I have been checking craigslist.com every day, 9 times a day since I got back from Italy. I have been looking for oppourtunities to do some acting. Everything from being an extra in a feature film to infomericals to body doubles for a TV show. But, for the most part, I send emails to fellow students who are working on their final proects.
Recently, I heard back from one of the 37 daily emails I send. It was from a girl who wanted me to be in her short movie for one of her classes at the New York Film Academy. I obliged.
It was to be an office shoot where my character would be wearing business casual. I reached for the Gap khakis, put on the dark orange colored Alfani, and was reaching for the Banana Republic loafers when I decided I would store them in my bag an opt for the sandals for the subway ride. (Huge move right there. Trying to avoid that sweat, ya feel me?!)
I was headed to West 27th and Broadway and was running slightly late. I arrived at the building 4 minutes late and went to the 5th floor. I met the "director" of the movie who was the girl I had spoken with through email and one other person from the crew. We chit chatted briefly about this and that and after 35 minutes of waiting, everyone else showed up. Well, almost everyone.
Originally, I was going to play a supporting role with only a few lines but the guy who was to play the main guy named Alex, never showed. So, I was called upon to fill in. I was pretty excited and up to the task.
The basic premise of the movie was there was a guy named Alex who works in an office and has become really sick and stressed. He has a big meeting with his boss later in the day and ends up getting these over the counter meds from co-workers(day quil, night quil, benadryl, theraflu,etc) He ends up taking all them and gets pretty loopy going into the meeting with the boss. He says off the wall things and in the end, he gets a promotion. (funny stuff happens in between)
At this point there was myself, two girls, and one other guy. The girls were my co-workers and the guy was gonna be my boss. The scenes with the girls were cool. I expressed my stressful situation and they conspiculously gave me meds. Sometimes it would be no-look handoffs near the copy machine or secret drop offs near the filing cabinet. The scene with the guy was a completely different story.
Before the final scene with the boss, there was a montage scene where all the co workers were high off some over the counter med and we were wearing party hats and dancing in conference rooms. Now, the two girls were your standard plain, friendly, white girls. This guy claimed he was Spainsh, Italian, and Greek or something but he was basically a duplicate of Fez from That 70's Show. If you don't know who that is, please go to Google and look him up. He even talked like him, too.
When he first came on screen, he kept talking about how the party hat would mess up his hair. He kept asking everyone if it looked alright and liked getting people's attention. He always found a reason to say something even though it was a scene without dialouge. I was begining to dislike this chico.
When the director asked which one of us wanted to ride a bike through the office for the next scene, I immideatly said "Francis should". He looked kind of taken back but he went through with it. He said in the "10 feature films I have been in, I haven't had to do this but okay!" You see, there wasn't a lot of room for him to make the turn from the hallway into the next room and I was hoping, praying he would crash.
He got on the bike, party hat, dress shoes and suit and all, and began swaying and jerking as he was riding. He barely made it with the first take. During the second take, he was not so lucky. As he was exiting the scene, he crashed head on into the wall and I was paralyzed with laughter. Success! Even the director, cameraman and microphone holder were rolling.
When it was time to shoot my scene with Francis, I knew it was going to be something. The two other girls had finished their scenes and dipped out. At this point, it was 9pm and everyone but Francis' late, wack ass had been there since 3. The scene called for Francis, myboss, to be sitting at his desk waiting for me. I rush in out of breath and try to locate my report while he criticizes me.
I rush in, say my lines and am straight. This cat could not remember jack sh*t. Not only could he not remember the 4 lines he had, he couldn't pronounce them. Not only could he not pronounce them, he made suggestions to the director about changing the scene. It got so bad with the lines the director said he could put the script in front of him on the table. Still didn't work. At one point, he talks on the phone and says "Its Barney meets Wonka" because I made these crazy business suggestions to him because I was high on theraflu and the likes. He kept saying "Its Barneys meet...Donka" or "Its Barney meets...uhh I'm sorry".
He kept saying sorry and smiling. He would try to cover his ass when he messed up by asking if he was doing it right and didn't know exactly what the director wanted so he stumbled. In the words of myself and my brother "Shut yo b*tch ass up!"
Once the director cut the last two lines as to minimize the "difficulty", he finally finished it. When he left the room to go to the bathroom, the crew and myself just lit into this guy. Criticism up and down the block. I'm no professional at acting (yet) but I know a jackass when I see one. The crew said he was the worst actor they had been around and one of the worst overall people. I mean this guy thought he was THE MAN. He told us he spoke 11 languages, too. And that wasn't even the half of it.
I thanked the crew and the director and was told that I should get a copy of the movie this week.
It was a fun overall experience except for that guy. Actually, if it wasn't for that guy, I wouldn't have much of a story to tell.
Although I would prefer to work with a real life Tyrone Biggums before I work with that guy again.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Rat Watch
Just a quick update on the game I created for myself. As of today, Day # 24, I have seen 23 rats.
My record for rats in one "sitting" is 4. In case you are interested, the best time to see them is late at night/early morning. You gotta go to the really grimey subway stations where pipes have holes in them and the ceiling is leaking and/or falling apart.
I have seen some baby one's and some really big guys.
If anyone has any suggestions as to which stations might be the motherload, holler at your boy
My record for rats in one "sitting" is 4. In case you are interested, the best time to see them is late at night/early morning. You gotta go to the really grimey subway stations where pipes have holes in them and the ceiling is leaking and/or falling apart.
I have seen some baby one's and some really big guys.
If anyone has any suggestions as to which stations might be the motherload, holler at your boy
Friday, July 25, 2008
Welcome to The Edgewood
As I sat in the front seat chatting with Becca I was taking in the fact that I had gone on quite journey and the day was only half over. I started in Brooklyn, then went to Manhattan, then went to Greenwich, CT, and now I was driving to New Jersey. Woah.
As Becca was struggling mightly with the GPS system, we were briefing each other of the last 6 months. "The food in Italy was amazing, i did some traveling...etc." Once she got on her Blackberry it really became clear: Becca is an adult. A real one. Here she was, picking me up in a Black SUV (it was her significan other's) in Connecticut, talking on the Blackberry, discussing with him wheter to meet him at his house or meet him at "the club".
I was secretly hoping for "the club". I wanted to see what it was like. Could be fun. After Becca said "meet you there", I was pleased. Once we pulled into the parking lot, I was wondering wheter we were going in or not. I was worried because I was dressed like I was a shark from West Side Story. Remember now, I had just come from my audition where I was a tough guy from Chicago and was wearing a white v neck, black jeans, and chuck t's. And now, here I was, about to enter a New Jersey country club in the middle of July. Oh boy.
We met Becca's counterpart outside and he asked us if we wanted to go swimming. Hell to the yes! I had been wanting to go swimming ever since I landed in JFK and started sweating. I said sure but I didn't have a suit. No problem, my new main man Sam (the boyfriend) said he got me. Sam and I walked to locker room and boy howdy it was nice. I mean wow
The Claremont aint got nothing on The Edgewood. The locker room was huge. As I was noticing the wood lockers I walked by a room with a massage table in it. I poked my head in and there was a guy sitting there reading the newspaper. I gave the traditional "hi" without saying anything aka the slight nod of the head downward. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a flatscreen in the room. Wow.
I got a pair of shorts, changed quickly, and headed for the pool. I was told that I didn't need to put my clothes in a locker and could just leave them out. I was hesitant at firtst but then I realized, this is the Edgewood baby! Everything is cool!
I walked out and jumped in the pool without any reservations. It was a solid 95 degrees out and the pool was niiiiiiiiiice. I met a few freinds of Sam's but for the most part found myself going under water periodically to avoid being the odd man out couple wise. (Becca and Sam and the friends I just met were together)
After time well spent in the pool, I made my way back to the locker room. I quickly took a shower and after getting dressed went back to the shower area so I could use some of the, um, products. And there was a lot of options, let me tell you. Lots of after shaves, lots of desposbale razors, lots of gel, lotion, all kinds of stuff.
I was a little dissapointed, however. You see, Becca and Sam had a concert to go to in Manhattan so I was not able to go in the steam room. But, beggars can't be choosers. I was welcomed into this club with open arms (chances are nobody knew I was Jewish AND Black), took a dip in the pool, and had a nice shower. So I was happy overall.
As we left the club with my body feeling swell, I was happy my day had taken a detour to The Edgewood country club. Next time though, I'm spending no less than 3 hours there.
Make it 10
As Becca was struggling mightly with the GPS system, we were briefing each other of the last 6 months. "The food in Italy was amazing, i did some traveling...etc." Once she got on her Blackberry it really became clear: Becca is an adult. A real one. Here she was, picking me up in a Black SUV (it was her significan other's) in Connecticut, talking on the Blackberry, discussing with him wheter to meet him at his house or meet him at "the club".
I was secretly hoping for "the club". I wanted to see what it was like. Could be fun. After Becca said "meet you there", I was pleased. Once we pulled into the parking lot, I was wondering wheter we were going in or not. I was worried because I was dressed like I was a shark from West Side Story. Remember now, I had just come from my audition where I was a tough guy from Chicago and was wearing a white v neck, black jeans, and chuck t's. And now, here I was, about to enter a New Jersey country club in the middle of July. Oh boy.
We met Becca's counterpart outside and he asked us if we wanted to go swimming. Hell to the yes! I had been wanting to go swimming ever since I landed in JFK and started sweating. I said sure but I didn't have a suit. No problem, my new main man Sam (the boyfriend) said he got me. Sam and I walked to locker room and boy howdy it was nice. I mean wow
The Claremont aint got nothing on The Edgewood. The locker room was huge. As I was noticing the wood lockers I walked by a room with a massage table in it. I poked my head in and there was a guy sitting there reading the newspaper. I gave the traditional "hi" without saying anything aka the slight nod of the head downward. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a flatscreen in the room. Wow.
I got a pair of shorts, changed quickly, and headed for the pool. I was told that I didn't need to put my clothes in a locker and could just leave them out. I was hesitant at firtst but then I realized, this is the Edgewood baby! Everything is cool!
I walked out and jumped in the pool without any reservations. It was a solid 95 degrees out and the pool was niiiiiiiiiice. I met a few freinds of Sam's but for the most part found myself going under water periodically to avoid being the odd man out couple wise. (Becca and Sam and the friends I just met were together)
After time well spent in the pool, I made my way back to the locker room. I quickly took a shower and after getting dressed went back to the shower area so I could use some of the, um, products. And there was a lot of options, let me tell you. Lots of after shaves, lots of desposbale razors, lots of gel, lotion, all kinds of stuff.
I was a little dissapointed, however. You see, Becca and Sam had a concert to go to in Manhattan so I was not able to go in the steam room. But, beggars can't be choosers. I was welcomed into this club with open arms (chances are nobody knew I was Jewish AND Black), took a dip in the pool, and had a nice shower. So I was happy overall.
As we left the club with my body feeling swell, I was happy my day had taken a detour to The Edgewood country club. Next time though, I'm spending no less than 3 hours there.
Make it 10
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Audition 2+3-Curse Words & Chuck T's
After my first audition and first day of acting school, I was riding high. I realized I could hang. There was nothing to it but to do it. No shame, no reservations.
I had a second audition scheduled for wednesday during the day near times square. I found the place okay and when I went up the stairs there was already a guy waiting outside. He was wearing black slacks, a dark red dress shirt and a tie. And it was 2:30 in the friggin' aftanoon. I was in a polo and shorts. And he was going before me. Setting the bar high with the appearance. But have no worries, when it gets down to the nitty gritty, it comes down to wheter or not you can act. Well, unless you got three nostrils or something, then you might run into danger territory.
I went into the room and there were three women sitting down. One of them had passed me a script earlier and when I get in there another asked if I had picked a character to read. I said they all seemed cool to me and she said I should read the narrator and this character named Paul. I said okay. The third woman busted out a video camera from under the table and hit the record button. I began with the narrator who spoke in prose. I tired to look up every once in awhile but it was tough cuz I had never seen the script before. I finished with the narrator after about 2 minutes and then moved onto Paul.
