"I'm going to a town that has already been burned down..."

Back from Europe and no worse for wear. Better for it, actually. And rather than cram a two week stint into one blog post, I'll divvy it up into city-sized chunks to be digested over a number of days.

Florence: the first - and best - stop. It felt like home. So yes - it was good to be back - but it was even better to see Eryn and Alex after a drought of nearly three years - THREE! That's not to say it wasn't good to see Rachel, but we knew we'd have over two weeks to rekindle our bond... and we sure did.

I think I was able to do everything I'd really wanted to do... I didn't go to a lot of new places (other than restaurants), but I was able to revisit the Florence I knew, which is what I needed. Fiddler's Elbow, Art Bar, the Mercato, SACI, and of course, Sad Gelato Man (best and most-anticipated reunion/picture ever!) Just the first lunch date with Eryn and A-Town would have made that trip worth it. "You're a gum-splitter, too??" It felt so right, so natural... can we have lunches like that once a week, please?

Thanks.

There was a grand dinner at il Latini, where we met all the parental units and plowed our way through probably six or seven glorious courses. It consisted of a nearly-pornographic amount of prosciutto, as well as amazing pasta and meat dishes, and wine for the sipping (swilling?) I don't think I've ever indulged (read: gorged) myself on so much food in my life. The delightful pain of it all, rolling Rachel and myself back to the doors of Hotel Tina!

The wedding - the Big A, as it were - was lovely. The couple looked so beautiful/handsome - so fresh and young... dare I say... "glowing?" Siiigh. The marriage ceremony was short, simple and civil - my type of ceremony. Still, tears flowed like a river of doves from the beard of Zeus. The two of them were so delightfully themselves. Eryn was not a "Bridezilla," in spite of her painful heels, which she wore like a champ, and A-Town cracked jokes and was as much himself as at any other time. Two people who belong together, just getting married alongside friends and family and enjoying the day... joined by the bonds of love. And you cannot track that, not with a thousand bloodhounds, and you cannot break it, not with a thousand swords... name that movie! I wanted to quote it the entire day, but I refrained.

The post-wedding dinner - oh the dinner! Served at La Terrazza del Principe on the other side of the Arno, up in the Tuscan hills past Boboli Garden, I had, what was probably the best meal of my life. A-Town and I couldn't get over the eggplant rigatoni... The dish could have been crafted by Michelangelo himself, it was so magnificent. Eryn, you get an extra bazillion awesome points for tracking down that place. Rachel and I parted with our beloved fellow-Bufas on hilltop, rather unceremoniously, but in the words of Helen, "whatever"... I shall see them again. Hopefully, relatively soon. None of this three years crap...

I'll eventually attach more pictures to this post - specifically some from the day of the Big A, when I get my act together.

Of future plans, change, e la lingua perfetta.

Life is going on, as it is wont to do. I've tentatively chosen my BW (Best Woman) ensemble for The Amalgamation (pictured at right.) My mom and I agreed that red is a bit spicy for a wedding, but since it'll be in the Red Room at the Palazzo Vecchio, perhaps I'll just chameleon myself right into the background. And if Sister Scarlett has taught me anything, it's that a pale blonde can rock the red.

Remaining things to do concerning The Big A: book lodgings for Florence, Madrid and Barcelona (yeaaaaaah... gotta work on that). Also, I must get RyanAir tickets from Florence to Madrid, aaaaand that ever-so-important (albeit undesirable), return ticket from Europe to Bostonia. All these processes should be sped up by a call to Rach sometime tonight or tomorrow. While I was hoping to get a new iPod for the trip, that may have to be put off... indefinitely. But I'll see where I stand come April.

I've assembled a small list of New Year's Resolutions, which I've never done before, simply because I believe it's a day many use to excuse themselves from changing at any time - hunkering it all down to one day - as if an effort for change couldn't happen on any day.

Now, to thoroughly put my foot in my mouth, here are my resolutions.

1. Chill out.
1.a. sub-resolution: Quell the desire to slap people on the back of the head who walk slowly. (Note: this sub-resolution has already been broken.)
2. Be bolder.
3. Exercise daily. I've been good, but I can be better.
4. Get something published; a vague and largely unknown notion to most who know me, but I'd like to put my crappy something out there.
5. This is petty, but see Eryn's #5.
6. Be the best BW I can be not only for The Big A, but continue to be the BW I can a non-Amalgamation context, as well.
7. Get back to art.
8. I'm sure there was something else, but like Sad Gelato Man in the winter months, it escapes me. Probably something about not commuting 20 hours a week.

I watched 8 1/2 again, starring my main man, Marcello Mastroianni (molto alliteration!) Italian is such a phenomenal language. While it's not quite as smooth as French, it has a rhythm and attitude of its own. The sounds of the words are... well - I can't think of a word for it in English. The language can be casual and friendly or powerful and assertive - it almost possesses a sort of languid sexuality that can be manipulated through tone and delivery. Even giving directions looks and sounds lovely - e dopo la luce, vai a la destra. When spoken with a Roman accent? Bellisima.

