Ristorante Cinese
Or, "Chinese Restaurant," in English. That was what the sign said in bright green neon. I went there with the Asian contingent of my class who missed good ol' Asian cooking (from the States). There was Laotian Melissa, Cantonese Chinese Tammy, Korean Jean, half Korean and half Chinese Austin, and yours truly, Mandarin Chinese Karen. The service was terrible and it seemed like the former Communists running the place were disgusted by our Asian American presence. We had to communicate in Italian because she didn't seem to understand my Taiwanese-influenced Mandarin nor I her pedestrian Chinese village accent. The food was heavily laden with MSG and this special salt combination Chinese people use. It was good; unlike any Chinese food I had ever tasted and yet unmistakably Chinese. Overall, I was disappointed, but it was nice to have rice and chopped up vegetables and meat again.
We had gelato afterward at quite possibly the very worst place because it was right in tourist central, and my torta di riso e banana combination cost €10.50.
It was a nice night out, so much more laid back and actually refreshing from the frenetic, high-energy, chaotic partying that dominated the last days. It was the classier, subdued fun I said I was looking for. Afterward we hung around the Piazza and took pictures - it does not even begin to get dark around here until 9:00 PM - and then loitered around the fountain to see what would become of a beefy but unattractive Italian man in a muscle tee holding two red roses and standing in front of the Palazzo Vecchio as if he were waiting for a rendezvous with his lover. Melissa suggested it was an internet lover; Tammy suggested that he was there so long because the internet lover took one look and left. We did wait for more than 45 minutes, on the pretext of exploring the Piazza, just to see the drama unfold. He paced for quite a while and looked very uneasy, and finally we all just gave up.
These girls, and Austin, and I talked at length during dinner about our different Asian American experiences. Then food, and hair, but not in the same conversation.
As expected, in class today, everybody acted as if nothing happened last night. No, that was not your ass I was groping. No, you must be mistaken; somebody else gave you that lap dance. What was your name again?
Girls Gone Wild
Officially.
I now wonder who I write this weblog for, me or for others to read, because there are things here that are simply too scandalous or personal to share. But they must be recorded, nonetheless. Don't get the wrong idea - nothing happened tonight. But there was a girly freak train taking place onstage at the discoteca that literally made scores of Italian guys either cry or pant. There are some FINE Asian ladies in the program and I don't think any of these ethnically challenged people have really seen a done-up Asian gal before. So me and two other girls, Tammy and Melissa, like to get together and I have to say honestly that "down and dirty" would probably describe it best. Some guys from the law school in Arkansas asked me if Asian girls liked white guys... said that all of us were "really fine"... stuff like that, and it occurred to me that for some guys we really seem quite attractive, for the rarity or whatever. I had thought that guys were generally dispelled or uninterested. Though I don't know where that thought came from.
It really was one of the most bizarre and fun nights of my life. Everybody was having a good time - everybody is so cool. I've already made several vows to party with the same people when we go home. Afterward, we ended up in front of one of those mobile diners, whatever they're called, whose equivalent in California would sell burritos and gyros, but here in Italy they sold various panini, some of which had hamburger patties and hot dogs (salsiccia, for them). I had one, and this Italian hamburger was pretty yummy, served on a French roll. Nobody wanted to walk 30 or 40 minutes back home so we had a random Italian guy take one of our cell phones and call up two taxis. The taxis showed up but we didn't meet them at the corner in time and they took off. Then some drunk strangers offered rides, and then a lot of streetside debate and miscommunication ensued as half-drunk and fully-drunk Americans struggled to decide if it was safe or not to go with them. Safety or convenience? Take a chance and spare the walk, or play it safe and brave the streets? I intervened as much as I could, being the only one able to speak Italian, and dismissed one car already jam-packed with rowdy older men. Ultimately I piled into a car with two German-Italians, calling over my shoulder to a bystander named Fabio to help the others find taxis. The driver of our car was a lawyer but that didn't stop him from drunk driving, and we very nearly got into two accidents as he weaved through the narrow Florentine alleys. He dropped me, Austin, and Crystal off a few blocks away from the Piazza della Signoria. Austin was incredibly drunk: he took to his habit of pissing in the streets, then swore there was no way he could get home, then picked me up and carried me over his shoulder down the alley, then decided that he would just crash at my place. When we came up he changed his mind and then I drew out his path on a map and wrote the instructions on a sheet of a paper for him, but it seemed like even that wasn't going to be clear enough. Eventually he got home. But it didn't end there: he had to make one final phone call to inform me that it would be impossible for him to complete the reading for tomorrow's class.
