With three day weekends, you can do anything. Part of that anything includes hopping a plane from the nearest airport to the most inconvenient airport in Italy -- Lleida-Alguaire to Milano-Bergamo in one hour forty isn't half bad really. The problem involves getting to and from the airports from Lleida, and Pavia, but that's not something I'm going to delve into. I've had worse transport issues, and that's the core of this I guess.

Friday morning I packed up my stuff, headed off to the airport, and six hours later was getting off a train in Pavia, the city I hold in highest esteem and is probably the dearest thing to me in the world right now. If you're an avid follower and have read through my blogs mentioning the town on the Ticino, you'll know that I am head-over-heels in love with it, and any chance to return is a good one. So, you can only imagine my glee stepping onto the platform of a station I left behind almost two months ago.

I spent the weekend in the company of the most amazing people I have had the good fortune to meet this year: Roxy, Rebecca and Brandon, three Americans who know how to bring a smile into my life, even when I am opposed to it. A night of aperitivo, wine, fruit salad and youtube videos got me back into the swing of Italy; though to tell the truth, I was just happy to be amongst the folks I've missed the most since coming to Lleida. Uh oh, soppy blog!

The plan for Saturday was to go to Parma, but we agreed it wasn't going to be doable, considering we went to bed at 5am and had to catch a train at 1pm. Instead, the girls and I headed on down to Genova, one of the few cities in Northern Italy that I had missed out on. It's quite the interesting place, both on the sea and in the hills -- for a nerdy comparison, it reminded me of Dollet from Final Fantasy VIII. Being a bit of an architecture nerd, I got a little excited at the Cathedral, but the upper part of the city was all too fancy so I started hating on it. Still, it was good to finally travel somewhere with my girls.

Well, until we got on the train back and ended up stuck in Voghera for an hour and a half. It seems something happened between there and Milano Rogoredo, due to the bad weather probably, which caused all the trains to stop. I guess there was a power cut, since Roxy's place was without power when we got back. On the plus side, we got back. But, it was the beginning of some real bad luck -- I didn't get up until 8.30 this morning, meaning I just missed the Intercity at 9.33, and had to catch two different trains, arriving in Milan at 10.40. The bus from Milan didn't leave until 11.00, but thankfully arrived at 11.50, so I didn't miss my flight. However, the flight was so fast that it was due to arrive half an hour earlier than expected...until the air traffic controller in Lleida decided he didn't need to be in work until 10minutes before our scheduled landing time. That meant half an hour circling above Tarregà, a town about 40km from Lleida. Some things you just can't make up.

But, putting aside my transport woes, this weekend has been something I really needed. You might think I'm being stupid when I keep on about how I miss my American friends, especially when you consider how little I've missed anyone from home, or university. I guess I know you Uni/Home friends will be close enough next year that if I want to see you, you're just a phonecall or a train journey away...rather than a longhaul, expensive flight that has to be planned weeks in advance. So, when I say I miss these guys...it might just look repetitive, but I mean it: when I miss them, I hella miss them. *audible sigh*

I'll let you go now. I feel like I'm boring you with attempting, and failing, to pour my heart out. I'm never good at this kind of soppy shit, no matter how much I feel it deep down (or on the surface). In short: good weekend, great people, awesomesauce.

Avui, vull provar alguna cosa nova. Escric tot aquest blog en català, perquè moltes persones són normalment sorprenents quan dic que parlo, o almenys entenc bé, aquesta llengua. Ho sap, també, que molts de vosaltres us sentiu molests, i a molts més no us agrada llegir-ho. No vaig a disculpar-me, i sols vull fer alguna cosa això una vegada per veure tant difícil és per escriure més i més en català.

Vaig descobrir que cada vegada més molts estudiants de català com a llengua estrangera, o segona llengua, són dividits en dos camps: els a que agrada la llengua, i els a que van aprendre-ho perquè era obligatori. La majoria dels estudiants estrangers, em sembla, són del segon camp. Es queixen molt, perquè són en Espanya per aprendre castellà i en els paisos catalans no ho parlen molt. L'altre problema és que són, normalment, de paisos monolingües -- em sembla que no poden entendre un país que és bilingüe des del principi, no com Alemanya o Polònia, on es aprendre una segona llengua estranger, no natiu.

