Is it wrong for me to want to strangle a nun? Yes. Maybe. Well, I probably wouldn't feel this way if she'd use her divine knowledge to remember for once that you use the verb 'To Do' in the simple tense with negatives and interrogatives. It's been five classes now, we've used up all the extra material working on this, and I still can't manage to bang it into her head. I think her habit sometimes blocks what I'm saying, good Lord. Okay, no no, she's a lovely student, but we all know sometimes you have a student that you wish for the love of lemon merangue pie would get the freakin' concept.

Italians are funny with the expressions they choose to use in class. "In fact" is a very popular one. For example, "He went to the store, in fact, and then to the cinema." "In fact." Well, it is a fact that he went to the store and then the cinema, but we're not in a courtroom here, let's just cut that one right on outta there. Or sometimes they'll respond to a question with "in fact."
ME: Did he and his father get along well?
STUDENT: In fact.
Since when did in fact become a part of the 'yes/no' response?? Maybe we should change it to 'yes/no/in fact.' The Italians would love it.

Another popular phrase is "particular(ly)" for example:
ME: Tell me what you think about this story.
STUDENT: This story is very particular.
ME: Uh-huh...good, how is it particular?
I'm actually starting to ask students to explain particular, because I hear it so often I don't register the fact that this isn't really an appropriate response.
-OR-
ME: Why didn't he contact his parents?
STUDENT: He didn't contact his parents particularly because he didn't like them.
Yup...we need to work on this, I think...

I do a great job upkeeping my blog, don’t you all think? At any rate, things have been, well, crazy over the past twenty days since I last wrote, some good, some bad, some funny, some stupid, you know, crazy.

Within these past 20 days, I’ve aged another year, another 365 day mark has bitten the dust, and I celebrated in fine extensive style. I only had to talk with the cops twice, so I think I’m learning to mellow as the years go on. No seriously, I made a foolish mistake that involved the end of my beer, a statue outside of a bar and a passing cop car, and the next thing I know I’m being asked to show my papers (which I don’t have…) I should also let you know that at this time I was wearing a purple t-shirt, an orange cashmir sweater tied all preppy style around my neck, and a tan tweed jacket over my shoulders...hot. Through the grace of birthday immunity, everything turned out okay.

The other police encounter involved a four hour long game of charades, that lasted well into the night, and apparently the neighbors downstairs didn’t enjoy our silent acting out. They could’ve at least come up and asked us to quit our shenanigans, that would’ve been appreciated more than a BZZZ from the downstairs doorbell at 3 in the morning, and as the kind policeman made his way up the seven flights to our apartment, our guests were ushered onto the back terrace, and I believe the question was asked (by my roommate, not me) “Should I answer the door in my underwear?” I leave it up to your own imaginations as to what he was trying to accomplish with that… The policeman was very nice, as Mark and I stood there, struggling to understand Italian (or pretending to struggle) and all we got off with was a, “No more…boom boom” as he stamped his boots on the floor. With that he turned and descended the stairs. My main question is, why didn’t he take the elevator? Is there some sort of Italian police etiquette that says under no circumstances should a policeman enter an elevator to tell a bunch of Anglo-Saxons to shut the hell up? In any case, I like this method of not getting fined or thrown into detox, it’s a lot easier than the days of Burlington, specifically Loomis St, where the cops are somewhat less understanding of our inability to form coherent words and phrases, whether it be our native language or not.

As the time nears for me to leave Italy (for the time being), I have many various and mixed emotions. I’m not looking forward to telling my students that I’m leaving, as I’ve grown to really like most of them, whether or not they can get a firm grasp on the present perfect continuous. I know that I’m leaving a job right now that I really enjoy, that is stimulating and has helped me understand a lot about Italian culture and its people, and that will be difficult for me. On the other hand, I’m looking forward to American showers, my gigantic bed, and a room all to myself. I miss my family and friends from the states, and think of them often, which is why I’m considering myself very fortunate that not only am I going to see Emily again in Prague before I head home, but brother Jesse is coming to visit, and that will be a fantastic way to end the journey.

At any rate, I must bustle off to work now, but mayhaps I’ll manage to get another post or two in before I come back…that is if I can tear myself away from the pub… jk.

