I have been together for a little over one month now and I want to shout it from the rooftops! I'm in love and I don't care who knows it! I've only known Italy for a little over thirty days, but as they say, when you meet the right one it feels like you've known them forever. I also don't want to be the kind of girl who drops everything and everyone for their new lover, but you might not be seeing me for awhile. We are far too caught up in each other.

Sadly, we must part for about ten days. It's gonna be really hard, and I hope the new boys of Berlin and Dublin don't steal my heart, because I'm very committed to Italy (and extended metaphors).

Anyways, I just returned from my weekend trip to Rome. I kind of forgot about Rome, whether it is the over-exposure or the fact that every cool picture of art and factoid desensitized me to it, but Rome is literally the coolest city I've ever been. I love Florence, and I love living in Tuscany, but Rome is Rome, and thus on a different scale entirely. Most places you go, including large cities, a tourist site consists of just one popular landmark. Not so in Rome. There is actually too much to look at. I was thinking on the bus ride down there, man, everything is in Rome, this will be so awesome, etc. But then I got off the bus and was like, wait, EVERYTHING is here. Literally, everything. The ancient Roman fora, the innumerable triumphal arches of Roman emperors, the Colosseum, the Pantheon, Trevi fountain, the Spanish Steps, the Piazza di Fiori, the Vatican.

The first thing we saw was the equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius. I love seeing things I studied in art history in person. It's like meeting a movie star and I did it all day long in Rome. The Colosseum was magnificent. It's crazy to see/be in and even crazier to imagine it in its original context. Now, it's just a skeleton of it's former self. Maybe it was the fact that we watched Ridley Scott's Gladiator on the ride down there, but as I stood in the Colosseum I saw the enormous amphitheater rebuild itself, watched sand cover the base and animals and men sprout from the now-mossy ground floor, and heard the cheers and jeers of the ravenous crowded.

By the time we reached the Pantheon, I was utterly exhausted, and kind of asleep on my feet. But really, the majesty and perfection of that building blew me away and woke me right up. I seriously have absolutely no idea how anyone could build that, let alone the ancients. It's a perfect dome with a nine meter wide oculus at the top. How do you build a dome and also incorporate a nine meter wide perfect circle at the absolute apex????? Seriously, people. I don't care who you are, that is damn impressive.

Sometimes when I look at landmarks like that, really big, almost intimidatingly impressive buildings, I get that feeling you get on roller coasters- like your eyes and your brain can't handle the implications of the dimensions you're staring at and it kind of blows your mind so much so that you get physically a bit uncomfortable. That's how I feel staring up at the Duomo in Florence and the Pantheon, let alone everything St. Peter's Basilica in the Vatican.

My two favorite things had to have been the Trevi fountain and the Vatican. Trevi is just basically the shit- it's so much bigger than I expected, and I'm pretty sure it's the coolest fountain ever made, ever seen, and ever to exist, ever. Did I mention ever? A couple friends and I decided to spend the first night drinking wine on the steps and just staring at the Trevi. The way the artists sculpted the fountain is so exemplary of the baroque style, the marble looks like it's moving and the figures are interacting with each other in a way that's so palpable you expect them to move. If you just stare at them, you'll swear they are slightly adjusting themselves every couple seconds. Pictures don't do it justice; its cerulean blue (esp. at night) and gorgeous and I love the sound of the water rushing, there's so much of it that it actually gives off a light, really refreshing breeze. Amazing. Three boxes (yes, boxes. I'm a lady.) of wine turned into another two bottles of wine and a bottle of champagne, which we popped on the steps to the confused looks of all the other fountain-goers. Anyway, all that alcohol turned into four really drunk American tourists, so duh, we hopped in the fountain. Apparently it's a hundred euro fine but we saw a woman go in before us. Cops are always around the Trevi and they didn't stop us. Tourism WIN.

