Jay See You

Now that I have been a JCU student for an entire week, I feel that I can judge the school and its students. The school itself is very tiny, consisting of about 15 classrooms in one old building on some random side street of Trastevere. JCU prides itself in its commitment to students' well-being and education. I have received several unprompted emails from the school's registrar, saying that the registrar is not here to help us with registering, which leads me to wonder if something got lost in translation, leaving the office of the registrar tombe do nothing but set up confusing course registration websites. New JCU students also received many emails and speeches regarding the emergency telephone number. Upon handing us this number, we were told never to use it. A Power Point presentation, complete with pictures and music, told us of all the situations in which we are to not use the emergency telephone number. This includes being unable to find an ATM, needing a cab, loss of limbs, and being locked out of one's apartment. Also, the emergency number is not to be dialed at the onset of a true emergency. First, one should call the police, then a hospital, then, once the emergency is most likely on its way to being resolved, one should call the emergency number (but you really shouldn't, because by then it wouldn't be an emergency). Apparently, the emergency number contacts the Dean of Students directly, since JCU does not have a true emergency line. The overabundance of precautions given about the emergency number are due to the many times the Dean has been awoken at 4 in the morning by a student in need of cash, cab, or immediate health service.
Though the administration is the foundation of JCU, its students are its true treasures. These students hail from all over the world, though mostly Italy and America. Italians study there to gain an American style education. Americans study there for the lowered drinking age and easier academics (or study abroad). There are about 35 students in each JCU graduating class, allowing the university to offer an extensive assortment of majors, such as Italian, Smoking, College Life and its Impact on the Surrounding Culture, and Political Science. You can immediately tell which students are Italian and which are American. The Italian students are beautiful, smoke discretely, and quietly sit and judge the passing Americans. They are also frequently seen playing ping-pong in the "Lemon Tree Courtyard", which is ironically devoid of lemon trees. American students wear tennis shoes and/or miniskirts, smoke in places where everyone will see and smell them, and make broad comparisons of JCU to their home university. These students can be further broken down into several stereotypes I observed one day while enjoying a panini in the Lemon Treeless Courtyard.

• Emo Asian guy: There are maybe 2 of these. They have long hair, glasses with thick frames, and stick out in the crowd as some of the only non-white people there.
• Abercrombie guy: He actually lives in my apartment complex and hails from Santa Barbara. He has a permanent sexy brood about him and frequently stands in a model-like pose for several minutes at a time. The world is his catwalk. To top it off, his name is Earlick.
• Fat chicks who smoke: Like their cigs, they come in packs
  
• Chick with basset hound: There is a girl who may not even attend JCU, but walks around the courtyard with a limp basset hound. The dog adorably just flops in whatever direction and might be sedated.
• Fauxtalians: These are the American guys who desperately want to look Italian so as to attract the ladies, because what girl wants to date an American when in Rome? These men forgo their own cultural standards of undershirts and buttons and let the chest hair hang out. Also, without those catchy Truth ads holding them back, smoking is cool again and very European. They usually carry leather satchels as well, which they will give back to their sisters upon returning to the US.
  
• Super Americans: These are the opposite of the fauxtalians. These men feel threatened by the metrosexual Italian culture and feel it is their duty to defend their own machismo American ideals. They wear white athletic tennis shoes, athletic shorts, giant backpacks, some form of camouflage, and a graphic T.
• Made Up School Kids: Instead of traveling with the larger study abroad groups like Notre Dame, Boston College, or MSU, these students travel with only a handful of others from their home university. The colleges they hail from are unheard of and possibly unreal. When introducing themselves on the first day of class, they state their majors, which are ridiculously specific and actually sound like the name of a single class. Example; "International Food Marketing with a minors Traveling Along Rivers and Circuses."
• Tools: It is difficult to define what a tool is, but they seem to exist internationally, as they as plentiful in Rome as in Indiana. Tools are boys who are self-absorbed, self-conscious, self-promoting, and are just jerks in general. Tools have a permanent "I'm better than you" smirk upon their faces and will talk to any girl at any time, only to later rudely talk about her. Tools always have bad idea, always drink too much, and always think you want to be their friend. This definition still does not capture the true essence of tool, but the point is that they exist in Italy.
  
