Hear/Say

These words actually took a surprising amount of effort to find. Usually, I would think my awareness was keen enough to pick up on these cues and curiosities of varying meanings and cross-cultural conflicts within every-day semantics. Instead, I think I was pretty preoccupied with social-cross-cultural conflicts being experienced, and so looking for these words took more concentration and focus in looking for cognates. Once I began looking, however, they were everywhere. It just takes a little more to catch them, and you realize that a lot of information you inadvertently suck in every day is taken for granted until you don’t understand them. Also: a lot of the cultural background plays a huge part in the nuances between similar words.

phrases intimo

1. “Sono eccito” ==>“I am [turned on]”
I wasn’t looking for this expression specifically, but I asked Andrea, my Italian teacher, how to say “I am excited”. Directly translated, the meaning of the phrase has a culturally sexual implication. This also happens in the Spanish language. Here is an interesting example of what isn’t “lost in translation”, but rather, what is unknowingly said…

Smoking and comics come together in this great Tintin comic

2. “Il fumetti” ==> Comics
As it stands, the phrase seems like a derivative of the action “to smoke”, or “fumare”. The entire exercise where the class is supposed to ask each other what activities or hobbies they like/enjoy or do not like/enjoy, everyone believed that the phrase meant “to smoke” or “cigarettes”. However, Andrea explained to us how the association came about: the word bubbles and thought bubbles of comic book writing are parallel to the idea of cigarette smoke coming out of one’s mouth. This sort of shows how much and often Italians may smoke…

bookz

3. “Libreria” ==> Bookcase
Naturally, I thought this meant library. With a second thought, I thought it meant bookstore. Upon looking this up, the direct translation means “bookcase”. The terms for library, on the other hand, is the same in Spanish: “biblioteca”.

Yellow Pages

4. “Gialle” ==> yellow
During Italian class, the descriptions used with the term “gialle” had me thinking it meant “giant”. I was very wrong; in fact, it means yellow. The term was also used to describe mystery novels as a genre.

Fabbricati

5. “fabbricati” ==> manufactured
Originally, I automatically associated this word with “fabric”; but it makes sense it means manufactured, or fabricated. Interesting that this word would be used, because of how relatively obscure “fabricated” is for us, at least in terms of everyday, colloquial language.

Confezioni = biscotti?

6. “confezioni” ==> confection
This word reminded me of “confession”, but confection makes sense too. Although, it was referring to the units of biscotti that came in a singular box—so I’m still not sure how this works, but I’m guessing they are referring to the actual biscotti as confection (as a type of food), rather than just biscotti.

Cristal

7. “cristal” ==> glass
Doesn’t everything sound better in Italian? Including glass? Incidentally, “crystal” is “cristallo” in Italian. Whether or not crystal becomes a derivative of glass (in the sense of Italian technology) would be interesting to find out…

Abiti

8. “abiti” ==> suits/dresses
I actually thought this term was derived from the Italian verb “to live”, or “abitare”, but instead it’s a noun defining dresses. In the case of suits, I’m guessing dress-suits.

merceria

9. “merceria” ==>haberdashery
This term had a surprising definition. Looking at the context, I assumed that the term meant “merchandise”, and was going to contrast it with the similar appearance to “mercury”, but it was more difficult to extrapolate the precise meaning. The original definition of haberdashery means “men’s outfitters”, but applied to other signs—i.e. “intimo-merceria”, it has a more precise meaning of “boutique”.

fiasco

10. “fiasco” ==> flask
This surprised me because the sign was actually in broken English. They even misspelled bottle as “bootle”; so I was taking another gamble that they didn’t really mean fiasco. So fiasco means flask, rather than the a chaotic occurrence; the sign clarified that it could clear security for carry-on luggage.

piano

11. “piano” ==> slowly
This disconnect is pretty obvious. The translation from the English word for the musical instrument to the adverb actually shows up in reading music. The meaning is slightly different though; in the musical context, piano, or pianissimo means softly, while forte or fortissimo demarcates where one is to play loudly or with more force.

laboratorio

12. “laboratorio” ==> laboratory/office/workshop
While this word actually aligns with a predictable definition, the cultural nuance lies in its versatility as a term. When we use the word “laboratory” in English, it usually means a very specific scientific work-place, for chemical experiments. However, it seems like the Italian word can be applied to any work-place of artistic trade- i.e. antique crafts.

is the Campo Di Fiori.