Paul was currently in a doctor's office and was being very cynical and pessimistic. He was swearing and going off. He was throwing out the mother f'ers the s*its, the f's. The whole sha-bang. (Right up my alley, huh ma?) I was having fun with it. Really getting into it. Once I was done with that I asked some questions and that was it. Pretty smooth. I decided to take a stroll around times sq and include myself (briefly) in the chaos. There were all these people on roller blades handing thins out and there was a giant truck with a line in front of it. I quickly joined the line although I had no idea what for. Turned out to be a great move. It was a FREE ice cream truck as part of the USA network's promotional thing for "Burn Notice". A new show that was on the other night. I got my free ice cream and later a free frisbee with the words "Burn Notice" on it and dipped up outta there. Not a bad little afternoon.
My third audition was today and in Greenwich, CT. One of, if not the richest city in America. I auditioned for a web series and was sent four scenes to choose from for the audition. I chose what was described as a "sketchy, tough guy with a Chicago accent". I didn't know whether or not the accent should be more New York tough with the 'whada ya want' or the Chris Farley SNL skit "DA BEARS". I went with the former.
I took the subway to Grand Central and then the Metro North to Greenwich. I arrived in Greenwich at 1:28 and my audition was at 1:30. Gonna be late no doubt. As I was in the taxi, some guy came up to the window and asked if I was going to the Community Center for the audition. I said yeah. He said lets split a cab. Alright sounds good. I'm already spending money like crazy out here, I could save some dough.
He was a friendly guy from the Bronx. We chatted a little and it was a short ride. When we arrived at our spot the taxi driver said 6.50 each. I was puzzled and thought for a second while the Bronx guy goes "What the fuck, man? 6.50 each? You crazy?" The driver was saying it would have been just 6.50 if we had arrived together but the fact that we were seperate initially made it 6.50 each. I began to say that just doesn't make sense since it is just one destination and then he pulled out "I will call the police then". I then realized I was 14 minutes late and couldn't afford (double meaning there. Smooth eh?) to argue anymore. the Bronx guy only had 4 bucks so I handed a 10 to him and said "try to take care of it". He said he would go to the ATM and pay me back when went for his audition after mine.
As I was wearing sandals and plaid shorts, I figured I should change into a more tough guy outfit. But did I have time? I was late already? I should have been changed already. I went in and said I was sorry for being late and asked where the bathroom was. I changed into my black and white chuck's and black jeans. Kept the v neck I already had on. Went in to the room and ran through the lines twice. Bada bing bada boom. I walked out to a seated Mike who had my change and then I called Becca who was going to pick me up on her way to see a friend at their New Jersey Country Club.
Oh yes, the New Jersey Country Club.
First Day of School
Back to school. There really is nothing like the first day. Is there anything more tormenting than what you are going to wear? You don't want to be plain but you can't stick out too much. Something has to fit well and show off something. For girls- the tan legs you got while you went on vacation in Maui with your family. Or the clevage that finally broke through after years of wishing for it while blowing out birthday candles. Guys- maybe the biceps you have been over working at the gym ever since summer started. Either way, its a big deal.
I went with a nice lavender polo shirt and some khakis. I felt good about my decision. I didn't know how serious this school was or wheter or not it was conservative or what. I give myself enough time to get lost and be late (strict, STRICT policy about tardiness though. One second late? the door is closed and you can't come in). I signed in with the guard in the lobby and was thinking to myself 'What have I gotten into now?'
I got off the elevator and am told to go to the end of the hall. I get in the room and most of the class is already sitting there. I take a seat in the back and take it all in. The super energetic teacher(his contract says he has to be-trust me) comes in and we go around the room and say where we are from, why we chose this school, yada yada yada. There are 4 adults in the class and the rest are in their last year of college or mid 20's. There is one guy with all white hair and a mustache. He is the type that is always making jokes and constantly nodding his head in agreement. There is another woman who has a kid and she likes to share information (more on that later). There are 5 gentlemen total and the rest are ladies.
We start with this one excericise that I don't understand the point to. I choose to go last so I can feel everyone out. See what I'm working with here. I get up there and do my thing and its fine. As the second part of the class rolls around, we begin to share what we thought of the book we had to read for the application. There was a section that was called the "as if" section where we took a scene and had to say "to me, this scene is as if..." and apply it to something that happened in our life.
Well, our teacher wanted us to use the example where in a play someone is asking for forgiveness. Everyone ponders for a minute and then this woman, one of the adults in the group, raises her hand. "Well, my mom and my sister are very close. They always go to church together and I'm not allowed to go. (she's been divorced twice) Its as if I tell my mom that my sister is a coke-head, WHICH SHE IS! and now I have to beg for forgiveness from my sister because that would ruin their relationship"
At this point I froze. My eyes began to dart around the room franticly. Someone, anyone. Did nobody realize what she just said? I am stifiling a laugh, some tears, the sensation to yell "woah!", everything. Nothing. Everyone is just looking at her and kind of nodding and not really processing this. At that moment, I wished I was back in high school with my boys in class because we would have been rolling on the floor with emotion. Literally rolling. I needed a Max Gibson or Will Houghteling right then but I had nobody. I just put my hands over my face and began to go crazy on the inside.
That was definetly the biggest thing that day. While taking notes, one girl took out a Harvard pen to write with. Come on now. Who would really do that? The only types of people to actually have those pens are those who visited the school and didn't get in. What is this chick really trying to say with this cheap ass ball point pen? Get that shit outta here.
As the second part wrapped up I was feeling good. I couldn't put my finger on everyone, though. At least not yet. But I figured this whole coke thing could last awhile.
And that was only the first day
Audition 1-Too Hot
My first audition was on Monday night. Two days after I arrived. I had recieved an email saying for me to come in for my audtion at 6:30 at 9th avenue between 14thst and 54st. Next to broadway and across from D. Firstly, could we get more confusing than these streets out here? I mean really. Why does it always gotta be between this and this and paralell to that? Can you imagine someone going "Yeah I go to school at Head Royce on Lincoln Ave, bisecting Fruitvale between Juaqin miller and MacArthur 5 minutes from 53rd" But I digress.
I was excited seeing as this was my first audition but didn't really know what to expect because, well, it was my first audition. I was planning on meeting my boy Eric (aka TJ aka Teej aka McDuff) afterward cuz he lived at 10th and B next to whatever the hell. Basically, he was close. I hadn't seen him in a year so it was shaping up to be a good night. I get a little lost coming out of the subway and decide to ask this guy where to go. I told him the address and it was in the opposite direction of where I was headed but the same direction he was headed.
So I turned around but not too quick because I didn't want to be walking step for step with him. So I took out my cell phone and made sure my brightness was still on low (that saves battery life-tip #13) and began to walk behind him. As I was approaching my destination I noticed he was headed to the same building and he was auditioning, too.
Now, at this point, I had been in the subway and was walking at a good pace so you bet your sweet ass I was perspiring. When I enter this building I am now producing blotches on the white button down. WHITE! I didn't go for the grey (what idiot would?) or the red or baby blue. I went with the white which does well in warm weather but not this time. I brought an extra shirt of course but I stuck it out. I decided that it is too damn hot out here to be frontin' like I don't sweat. If I came in all calm and collected that wouldn't be right, wouldn't be authentic. (Ironic that I'm trying to be an actor but also authentic at the same time. Huh)
I introduce myself to the lady who is signing people in and immediately ask for a water fountain. (My poland springs bottle was empty) She told me they bought water and there were cookies as well. (+2 for them right there) I filled out something and gave them my headshot. Now, don't forget I'm a rookie in the game. I had my boy Kevin take a picture of me while we were in our program's office in Italy with my digital. My stuff isn't glossy and I print it off microsoft word. I handed her my resume and headshot and chucled slightly to myself. The guy next to me who had slicked back hair and was wearing tight jeans and a long sleeve (doing way too much) handed her a glossy, shiny, headshot.
After I chugged 3 cups of water I was called in for the audition. The theater room was cool and there were two girls who would be auditioning me, judging me, interviewing me, whatever you call it. They asked me which part I wanted to play and I elected for the transfer student who was of the "athletic build". Right before she said "start" I was slightly nervous but the more I started to think about messing up and being worried, I realized I was too damn hot. How could I be anything but hot right now? I was more worried about how sweat getting into my eye and stinging me (terrible feeling aint it? gosh that stings) than my lines.
I breezed through my part alright. It could have been a little better but they didn't have one of the pages so there was a big pause which through me off and made me look bad but whatta ya gonna do? I said thank you and sped off to the water table. I filled my bottle up with H20 and was gone.
The movie is a short thriller/horror where a dorm is taken over by zombies. I'm waiting to hear from them.
Not bad for the first go through
Here We Go Again
That was too long. I took some much needed time of to recover from Italy and to enjoy home. Now that I had my fill of Mexican and Chinese and food and a good ol' fashion cheeseburger not to mention TV in English, I'm ready to be back.
Currently, I am not in Oakland, my beloved home. Not even in the Bay Area. Not even on the West Coast. I now call Brooklyn my home. That's right ladies and gentleman, Mr. King is in New York.
To properly understand how I got here, I must take you back a few months. This all began when I took the theater class in the first semester in Italy. After having so much fun with it, I decided this might be something I would like to do in the future. I made some calls and emails and someone suggested an acting school in New York. Sure, why the hell not? I'll give it a go. My boy Nick invited me to stay with him and his parents at their apartment in Park Slope and after I got admitted to the school, I jet blued my ass over here.
I planned on not just going to school. I planned on going to auditions and taking this charm, curly hair, and big nose to the top. I have been emailing people non stop trying to get auditions (gone to 3 now) and will continue to do so. As Mr. Puff Diddly P. Daddy Doody says "can't stop, won't stop"
I came here a week ago and it seems like 3 weeks ago. Between times square, broadway, brooklyn, the meatpacking district, alphabet city, muggy subway stations, and great bagels (Noah's is garbage) I have been around. I have seen folks I haven't seen in 6 months or even a year because I was abroad which has been great. I realized the unlimited subway card is the best way to go. And I have been stopping at all thrift stores looking to strike gold (heads up if you see a khaki or seersucker suit)
As I will recount my adventures from acting school to auditions I have come up with a little game for myself as I stay in NYC. As I am always taking the subway and looking for ways to get mind of perfusely sweating, I have decided my goal, while in New York this summer, is to see more rats than days I am here. To date I have seen 7 rats and this is my 8th day.
Who is with me?!
Friday, May 9, 2008
Super
After remaining silent for a very long time, I have finally decided to publicly support Barack Obama to be the Democratic nominee and, moreover, for president.
I am what I like to call a "Super Super Delegate". Not to be confused with those in Washington, I am my own special breed. Sure the super delegates hold a very important political position. Sure they are smart and more experienced. But I'm the future, baby. I'm the young gun who will be making moves 5, 10, 20 years from now. I, along with my fellow classmates, are what politicians talk about. We are it.
As Mr. Obama did extremely well this past Tuesday I felt it was time for me speak out. Although those close to me knew where my loyalty lied all along, I felt now was the time. This process has gone on for an extremely long time and we are fast approaching the end.
The excitement and interest this campaign, but more specifically Mr. Obama, has had on me and my friends is tremendous. I now read as many articles on politics as I can. Emails will be exchanged that contain very little except for a few words such as "Big primary day today" or "The polling hours have been extended". But, of course, a lot of them center around Mr. Obama just flat out being "The Man". But its the subtle emails with a sentence or two that is a reflection of the power of this campaign year.
It is as if politics has become a sport. It has taken on a new meaning and interest. By that I mean one will constantly be checking the results, or counting down the days until the next primary is held, or buying posters and signs to hang up and show their support.
I never would have imagined I would be this into politics. It has never really peaked my interest. I am more into sports, eating, movies, and playing the clarinet. The buzz that this election year has in the States but also internationally is something else. Every time I roc my Obama shirt over in Italy, I break necks. People's eyes get real wide and sometimes, as they are staring, I just say "Yeah, I know" but in a tone that really means "yeah, he's the man".
My boy Will over at Harvard has made a video and group entitled "Lets Make a Change 2008". (http://youtube.com/watch?v=icJ-qNA5wpg) Its a cool video that he did with his friends from school. I had to chuckle to myself when I thought about how good everyone is over there in Cambridge. Sure I could have made a video like this with some jokers I know but it wouldn't be the same. They got some aura over there. Or maybe its the rule banning any facial hair and every student having at least one (blue) blazer. Don't get it wrong though, I love it over there. I mean, is there anyone famous or successful who didn't go to Harvard? I can only think of three: Michael Jordan, Jesus, and Dracula.
