Merry Christmas!

I'm in NY! This after a stint in Boston, again. I'm at the new york public library at an internet terminal. NY library is displaying its medieval mss right now. Is it a bad sign that I found it dull??

still on about the dresses

talking now to Anna -- check the comments, everyone -- so yes, I had been thinking pink would be fun (since I *like* pink) but that may not pan out.

And about the bodice bit - yes, seeing the pink dress standing up leads me to believe something a bit more, ah, slimming, might be called for. So, this caught my eye early in the running. It is supposedly a Melissa Sweet dress called Pearl, as spotted in the Fall 2005 Martha Stewart Weddings ("In Full Bloom" article). Catch - can't find it on the Melissa Sweet website, therefore don't know if its still around. And also tres expensive pour moi.


pretty! 

Merry Christmas everyone!!! I'm in Maine! Last night we went sledding.

Goat Couture II

OK I saved you the trouble and got a screen capture thing.

Yikes!

Goat Couture

I only wish I could get this picture, but it's in a flash video, so I can't. But, thanks to the sleuthing skills of my soon-to-be mother-in-law, Connie, I have come across a picture of the Drew Dress on a model who is standing up! Yes, with only the tiny bit of information contained on this blog, Connie gets us here:

http://www.christianlacroix.com/english/archives/pe05/cdsom.htm

You then must click on "Haute Couture" and then "Collection Haute Couture 2005" and then wait for the video to load and THEN you might have to hit "play" and then keep hitting "suivante" until you get to number 43.

Unfortunately, the dress looks hideous.

So... we're back to the proverbial drawing board. I think I'm going to sketch out what I *thought* the dress looked like based on the Drew picture, and work from there.

PS I'm in Boston!

A Disney World Wedding

Some of you may have heard that Matt and I attended a wedding at Disney World recently... well, it's true. And in fact, it was truly disney magical-riffic. So magical-riffic, in fact, that Matt wants me to order the Disney Wedding Guide just so we can explore the magical-riffic-ness a little more. I told him *he* could order it.

But there was one element of the wedding which I want to share with you today (the pictures of me with Mickey at the reception will come later, when Matt emails them to me). That is -- the Cinderella Princess Coach.

o lusty princess!
(this isn't Matt's friend; I just got it off the internet)

No kidding - you, YOU TOO can arrive at your ceremony in a Cinderella Pumpkin coach, pulled by 6 white Welsh ponies, one driver and 2 footmen in full regalia. You too can achieve the dream of millions of pre-adolescent girls and gay men all over the US and for one moment be a princess in the most magical place on earth!

Tickets for two to Orlando: $700

Cinderella Coach: $2,500

Being Princess for a day at the most Magical Place on Earth (TM): Friggin' expensive!!!

 

The Drew Barrymore Dress

OK Everyone... it's finally happened.

I've updated my blog. AND - I'll be posting wedding things here. I would appreciate everyone's feedback!

Soooooo... I love this dress. Love Love Love.

love.

The backstory - this dress appeared in the April 2005 Vogue with Drew Barrymore on the cover, featured in a "Beauty and the Beast" spread. So I, loving fairy tale dresses and also Drew Barrymore, bought it. And kept it. And thought, one day, just maybe one day, I might need a fluffy pink princess dress.

Well and now I'm engaged. :)

The sitch - I ran this picture by my professor-slash-dressmaker. She said A) that it was very easy to make - just a lot of piece work and finishing, but basically big rectangles, and that B) I would have to use very high quality fabric (silk organza with a satin core) in just the right colors, or else it would go from gorgeous to gaudy.

The problem - She estimated a cost of $2,000. (one for the fabric and the other for the dressmaker.)

Heart Broken. Thoughts?

AFFIANCED!!!

Saturday, in a fit of passion no doubt induced by the known aphrodisiacal qualities of the chef's tasting menu at a restaurant called Jardiniere, Mr. Matthew Sargent - longtime boyfriend and all around good guy - took a knee at my side and pulled out a three-stone diamond and platinum ring, which I allowed him to place on my finger. Blinded by the brilliance of what can only be described as "quite arock!", I was unable to finish my maple cream tart and Hungarian Tokay. I will no doubt be dazzled for weeks.

My bling!

 

What I ate for dinner

Two recent events have convinced me that there are big bucks to be had in chronicling my dinner habits on my blog. The first is Tucker Shaw's Everything I Ate: A Year in the Life of My Mouth, in which he documents every bite to pass his lips for 2004. A book deal from that! The second is the realization on Saturday, after saving a month's worth of receipts, that Matt and I spend the GNP of a small, developping country (or maybe Rhode Island) on - wait for it - eating out. I mean, we spend some poor graduate student's entire stipend at our local eateries. Now, I heart Cesar (and E&O, and A Cote...), but at some point we've got to go to the Berkeley Bowl and buy our own goddam jamon serrano - where half a pound costs THE SAME as the 3 dressed-up slices at Cesar.

Oh Cesar, when will you be affordable for graduate students?

So. On Saturday I decided to made Seared Ahi Tuna on a bed of sliced potatoes with a blackberry-cabernet sauce. But guess what? Ahi tuna is $22.90/lb! Dammit - shouldn't this be cheaper? Oh well, it was quite good.

On the menu for tonight: Pasta and Pesto with Potatoes and Green Beans (pg. 177 of Marcella's Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking). I will keep my public posted!

my legacy

a couple of fun links -- first -- my baby is all grown up! *sniff*

and I just spent 3 hours of my life reading all the back entries... I didn't know you could BE a Restaurant Whore. (sure didn't make my trader joe's frozen quiche any better...)

Bad Blog Mommy

I am a bad blog mommy -- not having posted anything in almost an entire month. Incidentally, I am also a bad bike mommy and a bad tomato mommy. Good thing there aren't social workers for these types of things.

Classes have started, and after several discussions with my french professor about "mon niveau" of French, I am finally settled in an upper division undergraduate class -- fine by me, because I can switch to pass fail at the last minute - mwahahaha... (me = bad French mommy)

But I am doing very well at taking on hobbies -- I am enrolled in 2 classes at Berkeley's Jazz School -- beginning bass guitar and vocal technique, which should be SUPER AWESOME FUN. Incidentally, before any of these classes began, my reputation spread around the history department -- I was asked to be in a band last week! OOOH! Contest for band names!

And I went to Boston this past weekend for a We Heart Reggie Reunion -- it was great to see everyone who came.

And this week I am going to 3 funk concerts.

AAACK!!!

AACK! Last trips, London, homecomings, my mom meeting Matt's parents!!, birthdays, backpacking! Too much!

And it's dinnertime...

a play for Reggie

On Tuesday we performed a play written in honor of Reggie. I would post some of it up here but Eric stole my copy because I'd added in a few lines and he wanted to type it up 'as it was performed' but he never gave it back to me. However, I may be able to recall a bit of the first scene (since I wrote it) to pass on to you...

Scena 1: Habemus Papam!

