I Want To Visit That Lone BlackBerry Store

Did anyone else read that sad story yesterday in The Wall Street Journal about that lone BlackBerry store in Farmington Hills, Michigan?  I read that and immediately looked on Delta‘s website to see how much it would cost to take a pilgrimage to what was supposed to be the first of many BlackBerry stores all across America (excluding their seven airport stores).  That won’t be happening any time soon, however, because I’d have to drive to Richmond in order to fly to Detroit.  That, and I don’t have time right now to do that.  Maybe I’ll go later this year, but I already know I’ll be going alone since I only know ten people at most, including myself, who still have use a Blackberry.

Personally, I don’t like the iPhone because I want a real keyboard, hence I’m still stickin’ with the Berry.  But, only because little Debbie from Season One of SNL nagged so much, I finally caved and agreed to let him buy me an iPad, partly because he offered and I wanted to call his bluff and partly because I’ve been told I’m not getting a new Mac for a few years so this will hopefully take some of the load off of my aging workhorse.  Plus, it’ll be great for traveling since I won’t have to take a computer anymore on trips.  I’m not really sure what I’m going to use this iPad for when I’m not traveling other than to read the newspapers I already read on my iPod because I’m still keeping my Kindle because I don’t want any distractions when I’m reading.  We shall see how this goes once it and I meet one another in May.

All that said about the iPhone, I did love that new ads they made with Zooey Deschanel and Samuel L. Jackson:

Movin’ right along, I hate April.  It’s starts with a day that makes gullible people like myself seem beyond dumb, it gives us awkward weather for which we can’t dress (it’s not too cold to wear a jacket, but not too hot to wear shorts), pollen, and if you’re a university student, April means papers; lots and lots of unnecessary papers.  Oh yeah, and income tax day, which I don’t think anyone other than the employees of the IRS look forward to each year.

Yeah, I’ll admit it.  These massive papers I’m currently avoiding like the plague are such a waste of time and energy.  But, I need good grades on them so unfortunately, I have to write them.  Besides, Justin tells me that my problems are trivial and I shouldn’t complain.

Speaking of His Royal Unemployed, Justin is getting ready to move to his new apartment this weekend.  This is going to be hard for Justin because he has some stuff and an extremely small car.  I’m going to enjoy hearing how he does it, especially since he has actual furniture.  I’d say I wish Justin well with this “endeavor,” but I’m really dying to hear some story about how something fell out of the back of his car while on the two mile drive to his new apartment and reeks havoc on the brick-paved streets of Winter Park.  I know it’s mean and how can I think something like that, but in reality, y’all were thinkin’ it too!

Grace, on the other hand, had a most amusing last week.  And by amusing, I mean she’ll look back on it and laugh in a few months.  So Grace had this horse show in Spotsylvania, VA, a city adjacent to Fredericksburg made of two sides: there’s this very beautiful country side that is part of Virginia horse territory; the other side is filled with cheap motels, bad fast food and chain restaurants, gas stations galore, and that’s about it.  We stop there on our way to and from Maryland when we go to the Preakness and Mother and I were the 100,000th customers at the Friendly’s there in Spotsylvania; we get two milkshakes and use the bathroom before heading to the nearest gas station.

So Grace goes up there and makes her hotel reservation by calling hotels.com (don’t even get me started on that little detail) and arrives at whatever hotel where she was supposed to stay only to find out that they don’t have her in their computer system, but perhaps it’s at the other one not too far away.  When she arrives at the other location, they only have her staying there one night and it had a unique scent that was not tolerable.  Obviously, this was not going to work, so Grace gets back in her truck to start searching for any streamlined chain hotel and even though there are literally thousands upon thousands of usually empty hotel/motel rooms in Spotsylvania thanks to its location just off of I-95, they were all sold out!  Even the Ramada Inn that has the most terrifying, 80s kind of Vergas-style swimming pool in the middle of the hotel and therefore reeks of chlorine was booked solid.