I don't know how this whole thing is going to play out but I am enjoying this period in history. For me to be able to participate in this election, is absolutely amazing. To be part of something like this...is truly special.
Let's hope this passion and interest in politics does not dwindle after this year.
Let's hope we take care of business in the next few weeks and again in November.
Let's make that change.
I am what I like to call a "Super Super Delegate". Not to be confused with those in Washington, I am my own special breed. Sure the super delegates hold a very important political position. Sure they are smart and more experienced. But I'm the future, baby. I'm the young gun who will be making moves 5, 10, 20 years from now. I, along with my fellow classmates, are what politicians talk about. We are it.
As Mr. Obama did extremely well this past Tuesday I felt it was time for me speak out. Although those close to me knew where my loyalty lied all along, I felt now was the time. This process has gone on for an extremely long time and we are fast approaching the end.
The excitement and interest this campaign, but more specifically Mr. Obama, has had on me and my friends is tremendous. I now read as many articles on politics as I can. Emails will be exchanged that contain very little except for a few words such as "Big primary day today" or "The polling hours have been extended". But, of course, a lot of them center around Mr. Obama just flat out being "The Man". But its the subtle emails with a sentence or two that is a reflection of the power of this campaign year.
It is as if politics has become a sport. It has taken on a new meaning and interest. By that I mean one will constantly be checking the results, or counting down the days until the next primary is held, or buying posters and signs to hang up and show their support.
I never would have imagined I would be this into politics. It has never really peaked my interest. I am more into sports, eating, movies, and playing the clarinet. The buzz that this election year has in the States but also internationally is something else. Every time I roc my Obama shirt over in Italy, I break necks. People's eyes get real wide and sometimes, as they are staring, I just say "Yeah, I know" but in a tone that really means "yeah, he's the man".
My boy Will over at Harvard has made a video and group entitled "Lets Make a Change 2008". (http://youtube.com/watch?v=icJ-qNA5wpg) Its a cool video that he did with his friends from school. I had to chuckle to myself when I thought about how good everyone is over there in Cambridge. Sure I could have made a video like this with some jokers I know but it wouldn't be the same. They got some aura over there. Or maybe its the rule banning any facial hair and every student having at least one (blue) blazer. Don't get it wrong though, I love it over there. I mean, is there anyone famous or successful who didn't go to Harvard? I can only think of three: Michael Jordan, Jesus, and Dracula.
I don't know how this whole thing is going to play out but I am enjoying this period in history. For me to be able to participate in this election, is absolutely amazing. To be part of something like this...is truly special.
Let's hope this passion and interest in politics does not dwindle after this year.
Let's hope we take care of business in the next few weeks and again in November.
Let's make that change.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
The History of Art
Before I get started let me say this: my brother was an art history major and he is the smartest cat I know so don't think I am biased. And he even feels me on this one.
The following will only be relevant to those of you who took or are taking an art history class. You have to have sat in one of these classes to fully understand what I'm about to preach.
Ever since I took my first art history class in my junior year in high school I noticed people LOVE to talk. Not the talk that Jewish mothers do but the talk where the same people always have something to say whether its about Roman sculptures or 18th Century French paintings. We only had art history class once a week in my junior year but it was enough to see a pattern.
I chose to take art history 5 days a week senior year and was one of 4 guys in the class. Total was 18. I enjoyed that art history class a lot. The material found me well and I liked my professor. I raised my hand occasionally but was called on a lot more. But there was always those two girls who always had something to say and, although it was never disclosed, battled each other for art history supremacy.
Every time a new slide was shown there are those hands that shoot into the air quicker than Doc Holiday could draw his pistol. In my senior year, I would roll my eyes, slouch further in my chair, or look around the classroom to see who was on my level. Occasionally I would catch someones eyes and, without saying it, we would exchange a "can you believe this?!"
I am taking another art history course over here in Italy and I like it a lot. The professor is a cool older lady (aren't they always) and the material is swell. The number of girls in the class far outweighs the number of guys, of course. And you have the same folks (girls) who always talk. One of my favorite parts is, in order to remember the painting or sculpture, I decide to draw it myself in my notebook. There is a small window of opportunity because the next slide is always on the way but I manage to draw some pretty darn good stick figures if I do say so myself.
To be fair to some of the people, art history does give students more of an opportunity to speak in comparison to calculus or biology. The teachers like to hear what the students think and encourage them to share those thoughts. But there is a limit. Its not just the students who get tired of hearing the same voice (in the front row) over and over. Teachers hate it, too. They definitely see your hand when it first goes up but pretend they don't. They stall to give others a chance and to delay hearing that one, same voice.
But is there anything better when those girls go on a two minute speech about a certain work of art and then the teacher hesitates, thinks for a second, and then says they are wrong? I mean that is beautiful. It usually starts off with the polite "Not exactly" or "Not in this case". I love that. I keep a little tally in my notebook, you know the one where you draw a line for a point and on the fifth you draw a diagonal one. Its great.
I'm not trying to say that those who take art history and talk a lot should stop. I'm just saying don't talk all the time. Sure you are helping the awkward pauses when nobody else knows the answer but sometimes just take one for the team and keep your pie hole shut. Its on the other students, too. Y'all gotta step up and take a risk every now and then, too. You might not be exactly right but the teacher will appreciate the participation. And how wrong could you be? A lot of art is based on how it makes the observer feel and what they think about it.
Constant talkers: talk a little less
Non-talkers: talk a little more
It's that easy.
The following will only be relevant to those of you who took or are taking an art history class. You have to have sat in one of these classes to fully understand what I'm about to preach.
Ever since I took my first art history class in my junior year in high school I noticed people LOVE to talk. Not the talk that Jewish mothers do but the talk where the same people always have something to say whether its about Roman sculptures or 18th Century French paintings. We only had art history class once a week in my junior year but it was enough to see a pattern.
I chose to take art history 5 days a week senior year and was one of 4 guys in the class. Total was 18. I enjoyed that art history class a lot. The material found me well and I liked my professor. I raised my hand occasionally but was called on a lot more. But there was always those two girls who always had something to say and, although it was never disclosed, battled each other for art history supremacy.
Every time a new slide was shown there are those hands that shoot into the air quicker than Doc Holiday could draw his pistol. In my senior year, I would roll my eyes, slouch further in my chair, or look around the classroom to see who was on my level. Occasionally I would catch someones eyes and, without saying it, we would exchange a "can you believe this?!"
I am taking another art history course over here in Italy and I like it a lot. The professor is a cool older lady (aren't they always) and the material is swell. The number of girls in the class far outweighs the number of guys, of course. And you have the same folks (girls) who always talk. One of my favorite parts is, in order to remember the painting or sculpture, I decide to draw it myself in my notebook. There is a small window of opportunity because the next slide is always on the way but I manage to draw some pretty darn good stick figures if I do say so myself.
To be fair to some of the people, art history does give students more of an opportunity to speak in comparison to calculus or biology. The teachers like to hear what the students think and encourage them to share those thoughts. But there is a limit. Its not just the students who get tired of hearing the same voice (in the front row) over and over. Teachers hate it, too. They definitely see your hand when it first goes up but pretend they don't. They stall to give others a chance and to delay hearing that one, same voice.
But is there anything better when those girls go on a two minute speech about a certain work of art and then the teacher hesitates, thinks for a second, and then says they are wrong? I mean that is beautiful. It usually starts off with the polite "Not exactly" or "Not in this case". I love that. I keep a little tally in my notebook, you know the one where you draw a line for a point and on the fifth you draw a diagonal one. Its great.
I'm not trying to say that those who take art history and talk a lot should stop. I'm just saying don't talk all the time. Sure you are helping the awkward pauses when nobody else knows the answer but sometimes just take one for the team and keep your pie hole shut. Its on the other students, too. Y'all gotta step up and take a risk every now and then, too. You might not be exactly right but the teacher will appreciate the participation. And how wrong could you be? A lot of art is based on how it makes the observer feel and what they think about it.
Constant talkers: talk a little less
Non-talkers: talk a little more
It's that easy.
THAT Bag
I do not come here before you to tell you how to live your life. I have written stories and information that pertain to me with hopes of entertaining you. However, I must put my foot down on one thing that doesn't exactly pertain to me: that got damn Louis Vuitton bag.
You know exactly which one I'm talking about. That brown bag with the tan "LV" and tan designs that like the suits from a deck of cards and snowflakes. Now I know I haven't crossed dressed in awhile (2005 to be exact. And that one time in Cabo) but I do know a little about women's attire. I know that some shirts work better than others on a certain body while some can wear heels and some cannot. Don't even get me started on women's jeans...
I will admit, though, that when it comes to handbags and purses, my interest and knowledges diminishes. The fascination girls and women have with handbags and purses is something I will never understand. The classic line is always "you can never have too many". Um, yes you can. You can when you start to have no room to put them and ask guys to buy them for you. I don't know which is harder for me to understand with women: the fixation of purses and handbags or the lack of ability to go to the bathroom by one's self.
I cannot give advice on purses. I will give advice on that spring dress you want and I will on that pair of heels but purses I cannot. The damn thing dangles on your arm or you carry it in your hands for a few hours. You stuff a bunch of unnecessary sh*t inside it and then complain and ask why you can never find anything. Nope, I speak of nothing when it comes to this part.
But coming back to Louis. I cannot figure out what is so great bout this standard, lackluster bag. The colors of the bag, like Meg Ryan, are mediocre at best. The all over print of "LV" and wacky designs are too much on the eyes and take away from what the individual is wearing. Observers are drawn to the bag instead of the individual('s clothes). A bag should complement what a person is wearing, not take away from it.
I'm not positive, but I would be that a lot of people who own this bag (or looking to buy one), have it because it is "the bag" to have. It is everywhere. Everyone has the same one. Now, last time I checked, girls HATE when other girls have the same things. OK, you can't knock someone for getting the same company of jeans or the same color hair tie, but a purse? How does that look when a girl and her friend go out carrying the same Louis bag? Not good. Who wants to have the same bag as 200 million other people anyway?
If someone could let me know what is so sexy or great about this bag, please do so.
All I'm saying is you gotta throw in your own flavor and make it original.
Spice things up, ya digg?
You know exactly which one I'm talking about. That brown bag with the tan "LV" and tan designs that like the suits from a deck of cards and snowflakes. Now I know I haven't crossed dressed in awhile (2005 to be exact. And that one time in Cabo) but I do know a little about women's attire. I know that some shirts work better than others on a certain body while some can wear heels and some cannot. Don't even get me started on women's jeans...
I will admit, though, that when it comes to handbags and purses, my interest and knowledges diminishes. The fascination girls and women have with handbags and purses is something I will never understand. The classic line is always "you can never have too many". Um, yes you can. You can when you start to have no room to put them and ask guys to buy them for you. I don't know which is harder for me to understand with women: the fixation of purses and handbags or the lack of ability to go to the bathroom by one's self.
I cannot give advice on purses. I will give advice on that spring dress you want and I will on that pair of heels but purses I cannot. The damn thing dangles on your arm or you carry it in your hands for a few hours. You stuff a bunch of unnecessary sh*t inside it and then complain and ask why you can never find anything. Nope, I speak of nothing when it comes to this part.
But coming back to Louis. I cannot figure out what is so great bout this standard, lackluster bag. The colors of the bag, like Meg Ryan, are mediocre at best. The all over print of "LV" and wacky designs are too much on the eyes and take away from what the individual is wearing. Observers are drawn to the bag instead of the individual('s clothes). A bag should complement what a person is wearing, not take away from it.
I'm not positive, but I would be that a lot of people who own this bag (or looking to buy one), have it because it is "the bag" to have. It is everywhere. Everyone has the same one. Now, last time I checked, girls HATE when other girls have the same things. OK, you can't knock someone for getting the same company of jeans or the same color hair tie, but a purse? How does that look when a girl and her friend go out carrying the same Louis bag? Not good. Who wants to have the same bag as 200 million other people anyway?
If someone could let me know what is so sexy or great about this bag, please do so.
All I'm saying is you gotta throw in your own flavor and make it original.
Spice things up, ya digg?
