Firenze: Volume II, Part II

Day Two Blog: A sense of no direction.

I'm thinking a few quick updates before I delve into anything too philosophically heavy:

Florence weather right now is amazing; whilst the East Coast has been raped and pillaged by snow, I have been gropping some insane February weather--it was 63 yesterday.

I am having more and more respek for sketch Italian guys. They sit at bars and wait for girls to pass so they can stare at them when they pass, they stalk any girl who flashes the slightest glance or most innocent gesture, and, most classy, if a girl wheres a skirt out--forget about it--a hand will be up that skirt faster than the self-destruction of Britney Spears.

Respek, not respect.

Italian fashion, I must say, is light years ahead of anything I've ever seen. Note to self: buy off colored dark jeans, take huge pins and pin the bottom so it is extremely, uncomfortably tight on my ankles. Next, huge multicolored scarf. Next, buy big puffy jacket with animal fur. Next, huge glasses. Finally, remember to wait a few years and then wear it in the States so I'll be on the first to wear the trend.

Fiorentina has officially closed their gates until they step up their security. Curva Fiesole sails farther and father away. Upon asking Etorre (my host brother) what he thought, he responded in a mix of Englian/Italish, "I don't really cara, I am still goin to da stadium to cheer outside, da poliz cannot do a ding." A true warrior, he automatically gains main-points for this. Though the fact that he wakes me up at seven in the morning with his loud, ranting, Italian curse words directed at his alarm clock. I hate waking up too, so I'll let it slide. Ettore, you da man.

INTERNSHIP UPDATE:
If you read nothing else, read this:

When you think of European, what do you think of? Well, take that times it by infinity, and you have MegaReview's (Florentine's free magazine) owner, my intership boss: Lorenzo. Let me give you the quick facts about Lorenzo.

I walked into his dark office (they never turn on lights in office buildings: too expensive). He's a 6'3 husky looking fellow with tar-stained vocal chords that make him sound like James Earl Jones with a rope around his neck and, the best part, a lisp. When I met him, he rubbed his freshly shaved bald head (Dibello-ish for all you Yinzers) and didn't look at me for ten minutes. Instead, he said 'Mi scusi" and AIMed on his apple powerbook with a gentlemen caller, or so I assumed.

No matter, this gave me time to take in where I would be interning for the next three months. Lorenzo wore all black this day. I'm talking tight black turtle neck. Tight black, stretchy jeans. Black buckle shoes. Black sunglasses on his bald head, even though it was overcast. I was in his office for ten minutes, he smoked three consecutive cigarettes. Too top it off? He had man boobs. Then it hit me: Lorenzo was the inspiration for the SNL skit Sprockets. I was waiting for him to say, "I simply adore Lego. They are like a thousand toys in one."

So what did we talk about? I can't really say it was much about anything. I couldn't understand his accent, so I nodded my head and told him I wanted to write reviews of anything and travel around Toscana. He nodded in approval and said, "mm, I see, vell ve see va ve can doo." It was creepy. I had a nightmare about the following night.

I was then whisked away by the sole graphic designer in the company. He complained about Fiorentina shutting down the stadium because of the riots and told me his friends were going to the stadium to cheer. Man-points.

It turns out though, I can't work for Lorenzo because 1. He scares me. 2. He wants me to work Fridays 3. It's nearly a 40 minute walk to work.

Instead, I got a Monday night DJ job at Faces...and the owner of that place is a whole other blog.

..TO BE CONTINUED WHEN I CAN GET SOME MORE TIME.

CIAO BITCHES