Reginaldus - (sedet, scribit, bibit) semper eadem historia est ... aliquid de ecclesia... aliquid de Pontifice decessore... bi beh bo bugggghhhhh ...(bibit)

Iohannes - (pulsat portam) Reginalde! Reginalde!

R. - ... aliquid de parvulis ... aliquid de pace...

I. - Reginalde! Ecquid audis!

R. - Au! Adsum, quid tum!?

I. - Reginalde! Conclavus TE elegit PONTIFICEM!

R. - Quid?? Stercus tauri! Tu es plenus stercoris, Iohanne. Semper joculator es.

I. - Non, non Reginalde - re vera! Conclavus elegit - (R. grunnit)
nominavit (R. grunnit)
declaravit (R. grunnit)
creavit (R. grunnit)
fecit (R. grunnit)
TE ... PONTIFICEM! (R. grunnit magna voce)

R. - Jocus est? vel error? Conclavus non elegit alterum Reginaldum?

I. - Non, Reginalde. Tu es Pontifex et Papa Noster. (osculat annulam)

R. - Ego Pontifex. (bibit) Bene, bene. Si Deus vult, et conclavus, fiat.

I. - Quid nomen tibi imponam?

R. - Quid nomen mihi impono? (bibit) ... Pius non sum... Clemens esse nolo... Leo ero!

I. - (audientibus) Habemus Papam! Cuius nomen est Pontifex Leo Decimus Quartus! (Reginaldo) Veni, Papa Leo, ad cardinales adloquendos.

(If you can't read this, learn Latin!) Reggie absolutely loved it. When Eric (who was playing Reggie) said 'Leo ero!' Reggie started cheering... it was really glorious. Once Reggie becomes pope, he sends all the cardinals to the airport for not knowing Latin, makes his 'amicas' at termini into new cardinals, changes the wednesdsay general audiences into Latin sessions, and issues encyclicals with titles like 'Boni Estote Tacetoteque' (Be good and shut up), 'Stercore Abundans' (Full of shit), and 'Nisi Fallor' (unless I'm wrong...). In the last one he declares that Popes cannot speak infallibly, and the last scene is a reporter (me) reporting on all of this and marvelling whether the decree is spoken infallibly or not.

It was really great.

Scooter Ride!

My first scooter ride ever! Wheeeeeeee!! A pair of brothers on my program has rented a scooter for the month and I got to take a ride around the block (no, I was not “taken around the block” nor have I “been around the block a few times” thank you very much) but it was AWESOME! I totally want one now – it’s like an overpowered bike. Jessie said I could have a longer ride tomorrow. So FUN!

Meanwhile, this past week has been INSANE! I have literally gone out every night this week and then some – half the time having to get up really early the next day. It all started with going to buy Harry Potter at 1am before I had to meet the group at Termini at 7am. Anyway, on Tuesday I saw George Clinton in concert, which was AWESOME!!!!!!!!!!! It was four hours straight of non-stop high-energy funkadelic soul music; the whole crowd was up on their feet and the musicians just kept switching out and kept the music going. I didn’t stop dancing for a minute. There were old original members there too – it was crazy! And the incredibly hot woman with the piercing electric violin – Bev kept saying over and over again that she wished she were a lesbian because she was in love – she and every member of the audience, male and female.

The next day I got up early and met with Eric, who was/is a member of St. Paul’s Within the Walls, the church at which my grandparents Nona and Papa were married. (funny, I guess it’s Nonna, Italian for grandmother…) Anyway, we went to the parish office and I got the book and looked them up – March 22, 1946 – and there they were, Edward C. Borrego and Mary A. Morhbacher. He: “widower” age 40. She: “maiden” age 22. How about that?

And Anna was here to visit! Yay!!! But now she’s gone (boo…). Yesterday we went to Ostia Antica and then to the beach – the beach was so great! The waves were fairly large and crashing around us, the water was cool and the sand and sun were hot. We jumped over and into the waves like a couple of giggly twelve-year-olds.

And just so you know that I’m still doing Latin – here’s the bit we read today, Minucius Felix concerning the beach at Ostia!

Ibi harenas extimas, velut sterneret ambulacro, perfundens lenis unda tendebat; et, ut semper mare etiam positis flatibus inquietum est, etsi non canis spumosisque fluctibus exibat ad terram, tamen crispis tortuosisque ibidem erroribus delectati perquam sumus, cum in ipso aequoris limine plantas tingueremus, quod vicissim nunc adpulsum nostris pedibus adluderet fluctus, nunc relabens ac vestigia retrahens in sese resorberet.

Meaning: Here the pouring soft wave stretched out to the final sands just as it was paving a walkway; and, as the sea was always unquiet (the winds having been put down), even if it did not go out to the land with white and foamy waves, nevertheless we were completely delighted in that same place by the curly and twisted meanderings of the sea, since we were dipping the soles of our feet in that threshold of the water, because in turn now the wave played out a pulse to our feet, then gliding and drawing back, it absorbed our footprints back into itself.

How perfect is that?? Anna, nos exilientes natantesque, delectatae perquam sumus canis spumosisque fluctibus.

And Matt is now in Indonesia, where he is going to buy me coffee and clove cigarettes. :)

crazy busy!

Oh my goodness, where do I begin?!?

Matt's visit, a trip to Formia to see Cicero's sea villa and the beach on which he was killed (as well as the possibly spurious 'Cicero's Tomb'), tons of class, a John Scopfield concert at Casa del Jazz, then a trip to locations connected to Thomas Aquinas (Rocca Secca and Fossanova), and this week Anna is here! and we went out to dinner last night, and tonight I'm going to see George Clinton and the P-Funk All Stars, tomorrow I'm visiting the church my grandparents were married in and then that evening is a secret play meeting, thursday is a thievery corporation concert, friday is a party on the top of the school, and saturday we're going to see Aida. Whew!

So -- Thomas Aquinas was born in a castle on the top of Rocca Secca, which I climbed (Reggie, thankfully, did not) and we saw the tower and the room his biographer describes in which his sister was struck by lightning and killed. The sun was hot and the air smelled of wild mint and fennel, and the path was rough and rocky. The castle was totally ruined, with crumbling walls and precarious drops, which we clambered over like goats in flipflops. A fig tree was growing in Thomas's room.

A few transit changes and several hours later (after pizza and a bus in Monte Cassino, another famous TA locale, but we didn't stop there because it was totally destroyed by the Allies and is now rebuilt), we arrived at Fossanova, at the abbey at which Thomas Aquinas died. We came early, as Reggie waited for those who had decided to swim for a bit in Formia. Incidentally, Eric, who had missed the train in the morning, was waiting for the group asleep under a tree by the church. The abbey is Cistertian, at least it was, and the church is white stone and very austere, early gothic-late romanesque. There were not one but TWO weddings going on at the time. The chapel where Thomas died is in the back, through the cloister, the garden busy with flowers and vines, florists, photographers, and brides. We sat up in the small room and read the inscriptions, admired the relief, and read about Thomas and his brother REGINALDUS, who was by his side...