We live in a tourist trap.

I’m not complaining, per se– it’s a beautiful part of the city. We are so lucky to live near the Tiber; I walk across it every day and it’s always breathtaking. In a different way than Seattle; Seattle is strangely sobering as you walk through rivers of rain water and gutters (ok, maybe not so strangely sobering), but the Tiber, wet or dry, has a way of haunting you with thousands of histories…

I have found a cute boy named Francesco who works at an overpriced restaurant down in the campo. We will be married within the week, and he will spoon feed me gelato with lactaid in the mornings. Our ten children will be jumping joyously around us before self-administrating time-outs to write delicate haikus about our undying love. Ok, so I’ve only talked to him once. He’s a cutie.

but seriously, although Rome has its share of arrogant, self-righteous and narrow-minded men, the cliche romance of the city never ceases to haunt you. The histories are violent, sensual, gory; you can’t stop thinking about history when the cobblestones stubbing and wrestling with your toes are a constant reminder, when the fountains and saintly statues loom, gorgeous and mystical, where things are truly carved in a stone for all to remember… there are shocks of culture where you don’t expect it. The tiniest things expand to engulf your understanding of the norms, and it feels like nothing is the same… standing in line awkwardly juggling your valuables and dropping your dignity as the coins seriously don’t make sense or easily add up… you can feel the flush of ignorance seep into the confidence you used to have, and the comfort of your own country’s culture…

I’m so lucky to have had this opportunity; with the people I am with, in the place that I am. And it’s also made me more aware of what I miss about American and dear Seattle. Spongebob being one of them.

I should post more pictures. And I’m sorry I don’t update as often as I should. But my apartment doesn’t have internet, and it’s actually quite liberating… !

To my dear loved ones, who know who they are– I miss you!
And the following post is for class.

Gracious

It’s an assignment. Read it if you dare.

Blog Entry 1

1. Porta via è “to go”

In American culture, a lot of our consumer-culture is based on convenience. Service and hospitality culture evolve around the needs of the consumer. This includes prompt service. It seems that Italian culture, however, incorporates the laziness of time—and this is not meant to be a negative term. Time is of the essence for the American—you can sense this stereotype when people discuss different aspects of other cultures. The aspect of paid vacation for French citizens comes to mind. So does the experience of eating at restaurants in Rome. The experience of wine-and-dine during Italian dinners is obvious when we ‘stupid Americans’ enter a restaurant and each haphazardly order from different courses on the menu. A proper Italian dinner doesn’t work that way: courses play a part in enjoying cuisine, and the respect given to the experience of dining surpasses the need for prompt, immediate convenience.

Which is why the idea of “to-go” seems like such a vulgar suggestion when we haven’t finished the pizza or pasta we ordered. Boxing things up cuts out the experience the restaurant would like to offer, and abruptly cuts short the full experience and appreciation for dinner. With the exceptions of caffe—and even then, you never really see Italians sipping coffee as they navigate the cobblestoned streets. Enjoying your latte or cappuccino at the bar saves on resources (to-go cups), and also acknowledges the vendor in your patron-client relationship.

1. Potere è “to be able/can/ may”

Our apartment was looking for a wine key to open a couple of bottles of wine, and a last-resort idea was to borrow one from the café downstairs. After a session of desperately scouring our apartment (it was the first week; the idea of trying to communicate with others was freshly terrifying), I acquiesced and went downstairs to ask for the favor. In my nervousness, I tried to explain the following: “We need a winekey to open our wine bottles, and I was wondering if we could borrow your wine-opener please?” Instead, I only got so far as to say “We need—“ and the curt interruption that followed epitomized condescension and obvious dismissal: “You need? I don’t care what you need, I don’t care at all!” the peroxide-cropped man waved us away. At a loss for words because of how rude the man was (although I understand where he was coming from, it was clear he had already dismissed us as foolish Americans from the start), I smiled apologetically and asked him in English how I would say what I would like to say in Italian. Instead, he continued his arrogant demeanor: “It doesn’t matter, you said it wrong anyway!” and gave us a wine key, demanding we return it tonight or tomorrow. If I had known how to ask politely, it would have saved me a lot of grief… as it was, though, I’m pretty sure he had it out for us the moment he saw us walk in.