No vaig a escriure aquest blog per dir-vos que és imperatiu que aprendre la llengua catalana, o altra llengua. No vull dir-vos qualsevol cosa això. Ho sé que tot el món és diferent, i que totes les persones tenen en comú la seva diversitat. Però, em molesta quan una persona diu que aquesta llengua no havia de ser parlat en els paisos catalans, perquè no es la llengua del país (si el italià, o el castellà, o el francès). Em molesta molt, perquè demostra una forma de ignorància cultural dins la persona, fins i tot es parla centenars de llengües estrangers.

I, ho sé que em sembla una mica hipòcrita perquè no m'agrada la llengua francesa molt. La meva opinió és que és la pitjora llengua de les llengües romàniques, però no dic mai que els francesos han de parlar un'altra llengua. Ho sé que és la llengua oficial de França, i per això no es pot canviar al Occità o el Català en aquest cas. No obstant, la idea és la mateixa. Podeu dir-me que no us agrada el català. Podeu dir-me que no voleu aprendre mai aquesta llengua. Però, quan em dieu que els vostres professors han de ensenyar-vos en castellà, o les persones dels carrers han de parlar amb vosaltres en espanyol, em sento molest.

El català és parlat per uns nou milions de persones. Amb l'adició de estudiants estrangers, el numero aixeca fins i tretze milions persones. El primer numero, nou milions, és més que la població de Dinamarca i, per això, existeixen més catalanoparlants que parlants natius del danès. Si us plau, no us queixeu de la llengua quan són més parlants que les persones de una llengua oficial de un país existent.

I, ara i aquí, em sento que tot aquest blog és només una gran queixa. Si us agrada la llengua, molt bé. Si no, no m'importa. Si us queixeu perquè no ho enteneu i no voleu provar a entendre, és molt mal. Per posar fi a aquesta diatriba, vull dir-vos dues coses:

"La reacció a qualsevol paraula pot ser, a una persona, una reacció com la multitud o la de la individual. Depen a la persona de preguntar-se: la meva reacció és individual, o reacciono amb la sentiment popular?"  D.H. Lawrence


"Altre llengua és altre perspectiva de vida."  Federico Fellini

Normally, I'd gloss over this sort of stuff, and tell you more about the day-to-day in my life. In the last 7 days, I really haven't had much of an interesting day-to-day life -- I've been mistaken for Italian, I've had two very, very nice late night (or is finishing at 5am and 6am respectively early morning?) chats with my flatmate Ania, and I've cleaned the kitchen to within an inch of its life, twice, only to watch it fall back into decay and disrepair within a few hours. I also forgot -- forgot -- that Pau Vallvé was in Lleida tonight, and so missed my chance to see him. Beyond that, it's been a week that has gone by far too slowly.

Perhaps knowing that I have my return to Pavia on the horizon is making everything seem that little bit slower. Friday at 15.10 cannot come soon enough. I've never flown Ryanair before, and the idea of actually having to fly to Bergamo with them is mighty scary, as they seem stricter than most airlines -- I even think my usual hand luggage is oversized by their measurements, something Easyjet never have a problem with because it's a backpack...just a little bigger. When you start selling your own carry-on cases, everyone else knows you have issues.

So, what I have done this week, besides vegetating, and staying up well past my bedtime to discuss future plans and musical taste, was travelling! I went to Zaragoza; finally, real Spain. I forgot how much I loved Catalan until they stopped playing "Propera parada: [station name]" on the announcements as soon as we got into Zaragoza itself. I guess they only play it for most of the journey because of La Franja being a Catalan speaking region of Aragon. Who knows?



Anyway, Zaragoza is a nice place, but it's not exactly awe-inspiring. Getting off at El Portillo is probably better than Delicias, because then you don't have to walk 40minutes before you see anything more than the everyday. I know I like getting away from tourism, and loved wandering the campos in the Castello sestiere of Venice, where there wasn't a tourist in sight, but Zaragoza is just too big for all of that -- all you need to see begins at the Aljafería, and a trip to the Expo site is an added bonus later on. Admittedly, if we ignore the real, modern city itself, then it's a lovely, non-typical Spanish city. The one thing that must be mentioned is that the Basilica del Pilar actually put the fear of God into me for a few minutes -- I thought San Marco in Venice made me feel small, but this was some other animal, complete with devoted Spaniards praying non-stop. If Christianity ever felt like its power was waning, this basilica would prove that people are still obsessing.

