At this point, you might be thinking "Geez, another installment of Yahners vs. Europe? Hasn't there been enough wacky European adventures?" Perhaps, and this same thought might have crossed each of our minds as we were on vacation, but we still have two more stops to make. Just deal with it and keep reading.
Our drive to the coastal towns of Cinqueterre started off fine. We navigated our way through the highway and to the main roads. When the streets got increasingly narrow and decreasingly even, things got a little dicey. We were using my GPS for directions, and so far, she had steered us correctly. But I should have known something would go wrong. She did once tell me to turn right at the end of a cul-de-sac, so I knew that she had a mean streak. We started driving through a very small town none of us had ever heard of when the GPS told us to turn right. The only street to the right was a narrow cobblestone alley that was too curvey to see where it led. Despite what now seems like an obvious mistake, we trusted the GPS, and to the shock of the old men sitting outside, enjoying their cappuccino, we went up the street. The road was so narrow that you could reach out of any window and touch a building. The people we passed gave us strange looks and it gradually dawned on us that this wasn't right. However, it was possible to turn around and the GPS kept encouraging us to go forward, so go forward we did. Pretty soon, we came to a dead end. The GPS insisted that the correct way to drive was through the house immediately in front of us, but we were sick of her shenanigans. After carefully maneuvering around, we were able to drive back down, where the old men were still sitting outside, probably wondering why the dumb Americans just drove up their neighbor's driveway.
Unfortunately, our driving woes did not end there. Though they weren't as narrow as the road we mistakenly took, the roads that actually led to the town were pretty tight. At one point, a van was coming the opposite direction and we both realized it would be impossible for us to pass each other. We stopped and waved the van on. The van stopped and backed up to let us through, but in doing so, backed off the road and got its back tire stuck in a ditch. Several Italians came from out of nowhere to help the poor van drivers, who turned out to be German tourists who spoke no Italian. We tried to help, but being American tourists who spoke little Italian and no German, we couldn't really do much. Dad tried helped in trying to push the van out of the ditch, but nothing worked. We felt bad for the German tourists stuck in the little town of Pignone with their paper road map, but there was nothing left for us to do. We turned on our GPS, carefully turned around, and tried once again to find our way to Cinqueterre.
After way too many extremely sharp turns and uphill climbs, we finally made it to the town of Monterooso al Mare, one of the 5 towns of the Cinqueterre. Our hotel was very modern and very close to the beach. Cinqueterre is beautiful, with clear blue water, colorful flowers, and hiking trails between each town. It was a nice place to relax during all our sightseeing.
Though they are beautiful, the beaches of Cinqueterre aren't your typical sandy beach. It is all rocks and the water is freezing, so getting up the courage to go swimming took a while. After walking barefoot on thousands of little stones, you would be struck by ice cold waves. Jumping in didn't make it better, and inching in just gave you more time to reason out why you shouldn't go in at all. The first day, nobody went in past their hips. The second day, my dad and I were determined to swim out to a big rock and jump off of it. After Alex decided he was too much of a pansy for this adventure and went back to the hotel, my dad and I edged into the water. We fought the cold and made it to the rock, which was kind of difficult to climb because it was so slippery. But jumping off was a ton of fun and made the effort totally worth it. After jumping I was all smiles and having fun until my dad said, "What happened to your face?!" Apparently, I'm not as cool as I think I am since I got a bloody nose upon hitting the water. Nevertheless, we jumped again (mostly so my mom could take pictures) then swam back to shore to warm up. Once at shore, my dad and I realized that the barnacles from the rocks had cut our legs up pretty badly and we were both bleeding. We are really hard core.
Our second night in Cinqueterre, we headed into the old part of Monterosso al Mare to see the celebration of the feast day of St. John the Baptist. It had started earlier in the day with a Mass and a concert in the church--typical religious stuff. Then, it progressed into not-so-typical religious stuff, including a sack race and fireworks. The fireworks display did not seem very well-prepared and was the most frightening fireworks show I've ever seen. After the local children placed floating candles in the sea (it was very beautiful), everyone gathered by the beach to watch the fireworks. I figured the fireworks would be going off at another beach. Wrong. The fireworks were being lit at the beach where the big crowd was. These fireworks were so close and so big it looked like we were being attacked. Not all the fireworks went up in the air. Some (mistakenly) shot off into the ocean or on the ground. While my mom and I cowered, Alex and my dad cheered. Amazingly, no one got hurt.
To continue the pyrotechnic spectacular, there was a giant bonfire the next night. It was held on the same beach that the fireworks were set off at and it was the biggest bonfire I've ever seen. It makes sense, though, since you know how St. John just loved bonfires...and fireworks...and sack races...
Even though we only stayed there for 2 nigts, I could go on and on about Cinqueterre. The seafood is delicious, as are the lemon products. The hiking is awesome (though a little steep sometimes). The scenery is beautiful, the towns are quaint, and the people are very friendly. It was nice to see a part of Italy I hadn't been to before, and especially nice that it hasn't been jaded by too much tourism yet. From Cinqueterre, we went to Rome--my favorite Italian city and the exact opposite of Cinqueterre.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Yahners vs. Europe Part 3: I Would Give My Right Arm To Be In Tuscany
After picking up a rental car in Venice and figuring out how to make the built-in GPS speak English, we hit the highway, which was full of tunnels and speed racers. We made it to Siena, where we stayed at the Hotel Caterina. The hotel was beautiful, with a garden overlooking the Tuscan hills and rooms with the charm described in the many Tuscan travel books that are now so popular. After receiving a parking ticket, we figured out that we should park in the hotel's parking lot instead of at the bus stop. An American man staying at the hotel noticed Alex's ND hat and snorted "Notre Dame fan?" to which my brother replied, "Yeah, my sister just graduated from there." The angry man said, "Oh yeah, got a job yet?" "Umm, no, still looking. It's a tough market right now," I responded, trying to sound friendly and wondering what this guy's problem was. "Right, I guess," the man retorted. He then proceeded to tell me how he's such good friends with that travel book guy, Mike Steves. I'm assuming he meant Rick Steves because I get my close friends' names wrong all the time, too. Or perhaps Rick has a brother who writes a less popular travel book series. Whatever the case, the man dropped the Steves thing when I mentioned that I had met Rick Steves' son since he was in my class at ND. He then decided to tell me about how close he was with the Jenkins family. When he found out I didn't know any of the Jenkins kids who are currently students, he seemed a tad triumphant. We kept running into this guy throughout our stay and he kept being weird.
