Curious Jordan Discovers Pictures!

(It's like the Curious George books!!! Except...not...)

Weather being as it is (contemplative with a slight chance of exhaustion), I believe it's time to play a new game I've invented recently which I like to refer to as Speed. Which is not the drug. Nor the card game. Nor is it, even, the opposite of peed, which Italian language tends to do. This game will be conducted as follows: due to an excess of interesting happenings, I shall attempt to condense everything into a singular thing. Or rather many small things. The success and fun-rating of this game will be assessed at the conclusion. Ready...go!

Spring Break: Emily flew into Florence after a nightmare of a flight process, somewhat involving solicitation, Rodolfo the traditionally ancient-kind-and-agelessly-wise-man, and a hell of a language barrier. Which I now understand, but that comes later. We spent a thoroughly amazing week in Florence and the Cinque Terre, a collection of 5 miniscule coastal villages in northern Italia. I was near-brain-anurism, collecting information from and interacting with only Italian-speaking natives. Emily stood on attentively while I struggled, looking cute and innocently lost. She left a week later, leaving in her wake a maelstrom of Doublestuf Oreos, sadness, and forgotten belongings.

For breaking the lingering sadness, segue to Birthday: Set on an unsuspecting Monday (is that a song somewhere?), my new decade brought with it a trip to an American Bagelry (definition: locale where one generally purchases bagel-type merchandise), a riveting discussion on the mechanics of Stravinsky (what, really, could be more breathtaking?), hand-crafted beers at Mostodolce, waited on by my favorite (only) Albanian I know, and the most epic baked-ziti-with-chicken-dinner ever, masterminded by none other than Mr. Jared Antonio Nepute. This was an awesome day; nonetheless I couldn't help but feel that antsy anxiety that accompanies a new decade. In FigurativeLand, so much was left behind and so much has yet to happen - there was a brief brilliance in the life of contemplation that morning that, unfortunately, was lost in the following moments. It's the kind of thing that will tickle the fingertips of your consciousness when you're staring out a window and thinking about everything and thinking about nothing, only sketching a faint outline of what it once was.

I've had a moment of poeticism brewing for a while, give me those few sentences, please. :)

Pause here for an interesting discussion on Facebook/Birthday Wishes.

Moment of Consideration #1:

I've happened across a thought that seems pretty articulate when considering the Epidemical Facebook Riot (yes, epidemical is a word; an adjective stemming from the root form, epidemic. I foresaw the judgment that was coming for a made-up word). In hoarding the number of notifications the FaceBook throws at me, I was struck by curiosity. However, after some deliberation, I can tell you my opinion on enjoying birthday wishes, especially on the FaceBook. In part, it's very nice to know that people are wishing us well and keeping us in their lives. And yet. The more potent answer has a lot more to do with existing than it does anything else. I think I salivate over birthday wishes and replies and spontaneous thought-of-you's because I'm afraid of being invisible. It is more a question of validation that I still exist than it is a finethankyouhowareyou. Which, to understand, you should read "The History of Love," by Allison Krauss. It's very good. Following which, if you are ambitiously pursuing an affluent understanding of a foreign language, you should buy Harry Potter (Assuming you've read it in your native tongue) and drag your struggling brain through it. Because nothing is better than a good challenge. Except Sour Patch Kids- I think those are marginally better.

And now, if you please, move forward to Austria: By far the most daring excursion I have made so far, I bought a train ticket to Innsbruck last weekend in order to visit a good friend that is living there for the year. Need I say more? I couldn't have made a better decision. Vaguely drowning in the sea of close quarters and not enough real-life (I think that's the Ligurian, but I didn't do my homework), it was the best choice I've made since choosing to save the Sour-Patch kids til my birthday. Which was a big deal then, if you know me and candy. What death-defying feats did I accomplish? What adventures did I duel and slaughter mercilessly with or without remorse? None. Unless you can count an American Football game with 16-year-old cheerleaders and a despondent parrot mascot death-defying. Personally, that's just numbingly hilarious. There was, however, much beer-and-coffee-drinking to be had, sunny-terrace-sitting to be taken advantage of, and plenty of German language to be kept in the dark about. Which brings me to my next moment of consideration and is, at the same time, the reason why the excursion was so successful in the first place. Gear up.

Moment of Consideration #2:

Different cultures are very funny (I say this tentatively, and you'll find out soon why). I had the good fortune to attend a birthday party with Ryan, my accommodating host-friend, and said party was solely Austrians/native German speakers/a mind-numbing amount of German being spoken. And, considering I know up to four words in German (Konig, da, kennst, bier), I did a lot of observing. And just listening to what was said, I learned much about culture differences. Ie. the difference in humor: Austrians' (and Italians,' I've noticed) sense of humor is completely out-of-sync with American humor. There shall be no describing here because I lack the capacity to condense this, but suffice it to say Sofie (birthday girl) gleaned much satisfaction from this:

The face was my invention, but the onion was the source of hilarity. Honestly, it just tasted bad. In retrospect, however, I wasn't opposed...perhaps because I wasn't in a general mood for decision-making. Regardless, it was an odd speculation to be making at a party. It's very daunting to realize how much social interaction hinges on a sense of humor. And to think how awkward I felt being unable to interact. I mean, I'm awkward 87% of the time, but it's a much happier and inviting awkward than being socially inept, I believe. Anyway, this=one way cultures differ vastly. Which strays away from my original thought about how 'funny' it is. Because...it isn't....funny....ha....ha.....yikes.

Moving on, by means of VESPA.

Yes, you heard me right, I said Vespa. Which means wasp in Italian. Also it means kick-ass electric scooter. Which was what transpired yesterday afternoon. Which is the reason I'll never be the same again. For the price of a cheap pair of jeans, you too, kiddies, can take this burly piece of equipment on a spin for 5 hours. Which means good things (speeding around on this sucker is exactly the way you in your quaint, white-fenced, blue-shuttered house picture Italian life) and bad things (Attention: do not try this if you are scared easily, have a failing heart, bad history with motor-vehicles, etc). For me, I experienced both of the extremities. I had a blast Vesping (v. the act of riding a Vespa) around the countryside, but at the same time had to shell out quite a pretty penny for a small scrape that happened. No worries. Jared and I still felt considerably killer. For your viewing pleasure:

As you can obviously discern, we are very serious about our Vesping. It really was a whole boat(?)load of fun, in all seriousness(?).

Tomorrow, the crew is singing in the Duomo here in Firenze for Palm Sunday. We shall be repeating this glorious opportunity next Sunday for La Mattina del Pasquale (Easter morning!). Which will be an awesome, awesome, awesome experience. I'm very excited to wear a snazzy (but actually just normal) robe and sing in one of the most awesome churches in the world. Good acoustics? That remains to be seen. What is certain is that this will immediately be followed by a celebratory trip to Mercato Centrale, this awe-inspiring two-story market for everything involving food you could ever wish for. Italian food, that is. Because other types of food are virtually non-existent. Insert wah-wah trumpet here.

And with this, my summary is nigh complete. I would say that went relatively well, wouldn't you? Save for the fact that I discovered how to insert pictures halfway through, adding a whole new level of comprehension into this far-too-metaphorically-descriptive blog. Feel free to skim in the future. Unless you're concerned that you'll miss all of my witty (awkward) banter, which seems to spring up everywhere these days. Speed: success. Fun rating: On a scale from zero fun to kicking your shoes off in a fit of joy, I would say that we half-heartedly made a small jump in a languid movement that sort of looked like joy. That sounds appropriate.