Vatican City is ridiculous. The city is basically the Pope's city. The Vatican museums are like the Smithsonian- they have EVERYTHING. One of my friends made the comment that apparently the Vatican has a history of stealing artifacts and I really don't doubt it. They have an Egypt room with tons of sarcophagi and an actual mummy! I really geeked out when I got to see the ancient Assyrian art. The reliefs of Sennacherib, Assurbanipal, and Assurnasirpal were amazingggggg. The Vatican museums have pretty cool little courtyards too, one has a random pine cone sculpture, another is surrounded by ancient marble sculptures. Right before the Sistine Chapel is Raphael's fresco room- The School of Athens was awesome to see in person. Nothing can beat that damn Sistine though (sidenote: totally thought of that moment in Good Will Hunting when Robin Williams yells at Matt Damon, telling him he couldn't tell him what the Sistine Chapel smells like. I could! But it was just a general old-room smell. Damn.). I could spend hours in there just staring, especially at Michaelangelo Bounarroti's The Last Judgment. Ghirlandaio's side panel of the Preachings of Jesus is amazing too, especially in it's vibrant colors and perspectival prowess.

My favorite landmark, ever ever ever, is St. Peter's Basilica. I had always heard how impressive it is, but no picture nor description could ever do it justice. I seriously have no words for how amazing and stunning it is. It's the biggest church in the world and absolutely magnificent. It has tons of Bernini-style baroque sculptures that are like twenty feet tall and amazing.

I'm exhausted and in love with all of the above.

on the other side of the world

Once again, I feel the need to preface the recanting of the events from this past weekend with a disclaimer: none of this is real. I'm on the other side of the earth with no responsibilities aside from trying to budget as efficiently as possible (and oops? going to class?). This is fantasyland, in which things that used to matter, petty things, don't even remotely cross your mind, let alone have any gravity. My life revolves around doing things I've only barely dared to admit could be possible and eating probably the best food anyone has ever eaten, ever. In the gastronomical history of our race's existence, I have won the jackpot, I humbly invite you all to let the jealousy devour you.

This weekend, myself and eight others from the program went to Bologna. Known as the grassa (fat) and dotta (learned) city, Bologna feels as if someone took the coolest, most chill college town and morphed it with some of the most impressive Romanesque architecture, and put God's Chef in charge to run the whole thing. Being largely ignorant of geography and its implications, I failed to take into account the altitude change from the Florence to Bologna. We left Florence at it's usual; about 50 degrees, sunny, and green. The train ride to Bologna took us under the Appenines, and after emerging from a tunnel we were in for about five minutes, we saw everything was blanketed in snow. As my roommate Becca aptly put it, it was like we just got out of the closet and were now in Narnia. I was really confused and kind of panicky seeing as I clearly wasn't dressed appropriately. Luckily, Maria sent me like eight silk long sleeved undershirts (along with a book light, travel clock, hostess cupcakes, and two utensils that are a spoon on one side and a fork on another. My mother thinks I'm camping).

Our Villa RA had given us a really good recommendation for a hotel in Bologna and it turned out to be really nice and fairly priced. AND they gave us breakfast in the mornings, complete with to-go packets of Nutella, I had a field day with that. The only thing was that the toilet flushed selectively, but the bathroom was redeemed by the towel-warmer, yum! I just used "toilet" and "yum" in the same sentence.

The city of Bologna is incredibly vibrant and vivacious. There were tons and tons of colonnades along the streets, with great shopping as well. Our first stop was the University of Bologna section of the city, near the OTHER less famous leaning tower in Italy, the leaning tower of Bologna. Random. The university part of the city was really fun, there were college kids everywhere and it definitely reflected in the energy of the city. The University was founded in 1088, so everything has been built in conversation with this feature of the city. The nightlife was fantastic, there are a ton of university bars, our favorite shot bar was called "Bar College History". I think I get where they were going with that one but the execution wasn't too smooth. I think mostly all the Bologna U kids made fun of us for being a group of 9 obnoxious Americans who don't know where they were going, but whatevs. As I've already learned, there is no escaping Italian's disgust and ridicule. We went to this "Irish Pub" (every bar that isn't a discoteca is an "Irish pub" in Italy) that we ended up really liking.

I am rapidly running out of ways to describe food, both Villa food and the food we ate in Bologna. Instead of trying to encapsulate the gravity of the deliciousness of the individual meals, suffice it to say that more often than not, the sight of the composition of the plate combined with the smell emanating from it makes most of us go silent with reverence. Upon actually tasting the food (my friend Kate is the best at this), out of amazement, we put down whatever utensil we were holding, catch each other's eyes to affirm it's actually real, and then put our heads down for a couple seconds, trying to grasp the enormity of it all. I am not exaggerating, this happens almost every meal. Then commences the instinct to scarf everything down in a blink of an eye, which we painfully resist, trying to savor every moment. Lastly comes the Torture of the Last Bite, in which one realizes this is the last time (in the near future) we will get to taste whatever it is we were eating. It's a horribly vexing moment, in which your taste buds are immersed in bliss but your mind is in agony, grappling with the undeniable truth that the meal, is in fact, over.