Sunday, April 20, 2008
My Dear Sicilia
Once I made my decision to come back to Italy for a second semester I had some dates marked on my calendar: Groundhog Day, Earth Day, and April 10th-14th. As I am clearly joshing about the first two, I'll move right along to the last which were the dates that my program was taking everyone to Sicily. (Jury is still out on whether our tuition money was used to pay for it or it actually was free. I like the idea of it being free so let's work with that)
Every Italian I know (over 4,000), told me that Sicily is amazing. The beaches, the sites, and, of course, the food. We left Bologna early on a Thursday morning and flew into Catania. The weather was pretty hot and we had a very boring tour of the city. However, we did walk through the food market which was nuts. There was meat and fruit all over the place. Whole pigs dangling on ropes, big cuts of beef, great smelling oranges. I even think I saw a small dinosaur. I'm not sure, but I think so. Then we took a bus to a town called Siracusa. We had a big charter bus to ourselves and the bus driver, who's name was never disclosed, was a crazy cat. I am taking a risk saying this but I have to let my readers know that this man was bizzare. The only real thing I can tell you is that me and my boys named him "Joe Killer". He was the guy everyone, adults included, tried to avoid sitting next to when we ate dinner.
We stayed at a hotel in Siracusa that was cool and called Hotel Gutowski. (Seriously. Hotel Gutowski) The only problem was that my roommate, Francesco, had just got back from 2 weeks in Morocco and let's just say he was looking and feeling like the boys in The Sandlot after they take the tobacco and go to the carnival. We went and played frisbee near the water which was nice and highlighted by me almost hitting a lady no younger than 65 in the head. As I missed her by less than an inch, I pulled a Jim Carrey in Dumb & Dumber at the diner and turned away and pointed to someone else.
The second day in Sicily can be summed up in one word: DELICIOUS. My number one thing to do in Sicily was to have a cannoli. We went to this town called Noto which is suppose to have a cafe that has the best cannoli's in the world. It was true. I felt like I was eating a tasty cloud. The ricotta cheese was sweet, but not to sweet and had a texture that was just right. Oh man was it good. The other Sicilian food I had wanted is called an arancino which is tomato sauce with meat, rice, and carrots in a fried ball. Had a bundle of those. Good stuff.
That night we went out to dinner as a program that lasted 4 hours. No lie. There was lots of food and even an intermission so we can digest the first part and get ready for the second. That night some of us went out to this bar, recommended by the waitress, for this girls birthday. It turns out it was the only place open that night and it was pandemonium. I mean straight chaos. It was like Black Friday at Best Buy or Wal-Mart. I loved it. I was taking pictures and baby steps for about 5 minutes straight.
The next day we went to another city and that meant a new hotel. It also meant that there was a flaw in the plan. The 3 other guys in the program were placed in a triple while I was put with two other girls in another room. As I entered the room pondering how fast I could use the facilities, change clothes, and go to the beach, one of the girls took a look at the Queen bed and then the small one on the side and threw her bag on the Queen. "Looks like you got the small one" she said. "No it doesn't" I said and I threw my bag on the big one, too. I think baffled or shock would best describe the look on her face. Turns out the Queen was two twins put together so we were straight anyway.
Everyone went to the beach that was right behind our hotel and going in the water was fun. Did some body surfing (is anyone actually good at that?) and played more frisbee. The show was stolen by a little Sicilian girl who decided to chase Nick around. At first everything was cool until Nick fell down and she decided to throw sand in his face and then hair. Ouch. What can you even do about that? Throw sand back at her? Pick her up and throw her in the ocean? He just had to sit there. It was rough yet comical.
That night we went to a new hotel that was more like a bed & breakfast. It was in the suburbs at the very top of a big hill with a great view. It was very relaxing and nice. The dinner there was right up my alley. I knew we were in for a treat when each person got an antipasta plate. It had 7 different meats or vegetables on it with the best being a sauteed eggplant with meat in it. Oh boy. Best believe I asked for more of those. There was salami, prosciutto, cheese, and other foods I cannot recall. The pasta we had next was great, too. Pasta alla norma. Eggplant and tomato sauce. Then the plate of meat came out. Sausage and beef. My thing on this trip was to always be near at least one vegetarian so I could get a little extra. The vegetarians are better than the super picky one's. Vegetarians go about their business and keep it cool instead of "Oh! What's that? It looks bad. I'm going to smell it. Yuck"
First off, you shouldn't be smelling your food. Specially not in Sicily. If you need to, do it casually. Bring it close to your mouth and get a whiff. DO NOT put your big, ugly face into the plate. Also, if something doesn't look particularly appetizing to you, that's fine but keep that to yourself. As I'm going for a bite I do not want to hear what you think of it. Nor does anyone else. Just shut up and eat.
My motto for this trip was to just keep eating. I often found myself thinking: "I'm not hungry. But I'm going to eat". At dinners and lunches I would make sure to get my fill. I kept it under control but I never left hungry.
So here is to Sicilia. You lived up to the hype and provided me with some absolutely deliciousness. Salute!
Every Italian I know (over 4,000), told me that Sicily is amazing. The beaches, the sites, and, of course, the food. We left Bologna early on a Thursday morning and flew into Catania. The weather was pretty hot and we had a very boring tour of the city. However, we did walk through the food market which was nuts. There was meat and fruit all over the place. Whole pigs dangling on ropes, big cuts of beef, great smelling oranges. I even think I saw a small dinosaur. I'm not sure, but I think so. Then we took a bus to a town called Siracusa. We had a big charter bus to ourselves and the bus driver, who's name was never disclosed, was a crazy cat. I am taking a risk saying this but I have to let my readers know that this man was bizzare. The only real thing I can tell you is that me and my boys named him "Joe Killer". He was the guy everyone, adults included, tried to avoid sitting next to when we ate dinner.
We stayed at a hotel in Siracusa that was cool and called Hotel Gutowski. (Seriously. Hotel Gutowski) The only problem was that my roommate, Francesco, had just got back from 2 weeks in Morocco and let's just say he was looking and feeling like the boys in The Sandlot after they take the tobacco and go to the carnival. We went and played frisbee near the water which was nice and highlighted by me almost hitting a lady no younger than 65 in the head. As I missed her by less than an inch, I pulled a Jim Carrey in Dumb & Dumber at the diner and turned away and pointed to someone else.
The second day in Sicily can be summed up in one word: DELICIOUS. My number one thing to do in Sicily was to have a cannoli. We went to this town called Noto which is suppose to have a cafe that has the best cannoli's in the world. It was true. I felt like I was eating a tasty cloud. The ricotta cheese was sweet, but not to sweet and had a texture that was just right. Oh man was it good. The other Sicilian food I had wanted is called an arancino which is tomato sauce with meat, rice, and carrots in a fried ball. Had a bundle of those. Good stuff.
That night we went out to dinner as a program that lasted 4 hours. No lie. There was lots of food and even an intermission so we can digest the first part and get ready for the second. That night some of us went out to this bar, recommended by the waitress, for this girls birthday. It turns out it was the only place open that night and it was pandemonium. I mean straight chaos. It was like Black Friday at Best Buy or Wal-Mart. I loved it. I was taking pictures and baby steps for about 5 minutes straight.
The next day we went to another city and that meant a new hotel. It also meant that there was a flaw in the plan. The 3 other guys in the program were placed in a triple while I was put with two other girls in another room. As I entered the room pondering how fast I could use the facilities, change clothes, and go to the beach, one of the girls took a look at the Queen bed and then the small one on the side and threw her bag on the Queen. "Looks like you got the small one" she said. "No it doesn't" I said and I threw my bag on the big one, too. I think baffled or shock would best describe the look on her face. Turns out the Queen was two twins put together so we were straight anyway.
Everyone went to the beach that was right behind our hotel and going in the water was fun. Did some body surfing (is anyone actually good at that?) and played more frisbee. The show was stolen by a little Sicilian girl who decided to chase Nick around. At first everything was cool until Nick fell down and she decided to throw sand in his face and then hair. Ouch. What can you even do about that? Throw sand back at her? Pick her up and throw her in the ocean? He just had to sit there. It was rough yet comical.
That night we went to a new hotel that was more like a bed & breakfast. It was in the suburbs at the very top of a big hill with a great view. It was very relaxing and nice. The dinner there was right up my alley. I knew we were in for a treat when each person got an antipasta plate. It had 7 different meats or vegetables on it with the best being a sauteed eggplant with meat in it. Oh boy. Best believe I asked for more of those. There was salami, prosciutto, cheese, and other foods I cannot recall. The pasta we had next was great, too. Pasta alla norma. Eggplant and tomato sauce. Then the plate of meat came out. Sausage and beef. My thing on this trip was to always be near at least one vegetarian so I could get a little extra. The vegetarians are better than the super picky one's. Vegetarians go about their business and keep it cool instead of "Oh! What's that? It looks bad. I'm going to smell it. Yuck"
First off, you shouldn't be smelling your food. Specially not in Sicily. If you need to, do it casually. Bring it close to your mouth and get a whiff. DO NOT put your big, ugly face into the plate. Also, if something doesn't look particularly appetizing to you, that's fine but keep that to yourself. As I'm going for a bite I do not want to hear what you think of it. Nor does anyone else. Just shut up and eat.
My motto for this trip was to just keep eating. I often found myself thinking: "I'm not hungry. But I'm going to eat". At dinners and lunches I would make sure to get my fill. I kept it under control but I never left hungry.
So here is to Sicilia. You lived up to the hype and provided me with some absolutely deliciousness. Salute!
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
(Non) Morning People
This study abroad experience has provided me with several experiences and taught me many things. From living with Italians to cooking lessons to soccer games, I have seen some stuff. However, it is something that my fellow Americans have said as well as their actions, that have stuck out to me the most. I'm talking about those folks who label themselves "not a morning person"
Does anyone else hate hearing this? What does it even mean? Nobody likes when the alarm goes off and you have to go to class or to work but you got to do it. What did these "non morning people" do in high school? Some of these folks pick their classes based on what time they begin as opposed to what interests them. "So why are you taking Trigonometry in Modern Day Russia"? "Because it starts at 2 in the afternoon" Nobody wants to take a class at 8:30 in the morning but we gotta draw the line somewhere.
I have fallen asleep in class plenty of times. Everyone has. But you have to do it in the proper way. You can go for the hand covering the eyes while you have the pen in the hand so it looks like you are taking notes. Or you can excuse yourself and go to the restroom and you can catch some z's while on the seat. But please, don't just let your head fall back and your mouth drop. Please do not. Firstly, you are way too obvious. Secondly, you scare me and my fellow classmates. Sure you provide some good entertainment but after awhile it becomes embarrassing and disrespectful.
I am just having a hard time when people say they "just can't do mornings". Mornings are when the days begin. That's how life works. I don't know anyone who "does afternoons" or "is a dusk person". I'm not saying that I can hop out of bed and immediately do the "Thriller" dance but I'm saying I can get myself together in the mornings. When these folks graduate from college, what are they going to do? I can't imagine these (non) morning people going to apply for a job and trying to explain themselves.
"Is there anything else you would like us to know?"
"Yeah. I have a hard time working in the morning. I'm not a morning person"
"Okay, grrrrreat. You are definetly not going to get this job. But thanks for coming in!"
If you start getting up at the same time every morning and get into a routine, you will actually end up getting more hours of sleep. Its when you go to sleep at 4Am after watching T.G.I.F. re- runs on youtube and wake up at 2PM that you start to run into trouble. I do have a bit of job advice for those who do not wish to work before the clock hits noon.
You basically have two options:
A) Be one of those jerk-ass guards at a student dorm at a big college like NYU or BU. You can get the night shift and wear a wack ass outfit and abuse what little authority you have
B) Be homeless.
Does anyone else hate hearing this? What does it even mean? Nobody likes when the alarm goes off and you have to go to class or to work but you got to do it. What did these "non morning people" do in high school? Some of these folks pick their classes based on what time they begin as opposed to what interests them. "So why are you taking Trigonometry in Modern Day Russia"? "Because it starts at 2 in the afternoon" Nobody wants to take a class at 8:30 in the morning but we gotta draw the line somewhere.