Back in the church we sang some of Thomas's hymns, which tunes flowed back to us for a full seven second echo...

After a filling dinner at the restaurant on the highway, we made our way back walking to the train station, steeled against the swerving traffic by singing (thanks Jezzie Joe!) and Eric's purchase of Honey Grappa.

(All this on two and a half hours of sleep for yours truly, who had stayed up the night before to purchase HARRY POTTER at 1am in Trastevere!!!!)

Palio fever!

Last weekend, Matt and I went to Siena to see il Palio, the horse race in which each neighborhood (contrada) races for glory, bragging rights, and a large banner (called il Palio). We met up with Ron Herzman, professor friend extraordinaire, who runs an NEH seminar on Dante in Siena all summer. Siena was out in full colors, with each contrada displaying flags, marching through the streets with drums and costumes -- of which I hope Matt will post some pictures here when he has a moment:


The Palio itself was dedicated to PIUS II! Whom Reggie can't stop talking about, incidentally. I hope to have some pictures up of the banner.


The contrada dinner (cena) was the night before. Since naturally we are all fans of ONDA (though our favorite restaurant is in the enemy contrada of Torre), we went to their dinner, which was AMAZING -- 1,100 people were served in the streets of ONDA alone (there are about 17 contrade). Bresaola with cheese started us off, followed by saffron risotto and then ravioli, then beef filet with chianti sauce and something that was like mashed potatoes, finally torte and prosecco. So good!

The next day we awoke to drums (drums in the deep) and watched the parade and went to stand in the square with 60,000 of our closest Sienese friends and wait for the race. The race itself is documented sporatically from the 13th century, and documented well from the 17th century on. It takes place in the main square, which is relatively small for 10 horses and sort of the shape of a croissant. If you spread your fingers of your right hand out, imagine that the Palazzo is at your wrist and that we are standing in the center, with the horses running clockwise around the edges of your fingers for three laps. Notice that your pinky is therefore a very dangerous acute angle of which we had a fabulous view, as we were standing where your thumb is and the square dips down in the center.

And what a race! It was brutal. First of all, it is extremely dangerous from just about every angle -- there are no stalls or lanes for the horses, the jockeys are sardinian mercenaries who have been paid off (by other contradas) to knock other jockeys off the horses, and they're riding according to tradition: bareback, no stirrups, and goading the horse with a lengthened dried calf's penis. There are enemy contradas who would give just about anything to make sure their opponent doesn't win. And this year, it was extra excruciating. First, there were 2 false starts (the canon goes off to tell everyone to come back) -- so everyone was extra pumped up and impatient. The Torre horse threw a shoe in the first false start and so it had to be put back on (to which Matt said, 'Too bad - someone paid good money to have it put on wrong in the first place'). Then, at that dangerous pinky corner, there were 3 crashes in the three laps of the race. Three jockeys went down, two of whom lost conciousness on the track and of those one was trampled and dragged about 10 feet. (The papers the next day said he was alive, with broken limbs and 'facial trauma'...) Bruco won - the catepillar.

Anyway, it was pretty awesome all in all. It can seem really brutal to tourists who come visit, because it's not meant for tourists at all -- but I think that's why I like it, because it's not 'put on' for show - they're playing for keeps.

the best postcard I've ever written

Dear Ellie - 7am and I'm wide awake after getting in at 3 because it's Rome. I am in awe of and humbled by my classmates here and inspired because they learn without grades or obligations, but because they love to. Street noise, heat and dirt are replaced at night with leisurely dinners, intense conversation, cool breezes and wine. The city is alive and gritty and I feel very much awakened by this whole program. One thing is certain - things are going to get moving once I'm back home and grad school's going to change. Latin is good for the soul - Amelia

Reggie hodie flagrans est!

Reggie was on fire today – here are some highlights.

To the class brownnoser when he yelled “Yay!” in response to the mention of the chapel dedicated to St. Thomas Aquinas in Sta. Maria sopra Minerva:

-- Who said “Yay”? You? The chapel then – done by whom? Done by whom? Done by WHOM you SMARTASS?

On the bronze loincloth tactfully covering the naughty bits of Michelangelo’s Risen Christ

-- Stupid loincloth put on by stupid old farts, stupid old pope. EEHHHH THAT’S what the pope should do tomorrow! Bomph! Get that thing outta there!

To the stuttering woman put on the spot by his question, which was general, when she attempted to find the answer in the text:

-- DON’T look at this text, look at ME and my BALD HEAD!

To the class, generally:

-- I respect you and all of your educations. Sed est manca – it’s mutilated. Half-baked. You get it?

-- I’m not making fun of you, it’s just WRONG!

-- You say “we want Latin conversation!” and then you SIT there … like a bunch of DUMMIES and don’t talk!

To some Catholics who insist on traditions older than the Church itself wishes to continue (these might sound worse out of context than they really are; and should be taken with plenty of sal):

-- We ought to take a machine gun and shoot them down off the wall!

-- The OLD mass?! The OLD MASS was OUT before your parents were even born! Saying I love the old mass is like saying I love the old Klu Klux Klan!

*****

That, plus a long conversation about beer (cervisia), how to give a toast (propino, propinare) and other such nonsense (nugas!) basically covers what class was like today.

Via Appia Antiqua et “sub arboribus”

OK, I haven’t written in a few days because I’ve had this cold, see, and I didn’t really feel like it. But now I feel better and my voice has returned (not just metaphorically -- vocem perdidi for two days and now it’s back), so I can bring things up to date. First, a few Reggie-isms:

If you put this sentence in a bathtub, the dolphin would go right for the verb.

I think it’s a great idea: to stand at the shore of a lake or the top of a mountain naked and praise the Lord of the universe! Bingo bango!

Latin is not a grammar … that’s like saying Mozart is do re mi fa so la ti do … with a few variations.

Any German Shepard on the street knows this.

Zip zip!

So. I’ve seen a couple of cool things with Emily – Castel San’ Angelo, a Cappuchin crypt with all the bones in baroque designs, and, on Sunday, we walked the Via Appia. (The “queen of roads”.) We were supposed to go to Tivoli and Hadrian’s villa, but Reggie’s copy machine broke down so he couldn’t make the packets, and he called off the trip (there’s no point in going if we can’t read Latin!). So some of us decided to take the day to walk the Via Appia, the old road which connected Rome and, in 312BC, Capua, then later to Beneventum and Brundusium. Along the sides of it are rather rich tombs, and as you continue down, the parasol pines and trees become more apparent, the road is surrounded by wheat fields dotted with bright red poppies, and the original paving stones, worn by the feet of travelers, become more apparent.