We spent our first night in Siena walking around the city, checking at the campo and watching a basketball tournament. Siena is really beautiful, and it was cool to see at night since I had only been there during the day before.
Since we had a car, we decided to do some traveling throughout Tuscany. The first trip we made was to Greve in the Chianti region. On our way out of Siena, we stopped at a gas station. Apparently, you can't pump your own gas in New Jersey because of the Italian influence. We were surprised when a man greeted us at our car and, not only pumped our gas for us, but also offered us some candy from a little dish. The way to Greve was not on a highway, but on curvy country roads. It was a very uncomfortable experience that left me wishing we had taken the train instead, but my dad is a great driver so we made it there in one piece (but perhaps a little greener...). Greve is a very cute town--small and quaint with lots of wine shops. We sampled some traditional Tuscan pasta with wild boar sauce and tasted some wine at one of the enotecas.
Later that night when we had gotten back to Siena, my brother and I went to the Torture Museum. I had previously been to the Torture Museum in San Gimignano, which has a focus on the death penalty, but this one's focus was on crime punishment. They are probably my favorite museums in Italy because they are so unique and nearly always empty and very accessible and entertaining.
The next day, we took a train to Florence, since we decided that driving to the city might get a little tricky. I warned against going to Florence--the city is jaded and has as many tourists as Rome with half the size. Siena's cathedral is prettier and Rome's food is better, so there's really nothing good about Florence (except that it's better than Pisa. Don't even get me started on that wasteland). Despite Florence's lack of authentic Italian charm, it is something you should see. We saw the David, which is quite impressive, and the Duomo, which is only impressive on the outside. The best part of the day was the Salvatore Ferragamo museum, which housed some of Ferragamo's most eccentric and elaborate creations, as well as the shoes of some famous actresses, such as Marilyn Monroe and Audrey Hepburn. The shoes were made of everything from antelope to zebra, including lizard, sea leopard, and sting ray. In case going to this museum made you feel too frivolous, the sign outside assured tourists that all proceeds go to funding annual scholarships for young shoe designers. I felt much more charitable after reading that.
In Florence, we also stopped at the Festival del Gelato--a huge gelato shop with tons of flavors. Feeling adventurous, I got rose flavored gelato. It tasted like soap.
At this point in our vacation, I began to notice something peculiar about the way my mother read information signs. She would look at it and ask me what it said. I would tell her, assuming she just couldn't see it. But then I noticed that she would ask me to read a sign to her when we were nearly on top of it, and then would seem impressed after I read it. It turns out she hadn't been noticing the English translations directly beneath the Italian description and thought I was really translating the written Italian quite well. I should have let her keep on thinking that, but being the kind, selfless person I am, I directed her to the English translations.
Our last Tuscan adventure was to Montelcino, a charming little hill town. We drove there, but thankfully, the roads were not as devil-may-care as the ones leading to Greve. The scenery along the way was gorgeous, with sprawling vineyards and hills dotted with cypress trees. The town itself was very hilly and had a medieval charm because of its fortress converted into an enoteca. Upon a friend's recommendation, we went to a little family-owned restaurant and got pici pasta with bread crumbs and olive oil. It was a delicious meal, complete with Barry White music playing the entire time.
The next day, we left Siena to head for Cinqueterre, but first we needed to see the cathedral. It's my favorite church in Italy because of its green and white striped marble and the beautiful frescoes. Though I had been to the cathedral before, something was new: at the altar there was a glass case with an elaborate object inside and a sign that simply said "Il Braccio Destro di San Giovanni Battista"--the right arm of St. John the Baptist. It was very cool, but kind of took us by surprise since we weren't expecting to see any dismembered saints that day. After seeing this, our time in Tuscany was complete and we headed to the coast.
We spent our first night in Siena walking around the city, checking at the campo and watching a basketball tournament. Siena is really beautiful, and it was cool to see at night since I had only been there during the day before.
Since we had a car, we decided to do some traveling throughout Tuscany. The first trip we made was to Greve in the Chianti region. On our way out of Siena, we stopped at a gas station. Apparently, you can't pump your own gas in New Jersey because of the Italian influence. We were surprised when a man greeted us at our car and, not only pumped our gas for us, but also offered us some candy from a little dish. The way to Greve was not on a highway, but on curvy country roads. It was a very uncomfortable experience that left me wishing we had taken the train instead, but my dad is a great driver so we made it there in one piece (but perhaps a little greener...). Greve is a very cute town--small and quaint with lots of wine shops. We sampled some traditional Tuscan pasta with wild boar sauce and tasted some wine at one of the enotecas.
Later that night when we had gotten back to Siena, my brother and I went to the Torture Museum. I had previously been to the Torture Museum in San Gimignano, which has a focus on the death penalty, but this one's focus was on crime punishment. They are probably my favorite museums in Italy because they are so unique and nearly always empty and very accessible and entertaining.
The next day, we took a train to Florence, since we decided that driving to the city might get a little tricky. I warned against going to Florence--the city is jaded and has as many tourists as Rome with half the size. Siena's cathedral is prettier and Rome's food is better, so there's really nothing good about Florence (except that it's better than Pisa. Don't even get me started on that wasteland). Despite Florence's lack of authentic Italian charm, it is something you should see. We saw the David, which is quite impressive, and the Duomo, which is only impressive on the outside. The best part of the day was the Salvatore Ferragamo museum, which housed some of Ferragamo's most eccentric and elaborate creations, as well as the shoes of some famous actresses, such as Marilyn Monroe and Audrey Hepburn. The shoes were made of everything from antelope to zebra, including lizard, sea leopard, and sting ray. In case going to this museum made you feel too frivolous, the sign outside assured tourists that all proceeds go to funding annual scholarships for young shoe designers. I felt much more charitable after reading that.
In Florence, we also stopped at the Festival del Gelato--a huge gelato shop with tons of flavors. Feeling adventurous, I got rose flavored gelato. It tasted like soap.
At this point in our vacation, I began to notice something peculiar about the way my mother read information signs. She would look at it and ask me what it said. I would tell her, assuming she just couldn't see it. But then I noticed that she would ask me to read a sign to her when we were nearly on top of it, and then would seem impressed after I read it. It turns out she hadn't been noticing the English translations directly beneath the Italian description and thought I was really translating the written Italian quite well. I should have let her keep on thinking that, but being the kind, selfless person I am, I directed her to the English translations.