Nope, one more addendum. A Welsh teacher colleague of mine commented the other day, “God, you look like such an American walking around without a jacket on. You can be spotted as an American from a mile away. Good Lord.” Yeah, well, see, here’s the thing…it’s 10 below zero in Vermont, it’s sixty degrees in Rome, there is no way in hell I am going to wear a jacket just so I can ‘fit in’….(have I ever wanted to fit in? My closet full of Hawaiian shirts would attest that no, I have not.) Plus, oh yeah, I’m 5’11, built like a football player, carry a backpack because I hate actual ‘bags’ and wear Doc Martens and Addidas every day of the week. She’s lucky I’m not bebopping around Rome in a fleece vest and Oakley’s, although now I have half a mind to do so, just so that I can continue to stand out, huzzah!!

Many of my friends and relatives are in the teaching game, and I just wanted to mention the goings-on a few nights ago at the pub. Irish Paul, one of our fave bartenders, let the Aussies in the group know that there was another group of Aussies hanging out in the back of the bar. Five minutes later, a little blond with a loud mouth jumped down a few stairs, landing at our table, screaming, “AUSSIE AUSSIE AUSSIE, OI OI OI!!!!” She’s looking at all of us as if we’re supposed to jump up and do the secret Australian citizen club member handshake and start proclaiming the glory of Steve Erwin and Nicole Kidman. Unfortunately, three of the five of us were American, so we just stared blankly, while the two Aussies in the group feigned enthusiasm at this girl’s loudness. Turns out she was only on vacation and was leaving the next day (shucky-darn) to return to her teaching job in Australia but the two highlights were: 1) When she thought we were all Australians and my friend Chiara led her straight into a wall of talking about how Americans are such wankers, and she knows this because her uncle lives in America…but he grew up in England. Ah yes, it’s all so clear why you would have that conception now, hmm, well rationalized, really, honestly… And number 2 highlight was when she said, “Ya, really, the hardest thing about being a teacher is being non-racist.” Um, really? Can I ask you dear readers who teach if you feel the same way? Is it truly difficult to be non-racist in the classroom? Or do the frustrations really come when little Johnny won’t shut up and sit down for the eightieth time, and the one concept you thought you’d breeze through is taking up the entire class?

Yesterday I went to see an Andy Warhol exhibit, and our general consensus is that his personality and philosophies make his art cool, not the actual art itself. It was nice to take in a bit of culture (cause Rome just doesn’t have that much, ha! Shirley I jest…) There was only one Campbell’s soup painting, but there were many other cool-ish ones that brought me back to the days of Pop Art and my loathing of that class.

In other news, what is it with Europe and scented toilet paper? The toilet paper is scented, but ever so lightly, so that it’s not going to really do much of anything besides give your nose a little tickle when you have to use it as a tissue. Toilet paper doesn’t have a glorious life…it’s on a roll, gets used and is quickly flushed away. Is it really so important to warrant a scent? And really, aren’t there better things we could be scenting? How about moped mufflers? It would be awesome if you could drive your moped around, leaving a trail of Clean Linen, Vanilla, or Spring Breeze scent behind you, instead of the much more popular Exhaust. Who’s with me here?

*The Houston kids celebrate Christmas Eve in style*

Well, it’s been quite some time since I’ve written a blog post, and now I’m going to earnestly try to get back into the habit. Before the holidays, I was pretty much a bum, and didn’t feel that the fact that I was out of money and extremely homesick was something worth posting.

Going home for Christmas saved me. I saw so many friends and a great amount of my family, which was awesome. As is the case with any short trip, there were those who I didn’t see and really wanted to, or those who I only saw very little, and wish I could’ve seen much more, but the good news is I’ll be home again in March, and will hopefully make it all up. Santa Claus was so generous this year, I actually cried, to which my sister remarked, “Oh my God! Annie cried before Mom!!!” I’m not quite sure how I’ll live that one down...

Another highlight of my trip home was the food. Holy crap was it good. From my first burger and beer at the Shed the day after I got home (mmm, mmm good!) to scallops wrapped in bacon, turkey dinner with all the fixin’s, a shirt sleeve at Sweetwater’s washed down with a P.O.B, rasin filled pudding, turkey noodle soup, Gram’s rolls and of course all the splendiferous microbrew my not so little stomach could hold…absolutely amazing. I only ate pasta once, and the sauce was so good, props to chef Kristin, ‘cause it was capital D-elicious.