Apparently, there were three reunions/meetings in town that night and so Grace has to drive almost to Richmond, which is a good 30-45 minutes away, and mind you, she’s just spent the whole day taking care of a very spoiled horse sans a militia of helpers so she was exhausted to say the least.  Princess ends up staying at a Quality Inn outside of Richmond in a “smoking room with a bloodstain on the carpet.”  She and I both agreed that it would have probably been a safer and smarter idea to just sleep in the backseat of the truck.

Back here in the land of all things Jefferson (where today, the only professor I’ve had while attending UVa who had yet to mention his class’s connection to Mr. Jefferson finally made the connection.  I swear, there must be something in the contracts of every professor at the university that requires them to make a connection of some kind to him because every single class has managed to somehow.), this past Friday was Founder’s Day, which celebrates Mr. Jefferson’s birthday.

Mother, who was here for two days with friends, and I went up to Monticello, which was a lot of fun and we just walked around and enjoyed the perfect weather and views.  Unfortunately, this was a somewhat spontaneous decision so I didn’t have my camera along with me.  We’re going to go back and take photos this time.  On the upside, UVa students can visit Monticello for free, which is nice since it costs $24 to see the house and grounds, which is kind of steep if you ask me.

Alas, I have to go because I have to compile a five-seven page annotated bibliography that’s due tomorrow, so until next time…

-JD

Love and Other Drugs Dubbed in Italian is Still a Horrible Movie, but It’s so Much More Entertaining

We’ll talk a pause from discussing Tiger Mamma book tonight since I have only gotten about three to four hours of sleep per night this entire week and I’m dreadfully tired.  However, I did manage to read another ten percent of this still horrifying book on the way to and from Montepulciano thanks to the Kindle app on my iPod Touch.  Surprisingly, it was much easier to read than I had expected and I can definitely see myself using it more often, especially since I have refused to sink down and get a very questionable man purse, or murse, and therefore don’t really have anywhere to put the actual Kindle itself when I travel.  If this weren’t a free app, I’d totally be asking for a refund right now considering all of the free publicity I’m giving to the fine folks at Amazon.  If they’d like to thank me, they can certainly feel free to provide me with a lovely gift card so that I won’t actually have to pay $12.99 for Tina Fey’s book, Bossypants.  The reason for the bizarre title will be further explained tomorrow, but the movie I saw was Love and Other Drugs and it was just as bad as it was when I saw it English.  I’m headed to bed, but until tomorrow…

-JD

Is Karma Also a Bitch in China Because It is in “The West”

Oh Tiger Mamma, to quote Annie, “BURN!”  Finally, the perfect plan for raising children came to a halt and the thing that brought it to a halt wasn’t even one of her children.  No, instead it was Coco, the Samoyed (some type of dog I’ve never heard of) who refused to follow the Chinese way.  Aside from being house-broken, Coco refused to do anything for Tiger Mamma, but the things she expected this dog to do seem to make Coco’s diva attitude toward her perfectly acceptable.  I mean, if I were a dog (in which case I would probably be my dog, because he just relaxes all day), I would NEVER in a million years bother to learn such things as the Heimlich maneuver and counting or agree to go to a doggy kindergarten that has more advanced courses after it.  Poor Coco, this is what Tiger Mamma planned to with Coco, “Nevertheless, not knowing a thing about raising dogs, my first instinct was to apply Chinese parenting to Coco” (Chua, 78).  This is just not okay under any circumstance whatsoever.

Thankfully, Coco knew that shit wasn’t right and responded in kind by being as divalicious and as in-obedient as possible.  This dog chewed everything in sight, stole food off of tables after pretending to be asleep, turned every walk into a speed race, chased squirrels nonstop leading Tiger Mamma to run into trees and garage doors frequently, and ignored all commands.

The only thing that made this whole experience better for me, and worse for TM, was that her own little “Chinese” girls, who are supposed to basically work to serve their parents, and not-a-real-Jew husband disregarded all of her complaints about Coco and just told her that it’s what is expected of his breed.  This lead TM to do something she seemed to be doing more often by this point, bribing Coco with pieces of chopped steak before finally getting in a fight with her not-a-real-Jew husband over her obsession with Coco being intelligent and learning to do tricks even most men can’t do, like pee into a toilet and not get any on the rim/floor area, and says the single most farkakted line I have ever read, “What dreams do you have for Sophia and Lulu?  What are your dreams for Coco?” (83).  If I had been not-a-real-Jew husband, I would have filed for divorce that same day!  It’s a pet lady; it doesn’t have the ability to play the piano or violin so just accept the fact that it’s cute, cuddly, seems to give you a workout, and not some freak parenting project.