We took the bus to the church called “Domine, quo vadis?” – legend has it that Peter (yes, the apostle) was fleeing persecution in Rome when he had an apparition of Jesus Christ heading the other way. Peter called out, “Domine, quo vadis?” – Lord, where are you going? Christ answered that he was going to Rome to be crucified a second time. Peter, thoroughly ashamed, turned back towards Rome, where he was crucified for his faith. The church supposedly marks the spot where Christ appeared and owns a plaster cast of His footprints. Uh, yeah. Anyway, we couldn’t see inside because it was Sunday and mass was going on, so we didn’t go in. (But on Sunday, the road is closed to traffic.) Anyway, I was wearing shorts and probably would’ve been kicked out (I’ve been kicked out of more important basilicas for wearing too-short skirts…).

So we visited the catacombs of San Callisto – much bigger than the catacombs of Priscilla, but basically the same – which measure about 13km. We were lead around by a crusty old Irish Catholic priest, which was a lot of fun – much better than the perky Italian woman leading the English tour in front of us. Catacombs, I have to say, are awfully cool. We saw inscriptions from the first few martyred popes, the room of St. Cecilia, and some sarcophagi with remains still remaining (reliquae adhuc manent??). Then we walked along… and walked… and walked… and we saw some tombs, and trees, and some tombs that were mounds, which means we looked at lots of dirt. Thanks, Emily. :)

So today was our first session sub arboribus -- under the trees. Latin conversation under the trees in the garden of Reggie’s monastery. Conloquabamur Latine sub arboribus in horto monestarii Reginaldi. I brought a pizza, everyone brought wine, and, yes, for about an hour we spoke together in Latin. How crazy is that???

Ostia Antica - Sunday

We meet at the Piramide metropolitana station to take the train out to the coast, to Ostia Antica. Before a 16th century flood diverted the Tiber several miles north, before the ocean receded with deposits, fill, and beach, Ostia was the bustling port city and outer stronghold of Rome. No longer a port, the city died suddenly, leaving a well preserved skeleton of houses, necropoli, shops, taverns, baths, mosaics and theaters along the straight Roman road Via Ostiensis.

Before we even enter the city, Reggie has us sitting in the middle of the street near where the tour buses enter. “Open your packets!” he says, “Here we are… the place where Aeneas SOMNIABAT! Somniabat? To dreeeeeeam… Open to Ostia apud Vergilium, the Aeneid books 7 and 8…” All that marks the spot now is an expensive restaurant called “The disembarking of Aeneas.” We sit and read about how Aeneas sees the beautiful tree-lined shore from the Tiber and orders the ships in, disembarks and “PROCUBUIT! “What’s that?? FLOPS DOWN. Aeneas flops down and has a dream, ok, and when he wakes up what does he see? INGENS SUS! What’s that? An ENORMOUS PIG. And here she is, right over there, through the trees. Any of you Latin teachers? You can tell your students I WAS THERE. I was there,” he sings, “where Aeneas dreamed. What more do you WANT?”

The whole city might have well been scribbled with the graffiti of past times – Aeneas was here, Pompei was here, Atticus, Livy, Terentius, Plautus, and St. Augustine were here. At the Porta Romana we read pieces of Cicero’s speech to the senate, requesting them to give power to Pompei to clear out the pirates attacking Ostia. In Fortunatus’s tavern, where a floor mosaic of a blue goblet and the word “BIBE” is still visible, we break open a box of wine and raise a glass while reading a bit of Plautus’s comedy Mostellaria, in which the teenage son of a merchant is throwing a wild party when dad is seen coming home from the port early. (Imagine! Everyone drinking wine out of plastic cups in a spot where wine had been drunk nearly 2000 years before!) We walk tipsily to a temple with mosaics of sacrifices and altars to the gods… (er, I don’t really remember what we read…). After a short trip through the museum, around one o’clock we set up picnic supplies at a stone table underneath a leafy arbor (the first glass of wine having been drunk at about 10am – ablative absolute!). From pockets and backpacks appear cheese, plums, cherries, salami, prociutto e melone, bread, and more wine. (Yours truly was the only one who brought WHAT? Plates, extra cups and paper towels! “The woman’s touch,” said Reggie – one argument, he conceded, against celibacy, or at least a good reason to have a few nuns around.) More wine and more wine, and we’ll reconvene at 3:00. Reggie takes a siesta under the trees while adventurers wander off to explore. (I have a passionate conversation about LOTR.) We reconvene at the theater, we walk through the winding streets, up the antique stairs to second floors of houses looking over mosaic tiled baths. We crawl through basement mithrea, cross thresholds of more taverns, and through another bath, and finally we find ourselves in a garden. In the garden, we are told, where Monica, St. Augustine’s mother, died.

Pull out your packets. Augustine’s Confessiones, Book Nine. You don’t like Augustine, neither do I… you’re not Christian, neither am I, ok? Let’s read. Et cum apud Ostia Tiberina essemus, mater defuncta est. Augustine and his mother, looking out from a window into an enclosed garden, discuss qualis futura esset vita aeterna sanctorum, quam nec oculus vidit nec auris audivit nec in cor hominis ascendit (how the eternal life of saints will be, which neither the eye sees nor the ear hears nor the heart of man ascends to). “Well here we are,” growls Reggie, “in that garden. Can you see them? Can you hear them talking?” Further down – Monica awakens from a faint and tells Augustine and his brother to bury her here in Ostia rather than taking her back to Africa, where they had been heading. “Nihil” inquit “longe est deo, neque timendum est, ne ille non agnoscat in fine saeculi, unde me resuscitet.” Nowhere is far from God, nor must I fear that God not know from where to raise me up at the end of times...

And then what does Augustine do? “He takes a BAAAATH…” Reggie says, “next page… Visum etiam mihi est, ut irem lavatum… You see, okaaayyyy? The baths we just walked through. There we are. Do they make him feel better? Noooooooo…. What more do you want my friends, if not this I don’t know… Let’s read it together:

Et inspira, domine meus, inspira seruis tuis, fratribus meis, filiis tuis, dominis meis, quibus et corde and voce et litteris seruio, ut quotquot haec legerint, meminerint ad altare tuum Monnicae, famulae tuae, cum Patricio, quondam eius coniuge, per quorum carnem introduxisti me in hanc uitam, quemadmodum nescio.

And inspire, my lord, inspire your servants, my brothers, your sons, my lords, whom I serve with heart and voice and letters, so that whoever reads this, let them remember at your alter MONICA, your handmaiden, with Patricius, for a certain time her husband, through whom you introduced my flesh in this life, in what way I know not.

“Okaaayyyy… The Confessions of St. Augustine. Okay. Good. Let’s go home.”

******

Some of us take the train to the end of the line instead of returning to Rome. Ten minutes and we’re on the coast. Everyone has gone home for the day and we have the beach to ourselves. We wade in – the sea is warm and the air is cool. I gracefully change into my suit and rush in – here I am! I did it! Into the Mediterranean. Back out, borrow Emily’s towel. Now a little shivery, with sandy feet. We wander back to the station and catch a train to Rome, a bus to Trastevere, and eat pizza and drink wine into the night.

(And now I have a cold to show for it. Oh well.)