I know that sounds insane, but it's honestly how most of us feel.

Back to Bologna, the second day we went to find the main piazza, Piazza Maggiore, which was enormous and awesome. An art group from Milan was rolling out these gigantic sheets of white paper and opening buckets of paint, asking any passersby to paint on it for them, for some kind of country-wide social art contest. We took this and ran with it, had so much fun, took tons of pictures, et cetera. I think we were all kind of high off that experience, and we spent the rest of the day walking around basically goofing off and enjoying the sights.

Three days, two nights, immeasurable bus and cab rides later, I find myself pleasantly exhausted. A day or two of homework catch-up and repose, and then off to Rome with the entire Villa!! Ciao for now!

Villa time, Middle schoolers, Baloney!

Time rushes by here. I would say "time flies by" but "fly" implies a smooth, weightless journey, but in the villa time passes with all the clamor and cacophony of passing trains. Between travelling, meals, and homework, the days seem continuous. If I'm not so tired I feel like anesthetized, I'm starving, and good sleep is a precious, precious thing. I'm usually out like a brick. Villa life is so strange and amazing. One of my roommates has aptly referred to the entire experience as a fantasy world. We play by few of the rules that restrict our usual lives. The food is better, the days are shorter, the experiences are weird and crazy and beautiful.

Since my last post I have gone to Pisa and Lucca. It was a gorgeous, clear, crisp day that we started in Pisa to see that oh-so-famous architectural goof. For whatever reason, the majority of our villa group has yet to break free from the "sheep mentality", in which we all run around whatever Italian city we're in, wondering who is in charge and where something this. There are about four people on the trip who have good sense about where to go or how to get directions to something. I am not one of these people. Instead of getting a map or asking directions myself and others on the trip would rather wander aimlessly hoping to find, inevitably backtracking and getting angry ourselves. We do this about twice a week. My friend Becca had the genius idea of giving whoever is in charge a balloon to hold so we'll all know what to do. Long story short, we made it to the Leaning Tower. That's about the only thing to do in Pisa, aside from hit up a really freaking delicious kebab place around the corner from it all. I did not take the cliched "holding up the tower" picture, but one of my friends does have a couple pictures of all the tourists taking those pictures, so some quota was filled there.

Lucca was way, way cooler. It's a Tuscan town that is completely walled, nestled in the Apennine Mountains. GOYGEOUS! It was the first place other than my hometown of Sesto Fiorentino that feels truly authentically Italian. You could tell that Lucca doesn't get a crazy amount of tourists. We were there around 3-5pm and all the locals were walking around the quaint, cobblestone streets, popping into equally quaint shops here and there. At one point the girls I was with and I found ourselves in a really pretty piazza that we quickly realized was THE cool middle-school hang out. I seriously haven't felt that awkward since I was in middle school myself. You know what I'm talking about, when there is like a 40 person hangout, like at the mall or a movie theater, and all the kids were running around to each other giggling and play with their phones. Except they were way cooler than I was because they are in Italy and more fashionable that I am now or will ever be.

Tomorrow is my first fabulous weekend trip to Bologna! We found a super decently priced hostel and we're off to have fun in the country's gastronomical center. Yum!

lessons learned from my mother

This is sort of not even remotely relevant to my study abroad experience. Also, this has potential to become a book if I ever compile enough stories of the hilarity that is my mother. Nonetheless, I have learned some pretty important things from my mom.

The Philosophy of My Mother, in relevance to my life

1. Hydration = happiness, success, good fortune, and a prosperous future.
If ever a problem plagues you, it is probably because you are not hydrated. Drinking water solves everything. That, and you should probably brush your teeth. Try these two before taking any other form of action.

2. I am probably smarter than almost everyone else.
This one sounds kind of cocky and irrational, but nevertheless was implicit in my mother's parenting style. While rarely stated outright, this sentiment was always the foundation of my mother's quest to build up my self-esteem as a young girl. I think it kind of worked, and I know exactly the kind of mirthful laughter that will emit from my mom if she reads this, and also that it might preen her feathers a bit.

