Sitting here working on this blog, I'm trying to recall everything that's happened since the last time I wrote (yesterday's nearly hysterical-with-happiness entry not included).  I feel as though so much time has passed, but it's really only been a few days since I've written.  I'm still trying to understand how time works here in Florence.  It's surreal that I've been living here for two whole weeks already, and I can't believe the time has gone so fast.  Yet on the other hand, I feel as if each day here is bursting with at least a week's worth of new experiences and adventures, so part of me feels like I've been here for a very long time.  I'm pleasantly surprised by how comfortable I feel already, and I feel very fortunate that I'm adjusting so quickly to the rhythm of this lovely new city I'll be calling home for eight more weeks.

I left off with the promise that I'd be joining some of my international friends for beer pong on Tuesday night.  Excited to show those new to the game how it's done, my roommate Sarah and I teamed up against an American named Mike and either an Australian who now lives in Scotland or a Scotsman who now lives in Australia named Tom (I can't remember).  An epic battle ensued, and we matched our opponents cup-for-cup.  Bystanders were biting their nails; our brows brimmed with sweat.  But alas, with one cup each remaining, our opponents sank their last ball, and Sarah and I failed to sink ours.  Disappointed, yes, but we could still hold our heads high, for we fought valiantly and walked away from the table not as losers, but girls who didn't win.  Trust me, there's a difference.

We had fun on Tuesday night, but the bar we played in, called the Red Garter, simply screamed "American!" It seemed as though everyone there spoke English, and part of me felt as though I was at any old college party back in California rather than halfway around the world in Italy.  The plus side of such a bar is that it's the perfect crowd for the watching two events occurring back in the States that I don't want to miss: Obama's inauguration and the Boss's halftime show performance at the Superbowl.  But other than that, if I wanted to feel like I was at a frat party, I could have saved myself a whole lot of money on that plane ticket.  

At this point, I would like to take a brief moment to thank my lovely Auntie Sharon.  Wednesday afternoon, I received a package of toiletries from her that she sent me so that I wouldn't have to pack them in my suitcase.  Thanks to her, I am now well-stocked with items that I will most definitely need, items that are nice to have, and superfluous items that I laugh at now but will inevitably end up being essential at some point in the trip, at which time I will be extremely grateful for Auntie's foresight.  So thanks, Sharona!

On Wednesday afternoon a trip to the Uffizi gallery was in order, so my roommate Ai and I took advantage of the rainy weather to stay inside and gaze at art.  The medieval and renaissance paintings were gorgeous, but what I was really drawn to (no pun intended) was a collection of sixty drawings they had on display for a special exhibit by an Italian artist I had never heard of called Guercina.  Guercina's drawings depicted everything from rustic scenery to portraits and figure drawings.  The lines seemed to be drawn quickly, giving each piece the effect that it was alive and pulsating.  The delightful aspect of living here for a while is that I don't have to rush through things as a tourist on a 20 day vacation would.  I can go back and look at the drawings again at my leisure.  Another aspect of our art-gazing that Ai and I enjoyed was the creepy baby count.   I don't know how many paintings of the Madonna and the Christ child you personally have seen, but if you flip through an art history book you see a whole lot of depictions of those two figures.  And some of those Christ babies sure are creepy.  I have never in my life seen a baby with a body of a five-year-old, the nose of Dustin Hoffman, the agility of a ballerina, or the face of an adult, but Google some paintings of the Madonna and the Christ child, and you'll see that medieval artists had some weird perceptions of the typical baby.  

Wednesday night we went back to Sam's; the coffeeshop/bar that's right down the street from our house.  I'm actually not quite sure what the actual name of the bar is exactly, but it's easier just to call it Sam's.  We discovered the place on Monday and yet I already feel like a regular there.  On our way home we'll pop in just to say hi to Sam and Alessandro, or stop in for a coffee or a glass of wine before going out, and it's nice to have a little place that feels so homey.  When I think of Sam's, I think of that feeling when  sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name...and they're always glad you came.  You wanna be where you can see our troubles are all the same.  You wanna be where everybody knows your name...you know what I mean, right?  Anyway, Alessandro, Sam, and another girl who works there, Orsina, all wear funky varieties of glasses: Alessandro's are similar to that of Waldo's (main character of the popular series Where's Waldo), Orsina's are oversized Ray-Bans, and Sam's change daily depending on his mood.  I actually haven't seen him in the same pair twice.   Alessandro likes to ask me where I'm from so that I answer "California."  Inevitably follows the question, "Ma perche' non sei bionda?"; "But then how come you're not blonde?"  It hasn't gotten old yet, but he's pushing it.  

Anyways, we went in there Wednesday to watch a band called Musica per i Bambini, who hung a large tarp from the ceiling with holes cut out in the middle of it.  They stood behind the tarp and stuck their head through the holes as they played, so we immediately knew we were in for an interesting show.  After each song, two of the band members would come out and perform little skits in which one of the band members seemed to be playing two roles.  I tried to follow the skit as best I could, and I congratulated myself on how well I was comprehending the story of the little boy who was visiting his grandparents, played by one band member who alternated playing the roles of the kind grandmother and the cranky grandfather.  However, when Sam came over to clarify what was going on, he explained that the character I thought was a little boy was in fact supposed to be an insane person, and the band member who played the two roles was actually depicting an angel and a devil.  The whole concert was about the man's struggle between giving into or resisting sin and temptation.  So much for my excellent comprehension.