Our last Tuscan adventure was to Montelcino, a charming little hill town. We drove there, but thankfully, the roads were not as devil-may-care as the ones leading to Greve. The scenery along the way was gorgeous, with sprawling vineyards and hills dotted with cypress trees. The town itself was very hilly and had a medieval charm because of its fortress converted into an enoteca. Upon a friend's recommendation, we went to a little family-owned restaurant and got pici pasta with bread crumbs and olive oil. It was a delicious meal, complete with Barry White music playing the entire time.
The next day, we left Siena to head for Cinqueterre, but first we needed to see the cathedral. It's my favorite church in Italy because of its green and white striped marble and the beautiful frescoes. Though I had been to the cathedral before, something was new: at the altar there was a glass case with an elaborate object inside and a sign that simply said "Il Braccio Destro di San Giovanni Battista"--the right arm of St. John the Baptist. It was very cool, but kind of took us by surprise since we weren't expecting to see any dismembered saints that day. After seeing this, our time in Tuscany was complete and we headed to the coast.
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
Yahners vs. Europe Part 2: The Glass Island
Venice is a beautiful city, containing rich history, unique structure, and wonderful culture. However, what stands out most to me is Venice’s narrow, labyrinth-like streets. I guess when there are no cars, a grid-structure isn’t all that necessary. But after lugging suitcases around the cobblestone streets for an hour, trying to find our hotel, the charm of ancient streets had worn thin. We eventually found the hotel (and found out that we had been near it all along, just not on the direct street to it). Our hotel was over 1000 years old, though it had modern comforts. Still, my mom complained that it was “dingy” and continued to note that all the hotels in Italy seemed “old.” I guess when you come from a country that’s only about 250 years old, its tough to get used to hotels that have been built further back than you can track your ancestry.
After a long day of traveling and getting lost, we didn’t want to bother with searching for a good restaurant, so we picked the first one we saw. It was a horrible introduction into Italian food, because it did not taste like Italian cuisine—more like Beefaroni. I guess we had made the classic tourist mistake of going to a restaurant with a “tourist menu.”
The next day we made another classic tourist mistake—accepting a tour. Actually, we didn’t so much accept a tour as we were forced into it. While my mom and brother were still getting ready for the day, my dad and I went to the hotel front desk to ask what water taxi we should take to get to the island of Murano. Immediately, the man at the desk was on the phone and 5 minutes later, Paolo showed up, saying he was ready to take us to Murano. My dad and I just kind of stared at him for a second, not really knowing what to do. We didn’t want to pay for a taxi—a water bus would be just fine. However, we felt obligated to take the taxi since Paolo was already there, so my dad got the rest of the family and we followed Paolo out the door. It turns out that Paolo was not the taxi driver—his job was to lead us to Stefano, who would give us a private ride over to Murano. Once we reached Murano, we expected to pay Stefano and be on our way. However, as a scraggly looking Italian man helped us onto the dock and started talking about the glass gallery’s “promotional season,” we realized that we had gotten into more than just a taxi ride. We were given a private tour of the Marco Polo glass gallery—it was incredible to see the chandeliers being made and the endless amounts of glass sculptures throughout the gallery. We even got to meet the master craftsman who is the 6th generation to make gold etchings onto glass. It was all very lovely, but we couldn’t help feeling nervous the entire time about the cost of this tour. We hadn’t paid anyone yet and surely all three Italian men would get a cut. How much could this cost? 300 euro? 500 euro? The glass sculptures themselves were 1000s of euros, so a tour of the gallery must not be cheap. We tried to put that out of our minds and just enjoy the tour. We disappointed our guide when we didn’t buy anything, but after being bamboozled, we weren’t in a purchasing mood.
After exploring more of the island of Murano (which is mostly just glass galleries), my mom found a vase she really liked and bought it. The man selling it wrapped it up in about 50 layers of tissue paper and bubble wrap even though he said the glass was like “Bruce Willis because it is unbreakable.” The rest of the photos from that day make it look like we adopted a little Venetian baby, all wrapped up in blankets.
We saw all the traditional sites of Venice—St. Mark’s Square, the Realto Bridge, the Cathedral, etc. After spending 2 days in Venice, we checked out of our hotel and waited to see the damage done to our bill by the glass tour. There was no charge. Turns out we weren’t as hoodwinked as we thought. Every purchase after that was justified by “Well, we got that tour for free so…”
After a long day of traveling and getting lost, we didn’t want to bother with searching for a good restaurant, so we picked the first one we saw. It was a horrible introduction into Italian food, because it did not taste like Italian cuisine—more like Beefaroni. I guess we had made the classic tourist mistake of going to a restaurant with a “tourist menu.”
The next day we made another classic tourist mistake—accepting a tour. Actually, we didn’t so much accept a tour as we were forced into it. While my mom and brother were still getting ready for the day, my dad and I went to the hotel front desk to ask what water taxi we should take to get to the island of Murano. Immediately, the man at the desk was on the phone and 5 minutes later, Paolo showed up, saying he was ready to take us to Murano. My dad and I just kind of stared at him for a second, not really knowing what to do. We didn’t want to pay for a taxi—a water bus would be just fine. However, we felt obligated to take the taxi since Paolo was already there, so my dad got the rest of the family and we followed Paolo out the door. It turns out that Paolo was not the taxi driver—his job was to lead us to Stefano, who would give us a private ride over to Murano. Once we reached Murano, we expected to pay Stefano and be on our way. However, as a scraggly looking Italian man helped us onto the dock and started talking about the glass gallery’s “promotional season,” we realized that we had gotten into more than just a taxi ride. We were given a private tour of the Marco Polo glass gallery—it was incredible to see the chandeliers being made and the endless amounts of glass sculptures throughout the gallery. We even got to meet the master craftsman who is the 6th generation to make gold etchings onto glass. It was all very lovely, but we couldn’t help feeling nervous the entire time about the cost of this tour. We hadn’t paid anyone yet and surely all three Italian men would get a cut. How much could this cost? 300 euro? 500 euro? The glass sculptures themselves were 1000s of euros, so a tour of the gallery must not be cheap. We tried to put that out of our minds and just enjoy the tour. We disappointed our guide when we didn’t buy anything, but after being bamboozled, we weren’t in a purchasing mood.