I bought something Dolce e Gabbana today - let's just say it's black gauze and likely nobody will ever see it. I also took Via Maggio, the Rodeo Drive here, en route to class and peered enviously through the windows of Prada, Gucci, Salvatore Ferragamo, Buccellati, and Trussardi. There was Louis Vuitton and Tiffany & Co., too.
I feel like there is always too much to tell, to much to remember, to much to take in. My cousin is coming to Florence this weekend and that should be some classier, more subdued fun. OK, maybe I need that.
When in Florence
... please, please, do as the Florentines do. And I try my damndest, and have a marvelous time. I rolled out with the study abroad gang tonight and it's tried and true that knowing the language is elemental to a good time in a foreign country. Hey, I can order drinks for the gang and be a matchmaker; I can be the only Chinese girl fluent in Italian who doesn't live in Prato making purses. "Ma tutti loro a Prato fanno le borse, ed io sono diversa!" Plus, I offer the slant on American life. It's good to play ambassador, but you cannot find a more biased source, a girl who was raised on daddy's hard work, credit cards, and 80% educated by cable television. I tell them we have wide roads and excellent programming on television, but assuage them that Florence has much more to look at, which is neither hard to believe nor easy to refute.
I made a new buddy, who I had never met but had gone to my school the whole year. We went to Austin's part of town and I was delighted to be introduced to the first full-fledged supermarket I encountered in the city. I was thrilled at the prospect of buying pancetta, bresaola, vino da tavola, and toilet paper. I could get some of these things at the local markets, but my American tutelage has bred a preferred comfort in purchasing from institutionalized settings. We have to pass wild dogs and Italian bums en route to Austin's pad, but boy is it fuzzy fantabulous, and boy do I get jealous and bitter. He has his own large bedroom with large plush bed, living room with two couches (one of which is a sofa bed), large corridor lined with bookshelves, terrazza with patio furniture, and large kitchen, fully stocked, with a large wooden table. He had his study materials haphazardly spread out on the table but we only glanced at it, so remote is the prospect of studying. Tomorrow we will invite people over and cook up an Italian storm, courtesy of yours truly.
At the pubs tonight - the William Tell and then the Salamanca - I used as much Italian as I had ever learned and had long discussions about politics, ethics, customs, society at large. Nobody is a stranger to what kind of polemic I become when I'm good and plastered.
Oh yeah, today was also the first day of class. International Negotiations was like the first day of third grade as we went around the class introducing ourselves and our interests. International Intellectual Property was much better, though the Italian professor's accent was so thick the class would have fared better had he spoke his native tongue, and I was seated between two girls that desperately needed showers, which I suppose only authenticated the European experience for me.
Projects in progress: I have already located the two or three styles of Gucci sunglasses I want and now am just doing price comparisons all over town. There are a few Prada styles I think my sister would like, plus I am still considering some black leather Prada Mary Janes that I know both Vicky and I would give our first borns for.
60 pages of reading for tomorrow's lecture. Yeah, right.
I'm Never Going to Go Home
I love it here. Even if I miss "The Golden Girls" so much that I had a rather extended dream about Bea, Betty, Rue, and Estelle last night. It was the wrap party for the final episode - so it must have been the early 90's - and I was standing by the food table (already forgot the showbiz lingo for whatever that is) chatting with her about the storyline.
The law program started today and I met a bunch of law students from all over the country. It was the most American day so far, with American voices and people discussing their various difficulties in getting along in the city, and it sunk in with me just how lucky I've been with all the help I've been getting from my Italian family and friends. I went to another part of Florence to see my classmates' 3-bedroom pad and it was absolutely a palace. For a moment the quaint charm of my studio faded and I was envious of their 3-story European house, complete with a kitchen filled with small and sleek appliances, a rooftop terrace, and each person couched in their own bedroom with a large bed and thick mattress. But then I weaved my way through the streets back to my quartiere, and was mollified by the sight of Gucci and Benetton and other stores that make my neighborhood one of the most desirable places to live in all the world. Their neighborhood is on the outskirts and you have to pass by a ghetto where street urchins lurk. I went into the bar closest to my building for an afternoon coffee and the owner recognized me. "We met a few days ago," he said, referring to the first day when my aunt and I went in. Giorgio asked me my name, and said that me and my name were very pretty. Of course, he had to write "Karen" out because he could not understand it by pronunciation alone. He told me that I would have to make his bar my local bar, and then he taught me the word for "matches," which I needed for the candles I bought. It was all incredibly endearing and we shook hands and said "Piacere" more than a few times.