• Hungover chicks: These girls forgo trying to look Italian or even trying to look presentable and just throw on some jeans and the t-shirt they got at last night's pub crawl.
• Laguna Beach Wannabes: These Americans look very Californian with their bright blond hair, miniskirts, and pink camisoles. I wouldn't think a thing of this back in the states, but here, they just look very lost and out of place. Maybe that's because there are no malls in Rome.
  

JCU is a fine place to study in Rome, since I don't really intend on studying all that much. If anything, JCU will just make me that much more thankful for Notre Dame.

Ugly Americans

I have officially been in Rome for a week and I have also officially begun classes. I used this weekend to explore Rome a bit more and sleep in (it felt sooo good after a long week). Friday night, a group of us went to Campo di Fiori, which is a place where Americans can go to escape all the culture that exists in Rome. In other words, it was totally touristy and kind of nuts. The area just has lots of bars and drunk study abroad students. The bars have authentic Italian names such as The Drunken Ship and Sloppy Sams. I did have fun, but it is not somewhere I will go too frequently. I did, however, meet my first non-ND student, though he was from Seattle and not Italy, so it was very uninteresting. I cant even remember what this guy and I talked about, it was that uninteresting. Remind me to never study abroad in Seattle.
Saturday, I hit up Ancient Rome by going to the Colosseum and the Roman Forum. Thank goodness for digital cameras, because otherwise, I would have gone through several roles of film. It is incredible to see such ancient things that are still in existence, especially considering that nothing in America even compares to the history that ancient Rome houses. By the Roman Forum was a fantastic photo op where we were on top of a hill and had a great view of the city. The skyline is different than anything I have seen. Where New York and Chicago have their grandious skyscrapers, Rome has detailed domes, beautiful columns, and ancient monuments.
We tried to watch the game that night at a local bar, but turns out Rome has trouble getting American NBC. It doesnt seem like the game was really worth watching anyway (I seem to have picked a good season to miss).
On Sunday, some of my apartment mates and I went to the beach. What we expected to be a 40 minute train ride turned into an hour and a half train ride, followed by a 5 minute bus ride. It was worth it once we got to the beach. The Meditteranean Sea is beautiful and warm and blue. We went to one of the public free beaches, so it was crowded and littered with vendors walking around selling Coca Cola, sunglasses, scarves, lost children, etc. I thought I would feel very body conscious, being on a beach full of beautiful Italian women, but it turns out that they look a lot better with their clothes on. While Americans are obsessed with looking good naked and getting that perfect 8-pack, it seems that all that matters to Italians is looking good in your clothes, which makes sense since you should be wearing clothes most of the time anyway. Italian women look slim in their clothes because they wear things that fit, instead of doing the American style of wearing a size two, just so you can say you wear a size two, then having a disgusting muffin top peek out under your XS shirt. The women here do tend to have a bit of a tummy, but they work it and sport the bella figura. The beach was also full of mostly naked old people. Ironic, how the young, attractive people keep their swimsuits on, while the old, icky people decide to let it all hang out. When I wasn't looking at the water, I kept my eyes to my Glamour magazine. Leaving the beach was a task, as we had to wait for the bus, then cram onto it, and I mean CRAM. There were about 50 too many people on that bus and everyone had just come from the beach, so the aroma was not too appealing. Thankfully, the bus ride was short.
Today, classes started. I am already completely lost in my upper level Italian class, but fortunately, a few other students seem to be in the same boat. I have three classes on Monday, Wednesday, two classes on Tuesday, and one on Thursday. I have big breaks in between a lot of my classes, which leaves time to grab a panini. Before going to class today, I stopped in St. Peter's Basillica for Mass. I was in total awe. The Pietà is right by the entrance and there are countless other priceless works of art. The thing is massive and incredibly ornate and I could probably be in there for days and not see everything. I have taken in so many artworks and monuments and beautiful sights, that pretty soon, my eyeballs are going to start shooting out statues.
My apartment-mate, Caitlin, and I have decided to become regulars at a local cafe on the way to school. The old man who makes our cappuccinos is named Tony, so we thought that was very appropriate. When Tony is not making coffee, he is standing outside the cafe, waving at everyone who goes by. It is quite adorable.
The other day as I was walking past a little negozio, a little dog shot out of the store and out followed a very GQ looking Italian man, desperately calling for his doggy to come back. As the GQ man stood there with his trendy messenger bag and leather shoes, pointing at the little dog who was heading towards a cafe, a larger and more manly Italian man came out of the store to run after the dog. The dog went straight into the cafe (maybe he wanted some espresso), the burly man went after him and the handsome man stood mumbling some distraught sounding Italian. And that is my cute little Italian story for today.

