Back and Proud

You know you're in Italy when the first odor you smell walking off the plane is a the deep must of parfume, espresso and cigarettes, which for me, says nothing more than "welcome home". I can't believe two and a half weeks went by that fast, can't imagine how I'm going to feel when I'm 90 (I hope I'm not being too optimistic with that number), but there is just something about Italy that I love. Besides my wonderful boo residing here, there is just an elegance to the people; their humor, way of living and eating- all worth adapting. But of course there is the wonderful, unique United States, which I always miss while being here in Italy. As the country of which I grew up in and lived my whole life, I can definatly say that I think as an American and act as an American because that is indeed who I am, a flippin' American. I was utterly shocked while traveling this past trip, primarily going through Paris' airport, bearing my passport in hand with the silver stamp of "United States of America" and national eagle daringly exposed to all, and I guess for all to judge. Holding my passport felt as if I had the swatstica tattooed across my forehead. Many people, between security guards, boarder patrol, and travelers, were literally staring at me, all in far too many ways to decifer what their glares was actually intending. Did I not seem/look/or talk like an American? Was it because I was put together and didn't look like a hot-mess? Was I just "annoying" because that's where I came from? (Or maybe I was taking it all wrong and really had a bugger coming out of my nose.... but I doubt it.) Whatever the reason may had been, holding a United States passport should NEVER be something to be ashamed of. I hate it when people ask me if I say that I'm from Canada or if I make any other avoidance in saying that I'm from the States. It's an awful way to represent one's country and it only carries on the poor representaton that Americans receive while traveling. What does it mean when people say "Oh, wow, you don't seem American?" or "Your not like most American's are you?" WTF!!!! Yes I do and Yes I am!!! Personally I hate stereotypes (a part from stand-up comedy, then they're o.k.), they're offensive and just ignorant. It's like when people say to a well spoken African Americans that they don't seem "black". Just like within all the other countries in the world, people are different amongst each other, with different opinions, different styles, different eating habits, education, etc. Why can't that be the same in the States? The media and Hollywood's propaganda are definitely the major part of this problem of this poor representation of the American people; therefore it's our responsibility to help change the way people judge and perceive us. I mean why can't the rest of the world think of us as Michelle Obama, Oprah, or the fabulous Ellen DeGeners rather than Rush Limbaugh?

I sit here in my apartment ready to part tomorrow for home. What do I have so far? Well for starters, an over-flowing suitcase, various contemplation piles of clothes and nothing really that important, books that I know I wont read on the plane, my passport, bottles of various amazing Italian wines and olive oil and of course my, well, lets just call them "thoughts" about flying. As much of a bitch traveling might be, I think there can be a sort of glamor and chic to it, which I love to play up. Since I DESPISE most airports with a passion, I try to make them entertaining (also because I'm alone and bored) so I play pretend. I go into the boutiques as if I have a purpose being in them, like a rich women waltzing into the Chanel boutique on Fifth Ave. Wearing the best effort of an elegant comfy outfit, I browse the shelves of perfume, designer bags, make-up and jewelry as if I could throw a couple hundred euro like that (most of the time I can't even by the 4 euro bottles of water). It's almost like playing dress-up, none of the people will ever see me again and I can just play with everything! Although sometimes I can take it a bit too far and often leave the boutique as if I bathed for an hour in pure perfume with the potential of suffocating the person next to me on my next flight. Anyways, this is just me venting my nerves because like before every flight, I always have that last minute vision of the plane exploding during take off, but truly I do in fact do this and it is fun. So next time your in JFK or better yet PARIS, i highly advise this little game to entertain yourself during your lay-over, but don't be disappointed when you realize that your life really isn't that luxurious and you will be returning to crappy apartment.

In France it's out, in Italy it's "in", and it's a cultural trend that I think should be done in the States. In Italy, the gesture of getting an aperitivo(which is actually what you call the drink) is the cultural way of cooling off the past weeks steam and relaxing with friends, sharing laughs over a glass of wine (or two) or rather with a spritz ( Northern Italian cocktail). Someone could easily say, "well, hey, we do the same thing too, it's called Happy Hour", yeah, but the only difference between the States' "happy hour" and an Italian aperitivo is that an italian aperitivo isn't going to have pitchers of beer, deep friend cheese and nachos while having a game on in the background. Rather it's going to be at a chic restaurant or a bar where there will be a few munchies, such as, local cheeses and meats, olives, and sometimes if you're lucky like on Sunday's, a nice little taste of pasta prepared by the locale (restaurant). Bottom line, the purpose is not about the food (in fact, sometimes there isn't much food being served) it's rather about enjoying a glass of wine with company and then going after to get an actual meal, which can be enjoyed and not enhailed. Since being back and forth between the two countries, the Italian aperitivo has always been something that I've wanted to start in the States, like a new trend or something. Unfortunately it's an idea that seems brilliant while I'm in Italy, like one of those super-successful money maker ideas where I would be the owner of "the cute and elegant European-style bar, the hot-spot to be on Friday nights". But once I'm back in the States and see how people are so fixed in their ways of "bigger is better", time is money, and Franzia, my wonderful trendy idea is shot and I'm back to drinking wine in my kitchen with a bowl of olives and stinky cheese.