Tired of the high carbohydrate diet, I also wandered into a local store and got fresh tomatoes, arugula, tuna, and a box of arancia (orange juice). Who says you can't be in The Zone while you're abroad?
Hooked Up, Yeah Yeah!
I'm slowly accepting the fact that nobody from home really cares about my haps here in Italy. Nobody writes me except my sister (to detail her mall adventures) and then, of course, the usual e-mail for herbal viagra, teen porn, and debt consolidation. But my friend is lending me his laptop and now this means I will spend many an Italian night online, writing e-mail, doing that which I do best in my comfortable hole in San Diego.
Everybody, welcome
Cirrus to the world of blogs. I thoroughly enjoy reading her entries although I was not aware that she had so much law-related stuff to do in the first weeks of summer. I feel out of the loop - bumming around in Italy, wandering from basilica to basilica and confined to a diet of panini, cafè, pizza, and gelato. There is nothing else to eat. But I crave the coffee, I really do. No longing for Starbucks at all.
I am having a marvelous time - this is the strangest, most surreal experience I've ever been on. And for those of you who were well-acquainted with me from April 24-May 1 of 2001, you may understand the magnitude of this sentiment.
Had Me Some Pasta Today
I'm in an internet store (can't really call this a cafe, although there is a freestanding espresso machine here that resembles a Sparkletts water cooler) and the Florentine bells are ringing behind me. I waver between being very alone and at a loss with what to do with myself, and then totally distracted that the throngs of tourists worsen the terrible sense of humidity. This morning in my building Sade's "At Your Side" and then Lauryn Hill and Bob Marley's "Turn Your Lights Down Low" was blaring out of a neighbor's window. I wondered why that was; must be another foreign resident in the complex. But at night all I hear are Italian voices as people trod up the hollow-sounding stairway after a night of disco dancing. So, I'm still puzzling out where I am and how to receive it.
I've already befriended strange Italian men, and was both diplomatic and a liar in deflecting their generally innocuous and kind offers of companionship. "Thank you for your help and kindness," and "Yes, I'll give you a call when my phone is connected." Not only was my phone connected from the start, but my aunt gave me a cell phone to use. It's another part of the Luh family radar tagging system, whatever you call what they do to bears and pandas in order to film National Geographic specials.
But, I'm being bratty. Naturally, I am completely happy and pleased with the setup.
I have lots of stories to tell and miss home, a bit. Mostly American television. This morning I watched Italian "Wheel of Fortune" and just thought the whole thing to be ridiculous. If anybody asked for an L, T, or N, most of the word was already spelled out. There are so many double letters in Italian words. Things like J, K, Q, X, W - none of this shit exists, and then there is a very limited use of other letters like H. Plus, I actually missed Pat Sajak because the host was some decrepit old fart who could not even stand up for the final round.
Then I was forced to watch "Roswell" in Italian, and I marvelled at how intolerable it is to see things dubbed.
Aside from these two annoyances, I could not be happier. At 5:00 AM I had jet lag so I hopped out into the Piazza by myself and then ended up sitting on the bridge, Ponte Vecchio, listening to my mini-disc player. There was no better time to feel like I completely owned the town. Around 6:00 I wandered into a bar to get a cafè and the barman asked me if I had been sitting on the bridge; he saw me on his way to opening the shop. It was a nice, pleasant, small-town experience.
Oh, the Solitude
My aunt and I took the train this morning from Pontedera to Florence and now I'm all set up. She left me around 5:00 PM with only a box of fusilli, a tupperware full of ragu, a panino, and 2 large bottles of water. My building is right in front of a fruit vendor, but given my general aversion towards all things wholesome, I'm not sure how much I will patronize the fruttivendolo's stand. After a few hours chilling in my apartment I decided to set out in search of an internet cafe. It is dark out now and I can enjoy the piazza all to myself. Of course, I brought my journal.
