Absentee Ballot

Still looking for work.

But I've had some adventures since my last post, which have (in my cheerful moments) convinced me that it's okay to be at loose ends even though the world is in a crisis and in six months I'll be a quarter-of-a-century years old.

In seven days, I walked a runway, got my hair cut on stage in front of hundreds of people, had my makeup done for the first time, found out that I have a Maserati (not Fiat) face, was informed that 4 inch heels are just barely high enough (those shoes lift me to the grand height of 6 foot 2 inches, if you're interested), and sweated it out in front of a real camera for the first time. I made a historic pilgrimage (doubling as a 40 minute hike) four times, translated a relay race handbook and found a place that will make soy milk cappuccinos for my milk-hating stomach. These experiences brought only enjoyment.

Possibly the best of all, though - and certainly the most important - is when I voted on camera.

I'd sleep better if I had a regular routine and a paycheck, but this isn't so bad.

In Search of Gold

Since I got back to Bologna about a week and a half ago, I've been overly stressing myself about finding work. It actually makes sense that I haven't found my perfect job in 11 days, doesn't it? I think that a job search makes it easy to lose perspective, and I'm trying not to (though in some moments it's pretty frustrating).



The possibilities open to tall female English speakers are very strange, and sometimes promising - sometimes depressing. Interpreting jobs may be based on your skill at speaking another language; or it may be based on your hair color and height.



I've already had some amusing adventures. Yesterday I met an Italian girl who is taller than I am (an unseen feat in my two years here). She told me that when she doesn't want to be bothered on the street, she wears heels. That way, men (all of whom are much shorter, obviously) just stare at her in shock and are unable to make annoying comments.



If I were better at wearing heels, I would consider this idea myself.



In the end I suppose I just have to accept the fact that transitions suck. Someday when I become inspired to write a book about this whole experience, which becomes an Oscar-winning movie, and then a syndicated TV show with reruns on Lifetime, I'll say it was all worth it.

(P.S. These photos were taken this summer at this exceptional vineyard in southwestern Sicily. Go there someday if you ever have the opportunity.)

Bi-Coastal

Having just returned to Bologna after my weeks in Cambridge (and DC and NYC), I'm feeling a bit sad and disoriented. Jetlag is only a small part of it. It's odd to feel at home in two places so far away from each other. I wish there was an easier way to go between my two homes.

My first post-trip blog entry must, of course, center on the wonderful lobster meal that I had with my father. This dinner was a subject of much planning and anticipation. If you don't know this already, Boston is a good place to eat lobsters. Especially at Legal Seafood. Here I am with mine (what happiness!) . . .



And here's my dad with his. (His happiness may be even more intense. Please note that we were real high-rollers and we got medium sized lobsters.)



As you can see, he's holding his hand back to stop himself from devouring the lobster while I take the photo.

If you've ever eaten one, you know that lobsters are not the easiest creatures to pull apart. It takes strength and determination to get all the meat out of there. But it's so satisfying. And once you've gotten the hang of it, you want to keep going.



Not so different from my bi-coastal lifestyle.