After exploring more of the island of Murano (which is mostly just glass galleries), my mom found a vase she really liked and bought it. The man selling it wrapped it up in about 50 layers of tissue paper and bubble wrap even though he said the glass was like “Bruce Willis because it is unbreakable.” The rest of the photos from that day make it look like we adopted a little Venetian baby, all wrapped up in blankets.
We saw all the traditional sites of Venice—St. Mark’s Square, the Realto Bridge, the Cathedral, etc. After spending 2 days in Venice, we checked out of our hotel and waited to see the damage done to our bill by the glass tour. There was no charge. Turns out we weren’t as hoodwinked as we thought. Every purchase after that was justified by “Well, we got that tour for free so…”
Sunday, July 05, 2009
Yahners vs. Europe Part 1: The Hills Are Alive
Ever since I spent a semester abroad in Rome, my family has been planning a trip to Europe to experience the sites for themselves. The time for the great Yahners in Europe adventure came on June 11th, or so we had planned. We arrive at the Cleveland airport in plenty of time to make our flight to Philadelphia, where we would get a flight to Munich. Unfortunately, due to weather on the east coast, our flight to Philly had been delayed nearly 4 hours already, which would cause us to miss our connection. Super. So, after some pouting and rebooking for the next day, we grabbed our suitcases and went home. It was kind of a huge let down since we had totally closed the house down—shut all the doors, gotten rid of all the food, set up our vacation answering machine. Fortunately, our flight the next day was not cancelled or delayed and we made it to Philly in time to catch our flight to Munich. What’s even more exciting is that we saw Al Roker of the Today Show in the Cleveland airport. Alex said it was a sign that I was supposed to talk to him and ask him for a job. Though Al Roker seems much nicer than Matt and definitely nicer than Ann, I was too nervous to bother America’s favorite weatherman.
We arrived in Munich and hit the ground running since we now only had one day in the city. Our main goal was to find the statue of Maximillion II. My great grandparents used to live near Munich and owned some sweet nightclubs. I guess these nightclubs were so cool, that the guy who designed the statue of Max that would go in the square gave my great (or great great?) grandparents the original model. This model now sits in my grandmother’s house and before we left my mom was looking at it and almost broke it. When I had visited Munich, I searched for the Max statue but did not find it. After asking the concierge at the hotel about it and consulting a map, we finally found Max. The statue is permanently in the middle of a square, but currently in the middle of some sort of carnival. It was difficult to get a picture with him with all the food tents and beer steins around us, but it was cool to see the giant version of what we’ve always been forced to admire at Oma’s house.
We were so exhausted from the flight that we needed to take a nap. However, my dad can’t nap or sit still ever, so he went down to the lobby and made a new German friend—Peter—who bought him a beer. I was actually surprised at how much German my dad remembered from his summer studying in Austria, but he did pretty well, or at least pretended to and we didn’t know the difference because none of us speak a word of German.
After a day in Munich, we took the train to Salzburg, Austria. The first thing we did there was take the Sound of Music tour because we are tourists and love busses. The tour was actually very nice and focused more on seeing sites around Austria than it did on just the movie. However, during the bus ride from place to place, they blared songs from the film as loudly as if they were a rap song with some heavy base. My eardrums were nearly shattered by an overly loud rendition of My Favorite Things. The best thing about the bus tour was Barbara. Barbara was cranky and apparently didn’t really want to go on the Sound of Music tour, though I don’t know how you could mistakenly get on this tour thinking it was something else considering the side of the bus had a giant picture of Julie Andrews singing her heart out. Barbara continuously complained to her spineless husband that she wanted off this bus immediately and wanted to take a different bus tour. At one point, the bus started slowing down due to traffic and Barbara started to get up, saying “Let’s get off now, come on,” but the husband advised her to wait until the bus actually stopped moving and got to a parking spot before she debussed. Finally, after much complaining to her husband and the tour guide, Barbara was let off in the middle of the street where she wandered off to something else to complain about.
During our next day in Salzburg, we took a lift up to the top of a mountain to see some great views and do some hiking. Since it was so high up, the air was pretty thin and the hiking was a little difficult. Therefore, when Alex asked my mother to hike a little more down the trail, she refused. He tried convincing her by saying, “But there’s a cross up ahead. We could just go to there.” She responded with, “I don’t care if God himself is up there, I’m not hiking up that hill.” And that was that.
The steep incline and thin air was not the only thing plaguing my mother on the top of the Austrian mountain. There were also large black birds flying around that, according to her, would peck your eyes out given the chance. When one bird landed close to us, I got my camera out to take a picture. Just as I was setting up the shot, something scared the bird and it flew away. I looked over to my mom who had several more rocks in her hands, prepared to throw at any more dangerous birds that should come our way.
Though the views were enough to keep us occupied on the mountain, there were also signs with old Austrian folklore on them, mostly having to do with gnomes. The tales made little sense and didn’t really have a moral at the ending. They were mostly just about hikers finding gnomes and then these gnomes might be nice, or they might be mean, or they might just go on their merry way. Obviously, the Austrians are still working on the craft of story telling.
Once we went down the mountain, we went to the Mirabelle Gardens, where my mom made us reenact some scenes from the Sound of Music and we had a contest to see who could name all the Von Trapp children (no one got more than 2). We also visited the Augustiner, where my dad regaled us with tales from his youth studying abroad, which inspired my mother to tell stories of her youth studying in Ellet. All of the stories were unwelcome by my brother and me.
After eating lots of pretzels and sausage (which my mother described as looking like baby belugas), gazing upon the snow capped mountains, and hearing more about the Sound of Music than I ever cared to, it was time to leave the German speaking region and head onto Italy. According to my dad, this also mean it was time for me to “remember all that Italian because that’s the only reason we brought you on this trip.” Ah, family memories.
We arrived in Munich and hit the ground running since we now only had one day in the city. Our main goal was to find the statue of Maximillion II. My great grandparents used to live near Munich and owned some sweet nightclubs. I guess these nightclubs were so cool, that the guy who designed the statue of Max that would go in the square gave my great (or great great?) grandparents the original model. This model now sits in my grandmother’s house and before we left my mom was looking at it and almost broke it. When I had visited Munich, I searched for the Max statue but did not find it. After asking the concierge at the hotel about it and consulting a map, we finally found Max. The statue is permanently in the middle of a square, but currently in the middle of some sort of carnival. It was difficult to get a picture with him with all the food tents and beer steins around us, but it was cool to see the giant version of what we’ve always been forced to admire at Oma’s house.