Teaching Philosophy

Reggie hates the Melonheads from Pompeii. That’s how he refers to the Cambridge beginning Latin textbooks, which have a cartoon family with heads shaped like footballs – Maria habet parvos annos or something like that. And he hates Wheelock, where you can say you “did the subjunctive” over the weekend. And he really hates, according to one of his letters, the “AP [Latin] nightmare which has killed Latin as a mature and serious study of a whole world.”

He hates most of all the mystification of the language caused by grammatical terminology. “Pluperfect infinitive periphrastic conjugation WHAT?!?” he shouts. “Pooh pah buh buh buh buuuuuuugggghhhh…” he leans heavily to one side for emphasis. “You think Cicero used that when talking to his KIDS?? HUH?” Reggie gestures and says sweetly, “No, daddy, I think you need to use the pluperfect subjunctive here –” and growls “oh YES?? I tell you he did not!”

He believes instead in the teaching and acquisition of Latin from REAL. LATIN. SENTENCES. Do his beginners during the year have a textbook? No they do not – that’s why you’re there, the teacher, you’re supposed to know this stuff you understAAAAAND? They have sheets, just like us – the giant packets of xeroxed Latin passages from the past 2200 years. He dreams of the day where someone will make a textbook from real Latin sentences, with a simple cartoon drawing and a caption which reads: Tryphon, Syriae rex, victus, per totum iter fugiens pecuniam sparsit: eique sectandae Antiochi equites immoratos effugit. [Tryphon, King of Syria, beaten, sprinkled money through the whole way as he was fleeing: he escaped the horsemen of Antioch who were wasting time collecting it.] – Sextus Julius Frontinus (40-103 post), in his Strategematicon, Chapter XIII number II. Or Marcus Aurelius in a letter to his teacher Fronto – “Ego te numquam satis amabo. Dormiam.” [I will never love you enough. I’m going to sleep.] (Book 5, Letter 2). “This was the emperor of the WOOOOORLD!” Reggie sings, “and he’s writing to stupid Fronto about fevers and inguina – groin problems!”

Someone asks him from the back what he teaches beginners on the first day – sentence structure. He says he shows the students that the words of the sentence don’t go in order, and that we have to figure out their 1) meaning and 2) function by the endings. He spends the better part of class showing them how Maria habet amicum and Mariam habet amicus are two completely different sentences, and showing them how the words go in REAL. LATIN. SENTENCES. And then, he says, with about 8 or 9 minutes to go, he says OK now, I’ll show you how to do verb endings. [And I don’t do them in order, dearies, noooo…] We is -mus. They is -nt. You singular is -s. I is -o, -m, or -i. He, she, it is -t. You plural is -tis. And then I tell them to pick a verb from the page of the sheets – ok they pick perdidissemus. And I tell them – I tell them my friends – that it means “we would have looooost.” And I say, so what would “they would have lost” be? And you know what they say? “Perdidissent.” And I would have lost? Perdidissem. And you know what? They leave class and say, What's all the fuss? Latin's not so hard...

[And you might say well, but they don’t understand the subjunctive. Beh bah buuuuggghh! They know what it MEANS! They have a lifetime for the rest, dearies, a lifetime.]

Day Three - Wednesday

“INCIPIAMUS!” grunts Foster amid the clamor of gossip. “INCIPIEMUS!” The children from the catholic school are peering in through the upper windows of the cafeteria – it’s recess. “AHHhhhhh…. The screaming children do not disturb us – DA-vid!” sings Reggie, “What is it in Latin DA-vid?!” Parvuli… clamantes… “Come on, perturbo” – nos non perturbant? Now the passive. Now another way – 4 more ways to say it! Inquietant! Obturbamur! Conturbamur! Now – “IT WILL NOT HAPPEN that we are disturbed by the screaming children and we will miss them when they will have gone in a week! Desidero – to miss! With UT! Jo-oe!”

“OK! With school having been closed?? Easy stuff – the children know this; German shepherds on the street could understand this… you think Latin is OOHHHH!” he gestures wildly, “you think it falls from the sky? Noooooo! It was invented by the prostitutes and their clients on the STREEEEEET…” (And the ladies, he tells us, around Termini are so nice – they give money to the program! He grimaces sweetly.)

Day C (Wed. and Fri.) is reserved for the rather strange mix of Ecclesiastica Latinitas – Carmina; et Exempla Temporis Artium Renatarum. [Ecclesiastical Latin – Songs; and Examples of the Time of the Arts Having Been Reborn, i.e. the Renaissance.] We begin with Erasmus’s own translation of the New Testament from the Greek, and Reggie offers his own view of what the Catholic Church nowadays can do with the Vulgate. Not quite carta purgatorium (a favorite phrase of his, meaning toilet paper) but – “If they had followed Erasumus there never would’ve been a Protestant revolution! But down the street here they’re they’re they’re they’re STUPID! The world is in flames but NO ONE CARES because everyone is waving flags and jumping around like IDIOTS… … St. Thomas Aquinas buh buh buh buh … using a Bible that was what? For the birds! For the BIRDS I tell you dearies, it was so corrupted…” He scandalizes the devout Catholics in the class (not for the first time) elucidating a change in the new Catholic translation of the Vulgate (rev. 1997?): all those Marys stomping on serpents, he tells us, are for the BIRDS. Because it’s not ILLA anymore, it’s ILLUD. She doesn’t step on the snake, her SEED does – ILLUD, he intones. ILLUUUUD. So you can throw out those statues dearies, just throw them out. He loves this, he revels in it. Revels with his voice of gravel.

And then, he melts. In the Juniores class it was C-5, a title of a prayer Pro moriendibus, for those dying – he mentions he’s lost maybe ten friends in the past three months. “And you can go hold their hands, my dearies, but what else are you doing to do, HMMMM? SAY something! PRO MORIENDIBUS! This is a nice one... Well, ok then, let’s move on.” And then, later – “Let’s sing,” he says. In the Seniores section, we’re on Page C-3, mode seven. A Gregorian chant. “You ever sing Gregorian chant? Noooo, of course not … because you don’t like it? Well neither do I. You’re not Christian? Well neither am I. But this is Latin my friends, living Latin. We’ll sing it together. This one is just … lovely. For the dying…”

In paradisum: deducant te Angeli:
In tuo adventu suscipiant te Martyres,
Et perducant te in civitatem sanctam Jerusalem,
Chorus Angelorum te suscipiat,
Et cum Lazaro quondam paupere
Aeternam habeas requiem.

[May the Angels lead you into paradise,
May the Martyrs take you up in your arrival,
And lead you into the Holy City of Jerusalem,
May the Chorus of Angels take you up,
And with Lazarus, once a pauper,
May you have eternal rest.]

“I always cry when I sing this,” says Reggie, “You remember… Remember those who have died. OK, let’s sing it again. And no crying.”

And we sing, our voices echoing off the walls of the tiny cafeteria of the Catholic school a parvulis clamantibus non perturbati...