So, I'm rambling because I don't have much to say about it. Sure, go there if you want, but don't mark it down as a "must see" when you're in Spain. Maybe I'm just not as taken aback by Spanish cities as I was by Italian ones? Or maybe they really aren't as great as everyone makes out. On the plus side, I had some really good company for the day!

Today, on a whim, I went to Abacus. It's our local educational bookstore; think Blackwell's more than Waterstones. Anyway, I went with the intention of picking up a Catalan grammar book for my collection of linguistic tomes I never look at. What I found instead was a copy of a grammar book for learners of Aranese, the Occitan dialect spoken in the Val D'Aran region of Catalonia. I was very tempted to buy it, then I realised it was all written in Lengadocian (or at least a purer form of Occitan than Aranese) so I put it back.

Since that moment, I've been having a few linguistic regrets. You see, we went on a trip to the mountains on Saturday, to Pobla del Segur. There, it was almost like a cross between the Welsh valleys and the dry hills of Spain. In some places, it was verdant and lush in a way you only ever see in city parks that are cared for. In others it was dry scrubland that looked neglected and yet typically Mediterranean. While my Italian friends went to sample the local delicacies of the Carnival, the Polish girls and I decided to hike around the hillsides. It was a really nice 4 hour walk, into the 'back of beyond' -- though I mean that in a purely descriptive way, as the place was genuinely beautiful, it was just miles from the big cities -- but the more I think about it, the more I have these pangs.

Sure, I've been ill, but it's not those kind of pangs. It's the pangs of regret that come with living in a bilingual community where the people actually care about their language. Without trying to sound like an ignorant Briton, I think Wales needs a good dose of someone like Franco to make them realise how important the language is. My Literature lecturer here teaches in Spanish, his students answer him in Catalan and write essays in Catalan; to do that in the UK would amount to a fairly weighty political statement (speaking and writing in Welsh to an English Lit. lecturer)

Of course, I'm not going off on a linguistic rant, espousing the virtues of the Iaith Cymraeg, but merely trying to put up some barriers to explain to myself and you, dear reader, why I have these pangs. I'm from a country that should, in theory, be 100% bilingual. Instead, we're allowed to drop the language at 16, speak English for the rest of our lives, and nobody gets annoyed at it. It's a fine system...if you don't care. What I'm getting at, in the most roundabout of ways, is that I regret not continuing my Welsh education.

I could probably, with the help of a dictionary for the more colloquial words, attempt writing this out in Catalan and it would come out much better than an attempt in Welsh. But, while that may be molt bé, and an achievement for most, considering Catalan is a fairly strong minority language -- 9million speakers in 4 countries; more native speakers than those who speak Danish -- it's not my first language, or even a language spoken in my home country. While I may not come out of this degree being able to call myself bilingual in any of the languages I have devoted myself to, that's not a problem for me. I guess now I feel like if I should be able to call myself bilingual, it should be in the two mother-tongues of my country -- English and Welsh.

In short: if I learn nothing else this year, I can be safe in the knowledge that I want to get back to learning to speak Welsh.

It has been 10 days since my last blog; my last outlet. I feel like this place has become so routine that there is no need to inform people of the goings-on. Lately, however, things have been on the up. I suppose I can't complain too much -- the rent is cheap, the food is alright, and the company is great. I've survived 28 days, so what's there to worry about?

Anyway, back to things being on the up!

While I can't justify going to Belgium anymore -- €140 is my rent, and I'd have to pay that as a minimum for flights; throw in trains and 'having a good time' and this weekend suddenly becomes more than I'd like to pay for. So, sans Belgium, you'd think everything was on the down. But, there are two things I possibly have to look forward to:
1. Pau Vallvé is coming to Lleida. For those unaware, Pau Vallvé is one of the greatest Catalan producers and musicians of the modern era. Without him, we'd lack such acts as Estanislau Verdet, U_mä, Maria Coma, Inspira, and Senyors Tranquil. In short, if I had a musical hero he'd be quickly running to surpass whoever that was -- at only 29 he has released 12 albums (four short of Conor Oberst's track record, but has Conor ever produced and mastered other people's albums, and played 90% of the instruments on his own albums while recording and producing them? Nope...)  Okay -- I'll stop lauding him so much, and just say I am quite excited. For €10, this seems like worth going to!