We were so exhausted from the flight that we needed to take a nap. However, my dad can’t nap or sit still ever, so he went down to the lobby and made a new German friend—Peter—who bought him a beer. I was actually surprised at how much German my dad remembered from his summer studying in Austria, but he did pretty well, or at least pretended to and we didn’t know the difference because none of us speak a word of German.
After a day in Munich, we took the train to Salzburg, Austria. The first thing we did there was take the Sound of Music tour because we are tourists and love busses. The tour was actually very nice and focused more on seeing sites around Austria than it did on just the movie. However, during the bus ride from place to place, they blared songs from the film as loudly as if they were a rap song with some heavy base. My eardrums were nearly shattered by an overly loud rendition of My Favorite Things. The best thing about the bus tour was Barbara. Barbara was cranky and apparently didn’t really want to go on the Sound of Music tour, though I don’t know how you could mistakenly get on this tour thinking it was something else considering the side of the bus had a giant picture of Julie Andrews singing her heart out. Barbara continuously complained to her spineless husband that she wanted off this bus immediately and wanted to take a different bus tour. At one point, the bus started slowing down due to traffic and Barbara started to get up, saying “Let’s get off now, come on,” but the husband advised her to wait until the bus actually stopped moving and got to a parking spot before she debussed. Finally, after much complaining to her husband and the tour guide, Barbara was let off in the middle of the street where she wandered off to something else to complain about.
During our next day in Salzburg, we took a lift up to the top of a mountain to see some great views and do some hiking. Since it was so high up, the air was pretty thin and the hiking was a little difficult. Therefore, when Alex asked my mother to hike a little more down the trail, she refused. He tried convincing her by saying, “But there’s a cross up ahead. We could just go to there.” She responded with, “I don’t care if God himself is up there, I’m not hiking up that hill.” And that was that.
The steep incline and thin air was not the only thing plaguing my mother on the top of the Austrian mountain. There were also large black birds flying around that, according to her, would peck your eyes out given the chance. When one bird landed close to us, I got my camera out to take a picture. Just as I was setting up the shot, something scared the bird and it flew away. I looked over to my mom who had several more rocks in her hands, prepared to throw at any more dangerous birds that should come our way.
Though the views were enough to keep us occupied on the mountain, there were also signs with old Austrian folklore on them, mostly having to do with gnomes. The tales made little sense and didn’t really have a moral at the ending. They were mostly just about hikers finding gnomes and then these gnomes might be nice, or they might be mean, or they might just go on their merry way. Obviously, the Austrians are still working on the craft of story telling.
Once we went down the mountain, we went to the Mirabelle Gardens, where my mom made us reenact some scenes from the Sound of Music and we had a contest to see who could name all the Von Trapp children (no one got more than 2). We also visited the Augustiner, where my dad regaled us with tales from his youth studying abroad, which inspired my mother to tell stories of her youth studying in Ellet. All of the stories were unwelcome by my brother and me.
After eating lots of pretzels and sausage (which my mother described as looking like baby belugas), gazing upon the snow capped mountains, and hearing more about the Sound of Music than I ever cared to, it was time to leave the German speaking region and head onto Italy. According to my dad, this also mean it was time for me to “remember all that Italian because that’s the only reason we brought you on this trip.” Ah, family memories.
Sunday, June 07, 2009
Annie, Get Your Gun...and Your Donkey
Over Memorial Day weekend, my dad's side of the family had a picnic. Family picnics are typical of this sort of holiday, however, this was not an average family event. My cousin's husband owns about 100 acres of land in Southern Ohio. What is on this land? Nothin'--no plumbing, no electricity, not shelter--just nature. For those of you who know me, you can guess that I would equate this sort of thing to one of Dante's circles of Hell. I'm not exactly into camping and my love of the outdoors ends at eating al fresco. Nevertheless, we made the hour and a half drive to Southern Ohio to celebrate the holiday with the family.
Now, I realize that some people refer to the residents of Stow as "Stowbillies" because of...well, I don't really know why because we're a pretty standard suburban town. Stow is near Kent, Akron, Hudson, Cuyahoga Falls--all towns that have regular houses with minimal lawn ornaments, country clubs, private gyms, public parks, and lovely town halls. I never thought that this quintessential suburban region was a mere hour drive from a scene out of Deliverance.
When we exited the highway and drove through the country roads, we spotted trailer homes, little run down bars, and more lawn ornaments that you could ever imagine. We drove past what little bit of civilization there was and ended up in the woods without cell phone reception, which is really just dangerous. Following the directions we'd been given, we kept driving until we came upon a dirt path, then turned onto that. Minivans are not really made for off-roading--the ads don't really cater to "the mom who loves adventure." Eventually we saw where everyone was parked. We couldn't park right away, though, since a donkey was blocking our path.
We got out of the car and I quickly realized that flip flops and a sundress were the worst things I could have worn since the grass went up to my knees and I was informed that I would need to check for tics once I left. I felt like I had fallen into some really dumb movie where the city gal is forced to live with the country-folk, kind of like Sweet Home Alabama, except there was no romance or happy ending where I came to embrace the country ways at the end.
The field was scattered with tents and trailers and the entire hippy community left over from the 60s was enjoying freshly roasted pig while shooting off bottle rockets. Most people had been camping there for a couple nights and were thus filthy. About 20 dogs and a crapload of children were running around, while the adults drank some homebrew and started building bonfires. It was like a gypsy encampment. I imagine this is what Cher's childhood was like.
A few of the kids rode ATVs around the place. One 5 year old girl (who I named Ruby Sue) rolled up in this giant ATV and introduced herself. She told me that she goes huntin' all the time but she "ain't caught nothin' bigger than a rabbit yet." She then informed me that she owns her own bow and arrow and gun. Then the donkey started breying and she said, "There goes my donkey, yellin' again." "Oh, it's your donkey?" I asked. "Yeah, of course," she answered, looking at me like its perfectly natural for a 5 year old to have a donkey and a gun and an ATV.
The food all looked really disgusting because it had been sitting out all day being picked over by campers. Fortunately, my mom had brought some chicken, so we snuck back into the van to eat our KFC in the air-conditioned vehicle. Maybe that wasn't in the spirit of the day, but I was done with nature and on the verge of tears thinking about the potential family of tics that had found a new home on my legs.