Thursday there was a  trip to the archaeological museum near our school.  A group of my schoolmates were going, and I didn't want to miss out on the educational experience.  However, as my eyes glazed over gazing at the endless rooms of ancient pottery, I realized that just because Florence is exciting does not mean that its archaeological museums will be.  Lesson learned.

Thursday night was incredibly monumental for me: for the first time in my life, I cooked myself pasta.  Those of you that are reading this blog know that cooking is not exactly one of my strong points.  Cooking is such a mysterious and foreign art form to me, and it never ceases to amaze me how, when I cook for myself, the food seems to go from raw to cooked to burnt so quickly.  So my trials and tribulations of the cooking of the pasta will not surprise you at all.  With a bit of coaching by my roommates, I found all the necessary pots and pans and began boiling the water.  When it came time to dump in the noodles, I somehow spilled half the box all over the stove and countertop.   I hastily grabbed the dried noodles and stuffed them back in the box and went on stirring my pasta.  We have a gas stove though, and I quickly realized that a few of the dried noodles had found their way under the pot, into the flame, and then proceeded to catch on fire. I managed to turn off the stove and fling the flaming noodles into the sink, thus averting disaster.  The happy ending of the story is that the rest of my pasta-boiling went on without a hitch, and I enjoyed delicious spaghetti for dinner that night and the leftovers the next day at lunch.  The pasta-making incident was followed by a fun evening at a much more local bar with some friends from class and a few of their Italian roommates.  

Friday in class I realized that school is going to be a bit harder than I thought.  Italian can be challenging for me, but in the past Italian classes I've taken, I've usually felt pretty on top of things.  However, our teacher for Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, Giulia, seems to be on some kind of mission to cram in as much grammar as possible into our heads in the few hours she has with us.  She hands us out worksheet after worksheet and doesn't pause for questions in between.  I much prefer the teaching style of our teacher on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Michaela, whose job it is to focus on conversation and culture and is always encouraging us at our pausa, or break, to fate venti minuti e prendete un buon caffe'!; "take twenty minutes and enjoy a good cup of coffee!"  This is a sharp contrasts to Giulia's five-minute pausa in which she comes downstairs to reign us back in if we've accidentally taken a five-minute-and-thirty-second pausa.  Despite her strictness, Giulia flashes a lot of warm smiles throughout class.  However,  we're not sure if it's because she's unaware of how difficult her class is and thinks she's being nice or if she's purely sadistic.  But with a bit of extra studying, I think I'll be able to keep up with her hectic teaching style.  I don't know if I can say the same for the optional cultural lessons that take place after our language classes, though.  Taught completely in Italian, they're hard to follow because it requires so much concentration on my part to hang on the professor's every word.  However, when my classmate Julian (pronounced HOO-li-an) and I aren't playing tic-tac-toe during the lecture, I can actually comprehend more than I give myself credit for.  So with each lesson, either my comprehension or my tic-tac-toe skills will improve.  I see it as a win-win situation.

Before I talk about Friday afternoon, I'd like to talk about my attitude towards the infamous luggage situation.  I congratulated myself on being able to take such a Zen-like approach to the matter.  Although it was a huge annoyance at first, by the middle of this week I had resigned myself to the fact that it wasn't going to come.  Thus, I could either moan over my lost wardrobe and make myself miserable, or remind myself that clothes are replaceable and not let one little inconvenience ruin my experience.  Why place so much value on material goods?  I'm in a city I love having an experience of a lifetime; material items like clothing are purely minute details.  I felt good about being able to rise above such superficiality.  

Yeah, right.  When I got the call on Friday afternoon that my luggage had come, I think my excited scream rendered the airport employee on the other line deaf in one ear.  So much for my Zen-like attitude.  I promptly sprinted down the four flights of stairs to meet the employee at the door of my apartment, ecstatic to have my superficial, replaceable, material goods in my hot little hands.

Lost in Translation Moments, Part II.

A classmate baked some torta, or cake, the other day in class.  She offered me a piece, and I complimented her on her cooking.  "Sei una buona cucina!" I proclaimed loudly and enthusiastically, thinking I had just told her she was an excellent cook.  She stared back at me, confused.  It wasn't until I walked away that another classmate kindly informed me that I had just told her she was an excellent kitchen.  Guess I'll need to clarify things for her on Monday.

Don't forget, tutti, tomorrow is the day of birth of two very important men of my life: my brother, Timothy Lynch Doyle, who will be turning 22, and my father, John Anthony Doyle, who will be 52.  I don't want to hear about any of you forgetting to call them! 

It's now Saturday and life is pretty darn good.  I had a fun night out with my roommates and classmates last night, we went to the Pitti Palace and the Boboli Gardens followed by lunch with the girls in my group today, and tomorrow our class goes on a trip to Perugia, a little town in the countryside outside of Assisi.  Lots has happened, lots to come.  Like the McDonald's sign down the street from our apartment says, "I'm lovin' it!"

Auguri e cent'anni,

Caity