3. Even if all else fails, at least I have good hair.
This is brought up (still) at every occasion in which I am feeling slightly insecure. I used to kind of resent when she said this, instead wanting to be blond or something, but, heck! Come hell, high water, or prettier girls, at least I have some damn good hair.

(Side note: apparently one day in middle school I came home crying because someone told me I wasn't "one of the pretty girls". I do not recall this -repression?- but, the way my mom retells it, she just said "if you aren't one of the pretty girls, then who is?" incredulously, and that was that. Again, like #2, this sort of resolved disbelief in anything other than the fact that I am terrific has somehow been an effective tool in my upbringing)

4. "That baby needs a hat", or "why can't anyone put a hat on that baby?"
Okay so this isn't really a lesson, but if there is a small child in the ten mile radius of my mom in colder weather that is hat-less, my mom seriously considers alerting the authorities. She would probably argue that this is in fact an actual lesson that she wants to impart on every young adult, not just those in the vicinity of her when she sees (gasp!) a baby without a hat.

5. Driving the speed limit (let alone over it) is too risky a chance for anyone to take.
"No one ever died because they drove 45mph". This is one of my favorites, although slightly misinformed seeing as it is safer generally to just keep up with traffic (within reasonable speed). It exemplifies my mom's somewhat irrational yet genuine life lessons, which happen to be my favorite kind. My friends Emily and Rachel would undoubtedly agree that this lesson has been (perhaps unfortunately) deeply ingrained in me.

(Another side note: my mother is notoriously impervious to sarcasm, and will always find a way around to to make you look/feel like an idiot. If ever, during a lovely 35mph mosey down the freeway, she is prompted with the overwhelmingly sarcastic question "could you GO any slower?", she, without skipping a beat, will respond calmly, "why yes, I can", and reduce her speed.)

6. "Wait for it to go on sale".
In my mom's world, something you want to buy will eventually always go on sale, and you better believe she'll be there at that precise moment.

7. "When I was growing up, we weren't allowed to fight with each other".
This one was used when I would get angry with my brothers growing up. This little gem is almost, again, not a lesson, but it's too good to pass up because on one hand; it's completely irrational. My mom grew up in a house with 6 kids, and there is almost no chance that the children never argued because they "weren't allowed to". On the other hand, if you've ever met my mother and her siblings, you really wouldn't doubt it for a second.

8. There is no such thing as being too prepared.
This is employed mostly in relation to how many meatballs one should make before having company. (How could I make a post about my mom without mentioning meatballs??)

There are so, so, so, many more.

my global education

I didn't think it was possible to be jealous of yourself, but I think in the last week I have achieved it. I feel like the man in the Dos Equis commercials.

If you haven't seen one, you have to immediately-http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PVwG1t-NVAA

About three times a day I have moments where I feel so fortunate that it's the type of emotion that expands within you and I feel kind of like I'm floating, for lack of a better contrived analogy.

Lucky for you, I have learned more things in the past couple days.

1. The term "giving an opinion" implies a cordial, non-argumentative offering of one's thoughts. Italians do not do this. Italians do not believe their opinions ARE opinions, in fact I don't think they think "opinions" exist. They force their opinions on others with an absoluteness that is astounding to witness as a meek little American. Exhibit A: my Italian language professor. In the first ten minutes of the first class, she managed to convince me that Italian politics are horribly and irrevocably corrupt, which really wasn't a hard sell. She then, bless her heart, told us why Florence isn't that great of a city, that she actually hates it, as well as Milan, and can only borderline tolerate Venice. Nice.

2. Everyday, an American in Italy will do something stupid, be immediately identified as an obnoxious American, and be made fun of. There is no escaping this, do not try.

3. I know I already learned this, but I'm still floored by the lack of free water/clean toilets. Also, I miss ice, as in frozen water, an art that has yet to reach the exotic land of Italy.

4. Everyone makes jokes about Italian men being forceful and creepy- statements such as these should not be taken as jokes. Stay far away. Firenze also seems to be chock full of Australians, a much safer and more charming bet.

I really can't believe I've only been here a week and some days. It feels like a month, in a good way. I just feel like I've done and seen SO much more than I would in my normal day to day life. Also, the relationships I have with my fellow program participants have developed about four times as quickly as normal interaction. I feel like I've known them forever kind of.

I hope everything is going well on the other side of the screen! More updates when I find the energy.

Gay Rights, Renaissance Humanism, and Lady Gaga. Get Excited.