I read a few pages of the next chapter which deals with racism (oh no, her kids are racists; I guess it runs in the family) and I have to say, Part Two is MUCH BETTER than Part One of this book because her once brilliant parenting method is clearly falling apart.  It’s okay, Tiger Mamma, all evil dictatorships fail for this reason; see: Hitler, Adolf Elizabeth and Palpatine, Emperor of Galactic Empire.  Anyway, I can’t wait to see how Chua deals with her “racist” children, but until tomorrow…

-JD

Tiger Mamma Made Told Her Daughter That the Violin Was a Pet… The Horse Hair Doesn’t Count

The final chapter to Part One of this still shocking book discussed the lengths to which Tiger Mamma will go to get her daughters to play their beyond complicated classical music pieces perfectly.  When Louisa, or Lulu, asks her mother for a pet only to told that her violin is the only pet the poor child needs, Tiger Mamma explains to us, the readers, why she doesn’t believe in having a pet at all by providing some grand excuse about how they’re such expensive luxuries and how money is tight and blah, blah blah before getting to the greatest line of the book thus far, “Whereas in the West dogs have long been considered loyal companions, in China they’re on the menu” (Chua, 66).

Now while I completely agree that dogs are expensive (Buddy’s cataract surgery was like double what it would be for any human; it’s absolutely outrageous how these Vets charge through the roof for absolutely everything), oh Buddy, you’re so lucky you didn’t go to a Chinese family!  Yes, it’s a well-known fact that people in the East find things that Westerners wouldn’t normally eat to be delicacies, but there has to be some law against eating my little Buddster in America!  Besides, HOW COULD YOU EVER EAT SOMETHING WITH A FACE LIKE THIS:

I realize it’s a different culture, and as an American Studies major I realize I shouldn’t be this judgmental of another society, but how could you want to eat this dog?  First of all, if you saw what a dog eats (not Buddy, who is only allowed one bowl of dog food a day because he’s on a diet (he has to look divalicious for swimsuit season!)) and then digests, you would definitely thinks twice about eating one.  Also, if we ate our dogs, what would we watch after the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade?

All of this aside, the end of Part One saw Tiger Mamma dabble in “Western” parenting beliefs with regards to her bribing Lulu to play Viotti’s Concerto no. 23 in G Major, which she describes as being very difficult:

(Ironically, this is the only video on YouTube that has a a white person over the age of about ten performing this piece, so touché, Tiger Mamma)

Now, Lulu appears to be quasi bi-polar since one minute she’s thrilled to be playing the violin and another she’s mad as hell that her mother is forcing her to play this instrument so in order to get her under control, Tiger Mamma decides to use the best tactic in the Western parenting handbook, bribery.  Though After reading what Lulu thinks she can get for playing the piece perfectly, I really just felt so bad for this poor girl.  The things she considers to be amazing and irresistible are a playdate and chocolate!

Okay, now I watched a documentarty in an Anthropology course I took that focused on the lives of four teenagers around the world and one of them was a legit Chinese girl who, despite having her entire day scheduled out for her by her psycho mom who only made room for two, two-minute bathroom breaks a day at most and had to attend a two-week crash course with the People’s Liberation Army at the age of 14, was still allowed to go out with her friends so the fact that American citizen Lulu isn’t even allowed a playdate is kind of appalling!  Don’t you want your child to get a great job because we all know that today’s job market is not the same as it was even 10 years and people skills are kind of looked at as a good thing in nearly every profession.

As for chocolate being an irresistible reward, it is a damn good thing I was not her child because aside from definitely breaking that violin and making Tiger Mamma’s life a living hell, I would have gone insane without chocolate!  Anyone who knows me knows that I willingly spend obscene amounts of money on chocolate and that I consider it to be its own food group!