New Year’s Eve in Times Square was the great party everyone says it is…at least that’s what I gathered from the television. My ringing in of the New Year was mellow this year (by choice) as I had dinner and drinks with friends, and then rang in the New Year in my car on the Stagecoach Rd all by my lonesome. On Tuesday I flew back to Rome, and was stoked about watching both The Departed and The Devil Wears Prada for a second time (seriously, I like both those movies.) Meryl Streep is one of my favorite female actresses, and I feel like The Departed is somewhat of a new Usual Suspects…think about it.

The jet lag wasn’t too terrible, in that I had no commitments to suffer through, so I slept six hours when I got back, stayed up for another four, and then slept for twelve more…ah sleep, how I love thee. When I was in the U.S I was surprisingly popping up at the crack of dawn, so excited and happy to be home and knowing that I had all sorts of things to do with my day. While I’m excited and happy to be back in Rome, I’m also willing to let go of that ‘Up at dawn thing’, understandably.

So I’m currently in the process of creating a “Beatles Appreciation” playlist for a dear friend of mine who has claimed to just not like The Beatles and finds that they really aren’t all that special. This is a shock to yours truly, who is a hardcore Beatles fan, and yes, I celebrate their whole catalogue (with the exception of Revolution #9, but I blame that on Yoko.) I remember as a 5 year-old, sitting on my mom’s bed while she drank a cup of coffee, my cheap Panasonic walkman that was covered in stickers turned up as far as it would go, jamming out to “Boys”. My sister and I had a singing routine that we’d always shout in the car to “I Saw Her Standing There”, and I remember asking with innocence (and naïveté), “Is ‘Slow Down’ the sequel song for ‘Baby You Can Drive My Car’?” My friend Eden was my Beatles compatriot in elementary school, and he wrote a radio show in his journal in 2^nd grade about how he and I got to interview John Lennon. Consequently, eight years later, I watched Eden play and my friend Robyn sing “Blackbird” beautifully in a talent show at CA. Last April I sang “In My Life” at my cousin’s wedding, and I remember my dad telling me about one of my aunts who was completely swept up in Beatle-mania, and I recall thinking that that was the coolest thing ever for an aunt to be swept up in. I heart the Beatles.

So as I make this playlist, I have to wonder what to include, and what to keep out. I can only make one CD, but thankfully most Beatles’ songs are rather short, so I can fit many onto one CD. I want to give my friend a disc that represents the range of the Beatles: their singing, songwriting and performance. My friend blames a lot of her dislike on, “There’s just too much, ‘doo-wop shoo-bop’”, which, as all good Beatles’ fans know, simply isn’t the case. Some songs are just bad ass, like “Helter Skelter”, others are achingly beautiful, like “Eleanor Rigby.” Some Beatles’ songs are haunting, I’m thinking of “Because” on this one, and others are just fun, like “Octopuses’ Garden” and “All Together Now.” Plus, many of their albums tell stories, let’s just have a quick look at “Abbey Road” and “Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band”, the songs on these albums weave together seamlessly. So yeah, if it’s been a while, I’m using this blog entry to encourage you to drag out your old Beatles’ albums, and remember why they are one of the greatest bands of all time. Word.

Today is a good day, because I finally finished Upton Sinclair’s book, The Jungle. What a downer. It’s hard to listen to Johnny Mathis singing about the most wonderful time of the year, while reading about a character who’s situation just gets worse, and worse, and worse. Even when there’s a glimmer of hope in the plotline, by the next paragraph his wife has died, his child is drowned, he loses his job, loses his house, gets thrown in jail, and his iPod is stolen…oh wait, that last part was me. Boy do I miss it so…sniff...Today I get to buy a new book, so that’ll be exciting, I’m gonna try for something upbeat, maybe War and Peace.

Ahem, yes, well anyway, I’ve come to the conclusion that while Rome is the Eternal City and there are many fabulous things about it, I’m just not in love with it like others tend to be. I think I would love living in another part of Italy, and hope to be lucky enough to do so some day, but I’ve had my fill of Rome for the time being. Granted, there’s nothing quite like walking the streets the Romans walked during the Empire as you near the Colosseum, drinking in the beauty of the Sistine Chapel, or sitting in a Piazza gazing at a gorgeous fountain, but once you get through the touristy aspects of the city, you get into the nitty gritty, and Rome is just not that nice a place.

For example, fresh air. This is common with all major cities, and I’m willing to concede that, but seeing as this is the first one that I’ve actually lived in, I’m disgusted by the fact that I can’t get a breath of fresh air to save my life. The exhaust from mopeds, the puddles of urine near the train station, the damp, stale air of the metro, the bittersweet smell of starling bird crap—it’s all awful.