I have fallen asleep in class plenty of times. Everyone has. But you have to do it in the proper way. You can go for the hand covering the eyes while you have the pen in the hand so it looks like you are taking notes. Or you can excuse yourself and go to the restroom and you can catch some z's while on the seat. But please, don't just let your head fall back and your mouth drop. Please do not. Firstly, you are way too obvious. Secondly, you scare me and my fellow classmates. Sure you provide some good entertainment but after awhile it becomes embarrassing and disrespectful.
I am just having a hard time when people say they "just can't do mornings". Mornings are when the days begin. That's how life works. I don't know anyone who "does afternoons" or "is a dusk person". I'm not saying that I can hop out of bed and immediately do the "Thriller" dance but I'm saying I can get myself together in the mornings. When these folks graduate from college, what are they going to do? I can't imagine these (non) morning people going to apply for a job and trying to explain themselves.
"Is there anything else you would like us to know?"
"Yeah. I have a hard time working in the morning. I'm not a morning person"
"Okay, grrrrreat. You are definetly not going to get this job. But thanks for coming in!"
If you start getting up at the same time every morning and get into a routine, you will actually end up getting more hours of sleep. Its when you go to sleep at 4Am after watching T.G.I.F. re- runs on youtube and wake up at 2PM that you start to run into trouble. I do have a bit of job advice for those who do not wish to work before the clock hits noon.
You basically have two options:
A) Be one of those jerk-ass guards at a student dorm at a big college like NYU or BU. You can get the night shift and wear a wack ass outfit and abuse what little authority you have
B) Be homeless.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Deep Breath
I have been off the blog scene for a minute due to various reasons. Some good things been happening lately that got a brotha distracted. But a big part was due to my spring break. I, along with 4 others went to Spain and Portugal for 10 days.
I was really looking forward to this trip. I mean Barcelona is suppose to be super nice. Ever since the 1992 USA Dream Team won gold there I had been wanting to go. OK, not only because of that but it was a small part of it. We had Madrid, Barcelona, and Lisbon, Portugal on the itinerary. I decided not to go to Morocco with the group and go to the South of Spain of my own. (4th best decision I've ever made)
I have never had the opportunity to do extensive traveling with someone outside of my family. I've never traveled anywhere with girls in a small group. Sure I have gone on Chorus trips with girls but that was with well over 40 people. I didn't really know what to expect seeing as I had never done it but I didn't expect it to be like this.
I believe it was during the second night in Barcelona I knew I was around some unique company. After the other two guys and myself separated from the two sisters for dinner, we met back up to go out. My boy Nick asked one of the girls if they had seafood for dinner and they responded with: "No, we had salmon". Dead serious they did not know salmon was considered seafood. No I can't blame someone for not knowing Einstein's theory or not knowing the capital of Venezuela but I can say there go some stupid folks if you don't know salmon is seafood.
The trip continued in this manner: stupid comments, lots of complaining without doing anything about it, and constantly starting days late. It got to the point that I sent my mom an email describing the trip.
Dear ma,
Things are cool. Portugal is real nice. I like it a lot. These two girls are driving me crazy. If I could get away with it, I'd kill them.
Love, Ari
I almost didn't write that. Not because I didn't want to tell my ma or because it wasn't true but because that could be used against me in a court of law. If things went down, they could go into my email records and use that as evidence. But I was so annoyed and fed up, I decided to go through with it.
I honestly would double major in Russian and Arabic before traveling with these girls again. Hell, I'd even adopt an entire family from Indonesia before taking a walk to the supermarket with them. People have asked me why are you saying all this. Why so mean? Its not mean. Its truth. When folks ask me how my trip was I tell them. I'm not a liar and I'm not gonna sugar coat nothing. "My trip was real cool. Spain and Portugal are great. Don't ever travel with these sisters"
Did I mention that one of the girls, while booking a plane ticket, put down this one guys name twice instead of my name? Oh, I must have forgot. That means I also forgot to mention she never admitted it was her fault, or said sorry. We had to pay a total of 90 Euros to change the ticket and pay the difference in the price of the flight.
I'm not a hater by nature. I'm not. But I will say what's going on. Did I say that these two girls sounded like a mix between Darth Vader and Paul Bunyan? Because they did. I could carry on and on but it is not worth my time nor yours to write everything here. If you want more stories, get at me.
I will say that one of the highlights of the trip was being on my own in the South of Spain. Granada and Malaga were great, small, peaceful cities. Barcelona was real cool but very touristy and real spread out. Definetly gotta be there when the weather is warm. Madrid was aight. Real big and nothing that was out of the ordinary. And Lisbon is the best city you've never been to. A lot like San Francisco, too.
What is really unfortunate is that some folks were like "Oh I knew it! " after I tell them about the trip. I'm just wondering why nobody told Ari? Everyone is so giddy that they knew it was gonna be like that but decided they were gonna play secrets. Heads up for everyone, if your friend is gonna travel with someone and you think it might be problematic, tell them. Please.
But, its over. Its in the past. Nothing to do about it now. I ate, drank, took pictures, and saw some great stuff. Now, its off to Sicily with my program. And one of the girls...
I'll be sure to keep my distance. And stay away from sharp objects that could tempt me.
I was really looking forward to this trip. I mean Barcelona is suppose to be super nice. Ever since the 1992 USA Dream Team won gold there I had been wanting to go. OK, not only because of that but it was a small part of it. We had Madrid, Barcelona, and Lisbon, Portugal on the itinerary. I decided not to go to Morocco with the group and go to the South of Spain of my own. (4th best decision I've ever made)
I have never had the opportunity to do extensive traveling with someone outside of my family. I've never traveled anywhere with girls in a small group. Sure I have gone on Chorus trips with girls but that was with well over 40 people. I didn't really know what to expect seeing as I had never done it but I didn't expect it to be like this.
I believe it was during the second night in Barcelona I knew I was around some unique company. After the other two guys and myself separated from the two sisters for dinner, we met back up to go out. My boy Nick asked one of the girls if they had seafood for dinner and they responded with: "No, we had salmon". Dead serious they did not know salmon was considered seafood. No I can't blame someone for not knowing Einstein's theory or not knowing the capital of Venezuela but I can say there go some stupid folks if you don't know salmon is seafood.
The trip continued in this manner: stupid comments, lots of complaining without doing anything about it, and constantly starting days late. It got to the point that I sent my mom an email describing the trip.
Dear ma,
Things are cool. Portugal is real nice. I like it a lot. These two girls are driving me crazy. If I could get away with it, I'd kill them.
Love, Ari
I almost didn't write that. Not because I didn't want to tell my ma or because it wasn't true but because that could be used against me in a court of law. If things went down, they could go into my email records and use that as evidence. But I was so annoyed and fed up, I decided to go through with it.
I honestly would double major in Russian and Arabic before traveling with these girls again. Hell, I'd even adopt an entire family from Indonesia before taking a walk to the supermarket with them. People have asked me why are you saying all this. Why so mean? Its not mean. Its truth. When folks ask me how my trip was I tell them. I'm not a liar and I'm not gonna sugar coat nothing. "My trip was real cool. Spain and Portugal are great. Don't ever travel with these sisters"
Did I mention that one of the girls, while booking a plane ticket, put down this one guys name twice instead of my name? Oh, I must have forgot. That means I also forgot to mention she never admitted it was her fault, or said sorry. We had to pay a total of 90 Euros to change the ticket and pay the difference in the price of the flight.
I'm not a hater by nature. I'm not. But I will say what's going on. Did I say that these two girls sounded like a mix between Darth Vader and Paul Bunyan? Because they did. I could carry on and on but it is not worth my time nor yours to write everything here. If you want more stories, get at me.
I will say that one of the highlights of the trip was being on my own in the South of Spain. Granada and Malaga were great, small, peaceful cities. Barcelona was real cool but very touristy and real spread out. Definetly gotta be there when the weather is warm. Madrid was aight. Real big and nothing that was out of the ordinary. And Lisbon is the best city you've never been to. A lot like San Francisco, too.
What is really unfortunate is that some folks were like "Oh I knew it! " after I tell them about the trip. I'm just wondering why nobody told Ari? Everyone is so giddy that they knew it was gonna be like that but decided they were gonna play secrets. Heads up for everyone, if your friend is gonna travel with someone and you think it might be problematic, tell them. Please.
But, its over. Its in the past. Nothing to do about it now. I ate, drank, took pictures, and saw some great stuff. Now, its off to Sicily with my program. And one of the girls...
I'll be sure to keep my distance. And stay away from sharp objects that could tempt me.
Frightening yet Intriguing
Although I have touched on this subject before, it always finds a way to work itself back into the mix. I'm talking about the gym. Nothing completely crazy ever happens but its all the little things that make the gym experience unique.
I have heard some stories from the girls locker room which sound ridiculous. I won't go into details but let's just say everything guys think goes on in women's locker rooms actually does over here.
But back to the matter at hand. As I have said before, my gym is the low budget one. We are talking a handful of machines in a tiny space. So tiny that you have to turn sideways to walk when its rush hour. But its cool, it gets the job done.
Now, if you go to the gym you have your regulars. You have those who are there just to tell their friends later that day that "Yeah, and I went to the gym today". You got your folks that will wear as little clothing as possible to show off as much of the body as possible. The folks who are new to the gym and take very long sips from their water bottle just to stall and study the machine (how hard is the stationary bike though, really). And then you got the folks who are too muscular and actually make you feel weird when you look at them.
Now I got one of those in my gym. The catch is, its a woman. Before you judge, I have no problem with women working out or being muscular. No sir. Got the hair tied back, short shorts on, or the black leggings, and the asics or nikes. You might have left the earring on. Sounds good to me. The thing with this woman is that she is a grunter.
I strongly dislike the folks who must grunt and make noises while working out. If you are doing that, you are doing too much weight or running too fast. It makes me feel weird when I hear these people that sound like they are on their death bed. I don't know whether I should offer them my inhaler (I would never) or run and get help.
The thing is, I can't help but look at them. Maybe because its so distracting, or maybe because I want to witness something go down. Either way, I periodically stare. And that is what recently got me in trouble. While I was in the gym this week, there was one woman who looked like she could give Hulk Hogan a run for his money.
No lie, she sounded like Sea Lion in mating season. She was grunting and coughing, and all that and I would look over that way every now and then just to see if I could be the first person on the scene if something happened. After I had looked 3 times, she caught me. Our eyes met and my initial reaction was to turn away. And I did. But I stupidly turned back immediately. (Come on everyone does that) And she was still staring at me.
I didn't back down but after a second or two she did one of the weirdest things I've seen in about 5 to 10: she flexed her muscles. I'm still not sure if this was to prove her dominance, challenge me, or express her interest in me. Either way it was odd. I turned to the clock on the wall real quick and reacted in a "Oh no! I'm late" kind of way and got the hell outta there.
As I put on my Spidey backpack she gave me a "ciao" and I responded with a ciao but didn't look her in the eyes. I'm going to try and avoid her but part of me wants to see her again cuz the whole situation is so ridiculous. I'm all about the stories and situations just so I can look back and be like "Damn".
So here's to hoping I don't run into Xena: Warrior Princess again
And here's to hoping I do
I have heard some stories from the girls locker room which sound ridiculous. I won't go into details but let's just say everything guys think goes on in women's locker rooms actually does over here.
But back to the matter at hand. As I have said before, my gym is the low budget one. We are talking a handful of machines in a tiny space. So tiny that you have to turn sideways to walk when its rush hour. But its cool, it gets the job done.
Now, if you go to the gym you have your regulars. You have those who are there just to tell their friends later that day that "Yeah, and I went to the gym today". You got your folks that will wear as little clothing as possible to show off as much of the body as possible. The folks who are new to the gym and take very long sips from their water bottle just to stall and study the machine (how hard is the stationary bike though, really). And then you got the folks who are too muscular and actually make you feel weird when you look at them.
Now I got one of those in my gym. The catch is, its a woman. Before you judge, I have no problem with women working out or being muscular. No sir. Got the hair tied back, short shorts on, or the black leggings, and the asics or nikes. You might have left the earring on. Sounds good to me. The thing with this woman is that she is a grunter.
I strongly dislike the folks who must grunt and make noises while working out. If you are doing that, you are doing too much weight or running too fast. It makes me feel weird when I hear these people that sound like they are on their death bed. I don't know whether I should offer them my inhaler (I would never) or run and get help.