Well, I’m off to start Part Two before dozing off to sleep, but I can’t wait to tell y’all how Tiger Mamma deals with a pet, especially a puppy.  Oh, and before I go and call an animal rights group on this woman, Joan Rivers can explain the Asian love of dog (she’s been very helpful lately):

(While the entire segment is hysterical, you can skip to 3:40 if you want to get to the part that’s relevant to eating dog)

Unitl tomorrow…

-JD

Kind of Glad Mother Never Threatened Me to Play the Piano

So we read a little more of crazy lady book and frankly, I don’t know how in the hell child services hasn’t been contacted to inquire how this mother treated her children.  For instance, when Louisa, her second child, didn’t want to play the piano properly, she dragged her outside into the freezing cold and told the girl that she would have to stay outside until she learned to have respect.  What’s worse is that the daughter then refused to come inside!  What I’ve found so far that seems to aggravate me the most is that Chua tries to act like she’s a good parent, offers excuses for her actions and appears to almost be self-deprecating.  Honestly, I’d have some respect for Miss Chua a bit more if she would just defend the way she raised her children without all of these unnecessary excuses.

In other news, I finally got to go running in a short-sleeved shirt today!  I have been waiting about seven weeks to finally get the chance to do that and I’m so happy it’s getting warmer in Siena.  Of course, the Italians haven’t decided that it’s time to bust out the warmer weather clothing and continue to wear the Moncler jackets and four other layers beneath their walls of down.  It reminds me of a chapter of Adam Gopnik’s Pairs to the Moon when Gopnick describes attending a fashion show and despite being freezing cold and raining at the show, the women continued to fan themselves with their programs because it’s just what they do every year, regardless of the weather.  I can’t wait to get back to reading about these poor children and their horrifying/brilliant childhood (I’m still torn between loving her method and thinking she’s a horrible person and I don’t know why), so until tomorrow…

-JD

Tiger Mamma Brought It and I’m Only on Chapter Two

This woman is crazy/genius/in desperate need of therapy/quite possibly the most intelligent person on earth!  No drums because they lead to drugs (kind of true), one of her children was reading Sartre at age three (I read Sartre at twenty following years of French and I couldn’t even understand the English translation, let alone attempt the French one!), decided that the only hobby her Sartre-reading daughter could be allowed was playing the piano, and did I mention that this American-born mother is married to a Jew!  To quote a friend of mine upon telling her this, “WHAT?  The Jew allowed no coddling?”  My reaction to this was more on the lines of, “How in the hell is this woman married to a Jew?  We’re the most obsessed group of society when it comes to our children, not to mention the fact that the idea of bragging about our children comes standard with our bodily operating system (little Muammar has a defect with that one, but he’s working it out himself, partly because his warranty expired during the Johnson administration).

What’s most interesting, though, is that Miss Chua starts the book off by saying that the “Western way ” of raising children is perfectly fine and that not all Chinese mothers are “Tiger moms” before commencing her spheell on how perfect her first daughter, Sophia, was and how she was so quiet and so attentive and so intent on learning new things, which leads Tiger Mamma to force this poor girl to learn division and multiplication while still in preschool using a Chinese calculator!  Can y’all believe I’m barely into this book?  Anyway, I’ve got to get back to studying Italian Cultural History, but I can’t wait to read about Louisa, the second child, whose name apparently means, “famous warrior.”  With a mother as crazy as this one, you need a name with the word warrior in the meaning!

-JD

Bring It On, Tiger Mamma!

So having just finished Tom Wolfe’s brilliantly written and captivating novel about Master of the Universe Sherman McCoy, The Bonfire of the Vanities, I thought that I would take a break before starting my next Wolfe novel, I Am Charlotte Simmons and read what is one of the most controversial books of the near already, Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mom.  From what I saw on the news and read in newspapers, this book gives insight into how Chinese children are raised and demonstrates how the coddling, you are their friend not their parent, 1970s and onward style of parenting that thankfully mother and little Muammar refrained from doing (partly because they’re both old enough to actually remember Kennedy being shot as opposed to learning about it in school) when raising your’s truly is the reason that China will soon replace the United States as the world’s greatest superpower.  I’m personally looking forward to reading about how the author, Amy Chua, wouldn’t allow her child to go to the bathroom until the child played a piece on the piano properly and got upset if she thought the homemade presents her children made weren’t their best work.  Hell, I’d be pissed too if the macaroni that was supposed to be used to make dinner tomorrow night was suddenly glued to a piece of paper with that awful glitter all over it (and now all over me)!  Side Note: To Whoever invented glitter, please know that I forever hate you!

