Unnecessary Things That Annoy Me Unnecessarily

• Ugg boots
• Class rings
• Cardboard sleeves for hot beverages
• Pennies
• Leaf blowers
• Solid hand soap

A Snarky Explanation for My Lack of Holiday Cheer

This article explains a lot.

As a youngster, I used to cry when I received gifts I hadn't asked for because I felt so guilty that I was receiving an overabundance thereof when I knew that many kids weren't getting any at all. Now when that happens, though I know my mom is just being motherly when she can't resist buying physical objects instead of requested gift cards, I turn into a grumpy misanthrope who goes off on a feminist rant about the sexual coercion tactics of "Baby, It's Cold Outside" while my family tries to retain some Christmas morning cheer despite a noticeable lack of tree and snow. But more than some holier-than-thou refusal of presents that stems from an overwhelming generosity of heart (because goodness knows I rarely get off my lazy ass in service to others*), what it comes down to is that I'm not good at faking appreciation or accepting surprises, and I really would rather have something practical (like money, instant coffee, or, yes, even a novel) than yet another tchotchke.

I think this means that I officially prefer Thanksgiving—all the food and family, but without the materialism and acquisition-of-stuff-I-will-never-use-but-need-to-pretend-to-be-thrilled-with-anyway.

*I do always ask for donations to various charities, though, but none, to my knowledge, were filled this year—which is especially weird given that you'd think my parents would be more willing to contribute toward research that could find a cure for their daughter than giving her novelty toys... but maybe once I am myself a mother, this insistence on unwrapping bulky items instead of simply opening envelopes will be made clear.

Not Every Kiss Begins with Kay

He went to Jared's?!

Well congrats, because you're dating a brainless sheep. 

The prevalence of jewelery commercials on TV right now is more than a little disheartening. Do men really just default to shiny necklaces as the appropriate Christmas (/Valentine's/anniversary/birthday/oops-I'm-an-asshole) gift? Does America think that its males are so brainless as to be unable to come up with more personalized presents? (Because that's basically the premise of these 30-second spots: a man realizes belatedly that he has yet to procure a little somethin' for his wife/girlfriend/slampiece, then takes a hint from Santa to high-tail it to the nearest retailer of fine metallurgy. Which, taken as a whole, does not put much faith in the male memory or imagination.)

Or alternatively, are America's females really so materialistic as to prefer generic polished rocks to something that shows how well their significant other knows them? (Because that's basically the outcome of these 30-second spots: the woman who has just received a pricy diamond showpiece bestows upon her man a passionate kiss of surprised gratitude, while the man knowingly looks into camera or at Santa, aware that he will be getting something hard of a different nature later that night.)

Wouldn't you rather have spent money on an unforgettable outing or on something that you'll use and appreciate every day than on a pair of sapphire earrings that get worn at a drama-filled holiday party but then spend the rest of their existence lost in your underwear drawer? Plus who says that a present needs to be expensive in order to demonstrate the depth of your affection?

Then again, one year my dad joked about getting my mother a toilet plunger, so maybe these ads do help the clueless among us. 

But hey, at least a plunger is practical.

My Tropes, My Tropes, My Lovely Lady Tropes

A List of Topics I Unconsciously Keep Writing Poetry About (Apparently)

• Silence and quietness
• Patience
• Things and words left unreturned 
• My childhood remembered
• Virginity
• Layers
• Outer space
• Liminal spaces
• Tree branches
• Bulwarks
• Bones and blood
• Writing on paper
• Unfamiliarity
• Hot air balloons
• Eggs
• Being methodical
• Trying not to be methodical

My Flaws: A Partial List

• Jealous
• Indecisive
• Anxious 
• Captious
• Supercilious
• Judgmental
• Diffident
• Ambivalent
• Fickle
• Highly susceptible to hours of internet-trawling when other Important Things must be done

Return of the Native Procrastinator

It's funny how, having finally experienced some moments of that wrenching thing called Life, I see my own life in nearly every piece of media having to do with relationships that I come across. That's the mark of a good story, of course, but I haven't felt so (uncomfortably, terribly, importantly, confusingly, reassuringly) close to a fictional character in a long time, until the past six weeks in my real existence have proven themselves full of That Human Drama That Novelists and Script-Writers Thrive On.