The thing is, I can't help but look at them. Maybe because its so distracting, or maybe because I want to witness something go down. Either way, I periodically stare. And that is what recently got me in trouble. While I was in the gym this week, there was one woman who looked like she could give Hulk Hogan a run for his money.
No lie, she sounded like Sea Lion in mating season. She was grunting and coughing, and all that and I would look over that way every now and then just to see if I could be the first person on the scene if something happened. After I had looked 3 times, she caught me. Our eyes met and my initial reaction was to turn away. And I did. But I stupidly turned back immediately. (Come on everyone does that) And she was still staring at me.
I didn't back down but after a second or two she did one of the weirdest things I've seen in about 5 to 10: she flexed her muscles. I'm still not sure if this was to prove her dominance, challenge me, or express her interest in me. Either way it was odd. I turned to the clock on the wall real quick and reacted in a "Oh no! I'm late" kind of way and got the hell outta there.
As I put on my Spidey backpack she gave me a "ciao" and I responded with a ciao but didn't look her in the eyes. I'm going to try and avoid her but part of me wants to see her again cuz the whole situation is so ridiculous. I'm all about the stories and situations just so I can look back and be like "Damn".
So here's to hoping I don't run into Xena: Warrior Princess again
And here's to hoping I do
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Is That Necessary?
There really is nothing like Italian fashion. From Dolce & Gabanna to Armani to gold shoes and mohawks, they got it covered. From pre-teens to single folks to (my personal favorite) old folks, Italians got it all.
To start with the young guns, one only has to stay in the piazza for a short time or any popular street. They will always be roaming in hoards and extremely loud. There will be at least 3 of them, males and/or females, wearing white pants. Some will have a gel'd mohawk or just bangs, Others will be wearing shirts that are written in English but don't make any sense. For example: "Lettuce is my religion" or "New York's Ugliest"
The singles always provide good laughs. The guys will be wearing the super tight shirts and jeans that are way over the top. (I'm all about the skinny jeans look but there is a fine line between jeans and nut-huggers) They could be fat and outta shape but somehow, this outfit does wonders. You can also smell these cats from a mile away. I think its a combination of three things: very strong body wash, followed by a spray deodorant and finally massive amounts of cologne. On the other hand, the single females don't stand out too me that much. You can never tell who has a boyfriend, or who is even open to the idea of conversing. There are a lot less welcoming than I had anticipated. No lie, I have gotten more attention from guys than girls. That's not to say I haven't got attention from girls, but, um, I'm just saying...
My last and most favorite groups is the seniors. Now, this isn't meant to be too critical as I understand I will one day be a senior myself but I got to draw the line somewhere. Firstly, with the men. I will say my problems are very minimal, if at all. They always have a nice tie and sweater on usually accompanied by a jacket and scarf. I will say that they could do with a little bit more color. They are less adventurous in comparison to their young male counterparts. I'm not saying I want to see pink sweaters and purple ties but I will say cut back on the Tim Burton black and gray, ya digg.
And now, the old women. I got nothing but love for old women. I don't even think its even PC to clown on old women at this point. However, I cannot pass on this one. I can confidently say that at least 93% of Italian old women wear the same brown mink coat and that s*it needs to stop. Whether its sunny and 60 degrees outside or rainy and 30, these women will roc this coat. (Now this is a common thing amongst all Italians. They always think it is freezing outside. It is never cold or a little wet, always freezing. You can go outside and see folks with scarves over their mouthes and Soviet Union Soldier hats. I have been chastised extensively for wearing shorts on my way back from the gym) Moreover, the jacket makes the women look like they are getting attacked by a 400lb Grizzly Bear. I went to the grocery store today in jeans and a sweatshirt and saw 3 women with the same brown coat. Standard issue. I don't even know where they get them. I have yet to see them for sale in a store. Its like there is some Italian law that if you are a woman over 60 you need to have this coat. Its a right of passage-like a Bar Mitzvah.
Now don't get me wrong, I love the Italian fashion. There is nothing wrong with looking nice and taking pride in the way you present yourself. I must also give a huge amount of praise to the Italian women who wear stiletto's while walking on cobble stones while smoking a cigarette and talking on the phone. If you want to be impressed look no further than these women.
Don't believe what I say? Come to Italy, grab a caffe and people watch in the piazza.
Then come talk to me
To start with the young guns, one only has to stay in the piazza for a short time or any popular street. They will always be roaming in hoards and extremely loud. There will be at least 3 of them, males and/or females, wearing white pants. Some will have a gel'd mohawk or just bangs, Others will be wearing shirts that are written in English but don't make any sense. For example: "Lettuce is my religion" or "New York's Ugliest"
The singles always provide good laughs. The guys will be wearing the super tight shirts and jeans that are way over the top. (I'm all about the skinny jeans look but there is a fine line between jeans and nut-huggers) They could be fat and outta shape but somehow, this outfit does wonders. You can also smell these cats from a mile away. I think its a combination of three things: very strong body wash, followed by a spray deodorant and finally massive amounts of cologne. On the other hand, the single females don't stand out too me that much. You can never tell who has a boyfriend, or who is even open to the idea of conversing. There are a lot less welcoming than I had anticipated. No lie, I have gotten more attention from guys than girls. That's not to say I haven't got attention from girls, but, um, I'm just saying...
My last and most favorite groups is the seniors. Now, this isn't meant to be too critical as I understand I will one day be a senior myself but I got to draw the line somewhere. Firstly, with the men. I will say my problems are very minimal, if at all. They always have a nice tie and sweater on usually accompanied by a jacket and scarf. I will say that they could do with a little bit more color. They are less adventurous in comparison to their young male counterparts. I'm not saying I want to see pink sweaters and purple ties but I will say cut back on the Tim Burton black and gray, ya digg.
And now, the old women. I got nothing but love for old women. I don't even think its even PC to clown on old women at this point. However, I cannot pass on this one. I can confidently say that at least 93% of Italian old women wear the same brown mink coat and that s*it needs to stop. Whether its sunny and 60 degrees outside or rainy and 30, these women will roc this coat. (Now this is a common thing amongst all Italians. They always think it is freezing outside. It is never cold or a little wet, always freezing. You can go outside and see folks with scarves over their mouthes and Soviet Union Soldier hats. I have been chastised extensively for wearing shorts on my way back from the gym) Moreover, the jacket makes the women look like they are getting attacked by a 400lb Grizzly Bear. I went to the grocery store today in jeans and a sweatshirt and saw 3 women with the same brown coat. Standard issue. I don't even know where they get them. I have yet to see them for sale in a store. Its like there is some Italian law that if you are a woman over 60 you need to have this coat. Its a right of passage-like a Bar Mitzvah.
Now don't get me wrong, I love the Italian fashion. There is nothing wrong with looking nice and taking pride in the way you present yourself. I must also give a huge amount of praise to the Italian women who wear stiletto's while walking on cobble stones while smoking a cigarette and talking on the phone. If you want to be impressed look no further than these women.
Don't believe what I say? Come to Italy, grab a caffe and people watch in the piazza.
Then come talk to me
Sunday, March 2, 2008
PARTY-PT.2
I knew I was going to be drinking a lot. I couldn't refuse a drink from anyone. If someone offered me something, to take a shot with them, or just share a beer, I was in. I mean its my twenty first, right?
As my two American dudes came through, I knew things were going to get started. Firstly, Nick, was wearing a plaid shirt with shorts that are hard to explain except he defined them as his "Woody Harrelson shorts. From White Men Can't Jump" After he said that to me I knew that was going to be a great night.
Within a matter of minutes, the place got flooded with folks. The Americans arrived in sets of three and the Italians arrived, what seemed to be, in one giant group. I was posted over by my Ipod and the speakers with the hard alcohol while the Italians had the kitchen and the wine.
Italians are more into sipping the wine, talking about their respective soccer teams and cites, cigarettes, and the art of plucking eyebrows. Americans on the other hand want to get drunk as quickly and violently as possible while dancing furiously. I was going back and forth between the two groups. I would get the occasional random Italian guy who obviously came for the free drinks and well dressed girls but decided to wish me a happy birthday.
It seemed like folks who I never saw drink before were going after it. Ivan, whom I used to live with, decided it was his birthday and was pounding vodka like he was a soldier back in WWII. I had seen him drink wine only but he was nuts tonight. I think he was feeling some of the American girls. I think Andrea was too. Shit, I know I was.
At one point, Francesca and Vittoria told me to kill the music and they called for everyone's attention. Then everyone sang happy birthday to me and my close Italian friends presented me with a present. It was a jersey and shorts of the local pro basketball team called Fortitudo. It has the year the team was founded and a giant eagle which is their logo. Super fresh. They also got a disney card that has Belle and Cinderella on it that says: "You're marvelous!" in Italian along with a picture of me after I got hot pepper in my eye. (That was a disaster. Can't speak of it)
As I was heading back to the Ipod, these four Italian girls came up to me and said Happy Birthday and introduced themselves. They were friends of Luigi's. They asked me if they could choose the next song so I gave them the Ipod. At this point, you had to turn sideways and almost do the Robot to get through the crowds. It was packed. Before I even reached the other side of the room the music stopped. Folks were yelling for me. I headed back to the Ipod and it was frozen. Then, all the songs got deleted. These girls had manged to f*ck up. Big time.
I was feeling great. Had the drinks in the system, just got a great present, and things were going smoothly. Now this. I took the ipod and retreated to my room to figure things out. Sure I was worried about the party and how it would go downhill without music but, to be honest, I was more worried about the 6 Harry Potter's I have on tape and how I might have to kill someone at my own party.
I plugged the ipod in the computer, hit restart and waited. Windows welcomed me, I was told my virus protection had expired and I was in "immediate danger" and then Itunes came up. And then, it all came back.
I unplugged, walked back out the party and felt like Wayne and Garth: GAME ON!!! From there the party continued until about 3 in the morning. Folks were still drinking and, to my shock, all the tuna sandwiches were gone. I noticed there were three huge bowls of homemade sangria. I knew we didn't make those and went to find Luigi and ask him what the deal was. It turned out that nobody came to the party at #18. They threw in the towel and decided to bring all their alcohol to our party. DAMN.
As folks were parting I got all the words from the drunks. "Great farty, rappy birthday!" And then there were the people who say if I need help cleaning up tomorrow, to call them. Uh huh. Sure. They just get credit for the offer when they know damn well they wouldn't come back and help tomorrow. I think I would have preferred someone to say "Wow. Your place is f*cked up. Its a mess. And you know what? I'm not going to help you clean up. Peace" Now that would be real.
After everyone left me and my Italian guys (and girls) stuck around and just gave a recap of the night. The place looked worse than Alicia Dantzker's bedroom. Some folks got real ambitious and started sweeping and mopping right there. Twas great. I said goodnight to everyone at 5:05 and headed off to bed.
Happy Birthday, Mr. King
As my two American dudes came through, I knew things were going to get started. Firstly, Nick, was wearing a plaid shirt with shorts that are hard to explain except he defined them as his "Woody Harrelson shorts. From White Men Can't Jump" After he said that to me I knew that was going to be a great night.
Within a matter of minutes, the place got flooded with folks. The Americans arrived in sets of three and the Italians arrived, what seemed to be, in one giant group. I was posted over by my Ipod and the speakers with the hard alcohol while the Italians had the kitchen and the wine.
Italians are more into sipping the wine, talking about their respective soccer teams and cites, cigarettes, and the art of plucking eyebrows. Americans on the other hand want to get drunk as quickly and violently as possible while dancing furiously. I was going back and forth between the two groups. I would get the occasional random Italian guy who obviously came for the free drinks and well dressed girls but decided to wish me a happy birthday.
It seemed like folks who I never saw drink before were going after it. Ivan, whom I used to live with, decided it was his birthday and was pounding vodka like he was a soldier back in WWII. I had seen him drink wine only but he was nuts tonight. I think he was feeling some of the American girls. I think Andrea was too. Shit, I know I was.