This has really nothing to do with my Italian adventures, but I feel just as strongly about it as I do our Italian chef Bruno!

All joking aside, today begins the trial of Perry v. Schwarzenegger, the case in California that could overturn Prop 8. I am of the opinion that Prop 8, despite its supporter's fervent denial, is the cloak superficially covering years and centuries of homophobia. This case certainly has the sociopolitical implications that Brown v. Board of Education and Roe v. Wade had in the past- and is THE civil rights struggle of our generation.

This issue is being viewed through a myriad of social lenses- some relevant, some not so relevant. Perhaps being in Europe, with all these crazy socialists, has made me even more adamant about same-sex marriage rights, but I am continually disappointed by some American's inability to realize the importance of civil rights as well as the consequences of this decision.

Natural human habit never changes- ultimately, we will always fear what we don't understand. You can pollute the issue with billions of court cases and studies and bible quotes, but these socially highly regarded formalities cannot veil what is teeming just beneath the surface- the uneasiness people feel towards homosexuality. It's easy to watch old white men on C-SPAN and trust that they oppose gay marriage not because they are homophobic, but because it "protects our children". Well that sounds great, I'd love to protect our children! That statement evokes the morality of raising our children right! We need to listen closer. We need to listen closer to what pro-Prop 8 groups (as well as any other "pro-family" groups) are saying. In their "About Us" section, the Protect Marriage organization fails to mention exactly what they think Prop 8 will protect their children from. They say,

"Because public schools are already required to teach the role of marriage in society as part of the curriculum, schools will now be required to teach students that gay marriage is the same as traditional marriage, starting with kindergarteners. By saying that a marriage is between any two persons rather than between a man and a woman, the Court decision has opened the door to any kind of marriage." (http://www.protectmarriage.com/about/why)

I have many problems with this. Namely, they ascribe to a long standing and incredibly effective literary tool: That of dancing around what you are really trying to say. This animal is known in the wild as "bullshit".

What Protect Marriage is conveniently leaving out is that they do not want their children to know that gay people exist, because if they know gay people exists, that means the idea will be planted in their head and that they could become gay. This is the most bigoted, inaccurate, and disgusting thing that is somehow accepted that I've ever heard, and it makes me sick. However, many people who don't support same-sex marriage are not wholly bigoted, unlike those who never want their children to "find out" about homosexuality. Many people are just uncomfortable with homosexuals, and hop on the bandwagon because they were raised in a time in which only heterosexuality was tolerated. These people are not immoral, rather just ill-informed. Ignorance has too long been covertly disguised and accepted in our society.

When I use the term "ignorant", I do not use it derisively, but rather seek to employ the true definition of the word; that of a state of unawareness. I think older generations are largely unaware of the significance of equal rights for same-sex couples and homosexuals in general. In a nerdy English major move, I can't help but think of Shakespeare when he said "This house is as dark as Ignorance, though Ignorance were as dark as hell" (Twelfth Night, Act IV, scene ii). I believe our house has grown dark, and I believe we will find the power to lighten it.

As Monte Neil Stewart found in his Harvard Study of the arguments for and against same-sex marriage,

"The successful constitutional arguments advanced in support of man-woman marriage succeed because they are ultimately premised on the factually accurate broad (or institutional) description of a complex whole—the marriage institution—that guides individual activity, sustains identity, gives sense and purpose to the lives of its participants, and thereby produces valuable social goods."

Now, Harvard is one of the greatest educational institutions in America and I'm sure Monte Neil Stewart owns many leather-bound books, but we are not a society dependent on the success of a nuclear familial unit to sustain our economy or infrastructure. Left and right (pun intended), heterosexual marriages are falling apart, with and without progeny. Nor are gay couples plagued by purposelessness, being attracted to your own sex does not strip your life of meaning. I'd also like to point out that "sustaining identity" could be a bad thing, such as sustaining one's identity as a bigot, felon, or tyrant. In short, Stewart's analysis short changes marriage, considering it only as a tool for a government or society- a government or society that could theoretically be morally bankrupt and corrupt. Stewart assumes the government serves all its members equally; but as history shows, governments generally fail in providing equal rights for all of their people. More often than not, all governments become oligarchical, serving only a small group. In America, this group consists of Upper-middle class, straight, Christian white men. Historically, marriage has been a tool for procreation, sustaining familial ties, founding alliances, and convenience. Our society is not dependent on these values. We have outdated our definition of marriage. Marriage, in a free society like America's, should be about love. Positive feelings toward another human being, including sexual love.