Forza Italia
I chilled in the Frankfurt airport for 6 hours by myself, and got to use a Euro for the first time. I finished part of my reading for the first week of classes. I had half a liter of chocolate milk which contained "schokoladepulver" which I deduced was chocolate powder. Everybody - men, women, and children - all were swishing down beers. It's like that scene with Gaston in the Broadway version of "Beauty and the Beast." Beer is the Diet Coke of Germany. An hour and a half before my connecting flight to Florence I realized I had left my donut pillow on the plane. I was very upset at myself and angry in general, because of the 3 or 4 final phrases my parents imparted to me, one was very definitely, "Please do be very careful as to not lose any of your things." I was frustrated by my irresponsibility and spent that final hour before boarding sulking. Then I read the part in "Gone With the Wind" when Melanie dies and then began tearing up in front of a bunch of Germans. This is why people shoud not travel alone.
Vicky, don't tell Dad about the pillow. I have more than a month to locate a similar one.
On the flight to Florence I met a man easily more than twice my age who gave me his card and invited me to call him so he would organize a party for me and my friends on his farm. OK, right, Mauro. Like I'm going to call you. Like you care about my friends. Like you're going to organize a "Tuscan festival." But this man did kindly help me with my luggage, and I chatted with him long enough to find out he travels to Hong Kong a lot, appreciates classic Greek art, and drives a silver BMW 5-series.
Had a pizza tonight, and something called torta which is absolutely marvelous because it is made with chickpeas but tastes almost like custard.
Attainable Affirmations
As I let go of my feelings of guilt, I am in touch with my inner sociopath.
I have the power to channel my imagination into ever-soaring levels of suspicion and paranoia.
I assume full responsibility for my actions, except the ones that are someone else's fault.
I no longer need to punish, deceive, or compromise myself, unless I want to stay employed.
In some cultures what I do would be considered normal.
Having control over myself is almost as good as having control over others.
As I learn the innermost secrets of people around me, they reward me in many ways to keep me quiet.
I need not suffer in silence while I can still moan, whimper and complain.
Joan of Arc heard voices, too.
I am grateful that I am not as judgmental as all those censorious, self-righteous people around me.
When someone hurts me, I know that forgiveness is cheaper than a lawsuit, but not nearly as gratifying.
The first step is to say nice things about myself. The second, to do nice things for myself. The third, to find someone to buy me nice things.
As I learn to trust the universe, I no longer need to carry a gun.
I honor and express all facets of my being, regardless of state and local laws.
Today I will gladly share my experience and advice, for there are no sweeter words than "I told you so!"
Who can I blame for my problems? Just give me a minute.... I'll find someone.
I am learning that criticism is not nearly as effective as sabotage.
I am willing to make the mistakes if someone else is willing to learn from them.
I didn't write that, of course. It's a forward from Lindsay. It really speaks to me; it seems to encapsulate the attitude I've assumed for the past 23 years. I know that is not a very positive thing to admit. But in the spirit of the forward: who are you to judge me?!
I'm totally hooked on that Wyclef and Claudette Ortiz song, "Two Wrongs." It melts everything inside of me.
I haven't updated my weblog with as much regularity lately. It was because of that mind-numbing and self-destructive experience that brought me to my knees, called finals. I've been agonizing for 4 days straight, helping myself out of a rut by retracing every move I made that I can no longer change, hypothesizing worst case scenarios by repeatedly calculating and re-calculating doomsday test scores that my average can be immune to, distracting myself by exclusively discussing my anxiety in conversations with friends, reliving every exam as if that will finally convince me that everything is actually OK.
When I haven't been doing that, I've been packing for Italy. I leave tomorrow.
For the record, I want to say that my mom and dad are the coolest people in the world. They're incredibly supportive and very loving. Also, my dad has a pouch or bag for virtually everything. They're all in -- what else? -- a larger drawstring bag. If you need a leather wallet for your passport and plane ticket, he's got several. If you prefer pleather, you're in even greater luck because there are at least twice the amount of those. All of your electronic equipment can be properly protected with a vinyl clutch and it's pretty much guaranteed there will be a pocket for your batteries, charger, adapter, or headphones. He's very generous with this stuff.
Things That Pop In Your Mind When You Study for Contracts Finals
I hope this is not my second to last law school final of all time. For morale's sake, I will not be disappointed in myself if I do not make it, but I will be very proud of myself if I do. But it's generally best not to cloud one's mind with these kinds of thoughts on the eve of a major examination.