Gelato Journal

The best thing about Rome is that no matter where I am going, I stumble upon ancient monuments and beautiful architecture. I'm on sensory overload a bit with all Rome has to offer. Monday, I went to the Spanish Steps and the Trevi Fountain. Both, especially the fountain, were incredible. The area was a little touristy, with street vendors selling little toys and flowers (someone from our group got "shot" with a bubble gun) and restaurants with names like "That's Amore". After snapping about 50 million pictures of the fountain, we all went to dinner. I forget the name of the restaurant, but it was sooo good. Italians generally eat three courses for dinner (pasta, meat, and a side) so when we tried to order only two, we were forced into a third. The pasta pesto, mixed salad, house red wine, and grilled chicken sound basic enough, but they were 10 times better than any of those back home. Dinner was especially nice because we did not feel rushed. Where in America, the waiter will give you the bill as soon as your meal comes, thus ushering you out of the restaurant, in Italy, you have to ask for the bill and dinner usually takes about 3 hours. After dinner, a group of us started walking back to our apartment, but got lost for 3 hours. At least there were a lot of pretty buildings to look at along the way. It is very easy to get lost in Rome because a) The street signs are hard to find (they are on the buildings, if that) and b) I get lost everywhere.
Orientation meetings have been going on all week. They mostly consist of people talking at us about people getting robbed or raped, but I still feel pretty safe, as long as I'm with someone and have a death grip on my purse.
Yesterday I went to the Pantheon. Ancient. Incredible. Lots of pictures.
Today I took a bus tour paid for by Notre Dame. Jet lag started to kick in on this tour and I nodded off a little, but I got to see a lot of Rome and it was ancient, incredible, and I took lots of pictures.
I have had gelato every day. I'm going to keep a gelato journal so I can write down the flavors I've tried to make sure I sample every one of them. So far I've had melon, strawberry, pineapple, creme, chocolate, tiramisu, and white chocolate. Each has been a taste sensation. Everything is a sensory sensation. Despite eating a ton of gelato, I don't think I'll be gaining any weight, as I'm constantly dehydrated, never hungry, and we walk about 50 miles a day.
Today I finally got to do a little shopping (I've been staring longingly at stores as we pass their windows on mandatory orientation journeys). Things are not as expensive as I would have thought and the clothes are very cute. All the designers have stores around the Spanish Steps, so there's some good window shopping. Customer service is not the same as it is in America. People who work in stores don't greet you or help you out unless you ask them and the stores are a lot smaller.
Some other things I've noticed about Rome:
Lots of people have dogs. Dogs poop everywhere, so you gotta watch your step.
Beggars are much more theatrical. There is a little boy I've seen who stand near the Vatican and plays the violin and a woman who cries and wails. It's very sad and much more dramatic.
Women get really dressed up and wear heels. I do not know how this is possible on cobblestone streets.
I will always be recognized as an American tourist, no matter what I'm wearing.
Cars and mopeds won't run over you, but they will come close enough to give you a heart attack and kill you.
There are lots of lingerie stores.
Most places close at 1 and maybe re-open around 3. America needs national nap time.


That's it for now! Ciao!

OMG I'M IN ROME!!!