As Stewart confirms, yes, heterosexual marriage is useful to our society, but so was slavery. Slavery fueled the cotton and tobacco economies that boosted this nation to its (now increasingly waning) financial supremacy, but it is inherently immoral. W.H. Beveridge, in his book Full Employment in a Free Society (1944), points out that "Ignorance is an evil weed, which dictators may cultivate among their dupes, but which no democracy can afford among its citizens."

As Americans, we cannot afford to allow this pervasive ignorance to continue to plague our fight for civil rights. America was founded not upon religious doctrine, but upon an inextinguishable hunger for liberty. Liberty in the face of a nameless and blameless monster that is the collective misguided public. I believe this hunger will eventually be sated, but it should be sated today, not in five or ten years. We cannot wait for those in the dark to "warm up" or "come around" to the idea of same-sex marriage, which so obviously just makes many uncomfortable. An alarming amount of people are still uncomfortable seeing an interracial couple, but that uncomfortable feeling is largely unacceptable to advertise in our society. So should the uncomfortable feeling of seeing two men holding hands down the street, or two women in the mall with their child. I believe Jack Nicholson's character in Scorsese's The Departed hit the nail on the head when he said "No one gives it to you. You have to take it". Interestingly enough, his character was also discussing civil rights, that of black Americans (although he uses less than savory vocabulary).

People ask me why I'm an English major- and truly, it's an impossible to define in a sentence. In a larger sense, it's easier to identify my concentration with the Humanities. My interest in English goes beyond my veneration of literature. For many people, the humanities are considered irrelevant, which is a travesty. I think it's important to relate the humanities to the idea of Renaissance humanism- which encompasses a bevy of ideas and schools of thought, but namely includes a passionate concern with "human interests and welfare, stressing the inherent value and potential of human life" (Oxford English Dictionary). It seems like quite a jump for same-sex marriage to Renaissance humanism, but it is wrapped up in the holistic view of education and philosophy. In my English classes we examine and analyze every aspect of the human condition, which sounds hokey and pretentious and airy, but ultimately can lead to my favorite thing to be led to- clarity. Clarity of history, clarity of meaning, clarity of significance.

For many, same-sex marriage is a confusing issue, convoluted with bias and tangled in never-ending politics. Boiled down however, it is in the same vein as every other civil rights issue. The emancipation of slaves in the late 19th century, the sufferance of women in the early 20th century, the Black Civil Rights and Feminist Movements in contemporary society, and now it's a different monster. People have a way of ignoring history and historical example. Despite all the cliches, history is in fact, condemned to repeat itself. For too many the issue of same-sex marriage is tossed aside as a frivolous foray of the idealistic and liberal. That is also what people thought about the entire doctrine of democracy in ancient societies. For a society to maintain its liberty, it needs to be looking forward. Not necessarily a doctrine of "progress for progress' sake", but rather progress for liberty's sake. In general, we are lucky to be citizens of America, fortunate enough to be guaranteed rights many citizens of the world are denied. America needs to be a beacon; not in a financial or militaristic capacity, but as a society that successfully acts in defense of basic human rights.

At this point I will hearken to a previous post, about negative reactions to the pop artist Lady Gaga. People think what she does is "out-there". What does "out-there" even really mean? It means something outside the boundaries of people's comfort zones. Lady Gaga wears outfits considered strange by our society- GASP! She must be Satan. Some people are attracted to their same sex- Grab your torches and pitchforks! Martin Luther thought religion should be free from corruption- Kill all the Protestants! Sadly, the last two are/were much bigger social issues, for which hundreds of thousands, possibly millions of deaths in history serve to evidence. Just like Luther's ideals challenged the Papal authority, gay activist's ideals challenge the authority of "the norm". It was the fact that Luther was undermining the theocracy- the power. I believe that gay activists undermine the power of the oldwhitestraightguy, and it unnerves them. However, we cannot afford to stroke egos, we are dealing with an issue larger than some people being "weirded out" by homosexuals.

Same-sex marriage is a question of freedom. America guarantees rights to its citizens, and in denying those rights fails as an institution. Our voices can turn the tide and work against ignorance. In whatever way you can, lend your support to the overturning of Prop 8, without which we cannot make progress for LGBTQ Civil Rights.

tu sei giapponese??