1. Me despiace è “I’m sorry”

In situations of mis-communication, such as the one stated above, it would have been nice to have known this phrase in order to displace the tension caused by “ignorance”. Luckily, most Italian interactions I’ve engaged in aren’t as severe and the vendors are usually gracious enough to kindly teach us how to say certain phrases. Maybe I say this too much in English, which is why I have a terrible compulsion to burst into apologetic expression, but I feel like this phrase would have (and will) allow me to approach the Italians I interact with in a more earnest manner.

1. A destra, a sinistra, andare dritto, girare è directional phrases “On the right, on the left, go straight, turn” respectively

I’m not very afraid to ask for directions; the only stigma would be the language barrier—but that is a very large stigma to overcome. When I had arranged for members of the COM program to meet at our apartment so we may traverse to the Piazza de Portese for the weekly flea-market, I thought we had a good idea of where it was. I was wrong, and half-way there we realized that no one knew where we were headed. So I asked a woman standing on the corner; I knew the flea-market was famous, and that it was somewhere within walking distance, but as she gladly and kindly gave directions, I realized I had no idea what she was saying. Her hand gestures indicated we walk a certain way, which actually did help, but as soon as we followed these vague gestures to the next block, I had to ask someone else for more directions, banking on their body language to tell me more than I could understand from their words. If I had known these directional phrases, I would have picked up on the advice more more quickly.

Stud-y this

One of these days these studded shoes are going to walk all over you

and these. durrrr

Imagine this... er, with clothes on, and in the street... looking semi-normal... but hot..

1) Studs walking down the street in Rome. Noooo no no, studs do not walk. They prance. They strut. They look deeply in your eyes for a millisecond, where you fall in love for-ev-er. Often have deep blue or brown eyes, stub-ble, and a beautiful smile. I will not mention their hair. That is another dimension of sexy. Another realm for sensual. We will not go there.

2) Studs on purses and backpacks. Texture-al stud-duction. Is that too much? Do I trespass and punneth too much? No. Because I have studded the sentence with puns. Studs are that in. Be-riddle me with love. Be-riddle me with shiny, metallic delights. Be-riddle me with fine men.

I am delirious.

Just got back from a pleasant stroll towards the beauteous Spanish Steps. We made love with Valentino. We caressed the fine cotton of Dolce & Gabbana. We stroked the fine leather of Gucci. Prostrated ourselves in front of the  Ferragamos. The fine male hired to be a live manniquin at D/G became objectified in our lustful eyes. Good. Good.

No false idols, just expensive ideals. I swear.

More lates. We are off to a fùtbol game tomorrow.

Gracious

Went out last night with the program; Campo de Fiori was the spot; the Drunken Ship and Sloppy Sam’s was hot…

We celebrated Shelby’s 21st last night. It was glorious. I had some interesting conversations. This one guy would not stop asking me what I wanted to drink, and when I said some nice ginger ale will do, he cringed.

Which was totally fine, I told him if he can’t find me some, someone else will… I just love ginger ale. What a great drink.

Instead, I ended up having some disgusting Campari. I thought it was a nice fizzy fruit juice; the small little red bottle just reminded me of punch. Severe disappointment followed with a blushing, wistful tipsiness.

I miss everyone at home!!!

Going to wander the wet streets today <3 <3 <3

Gracious

COM Rome program at the Spanish Steps

So I made it to Rome.

A decent 8 hour flight ruined by a stuffy cabin. My body lost control of its temperature as it slipped into a feverish frenzy. I distracted myself with The September Issue, which is a great documentary on Vogue and the inner methodological workings and politics in the world of fashion, and then made a Bad Decision by watching 500 Days of Summer, or as I would love to name it, 500 Days of SUCK. I’ll admit I’m in crush with Zooey Deschanel and her alt-vintage-60’s hipster look and haircut, but an entire movie need not be dedicated as her personal music video with a slip-shod plot. But it was all worth it when Amsterdam displayed beautifully fragrant restrooms, and even more glorious when I finally arrived to Rome, Italy.

Today was our first day of class; these past few days have consisted of catching up on sleep, settling in, and an evening at the Drunken Ship.

So far, I have to say:

1. Cobblestones are a way of life

2. So are fine Italian boots

3. … and fine Italian men.

4. … and bidets.

More to come, amoré.