Ciao from Roma! Yesterday, after a grueling hour and a half delay and an 8 and half hour flight, I arrived in Rome at around 10:30 am. After skipping customs (don't know how that happened) and being ushered onto a bus by a skinny Italian man, we arrived at our apartments. Everything is very close together, all the buildings are different colors, and there are tiny cars and motorini everywhere. The Notre Dame group was divided into apartments of 4, 5, and 6 people. I'm in an apartments meant for 7, but there are only 6 of us living here, so we have some extra room. The apartment is pretty big, especially considering I would be living in a shoebox sized dorm room if I were at ND. We have 4 bedrooms (3 doubles and a single), two bathrooms, a kitchen, and two sitting rooms. The bedroom I'm in has a door leading out to a balcony. There's not a fantastic view (I can see some trees and another apartment) but its nice to keep the door open at night since its incredibly hot (though, keeping the door open also brings in a lot of noise from the street, but I guess its kind of fun to hear some Italian men fighting at 3 in the morning). Yesterday, a group of us walked to John Cabot University and to get there, we had to walk through St. Peter's Square. It was so incredible! Once I walked into the square, I really felt like I was in Rome.
Later in the evening, we got some gelato, which was so delicious. However, I was not so successful at ordering the gelato, since I kept stumbling over the pronunciation of Italian words, causing the gelato guys to laugh at me and respond in perfect English. Oh well, I'll eventually get the hang of it. Right now, I'm practicing my Italian by watching Italian "JAG". I don't think it's helping.
Today, a few of us went to the market to stock up on groceries. The market is the coolest place ever. Everything is very colorful and fresh and it just looks so healthy. We got the biggest grapes ever and some fresh bread and eggs and all sorts of things. The meat is displayed quite grotesquely, however, as we saw some whole pigs and cow heads. One of the stand owners was trying to convince me to buy some of his produce and handed me a fig, saying "Mangia! Mangia!" It was the sweetest fig ever and so delicious, so I bought some peaches (I accidentally called them "fish" causing a bit of confusion, since the word for fish is "pesci" and the word for peaches is "pesce"). Figuring out the amounts to buy, especially for meats and cheeses, is a bit difficult, but everyone was very nice to us, though the egg man may have overcharged us.
We went to the grocery store as well, where we got basic things like cereal and salt and yogurt. I was surprised to find a lot of the brands we have in America and some of the foods even had the "Weight Watchers" label and points on them. After grocery shopping, we got a cappuccino and drank it "al bar" (standing at the bar as opposed to being charged for sitting at a table). My mom's fear was that I would never come home from Italy, and after that cappuccino, that might happen, because I cannot imagine ever drinking an American Starbucks coffee ever again. I think I could probably only drink cappuccino for the next 4 months and be perfectly happy. We did get some catcalls during our walk around Trastevere, but they were more funny than offensive. We got a lot of "Ciao baby! I love you!" which sounds hilarious in the Italian accent, as the word "baby" is over-pronounced. I think I saw Danny DeVito in the market. Well, it wasn't really him, but there was a really short, stout, older Italian guy. Time for orientation activities! Ciao!

Summer of Movie Love

I mentioned in an earlier edition of "Blogalicious" that I have spent a great portion of the summer watching movies I had never seen before. This all started when I watched AFI's 100 Greatest Films. I didn't exactly set out to watch those 100 films, but it did inspire me to watch some movies that I've never seen, either because they came out when I was too young/not born yet or because I just hadn't gotten around to seeing them. I started out strong, watching about five movies a week, but then I slipped a bit and ended up watching all 6 seasons of Scrubs as well as the last 5 seasons of Friends. In any case, here is the list of my summer movies divided into categories.