At one point, Francesca and Vittoria told me to kill the music and they called for everyone's attention. Then everyone sang happy birthday to me and my close Italian friends presented me with a present. It was a jersey and shorts of the local pro basketball team called Fortitudo. It has the year the team was founded and a giant eagle which is their logo. Super fresh. They also got a disney card that has Belle and Cinderella on it that says: "You're marvelous!" in Italian along with a picture of me after I got hot pepper in my eye. (That was a disaster. Can't speak of it)
As I was heading back to the Ipod, these four Italian girls came up to me and said Happy Birthday and introduced themselves. They were friends of Luigi's. They asked me if they could choose the next song so I gave them the Ipod. At this point, you had to turn sideways and almost do the Robot to get through the crowds. It was packed. Before I even reached the other side of the room the music stopped. Folks were yelling for me. I headed back to the Ipod and it was frozen. Then, all the songs got deleted. These girls had manged to f*ck up. Big time.
I was feeling great. Had the drinks in the system, just got a great present, and things were going smoothly. Now this. I took the ipod and retreated to my room to figure things out. Sure I was worried about the party and how it would go downhill without music but, to be honest, I was more worried about the 6 Harry Potter's I have on tape and how I might have to kill someone at my own party.
I plugged the ipod in the computer, hit restart and waited. Windows welcomed me, I was told my virus protection had expired and I was in "immediate danger" and then Itunes came up. And then, it all came back.
I unplugged, walked back out the party and felt like Wayne and Garth: GAME ON!!! From there the party continued until about 3 in the morning. Folks were still drinking and, to my shock, all the tuna sandwiches were gone. I noticed there were three huge bowls of homemade sangria. I knew we didn't make those and went to find Luigi and ask him what the deal was. It turned out that nobody came to the party at #18. They threw in the towel and decided to bring all their alcohol to our party. DAMN.
As folks were parting I got all the words from the drunks. "Great farty, rappy birthday!" And then there were the people who say if I need help cleaning up tomorrow, to call them. Uh huh. Sure. They just get credit for the offer when they know damn well they wouldn't come back and help tomorrow. I think I would have preferred someone to say "Wow. Your place is f*cked up. Its a mess. And you know what? I'm not going to help you clean up. Peace" Now that would be real.
After everyone left me and my Italian guys (and girls) stuck around and just gave a recap of the night. The place looked worse than Alicia Dantzker's bedroom. Some folks got real ambitious and started sweeping and mopping right there. Twas great. I said goodnight to everyone at 5:05 and headed off to bed.
Happy Birthday, Mr. King
Saturday, March 1, 2008
PARTY- PT. 1
Classic. Epic. Crazy. Whack. These are just some of the words to that can be used to describe one of the world's favorite past times. Likewise, there are a bunch of synonyms: rager, ripper, shindig, fiesta, and my new favorite: banger.
As my 21st birthday just passed, I had a little gathering at my spot last night on Friday night. My boy Luigi suggested we throw it together so we would have a good mix of Americans and Italians. Who am I to turn down the prospect of meeting new Italians? On the same hand, my Italian boys were giddy to meet these American girls.
Luigi and I headed to the supermarket in the early afternoon. I was going to only buy alcohol but L insisted we needed some food. Alright. I can hang with that. Folks get hungry on the late night and after drinking. He picked up numerous bags of popcorn, potato chips, and tuna. Tuna? WHAT?!
He explained to me that tuna and mayonnaise sandwiches, on white bread, was the standard at Italian parties. Everyone loves them and everyone eats them. I was already dropping bank on the booze and now I gotta pitch in so people at my party can smell like low tide? Ah shit.
I picked out all the hard alcohol: vodka, rum, and limoncello. He took care of the wine and we did the beer together. Our bill was something big and we used a cart to transport all of our goods. Now I had already sent out an email to everyone in my program so that was taking care of. As we were walking to our apartment, Luigi and I noticed signs posted everywhere that read : "Grande Festa, Stasera #18" (Big party tonight)
Our apartment is 22. Some other jerk asses were having a party, too. Ah shit. I had told Luigi to not invite people the day of because if people catch wind of the party to far in advance you end up with guys named "Shook", "Mitch", and "Knife" showing up.
As we unloaded the alcohol and subtly showed off to our suite mates, I went into my room to contemplate the outfit for the night and make sure the camera was fully charged. I took Bob Marley's advice: "Don't worry about-a-thing, every little things, gonna be alright"
As the playlist was being finalized, I gave some last minute directions to some folks and hopped in the shower. Although there was only 6 guys and 1 girl in the apartment, we were excited. Ready. Ready to get drunk. Ready to party.
All the food was out on the tables. All the drinks and plastic cups were there. The music was on. And, around 11:15, the calvary started to roll in...
As my 21st birthday just passed, I had a little gathering at my spot last night on Friday night. My boy Luigi suggested we throw it together so we would have a good mix of Americans and Italians. Who am I to turn down the prospect of meeting new Italians? On the same hand, my Italian boys were giddy to meet these American girls.
Luigi and I headed to the supermarket in the early afternoon. I was going to only buy alcohol but L insisted we needed some food. Alright. I can hang with that. Folks get hungry on the late night and after drinking. He picked up numerous bags of popcorn, potato chips, and tuna. Tuna? WHAT?!
He explained to me that tuna and mayonnaise sandwiches, on white bread, was the standard at Italian parties. Everyone loves them and everyone eats them. I was already dropping bank on the booze and now I gotta pitch in so people at my party can smell like low tide? Ah shit.
I picked out all the hard alcohol: vodka, rum, and limoncello. He took care of the wine and we did the beer together. Our bill was something big and we used a cart to transport all of our goods. Now I had already sent out an email to everyone in my program so that was taking care of. As we were walking to our apartment, Luigi and I noticed signs posted everywhere that read : "Grande Festa, Stasera #18" (Big party tonight)
Our apartment is 22. Some other jerk asses were having a party, too. Ah shit. I had told Luigi to not invite people the day of because if people catch wind of the party to far in advance you end up with guys named "Shook", "Mitch", and "Knife" showing up.
As we unloaded the alcohol and subtly showed off to our suite mates, I went into my room to contemplate the outfit for the night and make sure the camera was fully charged. I took Bob Marley's advice: "Don't worry about-a-thing, every little things, gonna be alright"
As the playlist was being finalized, I gave some last minute directions to some folks and hopped in the shower. Although there was only 6 guys and 1 girl in the apartment, we were excited. Ready. Ready to get drunk. Ready to party.
All the food was out on the tables. All the drinks and plastic cups were there. The music was on. And, around 11:15, the calvary started to roll in...
Sunday, February 17, 2008
The Unthinkable
Every so often, my program takes all the students on various day and overnight trips. To Ravenna, to Torino, and this April, we are off for 5 days in Sicily. Yesterday we went to Parma and it was quite the experience.
Coming off 3 1/2 hours of sleep, I was not bursting with energy as I met up with folks at the train station. I set my alarm way earlier than I had to get up so I could a) hit the snooze button with ease and b) pack a few snacks.
I got two ziplock bags. One for my yogurt and granola and the other for Ritz crackers and fruit. Had the other essentials: asthma medicine, camera, water bottle, tissue, and I was ready to go.
Now, heading onto the train I knew Parma was going to be special. After all, this is where Parmesan cheese comes from as well as arguably the best prosciutto in all of Italy. I actually went to Parma with ma last semester but we only sampled the best they had to offer.
We met our tour guide and began walking the streets. Less than 5 minutes into the tour she was pointing out famous salumerias, or deli's if you will. People have their cameras out and were snapping away at massive blocks of cheese and ham dangling from ceilings. I, too, was one of those people.
We saw your standard cathedrals and historic buildings (all dating back to around the time the dinosaurs were kicking the bucket) but the highlight of the sites was the Farnese Theater. (For the record, you should look this theater up right now) It was absolutely amazing. All made of wood. Beautifully carved. Way back in the day there was a performance that was 7 hours and had over 30 sets. They only did 9 shows. Seriously, look it up.
After the theater visit, we made our way to the restaurant. The moment we had all been waiting for. As I took my seat next to the director, Marcello, and his wife, I knew I was in for it. The aperitivo that arrived was nothing short of delicious. There was doughy, fried bread that was very soft and warm. We then had salami, montadella, and 3 kinds of prosciutto. It was arraigned in a very appetizing and precise way.
I was getting my grub on when I looked across from me and saw a girl in my program who wasn't eating. She informed me she was a Vegetarian. Normally, I would inquire and try to convince folks that they should give that up but not this time. I realized the less others ate, the more for me. I just said "oh" and continued eating.
Because of her special vegetarian characteristic, she was brought a plate full of different types of cheeses. As the waitress placed it in front of her, across from me, I gawked. I thought to myself "I'm definetly going to eat that". She offered me some after she couldn't eat it all and although I could have gone to town on it, I didn't. Not out of respect for her or fear of being gluttonous but rather because I wanted to save room for the other courses. At one point while eating I said I didn't want to eat anymore because it was too good. I know some of you might think this makes no sense but it does. You know when someone has "such a crazy idea it might work", well this is like that. It was so good I didn't want to eat anymore. It was that insane.
Everyone was full at this point. But there was all this meat and cheese leftover. I knew nobody wanted anymore and I knew the waiters were going to just throw this wonderful food away.
So I did it.
I unzipped my backpack. Took out a ziplock bag and began filling it. I would place a little meat and cheese on my plate and then casually take it and put it in the bag under the table. The girls around me took notice but I didn't care. They at first were critical but came around after a second. I even turned to Marcello and told him what I was doing. He replied very simply and very seriously: "You're smart".
As my ziplock was gaining in volume, the waiters were lurking; ready to remove these plates and bring new ones. As I wished I was Inspector Gadget and had those "Go-go Gadget arms", I began frantically throwing meat and cheese into my bag before the waiter came. Once he arrived I gave him the nod and he took away the plate.
I did it. I had brought the lifestyle of Hometown Buffet and Red Lobster to Parma,Italy. Am I proud? No. But I'm not ashamed either.
Me and some Italian folks went out to this bar to watch a soccer match last night and I was asked it I wanted any bar food. "No thanks" I said
And right there I busted out my ziplock bag full of goodies.
"I'm good"
Coming off 3 1/2 hours of sleep, I was not bursting with energy as I met up with folks at the train station. I set my alarm way earlier than I had to get up so I could a) hit the snooze button with ease and b) pack a few snacks.
I got two ziplock bags. One for my yogurt and granola and the other for Ritz crackers and fruit. Had the other essentials: asthma medicine, camera, water bottle, tissue, and I was ready to go.
Now, heading onto the train I knew Parma was going to be special. After all, this is where Parmesan cheese comes from as well as arguably the best prosciutto in all of Italy. I actually went to Parma with ma last semester but we only sampled the best they had to offer.
We met our tour guide and began walking the streets. Less than 5 minutes into the tour she was pointing out famous salumerias, or deli's if you will. People have their cameras out and were snapping away at massive blocks of cheese and ham dangling from ceilings. I, too, was one of those people.
We saw your standard cathedrals and historic buildings (all dating back to around the time the dinosaurs were kicking the bucket) but the highlight of the sites was the Farnese Theater. (For the record, you should look this theater up right now) It was absolutely amazing. All made of wood. Beautifully carved. Way back in the day there was a performance that was 7 hours and had over 30 sets. They only did 9 shows. Seriously, look it up.
After the theater visit, we made our way to the restaurant. The moment we had all been waiting for. As I took my seat next to the director, Marcello, and his wife, I knew I was in for it. The aperitivo that arrived was nothing short of delicious. There was doughy, fried bread that was very soft and warm. We then had salami, montadella, and 3 kinds of prosciutto. It was arraigned in a very appetizing and precise way.
I was getting my grub on when I looked across from me and saw a girl in my program who wasn't eating. She informed me she was a Vegetarian. Normally, I would inquire and try to convince folks that they should give that up but not this time. I realized the less others ate, the more for me. I just said "oh" and continued eating.
Because of her special vegetarian characteristic, she was brought a plate full of different types of cheeses. As the waitress placed it in front of her, across from me, I gawked. I thought to myself "I'm definetly going to eat that". She offered me some after she couldn't eat it all and although I could have gone to town on it, I didn't. Not out of respect for her or fear of being gluttonous but rather because I wanted to save room for the other courses. At one point while eating I said I didn't want to eat anymore because it was too good. I know some of you might think this makes no sense but it does. You know when someone has "such a crazy idea it might work", well this is like that. It was so good I didn't want to eat anymore. It was that insane.