In any case, do plan on me mentioning the insanity of this book in the coming weeks (I read slowly for about 45 minutes to an hour at night before going to bed so it could take a while to finish).  Until next time…

-JD

Only in Italy Does One See Men’s Fashion Shows on State Television

This was one of the many signs letting me know that I’m in Italy.  Monday’s flight to Rome marked the first time I’ve ever left from Newark on time and I actually got some sleep on the plane.  Then I arrived in Rome and the calm turned to insanity.  Unlike most major international airports in Europe and the United States which have numerous signs directing passengers to Passport Control, Rome’s Leonardo da Vinci-Fiumicino Airport makes getting to Immigration seem like a treasure hunt.  There are places where you can see one sign for two doors, each leading somewhere different; large, open spaces with multiple sets of stairs, escalators and exits, but no signs to tell you where to go.  So instead of there being order and structure, my fellow jet-lagged passengers and I were running around an airport like chickens with their heads chopped off.  Now when I reached the little Italian man who stamped my passport, I was told my UVa that I would have to present all of these papers and whatnot to correspond with my visa.  The guy half looked at my passport, never even asked what my purpose was in the country, stamped and just said, “Go.”  And go I did, right to baggage claim, where of course I was the furthest carousel away from the Passport Control area.  Now, when I checked in on Monday at Newark, I was told I would have to collect my bags in Rome and re-check them for the Florence flight before leaving the Immigration area.  Well apparently, no one told the folks in Rome that, leaving me in the fetal position for two minutes because every bag had come off the plane except for my two bags.  So, with sheer panic that I may be forced to live out of my carry-on bag (which was filled with my computer, magazines, valuables, and two cashmere sweaters) for what could be a week, I ran to the Alitalia desk and didn’t even bother asking the guy if he spoke English.  Instead, I just started barking at him like a dog with rabies (foaming at the mouth and all, I’m sure) until explained to me that my bags had been checked all the way through to Florence and that I had nothing to worry about.  Then he suggested I calm down and get an espresso, which is something that only an Italian would say.  I was so relieved that I nearly hugged him, but stopped myself because I realized that I now had to run with the wind to get to my flight to Florence, which departed in less than an hour.  Word of advice to the fine folks who run Rome’s airport, put in enough screens so that you can display every flight leaving!  I found myself running around like a crazy person before someone explained to me that my flight left from Terminal One, which was a surprisingly short walk from Terminal Three, where I arrived.  I don’t know how Italians always look so good doing even menial tasks because the guy washing the windows was better dressed than most people in America.

Security in Rome was so beyond easy, and the Italians did something that was rather ingenious: they have the bins in which all of your stuff is placed on a track so that as each bin is emptied, it is sent directly back so the next person can use it.  Now, they only half-assed this because they don’t have enough bins.  That said, it’s still kind of genius.  Once I got to the gate area, it should come as no surprise that I looked like hell.  I did manage to find Sydney just before boarding our Alitalia flight to Florence.  This flight was hysterical.  First of all, it was 90% NYU in Florence students, six beautifully dressed Italians (again, even the baggage handler who came on the plane had a scarf and sunglasses and just looked so… Italian) and then this family of about six Filipinos.  I think I sat next to the daughter, who, about ten minutes into the very short flight, whipped out the barf bag.  Y’all, I would have probably lost it completely if she had thrown up into that bag while seated next to me, but thankfully she just put her gum in it.  Then the plane landed and the NYU Shuttle basically took over the entire baggage area in Florence.  Once again, I stood anxiously/nervously waiting for my two bags, which were among the last to be removed from the plane.  I swear, getting my bags was one of the most torturous experiences of my life.  Sydney and I then headed to our hotel, which was just so-so (I wouldn’t stay there again if I had the option to stay elsewhere), despite costing quite a bit.  We went straight out to see Florence, which I guess wasn’t all what I expected.  There were American college students everywhere you looked; it seemed as though America had once again invaded Italy, only instead of sending Patton, we sent college students who come to see Europe for a semester and then return home thinking they’ve had a true Italian experience, despite rarely speaking any Italian.  In addition to the overflow of students, the weather turned from just pure cold to cold and rain, which made me just want to go to bed and go out and see the city another time.