2. People I live with, or friends I have, are interested in going to Primavera Sound! Huzzah! Admittedly, it's €170 for the five days, and I have just said I didn't want to pay €140+ for two flights. So, perhaps I'm being a bit of a hypocrite here. I'm not even sure if I'd go to all five days, as the acts which interest me most are playing on the Friday and Saturday. Sure, that'd be €130, but at least I know I would be ticking off a massive chunk of my Bands I Must See Live list. Artists playing on these days include: Belle & Sebastian, Sufjan Stevens, Explosions in the Sky, Kode9 & The Space Ape, The National, Burial, Animal Collective, and Mogwai. Others that aren't confirmed for a specific day include: M. Ward, Islet, The Album Leaf, and The Fiery Furnaces (who kickstarted my love of music outside of the metal genre)

Simply put: things are looking up because I will have music. Music! It's actually making me look beyond the stinking cold I have, with some form of optimism. Sure, travel might be expensive (so my travel blog is getting nothing), and my days are empty (so my brain is turning to mush), but on the horizon there is some music to keep me sane! And with that thought, I, and U_mä, bid you adieu:

I'll be the first to admit that on the blogging front I'm a bit thin-on-the-ground this year. I mean, by this time last year I had already written 11 blog posts. In 2011, I'm only up to a measly 7, this one included. I guess it comes down to the fact that there isn't really much to blog about in Lleida. For that reason, I guess I'll start some travelling as of next weekend.

In the past few days, to bring everyone up to speed, I have attended 2 of 2 classes. Literature and Society, which answered the question "What is Literature?" with the answer "Everything, and nothing" -- helpful, right? And English-Spanish translation, which claimed that Be all you can be, the slogan of the US Army, was a play on words, and that the pretty ladies who work in your planes are in fact stewadresses, rather than stewardesses. I wonder if that means I'm guaranteed a pass mark, or if I'll fail for not having the same lexicon as my teacher? I also sat a placement test for the Spanish course yesterday, in which I learned that I have no clue about Spanish idioms whatsoever. Hopefully everyone else is in the same boat...

I guess what I'm trying to say in all of this is that I feel lost. I have a half-and-half grasp of the language, my classes seem to pose questions and never answer them, and I am without glasses -- I believe this happened just after my last blog post: we went on to Fissure, the local hotspot, and I lost my glasses. I am, therefore, impaired visually. I could have asked last night if any had been handed in, but, since I did get an elbow to the face and pushed into a pillar, I'm sure my glasses would have been crushed underfoot before anyone noticed them. My options are now limited to five months sans glasses, heading to the opticians and taking an eye test in Spanish (should they not accept/believe my prescription), or...actually there is no third option. If you have one, let me know! Answers on a postcard!

So, the plan for today, having got in at 4.30, bed at 5am, lain in bed staring at the ceiling from 1pm til 2.30 when I finally got up... is to do sweet F-A. I see an evening of 30 Rock, or maybe The Big Bang Theory, to keep me sane. Perhaps I'll get around to planning out some proper voyages for these long weekends, unless by some miracle I end up in the Spanish group that has classes on a Thursday evening! If not, with a 4 day weekend, I can see a lot of money being poured into visiting far-flung places. No wonder we were told about that guy who went to Russia during his Easter break -- frankly, I don't blame him. Perhaps the next time we speak I will have good news...and will have finally got around to enrolling on courses!

Hey blog. How're you doing, buddy? Haven't seen you in what seems like forever. I wanted to wait until I'd started all my classes before writing something up, but, I'm just itching to write these days.

So, we're now a flat of five -- two Polish girls, a German girl, an Italian guy, and me. The dueña is rather sweet, like your grandmother if she was playing that role that Michael Caine did in The Cider House Rules. I want her to be like Buenas noches a vosotros, príncipes de Maine, reyes de New England, but right now that's a dream, right? Beyond that, it's all good in the hood. It's a 20minute walk to the University, I have discovered, so that means leaving at 9 for my classes in Literature & Society, History of the Spanish Language, and Translation. Colloquial Spanish is at 8am, so eff that ess, eh? The walk is quite nice too -- either I take Prat de la Riba and watch the shops open, or I walk along Camp de Marts alongside the Seu Vella. Not too shabby.