As for the image to the upper left, I imagine that will be what The Amalgamation will be like. Apparently, I must find a hat.

All roads lead to...

I've had time to think. Whether on the train or during downtime at work, my mind's been going nonstop, more frantically than before. I've pretty much given up TV and while the future of that abstinence is uncertain, lately, I've been reading a lot, writing a lot, drawing a bit, and thinking a ton about Italia.

I've been chipping away at The Genius in the Design: Bernini, Borromini, and the Rivalry That Transformed Rome during my commute and lunch breaks. I've always been a fan of Bernini, but I've come to appreciate Borromini more, even though he was apparently quite a chore. So far, it's been a very even-handed and interesting look into the lives of two very different, but very talented men- both involved in the some of the most amazing projects of the era.

Reading about some of Bernini's works especially, I thought to myself "what? I didn't see that- I have to go back!" I don't remember seeing Truth Unveiled By Time, though it was in Galleria Borghese, which we visited. And while I'm kicking myself for that, David was by far the numero uno piece piece of art I ever wanted to see. Visiting it was something of a religious experience. I left Helen's side to see Dave, before she mangled my perfect idea of him with her subjective spiel... "whatever." The only other person in the room was Ryan- we nodded at each other in silent understanding. Being in the presence of something so much larger than yourself, figuratively speaking. The Colosseum yells over you with its might... Bernini silences you.

Second to that piece is Bernini's sculpture of Constantine, which I saw... from a distance. A pretty great distance. About 200 feet. Thanks, Vatican. And I had no idea that Bernini designed the fountain at the base of The Spanish Steps... the very same fountain Helen practically dove into for a drink. No cup required. Practically half of the public art in Rome was sculpted, designed, or overseen by Bernini. Apparently, he was quite busy. (No TV.)

I got my first paycheck this past Friday, marking the first step towards Italia. The Amalgamation is about seven months away- once it hits 6, I'll flip. Anyway, I'm looking to take off maybe 10 days of work for it. One of the days is accounted for (yeah Boston and Patriot's Day!), so maybe I'll stretch it a little longer. If this past week has been any sort of accurate depiction of the rest of the year, they should be able to get along fine without me. Work study students are the best resource ever.

I traveled a lot with Rachel while in Europe (we hit Milan, Ireland, Tuscan countryside, Cinque Terre, and Switzerland), and we know that we can live and travel together, so it made sense that we team up for the Amalgamation. (Question: why does the creepy Funny Farm mascot wear a vest? Is he McLovin?) Rach is excited for it, writing in her most recent e-mail, "When I think about the wedding, I want to shout 'gheluueewoooooh!' from the top my apartment!" Since there are so many possible countries/cities to travel to, I figured we should both write separate lists of cities we're dying to visit- then, we see where we overlap. If we don't, then we could visit both of our top choices. She just sent me her informal choices: Prague, Sweden and/or Denmark. I've thought about Prague, but Barcelona is sticking in my mind like delicious sticks to gelato. Eryn has said that it's one of her favorite cities, and Samantha Brown (my second favorite travel show host (behind Ian of "Globe Trekker")), has said that it's her favorite city in the world. (I just googled her and she now has a new "Passport to Latin America..." nice!)

At the moment, I'm leaning towards Barcelona, Berlin, someplace in Greece, Amsterdam or Corsica. I'll probably have to limit myself to Florence and one or two other cities, so as to not become insane, broke, and exhausted. In any case, this trip is going to be expensive, but I hope to plan it as efficiently, reasonably, and comfortably as possible. While Sweden is tempting, I wouldn't mind going someplace that wasn't freezing. I'm guessing that late April is pretty mild in most of Europe, but I don't want to have to bring a big coat. I'm in a very Mediterranean mood. Who knows? There's still seven months, right? And FYI, I'm open to suggestions.

Monza, the Italian Grand Prix (Ferrari's home race) was today. Unfortunately, Ferrari only placed third. But it reminded me that it three years ago when I contemplated skipping SACI orientation to go to Milano for the race. Yes- it was almost exactly three years ago that I arrived in Florence- jet lagged, completely dehydrated, and stuck with a sketchy guy roommate and a migraine. That was probably the worst day of my life. And yet, there was nowhere to go but up.

Oh, Italia. You are a life lesson wrapped in sass and spaghetti.

An Andy Rooney moment

The fleur-de-lis is a decorative royal symbol of France, Quebec and even part of Switzerland. Also, a variety of the fleur-de-lis is the symbol of Florence. AND it's the symbol of New Orleans. And speaking of the Big Easy, the fleur-de-lis is also the symbol which graces my favorite coffee cup, which Rachel made me a couple years ago.