I Can't Believe I'd Never Seen This Fantastic Movie!
The Royal Tennenbaums
What's Eating Gilbert Grape
What Dreams May Come
Summer (a Canadian film)
American Beauty
Thank You For Smoking
Pulp Fiction
See This Movie (another Canadian film)
Jaws
Children of Men

Well, At Least Now I Can Say That I've Seen It
Waiting
Girl Interrupted
Moonstruck
Mystic Pizza
The Queen
Capote
Happy Endings
Super Sweet 16
Harold and Maude
The Two Worlds of Jenny Logan (a made-for-TV movie from the 70s starring the original Bionic Woman--my mom ordered it from Amazon)

It Was Either This or Sort CDs--Movies I Watched at Work
Accepted
Shooter
Premonition
The Last Stand
The Hills Have Eyes 2

Still In Theaters
Spiderman 3
Pirates of the Carribean 3
Shrek 3
Hair Spray
No Reservations

So there you have it--my summer. There are probably some movies that I have forgotten and left out, but those are the ones that were unimportant and unmemorable (how Super Sweet 16 made it on the list, then, I have no idea). My final thoughts after watching these films--Canada makes some sweet movies. I recommend anything by Ardustry productions, especially Hatley High.

Mystery Dream Date

There seems to be an influx of happy couples recently. Just to name a few, there are Heather and her boyfriend, Jon; Oscar and Michaela, my parents, Beyonce and Jay-Z. Happy couples are everywhere, which does not exactly make me jealous (I’m a lone-wolf and couples make me want to kill puppies), but got me thinking what I require of a potential boyfriend. So here it is, my picky list of all the qualities I desire most in a man.

Physical Attributes

• A head taller than me (according to Colleen Bott, this is the perfect height, and I agree)
• The ability to grow facial hair (this is part of the required manliness I will detail later)
• Eyelashes
• Few, preferably no, allergies
• Nice Hands! (so important!)
  
• Healthy (An overly buff gym-rat is no good, but neither is a couch potato)
• Has hair (sorry alopecia victims)
• hair must not be excessive in length
  

Characteristics

• Not a pansy: This is incredibly important and includes the following
• Does not shave legs (sorry swimmers and cyclists)
• Does not spend more time getting ready than I do
• Does not cry except in cases of tragedy and extreme joy (this extreme joy does not included weddings, but is exclusive to his own child being born or winning the lottery)
• Is not a gymnast (this would probably violate the head taller than me rule anyway)
• Eats meat
• Has more guy friends than "gal pals"
  
• Kills bugs (this is very necessary as I am allergic to bugs and cannot kill them)
  
• Played at least one sport in high school (cheerleading does not count)
• Can handle my sarcasm (probably the most important of all, as I can be mean)

• While being manly, however, this person must display characteristics of kindness, sensitivity, and caring, i.e. is not a chauvinist and does not make fun of me when I am upset and does not try to impress me with "manly stunts" such as guzzling down beer or scaling North Dining Hall.
  
• Must like my family
• Must like mammals (dogs, cats, people, etc.)
• Does not dislike Notre Dame (I don't expect everyone to love it, but you cannot dislike it)
• Is an orphan (no in-laws!) or has a family I really get along with
  
• Ambitious and goal-oriented (I'm no one's sugar mamma)
• Intelligent
• Let's me win in tennis occasionally
• Enjoys ice cream
• Financially secure (this is not really going to be an issue until I'm considering marriage (so in, like, 8 years) but I just thought I'd throw it in there)
• Does not consider country his favorite type of music
• Not a hillbilly
• Sense of humor--this is the most important quality of all. This person must be funny. I must laugh. And he must understand sarcasm and be able to take it, as well as dish it out. I haven't really decided yet if I could be with someone who's funnier than me because I really like being the funny one, but I'd take funnier than me over not funny at all (we don't want a repeat of sophomore year).

Talents: This is a list of acceptable talents for the perfect man. Possessing at least two is clutch. More than two is fantastic

• Speaks a foreign language
• Plays an instrument
• Plays a sport
• Cooks (bonus points!)
• Fixes computers
• Really good at Taboo or the Friends trivia game
• Good at gardening
• Snappy dresser
• Has several famous friends
• Can quote "Scrubs"
• Can pilot a plane
• Magical powers (as long as they are not used against me)
• Good at explaining things (this would come in handy, as I absolutely loathe explaining anything to anybody. Just ask Caitlin)

Since no one is perfect, these qualifications are more like guideline than rules. The only requirement I'm going to have to stick by is the sense of humor one. Seriously, be funny. Maybe I'll find a nice Italian guy to meet all of these requirements....Who am I kidding? Those mamma's boys cry when their soccer team loses.