At night, all the dogs and children were outfitted with glow sticks to keep track of them and everyone else sat around the campfire listening to my cousins play the bongos and guitar. Then my brother, who is a hick at heart, started lighting off fireworks. The day wasn't really my idea of fun, but it was definitely interesting.
As we drove away, we could still hear the sounds of the guitar, children playing, ATVs humming, and a donkey braying. I imagine these are beautiful noises to those who find serenity in nature. To me, these are the sounds of slow torment and good blog material.
Now, I realize that some people refer to the residents of Stow as "Stowbillies" because of...well, I don't really know why because we're a pretty standard suburban town. Stow is near Kent, Akron, Hudson, Cuyahoga Falls--all towns that have regular houses with minimal lawn ornaments, country clubs, private gyms, public parks, and lovely town halls. I never thought that this quintessential suburban region was a mere hour drive from a scene out of Deliverance.
When we exited the highway and drove through the country roads, we spotted trailer homes, little run down bars, and more lawn ornaments that you could ever imagine. We drove past what little bit of civilization there was and ended up in the woods without cell phone reception, which is really just dangerous. Following the directions we'd been given, we kept driving until we came upon a dirt path, then turned onto that. Minivans are not really made for off-roading--the ads don't really cater to "the mom who loves adventure." Eventually we saw where everyone was parked. We couldn't park right away, though, since a donkey was blocking our path.
We got out of the car and I quickly realized that flip flops and a sundress were the worst things I could have worn since the grass went up to my knees and I was informed that I would need to check for tics once I left. I felt like I had fallen into some really dumb movie where the city gal is forced to live with the country-folk, kind of like Sweet Home Alabama, except there was no romance or happy ending where I came to embrace the country ways at the end.
The field was scattered with tents and trailers and the entire hippy community left over from the 60s was enjoying freshly roasted pig while shooting off bottle rockets. Most people had been camping there for a couple nights and were thus filthy. About 20 dogs and a crapload of children were running around, while the adults drank some homebrew and started building bonfires. It was like a gypsy encampment. I imagine this is what Cher's childhood was like.
A few of the kids rode ATVs around the place. One 5 year old girl (who I named Ruby Sue) rolled up in this giant ATV and introduced herself. She told me that she goes huntin' all the time but she "ain't caught nothin' bigger than a rabbit yet." She then informed me that she owns her own bow and arrow and gun. Then the donkey started breying and she said, "There goes my donkey, yellin' again." "Oh, it's your donkey?" I asked. "Yeah, of course," she answered, looking at me like its perfectly natural for a 5 year old to have a donkey and a gun and an ATV.
The food all looked really disgusting because it had been sitting out all day being picked over by campers. Fortunately, my mom had brought some chicken, so we snuck back into the van to eat our KFC in the air-conditioned vehicle. Maybe that wasn't in the spirit of the day, but I was done with nature and on the verge of tears thinking about the potential family of tics that had found a new home on my legs.
At night, all the dogs and children were outfitted with glow sticks to keep track of them and everyone else sat around the campfire listening to my cousins play the bongos and guitar. Then my brother, who is a hick at heart, started lighting off fireworks. The day wasn't really my idea of fun, but it was definitely interesting.
As we drove away, we could still hear the sounds of the guitar, children playing, ATVs humming, and a donkey braying. I imagine these are beautiful noises to those who find serenity in nature. To me, these are the sounds of slow torment and good blog material.
Monday, May 25, 2009
No Chance
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Day 5 of unemployment:
My mom woke me up at 9 am to tell me that she was taking our dog, Chance, to the vet to have him put down. I knew right away it was not going to be a good day. Chance hadn’t eaten in a couple days and this morning he couldn’t even stand up. He was the best dog ever. Here are some fun facts about Chance:
• We found him in the woods by my dad’s office. Someone abandon him there when he was a puppy, but their loss was our gain.
• Chance once jumped up on the kitchen table and ate an entire stick of butter. Other things he has eaten in entirety include: a box of donuts, a box of truffles, a loaf of bread, a bag of treats, wrapping paper
• Chance would always fall asleep on the top step of the basement and place his head on the next step up. Then he would start wheezing because he was choking himself by laying that way.
• One time, Chance was really thirsty so he drank a ton of water in one big gulp and immediately threw up.
• Chance was afraid of umbrellas.
• Chance played catch, but not fetch. Throw the ball, Chance catches the ball, game over.
• In the excitement of Easter egg hunting, we accidentally shut Chance in a closet and couldn’t figure out where he was.
• Chance never bit anyone and he rarely ever barked.
• Chance was really good at tug of war
• Chance was really adorable and the best dog ever.
After saying our goodbyes to Chance, we started to get ready for our family picture. For my grandparents’ 50th wedding anniversary, we promised them a professional family photo. What a great day to be all smiles. Incidentally, the family photo also forced me to put on real clothes. I guess a winning streak like that can only last so long.
After the picture, we went to a restaurant that smelled like dissection day in high school biology class. It was gross.
We got home and I heard my mom say “Hi Chance.” I followed her gaze and realized that the dog’s body and been wrapped up and placed right next to my futon which was in the garage and immediately got creeped out.
After Alex and Dad had dug a hole, we went out in the backyard for the funeral. We placed Chance in the grave and my mom tossed in some pig ears and tennis balls, which was meaningful, and also a good way to get rid of Chance’s toys. It was a sad moment, and then it turned gruesome when Alex started covering the grave with dirt. He pointed out a “cup” he had found when digging the hole. Turns out it was actually the margerine container we had used a year ago as a hamster casket. We all took our turn saying “Ew” or an equivalent expression of grossed out-ness, then threw in the decomposing hamster with Chance. Finally, the hole was covered and we placed a big rock on top of it. Rest in peace, Chancey.
The only good part about this day was that our neighbor baked confetti cake cupcakes for our loss. I ate three then took a nap.
After waking up, I walked over to the neighbor’s house with my parents for a drink on their deck. Heather was there with her new boyfriend, so I played third wheel for the night while they held hands and made eyes at each other. I felt this compulsion to randomly insert details of my recent dating exploits into conversations that had nothing to do with dating. Once Lauren and her boyfriend showed up, I settled into my prescribed role as the wry and self-deprecating single friend who could always make the couples laugh. It actually was a fun night, mostly because it wasn’t spent trying to steal movies off the internet and it took my mind off of losing my pet, but it made me miss certain people a little bit.
Since my parents had already left, I walked home by myself to find that I was locked out of my own house. Since my family is so used to not having me around, I guess they forgot that I was coming back. Fortunately, my mom heard my knocking and, like a stray cat begging to come in from the cold, I was let in.