In terms of people, the Italians themselves are great. All of my students are extremely nice and interesting, and for every Italian home I’ve been welcomed in to, I’ve absolutely loved it and the culture that came with it. However, there are a lot of non-Italians in this city, and I’ve come to loathe a certain percentage of them. It is impossible, absolutely impossible, to go anywhere without someone trying to con you for money. The other day I was buying a metro ticket from an automatic machine, and one of the gypsies was standing there, pegged that I was a foreigner, and said, “English?” as if she were going to help me. I replied, “No, and I can do this myself,” in Italian, and she jumped into a plea for money, shaking her cup at me, and going on and on about her poverty while I waited for my ticket to be discharged from the machine. I know this sounds horrible, but ticket machines are not that hard to figure out, so why should I give her money for something I’m perfectly capable of doing myself? Then there are the mothers who just sit with their children on the street with signs saying, “We’re hungry, help us please!” How can they do that? How can they not try to do something different to better their situations? How can you take children and make them sit on the street to beg with you? Or beg for money on the metro? What does this child think in the morning when he/she wakes up and says, “Yep, time to get my Pringles can and go hit up rich looking people on the train for money”? It disgusts me, and instead of wanting to give them money, I want to give the parent a firm smack in the face, for putting their child through this. The tourist attractions above are all beautiful, but not when you have people constantly hounding you to buy a stupid toy that makes the most irritating sound in the world, or tell you that they’re giving you a rose for free, as a gift, and then hit you up for a donation for the flowers. I often steal internet at a McDonald’s in the main train station, and see herds of families come through, sifting through left behind trays, handing their kids remnants of Big Macs and the last few fries in the fry box. When walking through high traffic areas, they’re all set up with rip-off sunglasses, bags and belts, and if you even mistakenly glance in their direction, they’re upon you like a pack of wolves. “You like? You like? I have three different colors. For you, today only, for you, 15 euros.” And they’ll follow you down the street just a few steps, knowing that their fellow vendors will protect their merchandise while they try to annoy you enough into buying something so that they’ll just shut-up and leave you alone—but then that would be giving in, so I firmly set my jaw, stare dead ahead, and enjoy the fact that I’m tall enough that this person is jumping up to try to get into my line of vision…go Houston height. And that’s another thing…what kind of a cat-call is it to tell someone who’s 5’11, “You’re tall” while she’s walking down the street??? —I’m tall? Really? Gosh, I never realized that before, thanks greasy stranger on the side of the street, I thought that my pants were never long enough because I mistook ‘extra-long’ to mean ‘capri’, but now I understand, I’m actually tall, well, how do you like that? Thanks for the newsflash, Captain Obvious.

I have a new appreciation for street performance, which is illegal here. I remember being in France, and outside of the Pompidou museum, my friend and I watched one of the coolest street performers ever and I remember throwing a euro fifty his way, because he put in the effort to learn amazing balancing feats, juggling acts and acrobatics while working the crowd, and I give him credit for that. I don’t give credit for people who just sit, thinking if they look sad enough they can get a dime…I sound cold-hearted, I know, and think what you may, but you get sick of this after a while, and I personally didn’t put them where they are. I am willing to help those who try, but not others.

So yeah, it’s just like my friend Kristin told me this summer, “You’re going to go away, and see some things that are just not nice things, and they’ll make you understand how special your home and where you come from are.” Ain’t that the truth? 16 more days and that breath of fresh air will be mine…yessssss….

*Thanksgiving Dinner!!...On a Saturday night* Going around the table left to right: Graham, Hassan, Liz, Mark, Emily (or her arm), Matt, Chiara

Okey Dokey, well, it’s been quite a long time since I’ve written a post, mostly because there’s been a lot going on, so I haven’t had the opportunity to steal internet and write a post. Let’s get the bad news over with first. About a week and a half ago my purse was stolen. Suckville. It was stupid, the ‘zingaro’ (Italian term for someone who is non-native and makes a living by street vending and stealing things) took it from right under our noses at a bar, and my only gratification from the episode was that there was only about 7 euros cash in the wallet. The horrible terrible awful very bad thing about it was that my iPod was in my purse. *Sniffle* When I called my mom later that night to get credit card company numbers and etc., she remarked, “I don’t quite understand why your iPod was with you.” True enough, maybe a bar isn’t the best place to have an iPod, but this thing was attached to my hip at all times, and I always carried it with me because you never know when you’re going to need to have a dance party in your head to Madonna, or settle a heated bar discussion about song lyrics. Since I am poor as poor can be, when the glorious day arrives that I can finally buy another iPod, I am going to throw a party, and all of you are invited.