Cap'n George Washington Crunch

Hello and welcome back to Blogalicious! This week, we’ll be examining the two main worlds of Elise’s summer—FYE and home.

FYE, the nut hut formerly known as Coconuts, is a place where the fine residents of Stow and Kent may purchase and sell CDs, DVDs, video games, and body jewelry. We’ve also got a few giant Johnny Depp standees, but I’m hoping those always remain in the store for me to gaze upon. Working at FYE is an easy job, mostly consisting of leaning against the register and shouting “What can I help ya find?!” over the obnoxiously repetitive R&B and Rap music that is a favorite of the FYE managers. There’s also free gum and occasionally, we get to watch a movie of the manager’s choice (either a horror or action flick or Eddie Murphy film, sometimes a combination of all three (Norbit)). My favorite manager left to work at Chapel Hill’s FYE (she invited me to work some shifts there as well, considering I’m getting anywhere from 4-20 hours a week at Stow’s FYE, but I declined, saying “I’m scared of Chapel Hill” which is entirely true). I get along with the new manager, but since being promoted to being head manager, she is getting somewhat power-hungry and very “by-the-book.” The few menial tasks I did have to make me feel like I had some sort of purpose have been taken away and replaced with “Work on customer service.” Every hour, about 2 customers come in, therefore, working on customer service is the equivalent to working on my basketball skills. It’s pointless. I can’t really blame my manager for doing this, since she is the new head manager and she is just going by the book (all associates should do is customer service—really), but if she is going to be so stringent with the rules, I wish she would also employ the rule of not talking about personal situations with employees. I do not want to hear about her recent break up, I do not want to hear about the chick she met on the Internet, and I do not want to hear about her night at the strip club. When she’s not talking about her personal life, she’s pointing out all the reasons why I am the whitest girl in Summit County. She didn’t really like my “catch the grape” dance move and deemed me too white to dance right. When she played a song on her cell phone to me and I didn’t know what it was, it was because I was white. And when I had never eaten collared greens or spent a night at the clubs in Cleveland, it’s because I’m a suburban, preppy, white girl. To all of this, I respond; “I go to Notre Dame, what do you expect?”

The best/worst part of working at FYE is the colorful cast of customers we get. There are a few regulars (at a CD store? Yes) including Myron, whom you might remember from last summer’s blog. Myron does not come into FYE as frequently as he used to because he got in a fight with one of the managers and the district manager called him and told him to stay away. He still stops by occasionally to ask a million questions, not buy anything, then tell me what he’s having for dinner (steak or that KFC bowl that looks like Colonel Sanders vomited in it). There’s also an odd family that I do feel sad for, as three of the four members have some sort of mental disability, the father being the one out of four. They come in about once a month, with the mother screaming at her children and the father calmly perusing the DVD aisle. Besides those regulars is the trainer from the gym next door who is so beefy, he can’t put is arms down; the thief from Wal-Mart who, every new-release Tuesday, brings in brand-new copies of the newest movies to sell, claiming he has watched all 25 of them in the 6 hours they have been on the shelves (he even goes so far as to give us a review of these movies); fat hillbillies in short shorts; the Asian guy who only buys porn; the creepy guy with the long beard who only buys Anime (and asked me why we don’t have a bigger selection of “anime smut”); the 30-something guy who buys way too many video games and has way too many Spiderman shirts for his age. There are probably more, but those are the most interesting regulars. From the fat hillbillies comes my favorite story of late. Two women and one dude come in one day to browse through FYE and talk about how things are so much cheaper at Wal-Mart. The one woman is short and round, but wouldn’t look so bad if she wasn’t wearing Nair-esque short shorts and sporting a tiny T-shirt. To top it off, she was looking at the body jewelry and telling my manager and me about her new belly-button piercing (my manager even got to see it! Thank goodness I had dodged down another aisle). As they were about to leave, the man came up to the counter and inquired about a pre-order he had made. “Yeah, I just, uh, wanted to know about that new Harry Potter movie that’s coming out. I put a dollar down on it, so I want to make sure it’ll come in on time.” I responded politely with, “Oh, did you order a movie we didn’t have in stock?” Hillbilly: “No, it’s that new movie. The one that’s coming out on the 21^st!” Me: “No, that’s the book. The book is what we were taking pre-orders on.” Smelly: “No! I ordered a movie! It’s the new movie I want!” Me: “The new movie is in theaters. The book is what’s coming out!” Idiot: “No, it’s a movie. Why would I want a book?” Me: Shrug and raised eyebrow. Him: “I’m going to Chapel Hill. They’ll know what I’m talking about!” His women-folk paid for their $1 body jewelry and left. I’m sure that man was quite disappointed when he received a book on July 21^st and didn’t know what to do with it, not knowing how to read.