It's weird not having a dog in the house.
Day 5 of unemployment:
My mom woke me up at 9 am to tell me that she was taking our dog, Chance, to the vet to have him put down. I knew right away it was not going to be a good day. Chance hadn’t eaten in a couple days and this morning he couldn’t even stand up. He was the best dog ever. Here are some fun facts about Chance:
• We found him in the woods by my dad’s office. Someone abandon him there when he was a puppy, but their loss was our gain.
• Chance once jumped up on the kitchen table and ate an entire stick of butter. Other things he has eaten in entirety include: a box of donuts, a box of truffles, a loaf of bread, a bag of treats, wrapping paper
• Chance would always fall asleep on the top step of the basement and place his head on the next step up. Then he would start wheezing because he was choking himself by laying that way.
• One time, Chance was really thirsty so he drank a ton of water in one big gulp and immediately threw up.
• Chance was afraid of umbrellas.
• Chance played catch, but not fetch. Throw the ball, Chance catches the ball, game over.
• In the excitement of Easter egg hunting, we accidentally shut Chance in a closet and couldn’t figure out where he was.
• Chance never bit anyone and he rarely ever barked.
• Chance was really good at tug of war
• Chance was really adorable and the best dog ever.
After saying our goodbyes to Chance, we started to get ready for our family picture. For my grandparents’ 50th wedding anniversary, we promised them a professional family photo. What a great day to be all smiles. Incidentally, the family photo also forced me to put on real clothes. I guess a winning streak like that can only last so long.
After the picture, we went to a restaurant that smelled like dissection day in high school biology class. It was gross.
We got home and I heard my mom say “Hi Chance.” I followed her gaze and realized that the dog’s body and been wrapped up and placed right next to my futon which was in the garage and immediately got creeped out.
After Alex and Dad had dug a hole, we went out in the backyard for the funeral. We placed Chance in the grave and my mom tossed in some pig ears and tennis balls, which was meaningful, and also a good way to get rid of Chance’s toys. It was a sad moment, and then it turned gruesome when Alex started covering the grave with dirt. He pointed out a “cup” he had found when digging the hole. Turns out it was actually the margerine container we had used a year ago as a hamster casket. We all took our turn saying “Ew” or an equivalent expression of grossed out-ness, then threw in the decomposing hamster with Chance. Finally, the hole was covered and we placed a big rock on top of it. Rest in peace, Chancey.
The only good part about this day was that our neighbor baked confetti cake cupcakes for our loss. I ate three then took a nap.
After waking up, I walked over to the neighbor’s house with my parents for a drink on their deck. Heather was there with her new boyfriend, so I played third wheel for the night while they held hands and made eyes at each other. I felt this compulsion to randomly insert details of my recent dating exploits into conversations that had nothing to do with dating. Once Lauren and her boyfriend showed up, I settled into my prescribed role as the wry and self-deprecating single friend who could always make the couples laugh. It actually was a fun night, mostly because it wasn’t spent trying to steal movies off the internet and it took my mind off of losing my pet, but it made me miss certain people a little bit.
Since my parents had already left, I walked home by myself to find that I was locked out of my own house. Since my family is so used to not having me around, I guess they forgot that I was coming back. Fortunately, my mom heard my knocking and, like a stray cat begging to come in from the cold, I was let in.
It's weird not having a dog in the house.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
The (Unemployed) Graduate
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Day 1 of unemployment:
After sleeping for 13 hours, I woke up at 1 pm to the hard cold realization that I had no plans that day, the next day, the next week, or for the rest of my life. I’m not starting a job this month. I’m not going back to school in August. Though it is very exciting to graduate, it’s not so exciting to have just graduated.
I job searched throughout senior year. I talked to the counselors at the career center, went to the career fair, attended lectures, and even stalked people on Linked In. I’m either too qualified for an internship, not qualified enough for a job, or just plain old not getting through to the HR person. I’m pretty talented. I have some great experience in television production. Therefore, I’m going to blame my employment misfortune on the economy, and I think that’s pretty fair.
Upon entering Notre Dame in the fall of ’05, I was promised a job in four years. Here I am, four years later, with a fancy sheepskin diploma and no job. I’m not bitter. I’m just waiting for that promise to come through. In the mean time, I’ll be living at home in Stow, Ohio, enjoying summer in the suburbs.
On my first day back home, I got out of bed at 1:00 pm, wandered downstairs, looked at all my suitcases and boxes that needed to be unpacked, and proceeded to ignore them for the rest of the day. It was just my first day back. I deserved to relax a little.
In the afternoon, I text-message broke up with Pat. He was never my boyfriend, but we did date for the last two weeks of college, and I wanted to make it clear that we weren’t dating anymore. Also, we had planned to text message break up on this day because planned jokes always work better than spontaneous ones.
I tried to watch a movie on megavideo.com but after watching about 15 minutes of it, the stupid site claimed I had viewed 70 minutes and had to wait another 40 minutes to continue watching. This discovery has really messed up my summer plans.
I wore athletic shorts and a wife beater the entire day.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Day 2 of unemployment:
I woke up at 12:30 today. I’m slowly progressing toward waking up at a reasonable hour.
I looked at all my crap that needs to be unpacked and ignored it for the rest of the day. I still needed some time to grieve my college career.
I decided to go for a walk around my neighborhood. After 2 minutes, my iPod died. I got chased by 5 dogs: an Australian shepherd, a Pomeranian, a basset hound, a beagle, a lab, and a tiny fluffy thing. I forgot that everyone in this neighborhood knows me because everyone in this neighborhood has lived here for over 20 years. I ran into a few people, some of whom congratulated me, most of whom started debates about Obama and abortion with me. I’m very tired of having to defend my graduation and I’m sad that any congratulations I receive has to come with a debate on morality. Though I guess debating political and ethical issues is more interesting than talking about gardening or something.
I tried watching something on megavideo again. It failed, so I tried to rent something from iTunes. By the time the 2 hour download was finished, I didn’t want to watch it anymore.
I spent the entire day in athletic shorts, a wife beater, and a Cubs hat.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Day 3 of unemployment:
I woke up around 11:30. Not bad.
I unpacked one bag of clothes because I was running out of wife beaters. I couldn’t find where I had packed my underwear, so it looks like I’ll be going commando.