Which all just goes to show that I am as fallibly human as everybody else.

...and we'll just gloss over the fact that all three of the stories I have in mind have to do with selfish and egoistic young single women living in British or Irish manor houses.

FEELINGZ: I haz them in abundance.

On Silence

For Father's Day, my dad and I went to "The Tree of Life," which was beautifully shot albeit an hour too long and at times more like a trippy National Geographic special than a narrative film. It showed the majesty in the macro and the micro of this world, where human drama is but a dust mote in the universe. Those nature-video parts were wonderfully quiet—no dialogue, just classical music and incidental sounds. Every minute that the movie didn't feature people talking, though, two women in front of us (who together constituted one-sixth of the theater's audience) carried on a conversation with each other. These were not quick side comments or whispered jokes or sympathetic groans, but full-on back-and-forths about mundane topics. Do people really find silence so uncomfortable that they must fill it whenever it arises, even in venues where silence is encouraged? Why do humans find it so hard simply to sit back and let themselves be washed in awe?

HALLELUJAH

I finally finished Mrs. Dalloway. When did I start this 194-page book, you ask? The answer, I tell you, is last July. As in almost a year ago.

What a slog! It's the only Woolf I've ever read, but damn, does it make me very unwilling to pick up another. Maybe because I'm still reeling from the wit and ingenuity of Ulysses or maybe because I had such high expectations in the first place, but I am actually flabbergasted at how boring I found it. The protagonist was insufferable, I didn't find any of the language terribly moving or beautiful, and the only character I was remotely interested in went and killed himself.

So suck on that, Stereotypers of English Majors: here's one who will not soon be joining the Virginia Is For Lit Lovers club.

The Revolution Will Be Televised

You know you've switched from a college athletic center to a YMCA in Connecticut when the televisions in front of the ellipticals are permanently turned to Fox News and some stocks-and-investment channel instead of E! and the Food Network.

On a related note: We recently acquired AT&T U-Verse, so now I can watch the aforementioned Food Network while not huffing and puffing and cursing whatever sadist enjoyed working out to "Cupcake Wars" before my turn on the treadmill. (Though as it turns out, the suspense of pastry competitions—what will the judges think of avocado frosting?!—makes for a rather good incentive to keep running through the next commercial break. Especially when compared to line graphs involving capitalized abbreviations and little arrows.)

Also, what gym has only one rowing machine? I realize there are many lakes in which I could actually go rowing in, but that involves tying a canoe to the car and wearing a lifejacket, which are even less appealing than waiting awkwardly around for the sixty-year-old men and pre-teen girls (the only members whom I have seen using said rower) to finish their stroking workouts.

Ha, there's a euphemism to add to the arsenal.

On Joyce (the Man and the Seminar)

lexiphanic (adj.): using bombastic or pretentious wording or language

Regarding the title: I don't mind it in the former, but find it irritating in the latter. Is that hypocritical?

Words Bandied About in My English Class Today That Made Me Disillusioned (Yet Again) with My Choice of Major

• Jungian
• Hegelian
• Socratic dialogue
• Post-post-Structuralist

Did I unwittingly sign a form consenting to cross the threshold from "Let's talk about the beauty of language" to "Let's put all literature in terms of dead white guys' generalizing theories"?

Carpe Annum

Instead of resolutions, here are my 2011 rules to live by, in the hopes that publishing them will make me adhere to them (even if, much like those inspirational quotation books with pictures of cute animals on the covers, they are more likely to be displayed than read).

1. Only eat food worth eating, and all in moderation
2. Make room for a half-hour workout most days a week
3. Feed your brain on things outside a computer
4. Don't sweat the small stuff (and sometimes schoolwork is small stuff)
5. Don't waste the daylight (and don't hoard the nighttime)
6. Don't revert to your ante-Rome self,* but embrace the va bene lifestyle

*Partly why I got the nose ring—so that contradicting this rule is on some level impossible.