Day Two - Tuesday

Reggie almost got choked up today when talking about the assassination of Cicero. We spent about twenty minutes on exactly two sentences of his letters to Atticus: Erat enim ars difficilis recte rem publicam regere. Sed iam iamque omnia sciemus et scribemus ad te statim. [Ruling a republic rightly is a difficult skill. But already now we shall know everything and we shall write to you immediately.] “Can you hear him talking?” Reggie whines. “He’s talking to us. Talking on the phone. Do you see what day this is? 11 February 49. Civil War. Caesar is taking over. He’s in Formia – we’ll go there, oh yessss… We’ll swim right where he was killed, on the beach… eeeeggghhh?!

Momentarily put at ease by this thought of beaches, I let my guard down and was promptly called on – “You, you – if we would have known, we would have written. You know your forms? Pluperfect subjunctive.” I freeze like a duck in headlights. I start to mutter what I think are paradigm forms but are actually pleas to the Latin God to send me the answer quickly… no answer. Finally Reggie throws me a bone – “third principle part of sciooooo?!” Scivi! Yes! There it is! “And the perfect infinitive?” Scivisse. “And…?” Scivissemus. Si scivissemus, scripsissemus.

Reggie did a lot of muttering about Germans in the Vatican today. He said he would bring in a papal bull, too. And we learned some choice phrases – the Vatican Press is full of latrones et filii latronum and nothes.

I think it is hard to tell whether Reggie is plenus stercoris.

---

In other news, I visited the Basilica of San Clemente this morning. WOW! A 12th century basilica built on top of a 4th century church built on a 1st century Roman house and mithraeum. You can go down all three levels. It is something else!

Day One

“LINGUAM STUDETIS LATINAM heeeeerrrghhhhh!?” growls Fr. ‘Reggie’ Reginaldus Foster as we enter the small garden in front of the Basilica San Pancrazio. He screeches OOOOHHHHH in a gravelly tone after each one of us says our name. “Yes, Kim. Shapiro is it? Very nice penmanship!” Or, “Yes, on the yellow paper. But with a white envelope, no?” We file into the cafeteria of a local Catholic school run by nuns. The desks are small and the chairs are smaller. We shift uncomfortably with our incongruously oversized books, Lewis and Short (2,017 pgs, 6lbs.), Gildersleeve (594 pgs, 3lbs), and whatever additional dictionary we have brought. Likewise the packets we receive: thin but huge, measuring approx. 1ft. x 1.5ft.

We pull out the sheets of Latin and Reggie picks a sentence and a target. Read, translate. Put it into the plural. Now the subjunctive. One by one the targets falter and the room falls silent. Reggie says anyone who doesn’t know this one can head back to the airport, tells us we’ve never studied Latin before, tells us where we can put that macron of ours (on his asshole, in case you were wondering).

This man wrote Benedict XVI’s first speech to his cardinals. Benedict rather liked it and didn’t change anything. It had been written five days before his election, Reggie says. You know, we thought we should say something about peace, the children, bleah bleah blah gruuuueeeeenngghhhk! He sounds like a dying rhinoceros, or a cave troll. (His completely bald head only assists that analogy.)

When we return from break he has a half-empty bottle of red wine on the desk. No glass.

More Latin tomorrow.

Where am I?

All right, all right, I know it’s been a while… but internet costs me 2 euro per hour so I’m not about to spend all my time and money blogging something hardly anyone reads!!! But now that I’ve bought an adaptor for my computer, I can type things up and then upload them in mere seconds. Aren’t you pleased?? But I don’t have a digital camera, so I won’t be able to take funny pictures and upload them like Anna. : ( (I’ll just have to wait until Anna comes and upload HER pictures!)

So. Matt and I departed May 26 for London, where we spent 5 lovely days in a serviced apartment left vacant by Matt’s friend Scott, who had, in fact, gone back to spend the week in San Fran. While there saw the sights and had some amazing dinners and drank a lot. I’ve decided London is a very livable city. On June 1, Matt poured me onto a 3:30am train to Gatwick Airport, and I caught a 7am flight to Rome. I have no doubt that Anna was in London at exactly the same time I was, but alas! didn’t know to meet up.

Once in Rome, I met up with Emily, who is a grad student in Vancouver also here for Latin. I met her because she saw my Craigslist posting begging for summer housing and wrote me and told me about Amy. OH! Yes, the pick up went without incident – Giofreddo, with blue cap white numbers 831, was there in his station vagon, and I had my copy of some London tabloid, and all was well. My room is in an apartment that is otherwise full of antiques, art books, paintings, and two old Italian ladies. Who knew? Angela, the landlady, is one of those Italian grandma-types who pushes her way through marketplaces and throws elbows, I’m sure of it. Elisabetta is I think a cook or cleaning lady – she does all the work, anyway, and she’s a bit younger. As for the art, I can’t say it’s good, but out of the THIRTY paintings on MY walls alone, there are four of the naked female form. Hmmm….

So I met up with Emily and, because our program has class 6 days a week and excursions on Sunday, we decided to hop up to Florence for the day (June 3 – the 2nd was a holiday and there were fireworks!). I got to visit all my old haunts: sandwiches at Antico Noe, gelato at Gelateria dei Neri, and Tornabuoni Beacci for prosecco on the rooftop garden. Yum! Oh yeah, and we saw stuff too – Palazzo Vecchio, Duomo and Baptistry, Santa Croce, San Spirito.

The next day we had a park adventure – yes, Rome has parks – but they’re really out of the way. We went to the Villa Borghese and the Villa Ada (by getting off at the godforsaken stop of Campi Sportivi and walking the long way round!), then we managed to make the Catacombs of Priscilla about half an hour before closing. It is now a monastery of Benedictine nuns, one of whom led the tour around in Italian (English language nun had already left). But hey, turns out this is where some of the earliest bits of Christian art come from, and I recognized a lot of the frescos from the first 10 pages of my Medieval Art book from sophomore year! (Yes, Anna, we can go.)

OK, I have to run off to my first lesson! Yikes!!

I can't make this up...

... that a woman named Shelley Breedlove has given birth to a set of identical quadruplets. Breedlove. HA!

The Story

My "pick up details"

In two weeks I fly from London to Rome, where I begin a calm, thoughtful immersion into 2,000 years of living Latin language. Or where I begin my new life as Amelia, amateur photographer/secret agent! I got a room through a woman named Amy, who also arranges pick up from the airport when you arrive. Here are my instructions:

Dear Amelia ,

here below the pick up details:

A man , about 50 years old , slim with brown hair , named Goffredo ,
with a blue cap with white number 831 , named Goffredo ,

driving a green STATION VAGON MERCEDES

will pick you on wednesday JUNE 1st at 10,30 am at
Ciampino airport at the DEPARTURE !!!!! gate on the left of the arrival gate
where it is easier to pick you up.

No-one is allowed to park there for more than the baggage- transfer , so , to
avoid the policemen fine us , and to recognize you easier and faster , I
would like to ask you to have a
NEWSPAPER in your hand .

