I have just started my 4th attempt to learn some Italian. First time, I wanted to be great. I went to a serious language school with a serious teacher and a room of serious students (many starting their 3rd or 4th language). Next two times? More casual setting, but I let work and a busy schedule derail me. This time, it's back with the "serious" teacher, except that this time when he emailed asking me what my goals were, I told him that I don't even need to speak Italian well. Just enough to help me make small talk and order competently from a menu.
I don't remember a time when I ever wanted to shoot for mediocre, until now, and it's kind of liberating. My lessons are on Saturdays and Sundays. I wake up at 7 or 8, study, then drive to these private lessons at 10am. He makes us espresso at the start of the class and the empty tazza makes its way around his loft later on: "The cup is on the table. The cup is under the chair. The cup is not on the desk." (That cup, I noted today, gets around.)
After butchering essere and avere verb forms, I grab coffee or a super late breakfast and head home. It's better than racing to a class after work, and because it's private, I can't hide when it's my turn to confuse my le, la, l', il, and los. The whole thing is pretty civilized.
It's kind of crazy to take these lessons. I mean, 3 hours a week won't get me too far, I realize. I may never speak Italian well. But I will settle for speaking Italian badly. Even bad Italian sounds pretty good to me.
If you want to speak Italian badly (or well) and you're in Seattle you can take classes from Marc Mariani HERE.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Me: "Hey vagina, we need to talk. Listen, I'm going to have to keep you under lock-and-key for awhile. You see, in the event that some guy slips me a roofie or the guy I'm seeing doesn't understand the meaning of the word 'no', and the 'non-forcible rape' results in pregnancy, I probably won't be able to afford taking care of the microscopic cells that will morph into a womb-dwelling childbeast. I just don't have the time or the money to deal with such things, and since it's clearly my responsibility to not get raped (except when it's 'rape rape'--that's the only time when my non-consent has merit), I'm just going to have to go through extreme preventative measures."
Me: "Yes, I'm aware that I could choose to pump myself full of hormones to prevent pregnancy, but unfortunately my student health insurance does not cover birth control, so it looks like that's out, as well. Sorry, vagina--looks like it's just you and me."
If you're pro-choice, there is no better time than now to automate a small (or big) monthly contribution to two great organizations:
NARAL - - these bitches get all up in that legislative and lobbying business on behalf of your little uterus.
Half of U.S. counties have no abortion services at all. A women I knew a while back was a provider, and we were chatting about the state of abortion access, and I said, "It's insane how limited access is. I mean, what do these girls do?" Exasperated, she just shot me a look and said, "They have babies." (MTV/Teen Mom thanks you, 51% of counties with no access to abortion services!)
Anyhoo - - this woman said CAIR is the best organization to help if you actually want to help a girl in the sticks get an abortion if she doesn't have means or access. Yes, that's right... here's how you can help a young woman GET AN ABORTION. I said it.
Sorry - I was away on business, which meant not only long, focused meetings, but also back-slappy nights of wine and overindulgence with business associates (hard life alert!), so I had no time to check and post comments from the last post.
They are in. Check them out. You guys are over a lot of shit. Feels good to vent, no?
Feel free to continue adding to your list. Here was my favorite (file under "someone had to say it"):
"I would have to say I am so over the current girl on girl crushes going on with the ladies... in the design blog community as a whole. I mean seriously...could they love themselves anymore? Could they love to profess their love for their cuteness? ...watch their self obsessed videos and you will see what I mean. I'm sure they are all perfectly sweet but this is like Domino magazine dipped in the Willy Wonka chocolate river. Except none of them get sucked up the tube. Oh this whole thing gets me just riled up. Make your magazine, be professional, and stop having cupcake parties so you can celebrate your glasses, or skirts, or so called achievements. Oy."
Thursday, January 27, 2011
I understand everyone is now irritatingly chasing the Jenna Lyons dream, but someone has taken a wrong turn here.
Oh, and note to J. Crew... I DON'T FUCKING CARE WHAT JENNA LYONS IS PACKING FOR HER TRIP TO ST. KITTS. I don't care what a 6' 4" freak in sequin leggings is doing. At all. So much creepy girl worship.
While we're on the topic - - let's make a list of things we are over people obsessing about. You go first.
Labels: When styling goes wrong.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Seriously... with, like, malaria and poverty and racism and gun-crazy assholes running around, you'd think I had bigger things to worry about, but here's my concern of the day:
Do you keep your shoe boxes?
I used to work in the shoe business, and my boss - a guy with a sick collection of Prada and the like - was a box-keeper through and through. I am presently a box-keeper, too. I like the glossy feel of the YSL box, opening it to reveal my Tributes (which I can't seem to wear to work because while they look very glam on net-a-porter models, they make me look like a wobbly hooker). I love handling the oragami-like and brilliantly engineered Te Casan boxes (while lamenting the end of that innovative label). And I am grateful for the metal gromment on Kors boxes, which makes it easy to pull those shoes from the stack. But I am about to overhaul my office/closet and am considering ditching all the boxes in favor of just shelving them. But seriously... dust. I mean, let's be honest. As often as a girl wears glitter Loutoutins (read: only for one Christmas party a year, at best) shouldn't I keep them boxed? Putting them out on open shelves seems a little too Mariah Carey, right? A little above my pay grade?
How do you store your shoes, shoe whores?
Late Friday night, a long line wrapped around the Mission Theater. People waiting hoped a space would open up inside, where the first episode of “Portlandia” was about to be shown to a packed house. Some people said they did not own televisions — or that they did not get IFC.
“It’s got to be a little elitist, you know,” said Tony Robinson, working as the doorman. “That’s part of the Portland thing, too.”
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!!! Of COURSE a bunch of them don't have televisions. Totally brilliant.
There is so much to love about this show (especially as a Portland native), and so much to love in this article, especially the TV line. Oh, Portland. You are so cute.
Portland... where young people go to retire.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Eve and Rich Kessner left the West Village for Park Slope with their daughter, Avi, last March. But after six months, they found themselves looking for a new place to live. “It felt really suburban to me,” said Ms. Kessner. “Park Slope has puppets and guitar strumming for kids. In Williamsburg, it is like rock ‘n’ roll for kids.”
You're so special!!! You should live in a more special neighborhood! You should make sure your kids are cool like you! Go on with your bad selves, hipsters!
I don't know why I keep reading this shit in the NYT. It just gives me a major fucking headache.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
I didn't even realize bad coffee was causing problems in Paris. Who knew? Glad the NTY is on it.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
(The new guy.)
Kind of a major bummer because the cover of the current issue is HILARIOUS. It's like, "What your husband really thinks of your plastic surgery," and I think it covers divorce, etc. I saw it and thought, "This is AWESOME. It's like Town & Country as read by people who watch the Real Housewives franchise." (AKA, me.)
Sigh. Bummer. Wonder what he's up to next.