Next up on the news bulletin: I GOT A JOB!!! This is very exciting, because it means that I am going to be able to return in January and get at least a couple more months out of this adventure. The awesome thing is that I really, really like the job. Most jobs I’ve had have never been intellectually stimulating, it was all office work or driving rich vacationers around all day, or, and I even hate to mention this, it was retail (I’m sure some of you remember me in my green Ames vest, practicing A+ service—smile, meet, greet and thank…barf.) I’m working at the Trinity school, which is a short walk from my apartment (good thing too, because my metro pass was stolen with my wallet and I didn’t want to buy another one) and most of my classes are one on one or two on one. I have a lot of fun helping my students bust through grammar exercises and have fun with more creative activities. It’s also cool to teach little things that aren’t in the book (i.e. the meaning of ‘five-finger discount’ and ‘to get on/fall off the wagon.’) In turn, they teach me too (see ‘zingaro’ in paragraph one) and tell me about cool spots in Rome to go to—such as a club that has really good live jazz, sweetness. So yes, I am working now…not a whole lot, four or five hours a day, but at least I’m working, and I’m loving that jobs do exist out there that I can come out of thinking everyday, “That was awesome,” it gives me hope for future endeavors, whatever they may be.

My next piece of news, which you probably guessed from the beginning of this post, is that EMILY TULLY CAME TO VISIT ME, WOOOOT!!!! Little Miss E-Tizzle arrived on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, and not a second too soon, as the purse thing kind of threw me into a bit of homesickness. It was as if we were back in Burlington all over again, except we were in Rome. I had a blast taking her to all of the touristy sections, such as the Colosseum, Roman Forum, Piazza Navona, Trevi Fountain, the Campidoglio, Piazza del Popolo, Villa Borghese, Trastevere, the Vatican Museums, St. Peter’s Square, St. Peter’s Basilica, one of the few (or maybe only) Gothic church(es) in Rome, the Spanish Steps and a few others. We took a ride in the Time Elevator, and the coolest part by far was the 5D animation movie we saw about the beginning of life here on Earth…it was sweet. Thanksgiving Day we were treated to a middle-Eastern meal made by our friend Hassan, and it was super delicious, but not the same as the spread that I know was put out in West Glover. Saturday night we had another Thanksgiving party at our apartment, and about the only thing “Thanksgiving-ish” was the mashed potatoes, however, the stir fry, gelato, bread, chicken cutlets, and everything else was pretty good. Sunday night, we went to a bar that plays American Football, and I watched the Giants blow their 21-0 lead at the half to the Titans (so typical, and to which Emily remarked, “I make up for being a Yankees fan by being a Giants fan, because only the Giants would suck so bad to blow a lead like that.” Well said.) and I watched the Pats beat the Bears (GO PATS, WHOO!) We both thought of home while we watched the game, knowing that while we were in Rome watching these games, at the exact same moment members of our family were relaxing on a Sunday afternoon doing the same thing. Emily and I had a great time, and I’m looking forward to making a trip to Prague (probably at the end of my time here in Europe) to let her return the favor, ha!

And, while I know this is quite a long entry, not that many people read my blog, so I feel I can ramble on without much consequence. That said, with the passing of Thanksgiving, comes the Christmas season, and I’m very excited that exactly three weeks from today I will be on a plane back to the United States for 12 days. I’m ready to see my family and friends—I want to sleep in my gigantic comfy bed, I want to drive my car, I want to have a conversation and cup of tea in Gram’s kitchen, I want to eat a burger at the Shed, I want to drink homebrew with my brothers, I want to go sledding with my nieces, I want to giggle and gossip with my sister, I want to pick on my dad about anything I can (knowing full well that he’ll pick on me), I want to gush over the Christmas season with my mom, I want to see friends I haven’t seen in over a year, I want to see the friends that I saw the days right before I left, I want to eat the Thanksgiving dinner that I missed, knowing that it will be made up on Christmas Eve and the following day with much of my extended family there, I want to go skiing, I want to walk down Church St. with the lights on the trees. Then I want to take all these times, and bring them back to Rome with me, knowing that it’s important for me to be doing this right now, because it’s a once in a lifetime chance, and despite the worrying and stress that I’ve experienced on this trip, I don’t regret one single day, I can’t.