On Wednesday, it was only a short hour or so bus ride to our new home, Siena.  This was the Italy about which I’ve always dreamed of seeing; the little towns surrounded by picturesque scenery, old castles and fortresses, winding vias, little shops and eateries around every corner, gelato.  Then we arrived in Siena, which has the feeling of a small town despite being a medium-sized city.  Sydney opted for a home-stay with a lovely woman named Sylvia, while I headed for the apartment I’m sharing with two other students from the States and our Italian roommate, Andrea, who sort of acts as an RA.  Since I’m the only guy on our program, I’m sharing a room with Andrea, who told me he picked our room because of it’s quite and has a bigger closet than the other room, which is something only an Italian guy would do.

Our apartment has a wonderful, almost postcard-worthy views of the Piazza Giacomo Matteotti and very close to just about everything in Siena.  All of that said, here are my questions about Italians: First of all, I get that these buildings are older than time itself, but why can’t do they have to be freezing cold all the time?  Our common areas are cold all day, everyday.  I know heat here costs about three times what it does back in the US, but for what we’ve paid, it should be working.  Secondly, y’all aren’t small people so what’s with the tiny showers?  I’m not a big guy by any measure and yet I can barely move in that shower.  Thirdly, for a nation that is known around the world for creating some of the most spectacular dishes and foods, why in the hell are the kitchens so tiny?  I’m sorry, but I really don’t get that.  And finally, why can’t y’all just buy some damn dryers?  I know I’m sounding like an arrogant American, but these are some legitimate questions.

In the short time I’ve been here, I’ve seen a part of Italy that seems to be more like the Italy that one doesn’t see in Rome or Venice; it’s more than a tourist freak show that seems to only attract day-trippers who come to see the Piazza del Campo, maybe the Domo and then leave.  This, by the way, is perfectly fine with me because it means more chances to fail miserably at speaking Italian.  I have been running around the top of the fort in Siena, which provided these breathtaking views of the city and surrounding countryside; I’ve decided I can only go running in beautiful places from now on.

As for the food, I have died and gone to heaven.  That said, my body has not handled the rich food that we’ve been served here; I’m a simple person who eats simple foods and all of the rich sauces and pastas has quickly taken a tole on my stomach, so now that we’re cooking on our own following our first few meals, I’m hopefully going to get back into some sort of normal eating pattern.

That’s really it for things here in Italy, but I have decided that instead of visiting multiple countries in Europe, I’m probably going to try and spend a lot of time getting to know Siena and its surrounding Tuscan cities and towns.  As for things back in America, Grace seems to have had pneumonia for a few days, but is feeling better now.  Normally, this would be surprising news, but with Grace, I’m no longer shocked.  Andrew, on the other hand, is still living the high life in LA.  Last night, he got to see part of the arrivals for the SAG Awards and saw Alec Baldwin up close since he decided to be nice and cross the street to sign autographs for some students, so I am very jealous.  Justin, meanwhile, has been keeping himself very busy lately with classes, his obsession with the gym and dating, which is all he would say despite repeated attempts for him to divulge further.

Finally tonight, I want to talk about my Kindle.  While I even hate the idea that a computer could replace the scent, sound and look of a book, it makes much more sense to have a Kindle when spending four months abroad in a non-English speaking country.  Plus, I’ve already finished one book, The Reluctant Fundamentalist, and started another, The Billionaire’s Vinegar.  The thing is kind of genius if you think about it, and I’ve decided that while I will prefer to read using an actual book, I’ll probably keep the Kindle around for when I travel.  Anyway, I’m off to start doing my first load of laundry here in Italy, which should be interesting, so until next time…

-JD