6.29.09 back at northeastern

I’m back in classes at Northeasern.

I’m living on the tenth floor of William Rawn’s West Village H as opposed to the first floor of an unheated convent in Rome. I can look out of my livingroom curtain walls and see a 270 degree view of Boston. The Red Sox game on TV mirrors the Red Sox game being played behind me. One game, I wanted to check CC Sabathia’s pitch count so I turned around and looked out my window at the scoreboard at Fenway. I didn’t expect to be able to see anything clearly, but to my surprise I could clearly read an “84.” My roommates are very clean, ruling out the chance of a repeat picnic basket incident. Most importantly, I now have heat and a warm comforter. Life is much more enjoyable when it’s not entirely unenjoyable.

I’m about halfway through my summer session and am experiencing some long forgotten feelings. Unlike my semester in Rome which was a complete academic failure despite my having worked hard enough to suck the fun out of the experience and a final review that I had been working toward for months only to be told (somewhat jokingly but with an undertone of seriousness) that my project was so terrible that a murder/suicide was my best way out, my instructors actually enjoy my work. My studio work, available on my flickr site: http://www.flickr.com/photos/kjonasendsgn/, has been very well received. I got so used to having terrible reviews in Rome that I had completely forgotten that I was once regarded and awarded as one of the more competent design students in the Northeastern architecture program.

I even got A’s on my first two English assignments. I used to get lots of A’s, but during my time in Rome, I became accustomed to C’s and was relieved to even get a B once in a while. With each positive studio presentation and above-the-Roman-average English Grade, a little bit of my self confidence that was entirely destroyed during my studies abroad returns.

I can finally put studyabroad roma behind me and focus on continuing the life I used to lead.

6.28.09 the lessons of rome

Since breakfast, I have been working of finishing my journal for study abroad so I can receive my grades. I have a hunch that I failed history. I’m also more convinced than ever that I’m dyslexic. I suspected as much after reading an article on dyslexia in high school. Ever since, I’ve been noticing signs of a learning disability. Trying to record and remember hundreds of names and dates without the aid of a textbook was torturous. Last semester’s study abroad Rome students had a completely different set of instructors and much less difficult classes, which is one of the reasons they seem to have enjoyed the experience more.

One positive part of my Rome experience was that it made me tougher. I was unemployed and consequently poor while in Rome. I have a ridiculous mohawk to remind me of how expensive haircuts were in Rome; why pay for a haircut when your roommate can shave your head for free? I was also forced to be culinarily resourceful while abroad. It was funny when my housemates asked me for my recipes since I was just making whatever I could out of what little I had. I made a lot of soup; the only thing cheaper than pasta was pasta diluted wit a pot of broth. I could buy a kilogram of flour for one euro and with the addition of some water, salt, oil, and baking soda, yield enough dough for about a dozen pizzas. I can know comfortably work for twenty four hours straight with little or no food so long as I have a few cups of espresso and a whole lot of panic. Even as I write this at 17:30, I feel fine despite eating nothing all day except a bagel and coffee for breakfast. I will always be reminded of my Roman experience as I buckle my belt… two holes tighter than before I left America.

3.21.09 please disregard your mess

February 21st: Housemate AB goes on a picnic.

March 21st: Ben and Kyle discover AB’s picnic basket.

… and such is the joy of living with six randomly selected housemates. delicious.

4.8.09 unemployed abroad

I am out of euros.

My roommate gave me a haircut.

4.7.09 Claudia and Simona to the rescue

 

I’m sitting out on the third floor’s balcony this morning where it’s warm and sunny. It’s nice to be able to escape the cold by coming outside. The cleaning woman’s daughter is running around in the garden below. About six years old, she is dressed in a mauve pants and a mauve t-shirt over a white long sleeved shirt, an outfit strikingly similar to her mother’s uniform. She’s is followed closely by a boy of about the same age, a friend or the son of another staff member. Paolo, the doorman, rides up and down a dirt path, testing our a bicycle that he’s been repairing for the past few days. There is noise of traffic outside of the convent walls, noise of chirping birds inside the walls. I look out over the Tiber River. It’s brown as usual. Ben’s dad told him to watch out for a Tiber tsunami of doo-doo after last night’s earthquake. I had the river colored in on my sight plan. Something about it didn’t seem right. I changed its color from a light blue to a rich, dirty brown. That gave the river a much more familiar appearance.