I went to the mall with my mom today, looking for clothes... and trouble... but mostly clothes. And everywhere we went, there was a plethora of fleur-de-lis. It is truly "le symbole du moment." We went to a craft store yesterday (just furthering my nerdom), and everywhere we looked there were stencils and iron-on's and bedazzling pattern kits for fleur-de-lis- yes- it has trickled down to the backwardly-chic Bedazzlers of America.

But what gives? Who started this trend? I feel like I should write a letter... but... to whooom? There have got to be some French watching MTV right now saying, "quoi?" And in Italia, SGM tilts his head and sighs in all-too-familiar disappointment, for he knows his city's wonderful symbol has been used on something that has undoubtedly been worn by Lindsay Lohan between arrests.

Or, it could just be like everyone wearing "I <3 NYC" shirts. Except, everyone knows what NYC is... does everyone know what a fleur-de-lis is? But, I could just be overreacting since I've been working on a fleur-de-lis print and am now pissed that the mass consciousness is saturated with this symbol enough and has lost all meaning.

Next time your out at your local "centre commercial," take a look around and try not to furrow your brow at the numerous abuses against our beloved Firenze... and France, too, I suppose.

If I ever get a tiny dog, I shall name him "Marcellino."

So Eryn asked about linking with html, and I am by no means at all an html whiz, but I made this little image as a reference. Obvi, just replace the linkies that you see there with whatever your little heart desires. I hope that came out clear enough. Stupid compression.

Another shocker was that Punky Lewster has never seen a Marcello Mastroianni flick. Before I disown her as an amica, I guess I should explain the wonder behind this man. And again, I'm no expert on the Cello, but I do adore him more than most. He's very captivating and charming as an actor; he has a certain ease as a performer– an apparently innate quality (is it his very Italianess? Non lo so.) His face is lined with tragedy and he carries himself with a sort of languid grace- he's amazing at expressing the depth of a character. He's incredibly compelling and can deliver a dialogue about a thinly veiled hypothetical situation like nobody's business. (I speak of him in the present, but he is quite dead, unfortunamente.)

To start out, I suggest Divorzio all'italiana (aka Divorce Italian Style), even though Marcello looks (molester 'stache!), and acts so incredibly sketchy. He plays a married man "in love" with a much younger woman, during a time when divorce was not allowed in Italy. He realizes, however, that if catches his wife cheating on him, he can kill her, be pardoned, and thus free to marry the younger woman (who I believe is his cousin in the film, upping the sketch factor.) It's a twisted, relatively dark comedy, which you may enjoy.

Le Notti Bianche is okay– nothing too superb. Marcello's performance of a lonely, lovesick man is understated and touching, but the story is slowly-paced and sad. It's based on a short story by Dostoevsky, so I really shouldn't have been surprised.

I love 8 1/2 and to a slightly lesser extent, La Dolce Vita. Both movies are written and directed by Federico Fellini, and he and Marcello make for an amazing team.

Perhaps I like 8 1/2 more because it's less depressing than LDV, but just as beautifully shot. There are so many times you just want to pause the movie and stare– the photography is just stunning– so fluid and glossy. As for the plot, the movie is pretty much a thinly veiled autobiography of Fellini, and I enjoy that peek into his head. Marcello plays Guido, a film director who struggles with creative-block, while simultaneously being harassed by his wife, his lover, friends, and "friends." The entire film turns out to be as bold a statement a director could make– perhaps best exemplified when Guido says, "I thought my ideas were so clear. I wanted to make an honest film. No lies whatsoever. ... A film that could help bury forever all those dead things we carry within ourselves. Instead, I'm the one without the courage to bury anything at all. When did I go wrong? I really have nothing to say, but I want to say it all the same." An artist is an artist is an artist.

The film meanders from the real to the surreal so effortlessly that occasionally it's hard to tell when one begins and the other ends. The first time I watched it, I was left scratching my head a bit, but the second time was a revelation. I guess it should also be said that 8 1/2 is known for having one of the greatest openings and endings in film history.

To be fair, though, I'd say La Dolce Vita is a little more accessible, and perhaps more vibrant and exciting. I know that I need to give it a second viewing to be sure. It follows the story of Marcello (his name in the film as well), as a tabloid journalist in Rome in the 1960's. He's longs to become a great and relevant writer– but he's pulled into the hedonistic shallowness of those surrounding him. This film has one of the most famous scenes in film history– the Trevi Fountain scene.

And, it has one of my favorite Marcello lines ever, which One Eye and I would throw back and forth at eachother: "Emma... ché cosa fai?" AND my favorite pose, a gesture innately known to all Italian men to express a multitude of emotions...

The Shrug.


But both films give a great (albeit sort of surreal) glimpse of 1960's life en Italia. And they're ohso brilliantly Italian. Everyone's tormented inside... but damn it- they look amazing.

I could go on and on about the movies (and realize that I did quite a bit), but it beats writing cover letters. I hope that convinces you to Netflix some flicks with my main Italian man. Oh boy, I could use a cold glass of Limencello and some Marcello stasera. To the packie! Arrivederci!