Greetings, loyal readers! I realize that demographic consists of my brother and maybe two other people. Anyhoosiers I have many things to say about Italy, these past three days have been incredibly amazing and awesome and eye-opening and delicious. I will begin with a quick list of things I have learned...

1. Italian food is beyond any sort of adequate description and now is the sole concern of my existence.

Our villa chef, Bruno, (do you hate me yet?) is the most talented cook I've ever known, including my own mom, sorry Maria. Every day except Saturdays we have breakfast at 8am, lunch at 1pm, and dinner at 7pm and I can honestly say that my day and all the villa resident's lives singularly revolve around these mealtimes. I'm already inexplicably attached to these times and look forward to them like five year olds look forward to Christmas morning. I'm seriously going to start taking pictures of the meals he creates for us. Breakfast is the simplest of the day, some cereal and really delicious flaky lovely croissants. Americans DO NOT do bread right. I don't know what secret we're missing but it's seriously an issue. Lunch is the biggest meal of the day. Saturday we had a kind of rice I've never had before which rapidly became my favorite kind of rice to date. Anyway, on top of that was this chicken and mushroom sauce mix. Dinner is usually salad (so fresh!), some sort of pasta, and always bread on the table. Oh, did I mention dessert? Last night we had some sort of rhubarb inspired souffle and tonight was a kind of apple torte drenched with the best vanilla sauce ever. I wish there were some names for the desserts our chef makes but whenever we ask him what it's called, he shrugs, mentions a single ingredient, and just motions for us to inhale it (we promptly do so). Both nights we've had these mysterious, captivating confections two of my fellow Real World: Florence members at our table refused dessert out of sheer volume of food ingested in the previous course, but Bruno in turn refused that refusal (the plot thickens) and placed a dish before them. Both people ended up finishing the dessert, it's that good. I really could talk about it all day long but I will save it for some quality food-blogging at a later date.

2. Water is not free.

This one is hard for me, but most ristorante italiane don't serve tap water, and instead charge up to €3. Ridic. However, you can buy a bottle of vino for about €2. This is how Italians live.

3. 13-year-olds can get into bars in Italy.

Okay maybe not exactly, but at a bar in our town my friends and I ran into a couple of Australian kids and some Italian girls who were all 16. They were just casually sipping on beers, looking cooler than I ever could have managed to when I was that age (almost 5 years ago- jesus). Even now, I'm not sure I'm as cool as them. I don't know where that falls on the scale of Europeans just being really cool or myself just being really lame, but it's at a point where those roads meet. On the other hand, there were many 20-something Italian boys who played foosball all night. Yeah, there was a foosball table at the bar, I don't know, whatever. They had cool piercings and taught us Italian swear words.

4. Bathrooms in establishments are largely "unisex", which is Italian for "a urinal that we tell women to use, despite whatever unsanitary consequences it might have in store for them".

I seriously almost took a picture of this bathroom in a bar I went to last night. It was a toilet without a lid, seat, or toilet paper. It did, however, have a what looks like a hose with a sink sprayer attachment on the wall next to it. Ew, ew, ew. I cried a bit.

5. In Italy, there is no set standard for stair length/width/steepness/material.

You really might as well sit on your ass and slide down them. It is a recreational sport navigating through stairs that are made of gravel, mossy and slippery, or 3 inches wide, one I now try to avoid with the hardened dedication I employ in avidly avoiding every other sport.

6. "Public transportation" is not a terrifying mythical beast, but a useful, economical, and ecologically responsible way of moving yourself from place to place.

Call it American suburban naivete, but public transportation has always vexed/horrified me. Trains and buses are confusing, loud, and dirty, but also kind of fun, and really make you feel like an authentic Italian (yeah it has only been three days but I think I live here). Plus now I am superior to all you gas guzzling, carbon big-foot footprint leaving, obnoxious Americans with your SUVs and salted bread. Again, these three days have been super transformative.

7. Apparently I look Japanese.

I was under the impression that Asian is possibly the last ethnicity I would be identified as, but a friendly street vendor was surprised that I wasn't. One of my roommates explained it quite aptly, saying "it's probably because you have dark hair and bangs".




"The voyage of discovery lies not in finding new landscapes, but in having new eyes" - Marcel Proust

i love ya, tomorrow!

with the help of all my singing mice friends, my bags are packed, my wallet houses euros, not dollars, and i will see you on the flip side!