Last weekend we were on a class trip to the small, nearby town of Fabrino. Fabriano is famous for it’s paper-making factories but isn’t a touristy town by any means. The trip was part of our Italian 103 class which focuses on Italian culture, and was much less stressful than the trips we’ve taken for our history and theory classes. It also helped that the leaders for the trip were our two italian teachers, Claudia and Simona, two of the kindest, most adorable Italian women we’ve ever met. Their presence alone is enough to brighten our moods, they help keep us sane. After visiting the paper-making museum, we had fifteen minutes to kill before out bus was scheduled to drive us back to our hotel. A few of us decided to explore a park adjacent to the bus stop while we waited. A few minutes later, we were followed by the rest of the group, including Claudia and Simona. That is where we stayed. Thirty twenty-something year olds and our two instructors; running wild on the playground; playing American football, having balancing contests on the spring-loaded balance beam, swinging on the zipline, and playing volleyball with Simona’s daughter. We even convinced Claudia to have a go on the zipline. We ended up staying in the park for nearly an hour. Speaking of the trip afterwards to another professor, Claudia remarked about how much we all love parks. She told him that we really needed some time to play. It’s true. Once in a while, we just need some time to play.

and then we went to a cave.

3.29.08 S Maria in Capella: where dreams go to die.

I’m exhausted from coughing; I’m exhausted from cold. I cough until I’m out of breath, at which point the gagging commences. But I only cough when I breathe. That means I cough when I eat. I coughed while eating my lunch today. Shortly thereafter I blew a large chunk of partially chewed bread and cheese out of my nose. I spent the last of my money on cough medicine, and I don’t have the linguistic skills to go to the pharmacy to describe my condition and get antibiotics. I still have a little cough syrup with codeine from America that I was prescribed the day before I left for Rome for a respiratory tract infection. The last time I took it was on the plane from Milwaukee to Boston. I sat next to a Japanese couple who I didn’t want to disturb with my coughing. But I couldn’t stop. So I took more of the cough syrup than I should have. I fell asleep pretty quickly. And then threw up a lot the next morning. I won’t need to take so much tonight.

The $4,000 we spent on rent for the housing we were assigned was possibly the worst investment I’ve made thus far in my life. Even the professors are unhappy with the La Magia Institute. “They’re bastards! They’re all a bunch of Bastards! Just look at your accommodations,” ranted one professor about the payment that the staff was supposed to have received but has not. “They’re just holding on to the money and gaining interest. On my money. Bastards!” It’s comforting to know that the students aren’t the only ones being ripped off by La Magia.

3.25.09 the history of rome II

Our history exams that we took last month were graded and retuned to us today. I’m pretty sure I got the lowest grade in the class. I think a lot of it has to do with the way my eyes/ears seeing/hearing something, my brain perceiving something, and my hand writing something being three different entities combined with not having any written documentation to refer to. b’s & 9′s and d’s and d’s and q’s and 6′s all turn into one ambiguous symbol. The letters aren’t as much of a problem as the numbers, where their context is less helpful in determining their correct order. I think I got a B+ in a sociology class once. It’ll be nice to add some D’s and F’s to make my transcript more well-rounded.

3.23.09 the history of rome

Our history classes routinely run overtime. Today’s class ran an hour long.

we have no textbook or written handouts so the only thing we have to study from are the notes we take while listening to lectures and whilst walking around the city (simultaneous and mandatory sketching, walking, listening to the lecturer and taking notes). We we told that as long as we know the bullet pointed information we will get 50% correct on the exams. I get the feeling that for most people, an F isn’t good enough. So we try to write everything. 

It’s a bit like this. The stress literally gives me the urge to vomit. 

 

and we are once again without heat in the convent. it is painfully cold.

3.12.09 midcrit

I’ve been in the studio for far too long. I like the sunrises from ruggles better than the sunrises from via della gatta.

3.8.09 dove sono tutti blog?

I appologize for not having blogged in the past few weeks. School has gotten really busy with exams and midterms and midcrits and marches through the city. Somehow were were able to fit in a trip to Tuscany which I’ll have to write about at a later date. I have to get back to my Italian homework, Italian grammar specifically. I’ve been using google translator when I’m in need of a preposition that I can’t remember. Only instead of translating English into Italian, I find it more effective to translate Spanish into Italian. I came to Italy speaking a decent amount of Spanish and very little Italian. The languages are so similar that I’ve reached a point where I can effectively speak neither Spanish nor Italian. Come to think of it, my English is also suffering. At least I still have my pidgin.

In the meantime, I’ll leave you with a few images from Tuscany.