Gracious

I’m totally going to Rome in like, 9 hours.

Filthy sik.

I will try very hard not to look like this

To my dear family and roommates: do not fear, for I have tattooed my face into the insides of your eyelids. You will never forget the asymmetry of my face.

To my dear friends and/or co-workers: I will return 100 fold stronger and greater than ever before; but also 100 times as merciful. Be excited. Be wary. But be excited.

To my facebook friends: I will be deleting some of you soon. 2010 calls for a purge.

To Elliott Smith, Michael Cera, endearingly awkward darlings, and Seattle:  I love you–! Marry me!

Love,

Gracious

PS: keep u posted

Stick together.

This, I have discovered. As always, I have an overly vague/broad/incoherent stance on the topic, and concede that the degree of “funniness” varies with each audience. For example, some people just don’t understand the beauty of awkward irony.

Ah, the beauty of this picture eludes the Bell-Square-nese

Like people at Bellevue Square.

I’ve been there way too many times this week. It’s actually detrimental to my cool points. Visiting that mall makes me feel really cool AND really uncool: cool for not being so transparently rich and mainstream, but uncool for being there in the first place. What a paradox. You know what another contradiction is? Shopping at the Bellevue Mall Thrift Store. Absolutely UNthrifty. Too bad that to say that I’ve never shopped there is a lie. Too bad… I went to school in Bellevue. Too bad I used to hang out at Bellevue Square (ah, before the Great Remodeling) a lot. I’ve even shopped at Hollister, which needs to D.I.A.F (Die In A Fire) as soon as possible. Even the Zebraclub, with its elitist cuts and enviously hip silhouettes (I always have to google that word to spell it right), has prices that make me want to D.I.A.B (Drown In A Bucket). Why, capitalism? Why, materialism? Why, temptations of beautiful-pretty-things?

The dude is just sun-tanning on top of the P.D.A. No biggie.

And in the face of all these meaningless protests, I’d also like to know (just as meaninglessly) why monks and/or nuns absolutely have to wear the most unflattering things… there is an attractive aesthetic called minimalism… <<<fail.

Intentional bald spots are never intentional

And this might not relate, but it’ll fulfill the theme of incoherency in terms of this post: blogging as a second conscious (or conscience) is self-flattery in the form of paranoia. And it’s detrimental to the range and writing of the blog. Paranoia, thou’rt banish-ed!

Write you lates,

G

OMG THE TERROR

It is the month to eat.

I haven’t stopped since Thanksgiving.

It’s becoming a problem. I wake up with thoughts of gravy soaked biscuits; I am numbed against the world as I dream of mashed potatoes and fries, and I fall asleep with mouthfuls of ice cream in my mind. Oooohh, I drool as I type.

Others say that this is a problem; that I shouldn’t be eating this much, and it’s not fair that I stay so thin. Well to them, I say: HA! I stay so thin as a cost to my energy’s endurance; anyway, it’s most likely one day I will wake up as plump as a pampered pigeon.

YUMMMERS

Raw product garnishes are the best. It's like: Before :: After

Cinnamon bun delights

Lately, I’ve been appreciating grapefruit, mini-organic-apples, chocolate covered gummy bears, popcorn, korean rice-cake soup, and today I convinced my co-workers to order thai food for lunch with me.

In Asian culture, food is the ultimate medium for community and hospitality. It is the epicenter of life. If you have enough to eat, you’re doing okay. If you have great tasting food to eat, you’re basically rich. Your life is good enough. That’s why when you visit an Asian house, it probably smells like Asian food.

On the flip side, refusing to eat what’s placed in front of you is the ultimate no-no. Refusing a plate of food (or picking at it) equates to selfishness, un-appreciation, and obviously spoiled upbringing. It means you haven’t suffered enough to realize how valuable that plate of food is, and you haven’t connected that the person who offered it had to work/sweat/cry to even serve it. Or at least, that’s how it’s definitely interpreted. In American culture, they’re pretty kind about not finishing what’s in front of you. I’ve been conditioned though, and now I can’t say I’m done until every scrap on my plate is gone…

Fatty McFatterson even eats his boogers

Sidenote: in history class, we learned about how the 1-child policy to control China’s population growth had Asians spoiling the single sons; the actual term for this demographic is “butterball”.

Off to dream of tasties and discover taffy in the wind!

<3

G