Everyone was full at this point. But there was all this meat and cheese leftover. I knew nobody wanted anymore and I knew the waiters were going to just throw this wonderful food away.
So I did it.
I unzipped my backpack. Took out a ziplock bag and began filling it. I would place a little meat and cheese on my plate and then casually take it and put it in the bag under the table. The girls around me took notice but I didn't care. They at first were critical but came around after a second. I even turned to Marcello and told him what I was doing. He replied very simply and very seriously: "You're smart".
As my ziplock was gaining in volume, the waiters were lurking; ready to remove these plates and bring new ones. As I wished I was Inspector Gadget and had those "Go-go Gadget arms", I began frantically throwing meat and cheese into my bag before the waiter came. Once he arrived I gave him the nod and he took away the plate.
I did it. I had brought the lifestyle of Hometown Buffet and Red Lobster to Parma,Italy. Am I proud? No. But I'm not ashamed either.
Me and some Italian folks went out to this bar to watch a soccer match last night and I was asked it I wanted any bar food. "No thanks" I said
And right there I busted out my ziplock bag full of goodies.
"I'm good"
Friday, February 15, 2008
He's BAAAAAAACCCCCKKKKK!
Yes, yes, yes ladies and gentleman. I have returned to the life of blogging as well as the good life in Bologna, Italy.
From almost 7 weeks in Oakland, San Francisco, Berkeley, Los Angeles and even Reno, Nevada I'm back. I plan on doing a little bit more this time around. I'm a seasoned veteran now. No more wide eyes when I'm walking down the street (although with spring time around the corner and skirt season fast approaching...). I got some things planned.
I've been back for a little bit but, between the jet lag, the sudden change of culture, constant cigarette smoking, and answering of what I did during Christmas vacation, it took awhile. But boy does it feel good.
Its good to be back with the guys I live with. Nobody has really changed except for one of my roommates officially has a girlfriend. He had been trying to snag her for quite some time and he is very excited these days. The guy from Kosovo has been beside himself these days because Kosovo is getting its independence tomorrow and, as you can imagine, this is huge. The stinky one has an intense mo hawk and is well, still stinky. (I'd rather be trapped in a port-o-potty at an construction site than in an elevator with him) And then there is my boy Luigi. If you don't know about him by now, you should.
After my mom did some convincing, I decided to join a gym. I didn't belong to one the first semester but decided it would be beneficial this time around. I first went to the more expensive, very bourgeois gym knowing it was expensive but just to see what they had to say. This guy sat me down and pulled out the brochure and showed me what the normal price was. But, he said, he could do something special for me. He then wrote down another price in huge letters and circled it saying this was 'a great deal'. To join the gym, he had me paying about $120 and then about $100 per month there on out. At this point he was underlining and circling all these numbers on the paper. I kept nodding and said I'd come back the following day after I thought about it.
I never showed up.
I went to the other gym around the corner. Much cheaper and friendlier people. A little bootleg but in a good way. They have 2 total treadmills, 2 stationary bikes and one bench. Its mainly for University students so its cool. This place was more than half as cheap (does that even make sense?) and I love it. I stand out like a sore thumb there, too. On purpose. I wear a yellow headband and a long sleeve shirt that reads 'San Francisco 49ers'. Maybe I'll havesome blue or yellow socks and rock out to my ipod. Its great.
My plan of not eating pasta while at home has worked great. As to not over-do-it, I steered clear from pasta with the exception of the phenomenal pasta al ragu I made right before I left. (ask my ma if you want details) The simple yet tasty pasta dishes my roommates make and offer me every time, have been great. With my pizza spots and small restaurants still around the corner, I'm covered on the food front. And I'm off to Parma tomorrow to have the famous Parma ham and Parmesan cheese. (yeah, that's where it comes from)
For now I have to go find out why Luigi is screaming "Vafanculo!" to his computer.
I'll be back
From almost 7 weeks in Oakland, San Francisco, Berkeley, Los Angeles and even Reno, Nevada I'm back. I plan on doing a little bit more this time around. I'm a seasoned veteran now. No more wide eyes when I'm walking down the street (although with spring time around the corner and skirt season fast approaching...). I got some things planned.
I've been back for a little bit but, between the jet lag, the sudden change of culture, constant cigarette smoking, and answering of what I did during Christmas vacation, it took awhile. But boy does it feel good.
Its good to be back with the guys I live with. Nobody has really changed except for one of my roommates officially has a girlfriend. He had been trying to snag her for quite some time and he is very excited these days. The guy from Kosovo has been beside himself these days because Kosovo is getting its independence tomorrow and, as you can imagine, this is huge. The stinky one has an intense mo hawk and is well, still stinky. (I'd rather be trapped in a port-o-potty at an construction site than in an elevator with him) And then there is my boy Luigi. If you don't know about him by now, you should.
After my mom did some convincing, I decided to join a gym. I didn't belong to one the first semester but decided it would be beneficial this time around. I first went to the more expensive, very bourgeois gym knowing it was expensive but just to see what they had to say. This guy sat me down and pulled out the brochure and showed me what the normal price was. But, he said, he could do something special for me. He then wrote down another price in huge letters and circled it saying this was 'a great deal'. To join the gym, he had me paying about $120 and then about $100 per month there on out. At this point he was underlining and circling all these numbers on the paper. I kept nodding and said I'd come back the following day after I thought about it.
I never showed up.
I went to the other gym around the corner. Much cheaper and friendlier people. A little bootleg but in a good way. They have 2 total treadmills, 2 stationary bikes and one bench. Its mainly for University students so its cool. This place was more than half as cheap (does that even make sense?) and I love it. I stand out like a sore thumb there, too. On purpose. I wear a yellow headband and a long sleeve shirt that reads 'San Francisco 49ers'. Maybe I'll havesome blue or yellow socks and rock out to my ipod. Its great.
My plan of not eating pasta while at home has worked great. As to not over-do-it, I steered clear from pasta with the exception of the phenomenal pasta al ragu I made right before I left. (ask my ma if you want details) The simple yet tasty pasta dishes my roommates make and offer me every time, have been great. With my pizza spots and small restaurants still around the corner, I'm covered on the food front. And I'm off to Parma tomorrow to have the famous Parma ham and Parmesan cheese. (yeah, that's where it comes from)
For now I have to go find out why Luigi is screaming "Vafanculo!" to his computer.
I'll be back
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
It's Time For The Ruby Slippers
We have reached it. The day before. Less than 24 hours until I'm back home. (Not exactly actually, I am spending one night in New York because I couldn't get a flight back to California until the following day but still)
As I look back on my 4 and 1/2 month adventure through Italy, several things stand out. As it would be insane to right all of them down, I shall just choose a few and give a brief summary.
As I could go on and on, I will stop here. Before I finish packing, there are 15 observations that Mr. Spectacular would like to make before he boards the plane:
-The South of Italy is very different than the North of Italy
-Gellato lives up to the hype
-Folks are crazier for soccer than I initially thought
-Clothes, especially shoes, are unbelievable
-Words such as "I'm not trippn" and "You feel me?" or "Ya digg?" don't translate well
-It is not looked down upon for guys to use a hairdryer
-Or spend more time in the bathroom than girls for that matter
-Pasta is more common than breathing
-Hospitality is more wide spread here than in the South of America
-Sweatpants don't exist
-Tabasco sauce is not popular
-Ralph Nader is popular (Just kidding)
-Everyone wants to go to New York
-The words 'flamboyant' and 'gaudy' mean nothing
-People are really, really good looking. Really
Well folks, that'll do it. It is my job to make a reservation at this pizzeria tonight for THIRTEEN people. Truth be told, I only wanted about 7 or 8 people there so we'll see how it plays out. It's going to feel good to be back home. Burgers with BBQ sauce, Tropicana orange juice, bacon, carnitas...
Mom, let's stock up that fridge. Your boy is coming home!
As I look back on my 4 and 1/2 month adventure through Italy, several things stand out. As it would be insane to right all of them down, I shall just choose a few and give a brief summary.
THE SOUTH
My trip started in the South of Italy in a town called Lecce. It was around 100 degrees almost every day and I took one grammar course. The rest of the time was spent at beaches, eating gellato, sweating profusely, and recounting the past 6 years of my life with the people I just met. The two major restaurants I went to served, in total, over 15 courses which left me 1)gasping for air and 2) thinking everything else back in the States was uncivilized. The three weeks went by crazy fast and right after I took a trip with a friend to some Italian cities.CENTRAL
The trip began in the city of Rome. Between seeing most of the historical sites (there is always something you missed), going to a soccer game in an 80,000 capacity stadium built for the Olymics, and just realizing I was in Rome, it was great. However, the heat was unbearable, and my hostel was worse than the trash can Oscar the Grouch lives in. After getting sick from the 3 Irish people and swimming laps in own sweat while I slept on the floor (yeah, it was that bad), I was ready to move on. Next was Siena. A small town in Tuscany with a lot less tourists than Rome. No place better to be when wanting to relax and take some deep breaths. After that was Pisa. The Leaning Tower is everything it is advertised to be. The longer you stare at it the more you think it is going to fall. You throw the fact that I slept in two train stations throughout these 4 days and all in all, it was a success.
Bologna
Housing
Now I'm where I'm supposed to be. Where I will be studying. Living. And finding my pizza spot and preferred grocery store. Although my original housing assignment started off super-duper wack, I was placed in an apartment style dorm where I should have been all along. Two of the original four guys have since moved out (bureaucratic reasons) but it's still cool. We have had numerous dinner parties. I have played one on one soccer in the hallway for an hour (I won in penalty kicks). We have had actually parties. Watched soccer games on TV accompanied by constant screaming and two of the guy's moms have came and cooked home made meals. The list is endless.Housing
Food
Before I set foot in the country, I knew the food was going to be great. But, I didn't know that I would have all these meat and cheese options. The pizza was a sure thing and the pasta was, too. But I never really thought that the M&C could be that different. Boy Howdy. Having the cooking class was probably the best thing out here as the teacher really knows what she is doing and she hooks me up. As far as pizza, me and my girl Robin go to this one place AT LEAST once a week. They give slices that are better suited for Paul Bunyan at a crazy price. Yesterday was her last time there (she isn't coming back second semester) and mine till February. We were treated to lots of first. The workers, usually grumpy and scowling, let me come around the barrier and take pictures. Then, another guy gave the first 'buongiorno' which was a total shock. (for the record, he couldn't have looked more pissed when he said it but he still gets credit) Then to top it all off, the guy who was literally making the pizza had part of his crack showing. Gotta love it. There is of course great restaurants but I won't even lie: I have not been as adventurous as I should be. Next semester I hope to hit up more spots. I just find my comfort zone and stick to it. What can I say?The Other Cities
The two weeks traveling was truly great. To go to these amazing cities that I had always heard of but never imagined going to, was special. Florence, with the beautiful art and delicious food. Michaelangelo's David is more impressive than anything I've ever seen. Venice with its architectural set up and overall uniqueness. And Lake Como as just the most relaxing and beautiful place you'll ever see. (The food in Venice was mediocre at best in contrast to Lake Como where I had the best meal of entire life)As I could go on and on, I will stop here. Before I finish packing, there are 15 observations that Mr. Spectacular would like to make before he boards the plane:
-The South of Italy is very different than the North of Italy
-Gellato lives up to the hype
-Folks are crazier for soccer than I initially thought
-Clothes, especially shoes, are unbelievable
-Words such as "I'm not trippn" and "You feel me?" or "Ya digg?" don't translate well
-It is not looked down upon for guys to use a hairdryer
-Or spend more time in the bathroom than girls for that matter
-Pasta is more common than breathing
-Hospitality is more wide spread here than in the South of America
-Sweatpants don't exist
-Tabasco sauce is not popular
-Ralph Nader is popular (Just kidding)
-Everyone wants to go to New York
-The words 'flamboyant' and 'gaudy' mean nothing
-People are really, really good looking. Really
Well folks, that'll do it. It is my job to make a reservation at this pizzeria tonight for THIRTEEN people. Truth be told, I only wanted about 7 or 8 people there so we'll see how it plays out. It's going to feel good to be back home. Burgers with BBQ sauce, Tropicana orange juice, bacon, carnitas...
Mom, let's stock up that fridge. Your boy is coming home!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