I job searched online for a couple hours, scouring the internet for any potential jobs. I called a producer in South Bend, who one of my professors was sure had a job for me. He didn’t. He told me that finding a job is all about luck and that he had to work at Bloomingdales after college. That was encouraging.
Finding legitimate production companies is very difficult since there are a million production companies, but probably only a handful that aren’t run out of someone’s basement. There are a lot of “one guy an a camera” outfits out there. Another deceiving thing is that a lot of job openings that sound really awesome are in the porn industry. For example: Looking for a Final Cut Pro editor, limited experience necessary, to work in Chicago/NYC area. Pay is $45,000 a year. Sign me up! Hold on…click on the company profile...oh, I would be editing porn. Fantastic. Starting your career in porn doesn’t work out too well for actresses and I doubt it works out any better for videographers.
The grandparents came over for dinner. They seem to think I’m looking for jobs in Cleveland. I’m not.
I spent the entire day in athletic shorts and a wife beater. My real clothes are on protest until I get a job. Also, I’m thinking about not washing my hair to get some sweet dreads.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Day 4 of unemployment:
I woke up at 10:30. Getting much better.
After getting up, I got a bowl of cereal and watched Who Framed Roger Rabbit. That movie is not nearly as scary as I remember it being.
I felt extra motivated and unpacked the rest of the clothes. This won’t stop me from continuing to wear wife beaters and athletic shorts.
I sent an email to a local production company, asking for job advice and if they had any summer openings, even offering to work for free. They said no.
I pet my dog for a couple hours because he’s really sick. Then I fed him some pepperoni.
I went on a walk and only got chased by two dogs. No neighbors harassed me about abortion.
I watched American Psycho with my mom. She fell asleep, so then I was just watching it by myself.
I’m considering putting on real pants.
Day 1 of unemployment:
After sleeping for 13 hours, I woke up at 1 pm to the hard cold realization that I had no plans that day, the next day, the next week, or for the rest of my life. I’m not starting a job this month. I’m not going back to school in August. Though it is very exciting to graduate, it’s not so exciting to have just graduated.
I job searched throughout senior year. I talked to the counselors at the career center, went to the career fair, attended lectures, and even stalked people on Linked In. I’m either too qualified for an internship, not qualified enough for a job, or just plain old not getting through to the HR person. I’m pretty talented. I have some great experience in television production. Therefore, I’m going to blame my employment misfortune on the economy, and I think that’s pretty fair.
Upon entering Notre Dame in the fall of ’05, I was promised a job in four years. Here I am, four years later, with a fancy sheepskin diploma and no job. I’m not bitter. I’m just waiting for that promise to come through. In the mean time, I’ll be living at home in Stow, Ohio, enjoying summer in the suburbs.
On my first day back home, I got out of bed at 1:00 pm, wandered downstairs, looked at all my suitcases and boxes that needed to be unpacked, and proceeded to ignore them for the rest of the day. It was just my first day back. I deserved to relax a little.
In the afternoon, I text-message broke up with Pat. He was never my boyfriend, but we did date for the last two weeks of college, and I wanted to make it clear that we weren’t dating anymore. Also, we had planned to text message break up on this day because planned jokes always work better than spontaneous ones.
I tried to watch a movie on megavideo.com but after watching about 15 minutes of it, the stupid site claimed I had viewed 70 minutes and had to wait another 40 minutes to continue watching. This discovery has really messed up my summer plans.
I wore athletic shorts and a wife beater the entire day.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Day 2 of unemployment:
I woke up at 12:30 today. I’m slowly progressing toward waking up at a reasonable hour.
I looked at all my crap that needs to be unpacked and ignored it for the rest of the day. I still needed some time to grieve my college career.
I decided to go for a walk around my neighborhood. After 2 minutes, my iPod died. I got chased by 5 dogs: an Australian shepherd, a Pomeranian, a basset hound, a beagle, a lab, and a tiny fluffy thing. I forgot that everyone in this neighborhood knows me because everyone in this neighborhood has lived here for over 20 years. I ran into a few people, some of whom congratulated me, most of whom started debates about Obama and abortion with me. I’m very tired of having to defend my graduation and I’m sad that any congratulations I receive has to come with a debate on morality. Though I guess debating political and ethical issues is more interesting than talking about gardening or something.
I tried watching something on megavideo again. It failed, so I tried to rent something from iTunes. By the time the 2 hour download was finished, I didn’t want to watch it anymore.
I spent the entire day in athletic shorts, a wife beater, and a Cubs hat.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Day 3 of unemployment:
I woke up around 11:30. Not bad.
I unpacked one bag of clothes because I was running out of wife beaters. I couldn’t find where I had packed my underwear, so it looks like I’ll be going commando.
I job searched online for a couple hours, scouring the internet for any potential jobs. I called a producer in South Bend, who one of my professors was sure had a job for me. He didn’t. He told me that finding a job is all about luck and that he had to work at Bloomingdales after college. That was encouraging.
Finding legitimate production companies is very difficult since there are a million production companies, but probably only a handful that aren’t run out of someone’s basement. There are a lot of “one guy an a camera” outfits out there. Another deceiving thing is that a lot of job openings that sound really awesome are in the porn industry. For example: Looking for a Final Cut Pro editor, limited experience necessary, to work in Chicago/NYC area. Pay is $45,000 a year. Sign me up! Hold on…click on the company profile...oh, I would be editing porn. Fantastic. Starting your career in porn doesn’t work out too well for actresses and I doubt it works out any better for videographers.
The grandparents came over for dinner. They seem to think I’m looking for jobs in Cleveland. I’m not.
I spent the entire day in athletic shorts and a wife beater. My real clothes are on protest until I get a job. Also, I’m thinking about not washing my hair to get some sweet dreads.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Day 4 of unemployment:
I woke up at 10:30. Getting much better.
After getting up, I got a bowl of cereal and watched Who Framed Roger Rabbit. That movie is not nearly as scary as I remember it being.
I felt extra motivated and unpacked the rest of the clothes. This won’t stop me from continuing to wear wife beaters and athletic shorts.
I sent an email to a local production company, asking for job advice and if they had any summer openings, even offering to work for free. They said no.
I pet my dog for a couple hours because he’s really sick. Then I fed him some pepperoni.
I went on a walk and only got chased by two dogs. No neighbors harassed me about abortion.
I watched American Psycho with my mom. She fell asleep, so then I was just watching it by myself.
I’m considering putting on real pants.
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