It will be helpful to have a description of yourself.

If there will be any changes please let me know soon and be sure I reply to you .

Cheers

Amy

@>-------"---------

The passcode is "spicy-a meatball-a!"

Time Traveler Conference

I guess I'm flattering myself to think that *my* blog will be read into the far future, but what a great idea! I suppose I can go slip a printout into the rare book library...

MIT Time Traveler Conference

The great thing is, you only need one!

hate hate hate

I hate easyJet. Hate. Little beads of hate. Hate droplets. HATE.

1. If you have a 24-hr cancellation policy, have a 24-hr way to do it.
2. If you're going to sell tickets to Americans, have a phone number they are able to dial.
3. HATE.

We'll see if I can get the number to work when their call centRE opens. At midnight, my time. In the meantime, "your international call cannot be completed as dialed."

(YES, I looked up the proper codes!)

(HATE!)

I'm fixing a hole where the rain gets in...

Yay! Girls have hobbies! I signed up for a photography class which started last week. I'm "Learning to Photograph." No, it's not digital, so until I get hold of a scanner you won't be able to see any of my pictures (I say that like people besides Anna read my blog...).

But on Sunday I went on a photography adventure. It was very Berkeley. I got Matt to drive me to the Berkeley marina and I was going to take pictures of the bridge and the bay, but it was kind of hazy. So as we're leaving, we notice a crowd of cars and people milling around the parking lot. That's a crowd of ... all the same car. Parked by color. Yes, we had stumbled upon a meeting of the Berkeley MR2 owners association. Parked by color. With barbeque. We went deep cover (I was wearing my sunglasses) and I managed to take some lovely pictures of identical yellow cars with their skirts up and the long line red cars.

So then we decide to celebrate by going to my favorite restaurant Cesar. But as we're walking there, we notice an event of some sort at Chez Panisse (its next door neighbor) -- the Asian women with ukileles tip us off. Turns out Chez Panisse is hosting a trunk sale of dosa designer clothes to benefit the Edible Schoolyard. And giving away free munchies and free wine to boot! So while I got to see Bobo Berkeley matrons in various states of undress trying on all this designer silk in a cordoned off dining room cum dressing room, Matt stayed entertained with his four glasses of wine. (And I got a lovely purple washed silk slip dress with turquoise pants, sort of Indian inspired.) And I saw Alice Waters! And I took a picture of the Chez Panisse kitchen!

Good day.

Crisis averted with mac and cheese

Turns out I was just hungry. You know I get whiny when I'm hungry. :) Yes, I've turned to bourgeois organic mac n' cheese. You know you live in Berkeley when...


Bunny always makes me feel better!


addendum:
I bet bunny will even make it better that my medieval Latin advisor is rushing off to be the president of a small liberal arts college in massachusetts. Ooh, let's try!

cloves and cranberry vodka

I'm sitting curled up on the couch under a red fuzzy blanket. I'm whining to my boyfriend. It's raining outside and about to get dark. More crisis, following up on my last several postings about my lack personality, uncertainty about my discipline, etc. I inform boyfriend about the phenomenon of the "quarter-life crisis." Boyfriend tries to help. What do I like about academia? I don't know. I don't find it very fulfilling. So don't do it. But what would I do? Whaaaa...

What would I do?

Boyfriend says, put on your shoes. What? says me under red fuzzy blankie. It's cold and wet outside. Put on your shoes. Are we going on a venture? Is it a puddle jump venture? I don't have puddle jumping shoes. Put on shoes. Boyfriend goes off to get ready. I put on extra sweater and thicker jeans, get coat and hat (cold!). Do I need my wallet? He says no.

We get the umbrellas and get in the car. We start driving. First we go to 7-11 - Matt says we need snackies. Cheetos and coke. Back in the car, still driving. Where are we going? Is it far? Can I open the cheetos now? Does the leaving behind of my ID represent my leaving behind of any kind of set identity at this moment of crisis? I've been analyzing literature too long.

Over the highway, towards the Berkeley Marina. The clouds have broken just over the bay and we can see the fading yellow light of the sunset, illuminating the marin hills but the clouds cover the mountain. We park facing the bay.

Boy pulls out pack of cloves and a flask.

Here.

But I've never smoked a cigarette before though - not a whole one. I don't know how to hold it. He offers to split one.

Pause. No... I want my own.

The flask is filled with cranberry vodka from when we went to a concert last fall. We take the cheetos, coke, and cigarettes out of the car and sit on the bench facing the bay, in the rain, under our umbrellas. The sun is hidden; the water is choppy and reflecting light off its peaks. The city lights begin to come to life, buildings dark against the gray sky. The lights of the pier look like they extend right out to the Golden Gate bridge, gray against gray clouds.

We should cut class sometime, he says. Go to the beach.

I've never cut class.

You've never gone out to smoke on the pier before, either.

He has a point.

My lips taste like cheetos, cloves, and cranberry vodka.

What's a girl to do when she hasn't done anything else?

He just couldn't wait...

Another two months and I would'a been there...

 

crisis! and Jesus prefers Chardonnay.

OK.

With my mouth still tasting of sautéed shallots from lunch at Bouchon, I have had a very scary revelation. Perhaps I am still reeling from too much vino – though I don’t think so. So, ok, I was sitting on my futon reading (for the 4th time) Yvain, a French 12th century romance by Chrétien de Troyes. Yvain the knight has gone mad, is running around the forest naked and eating raw game. He runs across a hermit’s house, and the hermit puts out bread and water for Yvain to eat. The text says, approximately: “I don’t think that he had ever tasted bread that was so course or so hard; the flour with which it was made certainly didn’t cost more than 20 sous, because it was more bitter than levain bread” (ll. 2844-48). And I said to Matt, isn’t it funny how different people’s conception of food is now? Whole wheat and other hard grains used to be considered low-class, but now they’re all the rage. White bread with refined flour is out; Acme bakery provides levain bread to all of the fanciest restaurants. And this has just changed in the past 50 years or so. (Not to mention Yvain’s raw meat – carpaccio, sushi, anyone?) And then I got to thinking. And then it hit me.

I want to be a culinary historian. I can study food – the changing attitudes towards food across time; food as a cultural marker. (Has this been done? I don’t know – certainly not more than the Battle of Brunanburgh has been, though, right?) Of course, my first reaction is, “I can’t.” I can’t – I can’t just up and switch disciplines, get new advisors, do “food” seriously, etc. And Matt says I can – I can. (?) I love food. Do I love medieval literature in the same way?

Earlier today during the car ride to Napa, I started wondering what kind of wine Jesus changed the water into at the wedding feast at Cana. I was trying to think what grape varietals are native to the Middle East. It suddenly dawned on me – Jesus probably changed it into white. In all the depictions I think it’s red, but that’s not right. White would resemble the water (especially in the opaque clay jars) and that explains why the wine steward has to taste it to know – he can’t tell by looking (John 2:9). (That, of course, means that the liquid is substantially wine but accidentally resembles water – hellooo Eucharistic connection!)