Getting back on track -- i.e. blogging -- yesterday saw us, (well, two flatmates and a friend) head down to Tarragona. Ignorant as we are to the way the trains work in Spain, we ventured out in the early morning fog, and hopped on the AVANT for the city by the sea. Little did we know that the AVANT stops at Camp de Tarragona, a station 12km outside the city designed for the Alta Velocidad lines that RENFE run. So, one bus ride later finds us in the middle of Tarragona, a city that is mostly undergoing renovations -- if it's not broken, it's in the course of being repaired. The Cathedral was lovely, but was being worked on. The walls probably were nice, but being worked on. On the plus side, they make a lovely ensaïmada, and serve up delicious patates braves and xoriçets en sidra. (The first one is a Catalan pastry, the second is a dish of potatoes with a spicy sauce, and the third is little sausages in a cider-based sauce). So, rather than bore you to death with the intricacies of it all, let's just say it was a good day out, having left the house at 8am and got back at 8pm, which was closely followed by a trip to Fissure, the local hotspot, where I got very, very drunk, stumbled home alone, and passed out til 4pm. All in all, fun is being had.

Time to sum up! What with classes starting tomorrow, and having four day weekends, I'm balancing on a knife edge between the good and the bad. I'll have too much free time, and probably a not a lot of work to do. We'll see how that goes. As for now, it's time to sleep.

Let me bring you up to speed. The last time we talked -- or you read this -- I was sitting in a fancy-shmansey, just built, top-of-the-line residenza in Italy. Now, I'm sat in a standard Spanish house, 2nd floor, balcony, sofa, general fun-and-games. I don't seem to be able to grasp Spanish, or Catalan, as much as I should when speaking. It seems to come out more like Spanalan, or Catish. In short: people understand me, but it's not the best way to be speaking to them.



Back to the present: I'm now in a house. A little house. Five minutes from the station, so I'm praying to God that the translation module is only on a Thursday or something, because it'll mean having days off. And I like days off. It means I can go places. Places I've never been to before. On the list thus far are Barcelona (been there, just want to test out my camera), Bilbao, Zaragoza, and Perpignon (or Perpinyà in Catalan). I don't much care for the places in Spain, but I'll make do. If there was a cheap enough train, I'd probably hot foot it to Asturias or Galicia, as I hear one does great cider and the other does amazing seafood.

There isn't really much other news to give you, so I'll make do with telling you about the new tumblr I've started. It's punningly good. Or at least the name is. Find it over at the Peregrine Nation. Get it? Peregrine Nation, a nation of pilgrims; peregrination, the vague urge to wander? No? Just me. Oh well, same old, same old.

I guess now it's time to settle in, get comfy and drink a cup of té verde. Speak soon!

I should really be packing right now, but hey-ho, ever the procrastinator! I'm into my last 24hours in Pavia, and I'm totes unprepared for all of this. It really is a move I'm not quite looking forward to much...

So, first piece of business: apologies to anyone (i.e. everyone) I didn't see before leaving. The plan for Safarà last night was pretty hastily thought up, not realising the Eurodinner probably killed most of you, and the fact that sitting alone for 45minutes really makes you want to go elsewhere. So, while a night out in that lovely little establishment would have been nice with y'all, I ended up in Malaika on Aperol Spritz con San Simone; followed by a Dominus Triple in the Black Bull. Same old, really.

There isn't really much to say in this blog without going overboard, so I'll just let it all go and say:

I'm actually going to miss Pavia, a lot. I guess I came here with no real expectations. I was told it was going to be a casino, which at first it was. I had the best journey down ever -- having crossed over rolling plains, cascading rivers, and high mountain passes -- only to end up in a little town that nobody had heard of. I wasn't in contact with any of the Erasmus folks here for about four days, but then, once I was, I met the most amazing people.
I'd already done the whole Spanish Society Executive last year, so I knew of the Erasmus lifestyle, but I didn't realise that it was a constant, world-over. I didn't think I'd come here and meet Argentinian, Costa Rican, Portuguese, Turkish, Irish, and American people and spark up friendships with them. Heck, I thought I was going to be the type to just cling to the Cardiff gang...which I guess I did at first, before spending more time just doing my own thing.
I've seen other Italian cities, and only Venice comes close to stealing the crown from Pavia. I wouldn't trade this place for anything in the world. I'm going to struggle to enjoy Lleida at first, just because it's not Pavia. It's not the place where I have so many friends and acquaintances from all over the world. It's not the place where I can wake up and spend €2,30 on a cappuccino and a brioche in a café where I am a semi-regular. It's not the place where I can stand at 8am on a sunny day and see the Alps. It's not the place where I can eat pizza at 3am on a Saturday night in good company.
In short: Pavia has made a huge impression on me. I was never interested in coming to Italy beforehand, because it always seemed a juxtaposition between the big cities like Milan and Turin, and the olive groves in the countryside. But, Pavia was the perfect mix. It was never really busy, but it was never the middle of nowhere. It was a nice second home. I will miss it.

