I never considered myself good at art.  In fact, I was the kid who could never color inside the lines and always drew abstractions because I couldn't draw a face to save my life.

During sophomore year in college, one of my friends started to paint, which inspired me. Ever since then, I have let me creative juices flow.  I was going through my photo library yesterday and I started to compile all of the shots that I took of my finished paintings.  It's interesting to see how my work has evolved over time...

Song of the Day

"The Sound of San Francisco (progressive extended mix)," Global Deejays

I hated this song the first time I heard it.  

I fell in love with this song the second time I heard it.

bykez

In memory of Marcus (RIP), I decided to purchase a bike to make getting around Florence a bit easier.  Meet Marcus' Italian cousin (the white one--also check out that sick stencil right outside my house!)  Name suggestions are welcome...it's a girl.

In Italy, and probably the rest of Europe, the cost of water and electricity is very expensive.  As American students staying in Italian homes, we were told to take shorter showers and lesson other activities that might incur high electric bills.  As an effort to shorten my shower period, which, as most of you know was not the easiest or the most anticipated event, I decided to shave my legs in the bidet.

Song of the day:  "TTHHEE PPAARRTTYY"  My girl, Uffie, teams up with Justice to produce a rockin' narrative that'll get you pumped for the weekend.

getting there

Mom drops me off at the airport (terminal 2--jetblue).  I'm pumped and ready to go.  Walk about 30 paces to the front desk.  Man asks:  "where are you going?"  I reply:  "New York, JFK."  Man says:  "Flight has been cancelled."  I laugh.  Meet a girl there who is on the same flight.  We team up.  Take airport shuttle to terminal 1--united.  Have a hardcore struggle with my luggage.  Get really stressed and sweaty.  I keep trekking.  Go down a broken escalator.  One of my duffels slips from my grip.  It shoots down the escalator.  Before I could yell anything, it smacks a guy in the back of the legs, hard.  He's pissed.  I talk to the United people.  Can't get a flight to New York.  United women has a stick up her ass.  Get back on the airport shuttle to terminal 3--American.  Get a flight to New York but to the wrong airport.  10 minutes until boarding.  Fly through security, SPRINT to gate.  Dripping sweat.  Flight has been delayed.  Finally get to New York--LaGuardia.  Take a cab to JFK airport.  Meet Syracuse group.  Awkward as hell.  Fly to Frankfurt.  Layover for 7 hours.  Start to smell like a rotting pig.  Get to Florence.  Half the trip loses luggage, myself included.  Most people only lose 1 bag, I lose both.

song of the day

"Not Exactly" by Deadmau5.  Give this song some time...bass doesn't drop until about two minutes in.  (props to karp)

Rebel

My new camera has arrived!  For my first dslr, I decided to get the Canon Rebel XT.  This is the very first shot I took.

white lies

I started using Crest White Strips today.

i can't wait to be a grandma

I must admit I never thought I would succumb to the desolate and impersonal world we know as the "intra-web," but it seems this is the direction in which we're headed these days, so I guess if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.  So here it is, my blog.

Part of my decision to start this blawg was because I thought it might be a cool way for people to catch up with me while I am studying abroad in Florence.  However, "i can't wait to be a grandma" is most certainly not going to be an itinerary of my day-to-day routine.  Instead it is going to be more of a free-for-all...I'll post photoz I've taken, cool things that I see, thoughts I think but never say aloud, websites I'm into, or songs I'm digging.  I love that word, digging.

The more spontaneous and random this thing is, the better.  Plus, updating a blog makes me feel a lot cooler than updating my facebook profile.

The idea of putting my writing in a public space is kind of strange.  Anyone can be reading this thing; friends, strangers, pedophiles.  It reminds me a bit of graffiti; the idea of publicly displaying oneself through tags and street art as a form of communication and advertisement of oneself (this is not the accurate or literal definition).

Seeing my own thoughts written out is also a bit strange.  It makes them look so concrete and final.  It's like that tiny little voice inside my head becomes so much more relevant when I actually write it out.  I guess I just need to get used to writing in first person.  I am so used to objectively writing about things like "the repercussions that World War One had on the Dadaists in Zurich" or "why Miles Davis' electronic period was indirectly influenced by afro-futurism."  This makes me feel like Carrie Bradshaw from Sex and The City.  It also makes me feel like I am writing an opinion column.  Whenever I read those editorials, I always catch myself sub-consciously thinking about the author of the piece.  I usually imagine the same scenario for every author:  he/she is sitting on their countertop in their kitchen.  Sunlight floods the room.  Books, papers, and mugs with coffee and tea stains are scattered everywhere.  A cat.  Always a cat.  What is it about cats?  Everyone has a cat.  Cats are like babies without personalities; they just stare at you until the get bored and curl up in a corner somewhere.