And, y'know, cultivating peace and love couldn't do any harm.

Incongruous Things I Have Seen In or Near The Vatican

• A Swiss Guard in full uniform reading Stieg Larsson by the Scala Regia
• A monk on roller skates gliding down the street
• A black cat meowing in the rain near an x-ray machine under Bernini's colonnade

My Pavlovian Response

Apparently I am at my giddiest when, all alone, I press "play" and the up-beat theme music that you can mimic with a series of "doo doo doo"'s or "ba ba ba"'s (i.e. "30 Rock," "Arrested Development," "The Office," "Monty Python's Flying Circus," "How I Met Your Mother," "Flight of the Conchords") starts playing.

I begin literally squealing and squirming with joy.

Nuovo Cibo

Before coming to Rome, I detested zucchini and had never really eaten eggplant (or drunk wine, but that's another story). Now I am obsessed with both, especially when the former is sautéed and accompanied by melted mozzarella on ciabatta. In wondering why the States haven't caught on to the fact that zucchini flowers are edible and delish, I Wikipedia'd them... and was met with this wonderful fact:

"In a culinary context, zucchini is treated as a vegetable, which means it is usually cooked and presented as a savory dish or accompaniment. Botanically, however, the zucchini is an immature fruit, being the swollen ovary of the female zucchini flower." 

So now you know. 

I also had rabbit (in pasta sauce) and basically raw beef for the first time on Saturday night. Adventures for my taste buds!

Carpe Diem

I did something impulsive today.

Well, kind of. I had been thinking of it off-and-on as an "If I were a different person..." sort of thing for a few years, then let myself be convinced to do it for real about a month ago, then tried to pursue it two weeks ago but was foiled by misinformation and was crushed into resignation that it shouldn't happen after all. But today, quite unexpectedly, the opportunity presented itself—and, without my usual waffling and listing of all the hypothetical consequences, I took the bull by the horns.

Or more specifically, I took a needle to the nose: a souvenir of Rome and a symbol of the newer person I've become since landing here.

I Miei Nuovi Amici

• Single-serving containers of pesto
• The secret coffee vending machine
• ACE juice
• Pear juice
• Nutella boat cookies
• Zucchini-and-mozzarella sandwiches
• Vino bianco for less than 2 euros

(Do you sense a theme? Oy gevalt.)

I'm attending the canonization ceremony at St. Peter's this weekend, so maybe by Monday I can add Pope Benedict XVI to this list too—or at least an Australian cardinal.

The Top of a Muffin

I'm pretty sure I have gained weight since arriving here a month ago, despite the heightened amount of walking I've been doing. This gelato-and-pastry habit I've fallen into (or just carried over from my binge-eating in the states) has to stop, for the sake of my wallet and my waistline. 

Those cornetti con cioccolato are divine and a scoop of stracciatella hits the spot every time, but I am putting myself on a restricted diet of no more than two pastries and two small cups of gelato a week, starting this Friday in Venice. Quality over quantity. Try to avoid diabetes.

EDIT (Sunday): Well, that was a fail. Starting over tomorrow. Cornetti don't count.

I should probably also stop buying those 38-cent packs of wafer cookies at the supermarket. They disappear embarrassingly quickly down my throat.

In related news, apparently spoom is a thing.

Wanted: Peacock Logo

I haven't watched a movie or TV or even a web video for four weeks now, partly so as not to use up our precious bandwidth and partly because I need to break that habit but mostly because I should spend my time exploring Rome instead... but right now I miss my NBC comedies.

I need some Liz Lemon and Michael Scott in my life.

(I would also really love to go apple-picking. I miss New England in the fall.)

Or Maybe It's My Trusting Face

In the past week, at least six couples have asked me for directions somewhere—most of them in Italian.

I couldn't help them, but at least it made me feel like a local.