The Joy of Baking

Recently I have discovered the joy in baking. With a little bit of reading and research, plus numerous trial and errors, I have been able to break away from the "just cooking" category to now the plus baker. This past-time of baking might also have to do with the fact that my handsome Valentine is a much more experienced cook than I, which sadly can end up pushing me out of the kitchen a bit. However, with my self-taught baking lessons, I've surprisingly enjoyed the satisfaction of knocking out a delicious piece of rich chocolate cake or a nice refreshing fluffy yogurt tart. This is not only because of my personal sweet tooth, but more so the reward in seeing people jam a nice big piece of chocolate cake in their mouth and the returns of seconds and thirds, all of which keep me motivated in conquering the next challenge. Dessert is also just plain sexy and almost necessary if you ask me. I can almost NEVER go out to dinner or even after dinner at home and not have something sweet. Whether it be an actual baked dessert or a simple piece of fruit, something sweet on the taste buds is always satisfying. Next challenge: mastering the PERFECT pastry dough (trust me it's not as easy as it looks).

Love

I absolutely HATE being cliche, which is why it's hard for me to actually post this little food for thought with Valentine's Day just around the corner, but due to a friends situation made me realize how powerful the notion of love really is. We love our parents, our friends, our siblings, our neighbors, our teachers, our hairdresser, our lovers, anyone who's anyone that is a part of our daily life/routine. What we don't realize is if these people really know it. How often do you tell your dad that you love him or your closest friend that you've known since middle school? Obviously it might be weird to say "I love you" to your hairdresser, but I think between your-monthly visits and (hopefully) nice tip they comprehend that they are important. So no matter how busy or chaotic your life may be, take a moment to appreciate those around you, those who make you happy, those who would give anything for you to succeed, just say "I love you."

A Roomy 178 Square Feet

While browsing around the NY Time website (like I do every morning), reading article after article about war, politics, Obama, fore-closure, Alzheimer's, etc., I stubbled across an article that for a change truly left me a bit perplexed, but in a good way. Inspiration, jealousy, hope, empowerment were all feelings that this simple, short article gave me, which at the time made me want to gather anything I had collected over the years, quickly put together a room, send off a photograph to an elite design firm, wait and pray for a call. Since such an impulsive act would rather counter act any dream of mine, making me look like an ass rather than a qualified person, I rather share this story to you who could possibly use a bit of inspiration in your life. Obviously one doesn't have to care about design to understand the point of this article, but to rather identify the message of it: if you got talent, use it. So, happy read.

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/02/11/garden/11location.html

Oh, Bessy

Some might call me an animal killer, but I can't seem to get enough of cow skin rugs! Having grandparents who gave these rugs as gifts (grandma used to wear animal print skirts until she was in her 70's!) left my parents' house decked out in every different design, shape and color of these cow skins (in fact we were known as the people with the cow rugs). Whether they were large or small, checkered, caramel, or a nice dark chocolate brown with white marble, the Bessy rugs always took guests by surprise. I wish we had a camera for all the hilarious facial expressions people made and also unfortunately a log book for all the rather idiotic comments such as, "you know you have a cow on your floor right?" "um, yes thank you, I'm quite aware". Virtually everywhere in our house from the porch to the front door, under the piano, in the living room, dining room, we had a nice soft Bessy just kickin' it and joining the party. When it was time for me to leave home and head out on my own (Chicago), I had to snag one of the beauties (of course my mom gave me the beat up one, which honestly was fine with me . . . "it's more vintage" I kept telling myself). Anyways, all of this came to my mind while I was wasting countless hours looking through Design*Sponge's billion different pages of sneak peak's (peaks into designer and artist's homes . . . amazing!) and came across the beautiful cow rugs! It made me quite nostalgic since I tried thinking of every way possible to bring mine here to Italy, and unfortunately attempting to hunt one down in the middle of the night just to make my house pretty isn't an option. So, again, before judging, take a second to look at how nicely cow rugs accompany a room by bringing a certain dynamic in such a subtle way, a hell of a little better I must say than any left over piece of crappy carpet could.