Was that a premonition? Fuck. Can I change disciplines? [Matt’s a bad person to talk about this; he went from early-modern alchemy in Germany to the Dutch East Indies Company in Indonesia. Not to mention his consulting leanings.]

You know, we’re not going to get jobs anyway, so it doesn’t really matter what I do, does it?

yum...ooof.

Today Matt and I went to Napa Valley! Yay!! First we went to the Domaine Carneros winery -- which means we had yummy champagne tastings! and then yummy pinot noir tastings! and then we had lunch reservations at Bouchon, a French bistro-type place which is affiliated with the French Laundry (but cheaper). There we had even more wine, and yummy food. And more wine. And more food. And then we decided not to go to any more wineries.

kiss me, I'm (now) Irish!

OK, a belated St. Patrick's Day post to be sure, but I wanted to acquire a picture first. In January, I dyed my hair red. Copper red. (It looked HOT! ...until it faded out.) Two weeks ago, upon the threat of my grandmother's 88th birthday gathering, I got my hair redone in more of a strawberry blonde-y red, which astounded all of my relatives. But what was even more of a coup was fooling real live Celticists at the 27th Annual California Celtic Studies Conference the week after.



Me and cousins and Grandma... 


Now Sarah doesn't look so out of place!  



Grandma cuts it up at 88.  


(Restaurant link of the day: I was in charge of catering and the banquet for the conference, which was held at very yummy Cafe de la Paz.)

I think I'm going to find a new personality.

Looking at this month's (April) Vogue makes me wonder why I don't just give it all up and emulate Drew Barrymore (cover, pgs. 308-23) and local Berkeley celebrity Alice Waters (pgs. 374-77). I mean, can't I form my own production company, make fabulous kick-ass girl movies starring my best friends Cameron Diaz and Lucy Liu? Can't I include in my list of dreams writing a short story and making documentaries? Oh, and not to mention fulfill every girl's fantasy by starring in that feminist fairy-tale remake Ever After -- the themes of which are beautifully captured in the Vogue photospread where Drew models gorgeous foofy silk organza gowns (all in shades of pink) in sumptuous fairy-tale tableau shots inspired by Beauty and the Beast (obviously the Cocteau version...)? (Er, not that I ever saw Ever After, because it was waaaay past my princess days ... *cough cough*...!)

Or as for Alice Waters -- can't I single-handedly inaugurate a new national food trend with my four star restaurant, support local farmers and organic produce, pen numerous amazing cookbooks and even publish a children's book (eat your heart out, Madonna!)? Maybe while I'm at it, I can begin to renovate the public school cafeteria system and encourage children to eat good food? In the meantime, I can attend parties and rub shoulders with Arnold and somehow manage to speak with Bill Clinton.

I mean, hell, I managed to make pork chops last night!*

I think Vogue is instilling in the public reader (i.e. me) a real sense of inadequacy. I mean, I get the highbrow ironic allusions in the literary articles. I recognize Cindy Sherman in the Marc Jacobs ad (!). I care about organic produce and Tuscan villas, and I admire the sophistication and design of couture. And yet, I will never, ever, EVER be able to attain even the smallest ounce of any other kind of participation except vicarious in this strange world of Hamptons parties, Hermes scarves, and Chanel. All I can do is occasionally splurge at the makeup counters and buy fake LV and Prada handbags from Senegalese men in Italy.

It only makes it worse that Matt has apparently both attended parties in the Hamptons and danced with Paris Hilton. (for about 8 seconds.)

This is all brought on because it's my Spring Break and and my goal is to read a book a day. (Voicing this to Matt, after hearing me rant about Drew and Alice, he says "maybe that's why you don't have any life experience.") At least the books are about my medieval giants, sex, monsters, marginalia, idol worship, and stuff like that.

~~

*actually, they were pretty good, and involved a sweet onion and dry vermouth cream sauce.

the reason I haven't updated my blog recently is...

this: www.ocf.berkeley.edu/~gmb.

Chaucer on the beach! 

a little TOO carried away...  

but then I got a little carried away... (he looked thirsty!) 

So I'm creating a flier for an upcoming conference. And I thought it would be cute to give Chaucer a little character ...  

Animal Sex for Valentine's Day

No kidding.

Now, I can understand the champagne and chocolate -- but a mashed potato bar???

Valentines Sex Tour at the Zoo:
Visit the San Francisco Zoo for an adults-only study on animal reproduction, February 12, 13, 14, and 20, 2005. Tours are at 10AM and 2PM the first 2 days and noon on the 14th and 20th. $55 includes three-hour event, Zoo admission for the entire day, parking, and romantic refreshments including champagne, chocolate, and mashed potato bar. Make your reservation early, go to the calendar of events page on their website.

http://sanfrancisco.about.com/cs/tours/a/sextour.htm

Dear Mom

Hi Mom,

sounds like the gardening class is a ton of fun. Your yard will be the envy of all the cow-keeping neighbors and crazy ladies.

The Thursday before classes started, Matt and I had a dinner party where we made mixed greens salad with goat cheese medallions, mushroom risotto, standing prime rib roast with mustard horseradish crust, and fruit and cheese for dessert. In attendance were: Anne, Juan, Ava, Sam, and Candace. A good time was had by all.

The next day Matt, Candace, and I left for Tahoe to meet up with some lawyer friends of Matt's. Every year they rent a huge cabin in Tahoe to go skiing. We all learned how to snowboard. Candace gave up pretty quickly, but I went the whole day and by the last run I made it down without falling - except intentionally to avoid crashing into people. And that was only twice. Luckily there was a hot tub at the cabin. Two of the group were formerly men, but they looked very nice in their bikinis.

Then classes started, and I bought a new computer, and am taking twice as many classes as the usual grad student schmoe. My favorite class is an undergrad class that I am just sitting it, called Fantasy Film and the Realms of Enchantment. We're tracing fairy tales and film from 1900 +. It is a lot of fun.

I also started yoga, in addition to my pilates class. I go with my friend Karla, but we didn't go this past Thursday because I had a GMB meeting (Graduate Medievalists at Berkeley), which I am in charge of. We are planning for our big conference in April. Also, we get an undergraduate assistant this semester, which I am very excited about, because then I will have less to do.

Randomly, a few days ago, Jason King sent me an email. Do you remember him? He and Jeanine King were friends of ours in elementary school. He saw my friendster page because he was randomly looking up the names of people he used to know. He said in his out-of-the-blue email to me that I might remember him -- that Edward had introduced him to nintendo. I forwarded his email on to edward. He and Jeanine now live in Houston - she manages a restaurant and he is a journalist-aspiring-filmmaker.

Last night matt and I went out to dinner at one of our favorite restaurants, Le Theatre. Only it wasn't as good as usual, and we were a little disappointed.

I'm telling you all this so you can feel like you know your daughter a bit better. And maybe pick out your own Christmas gift for me next year! :)

Love,
Amelia