Cafe Crema is in Pacific Beach and is one of the few coffee houses that close at 1:00 AM in this area. I study there as long as I can stand and then I take the scenic route home -- across Mission Bay, with all the streetlights lining the bridge, making a soft orange glow that subtly reflects off of the large expanses of water on either side. It's one of my favorite sights in San Diego. There are large curving roads that force me to keep the steering wheel angled for more than 7 seconds. Usually, there's a mist, and always, I pass Sea World, but to this day I have not really seen any structure that might indicate I am in the park's vicinity.
I am obsessed with self-love and other people loving me. Tonight I tried to recenter myself and remember it's far more rewarding to love than to be loved. I used to be like that, probably because I resigned myself to feeling unloved. Since I am the Queen of Rationalization I told myself that it wasn't really that I cared about being loved -- I was not being denied anything -- it's just that I prefer to love instead. And then growing up and getting older revealed lots of pleasant surprises, like admiration and freedom and wearing shorter skirts and higher shoes and access to alcohol-vending environments, and I dismissed the old loser, second-best notions. But tonight, I think I am returning a little bit to myself. I don't think I'm settling, either.
So, tonight, I conclude that when P tells me I have a beautiful voice, I am pleased not for her compliment but because I love her generosity and openness. When S tells me I am pretty, I love his kindness and gentleness. When M tells me that I deserve good things, I love her faith and loyalty.
A year ago I discovered Shakira's poetry. For some reason too around this time I was very attached to the Cars' "Drive." My dog was dying. I was in LA and I was constantly fearful but had never ever been more hopeful.
My last revelation for today is that sometimes it is never too prudent to dig about people's pasts. After all, doesn't it all come around.
I've learned all this today plus a year's worth of Contract law. I'd say it was a busy day.
Ralphs for the Seafood Lover In You
I wanted seafood really badly today. For lunch I had 6 littleneck clams. I had trouble opening a really large one -- having already waited a long time for it to open on its own, when all his brothers had -- and clam juice splattered onto my shirt. Then at dinner I had calamari and shrimp. I'm hungry again.
My new goal is to perfect a chili recipe that will win me a cook-off in Texas. I know these are lofty goals. After that I will try to sell gumbo in New Orleans and clam chowder in New England. Let's see if a girl born in Taiwan can make it work.
Guess Who's 23 Now
Yeah, I know, woohoo. I'm still young, they're all saying. I'm not complaining. I've felt 17 for the past 6 years now.
I didn't post on my birthday (May 6) because I've been in seclusion, grasping onto the last clutches of law school.
When they brought out the hot fudge sundae, Po cried loudly enough for the whole restaurant to hear, "Happy 30th Karen!"
It was a good moment. Also later that afternoon when I received a "plethora" of presents from O'Grady, including 3 kinds of candles, a cookbook, and gift certificates to Starbucks to stay awake in these final, pivotal moments.
Thanks also to Tracy, Reyna, Stella, Tammy, Lindsay, Paul, Eve, George, James, Roberto, Kimberly, Janet, Mary, Vicky, and my parents who all called me or sent me very memorable e-cards. Jose said, "Happy Day After Cinco de Mayo!"
Well, back to Torts. Ciao a tutti.
The Final Countdown
I am emotionally, physically, and mentally drained. Particularly the latter. I don't know how many hours on end a person is believed to be able to sit and read, and then let's modify that hypothetical to include reading legal scholarship. Listen to me. I sound like I've been doing just that, and now I do not know neither where the real me ends nor where it begins.
I am very alive and very dead at the same time, but both for different reasons, motivated by different things.
I am very certain and yet terribly unsure all at once.
One thing is for sure:
Spider-Man Rocks! Tobey Maguire is the shiznit! I loved everything about Peter Parker and his alter ego. In a word, YUM.
Words I Cannot Resist on a Menu
I am a sucker for the following words on a menu -- if it's there, regardless of how the dish is prepared or what meat it is, I will want it:
batter-dipped
fried
basil
white wine sauce
clams
roasted
ahi
seared
tiger prawns
That's just a start. Of course there are many more. I figure somebody could whip up a mighty fine dish for me with those ingredients and techniques. How about fried batter-dipped tiger prawns as an appetizer, then a seared ahi steak served with clams roasted in a white wine and basil sauce? Maybe I just really like seafood.
With One Look
Today’s winning combination:
2 teaspoons Taster’s Choice
3 teaspoons sugar
3 teaspoons Coffee Mate
I hate those first moments in the morning right after I apply foundation and it looks cakey and frightening. I look like Norma Desmond. Or Gloria Swanson. Or Gloria Swanson as Norma Desmond. About 2 hours later, however, it somehow looks OK.