Now onto the second world of my summer: Home. I am really enjoying being home this summer, maybe because I know I will be so far from it this fall and because this may be my last summer at home. Plus, I really get along with my family, especially when we have conversations like the following

Me: Is Cap’n Crunch a pirate?
Mom: In a strange, twisted sense of the word, yes.
Me: How does that work?
Mom: (exasperated by these questions coming from her 20-year old daughter) I’m not sure
Me: Keep in mind that he’s not actually a captain, but that he’s a cap’n with an apostrophe
Mom: Yes, of course.
Me: I guess he’s the Cap’n of cereal. So he’s a cereal pirate. Or is he a serial pirate?
Mom: I pirate conspiracy right in our grocery stores.
Me: Gosh darn you, General Mills!

Later, I proposed the same pirate question to my father. So my mother spoke first.

Mom: He’s not really a pirate, he's more like George Washington.

Me: .....what?

Mom: Because of his hat. George Washington had the same one

Me: Pirates had those hats, too.

Mom: No they didn't! Just George Washington...

Dad: (finally chiming in) He wasn't a pirate, he was the captain of a British war ship.

Me: Why British?

Dad: Ok, he was the captain of an American Navy Vessel.

Me: I was thinking he was the captain of cereal.

Dad: (considering this for a moment) Well, maybe.

Me: So could it be a pirate cereal ship?

Dad: No, because pirates are bad. They scare children

Me: Not all pirates are bad. And they're not always scary. Kids love those pirate movies

Dad: Yes, but they don't eat them [movies]. Kids need good things and pirates are bad so Cap'n Crunch can't be a pirate

I guess that answers that question. In other memorable family moments, I told my Dad that he danced like he had Downs Syndrome and he replied with "That's because I'm gettin' doooown!!"

My brother is funny is his innocence and interpretation of the world around him. This is what led him one day, while describing the mobile Deli he would one-day own, to say that his slogan would be like that commercial, "Mamma Mia! Pizza Pizza Meat-a-ball!" He was referring to the old commercial where the guy says "That's a spicy meat-a-ball." I, being the wonderfully caring sister that I am, corrected/insulted him. But I hope that mobile deli thing works out. That would be fantastic.

In the same car-ride, I mentioned that video on YouTube with the prisoners of that prison in the Philippines doing the thriller dance (you should really see it, it's incredible). After I was finished describing how the prisoners did such a perfect job recreating Michael Jackson's hit video, Alex chimed in with "Then they all had butt sex!" leading my parents to turn around inquisitively. Instead of telling him not to say things like that, my mom asks him to explain what butt-sex is, to both embarrass Alex and see if he actually knows what he's talking about. Turns out he kind of did, as he said, "It's a gay origy." Again, I corrected him with some name-calling and biting sarcasm to let him know the word is orgy, not origy. He's growing up so fast...

So that basically sums up my summer. It's been a good one, but if I have to work at FYE one more summer, I will go as nutty as the customers.