And now for my regrets:
1. I never got to see Genoa. I kept promising myself I'd go, and then I got weighed down by exams. Quite the shame, but I guess it gives me an excuse to come back.
2. I never learnt how to make risotto alla milanese from scratch.
3. My glow-in-the-dark t-shirt only ever elicited the response of "Cool t-shirt, bro"
3b. Unlike 90% of Erasmus (I assume...) I didn't once act on any of my crushes, likes, or whatever you want to call them. So that leaves...er...three girls oblivious to it all. Je suis désolé.

But, this year isn't all about globe-trotting, gastronomy and getting it on, so what am I moaning about? I have met amazing people, stayed in a brilliant place, and I'm going to miss it a hell of a lot.

A tutti i Pavesi ed Erasmini: vi voglio bene, amici. Mi mancherete tanto!

You know me. You know I like to procrastinate in the face of oncoming pressures. That's exactly what I'm doing by writing this blog. I have an Art History exam on Wednesday, but I haven't looked at anything properly yet. Huzzah! Then again, this time last week I was moaning that I'd never pass my Italian Literature exam, and yet I aced it with an Ottimo (the highest band of marks you can get, for you non-Italians) from putting in very little work, and doing a lot of bullshitting around the point.

It's just over a week - like 8 days - until I pack up my troubles, hop on a flight, and trundle on slowly towards Lleida. I actually feel like I haven't got enough time left. I was given the good advice to do everything I haven't done yet, but with this exam, and going home, I have only 1 day to do anything and that's a Sunday, so it's highly unlikely that anything can be done! I guess it'll all work out in the end, right? Sure.

In other news, I'm kind of keeping up with my one resolution to keep up with New Music. It's just a shame that it's only January and the New Music isn't coming quite fast enough for me. Albums which I have checked out thus far and enjoyed include the new Decemberists album (The King is Dead) and the new Minks album (By the Hedge), which means I have liked one album a week since they have begun releases in 2011. Next on the list is Dolorean (The Unfazed), but I'm not too sure of it...

Anyhow, kids and kidettes. I'd best get myself into gear and start learning, eh? May as well get a decent grading for this half of the year!

I feel like I’ve been a bit of a letdown on the blogging front lately. I really haven’t had the time to get around to it. That’s a total lie, considering my studying has gone to pot already. I just guess I haven’t thought of anything interesting to say. So, what I say now is just stuff pulled out of the ether in order to make some coherent blog post!

Since I posted last, not a lot has happened really. I’ve passed two linguistics exams – though only one counts towards my degree – and I’ve failed miserably at reading all the novels I have to for my Literature exam on Thursday. I have time, though. I keep telling myself that; maybe I should start telling myself I have no time for messing around instead.

I’ve worked out that I don’t have much time left in Pavia. 16 days and I’m gone. It’s not a good feeling. I suppose I have to thank Jen for trying to put a positive spin on it all, when all I could think was “Lleida won’t be Pavia” – I’m trying to save all my “I love this place so much” points for my pre-leaving blog, but it’s quite difficult to do when you know you’re ultimately going to a strange place, with a language you’re not overly confident with, and have to start over again just because the University says you have to. I’d much rather have taken on a Spanish course here in Pavia, and done a full year here…but I digress from the awesomesauce that has been the last 7 days.

There has been many a pizza session and many attempts at ‘study’ with the gang, – that is Rebecca, Roxy and Brandon – and thankfully, last night evolved from a quiet drink at the Black Bull (man, have I missed drinking Weißbier!), into seeing people I haven’t seen in a long time because I’ve been a shit, indoor Erasmus. Follow that up with finding out that Irish people find the use of the word “hair lacquer” to be strange, 2am conversations with Jen, 3am Tiramisù with Roxy and Rebecca, and waking up to the Castello Visconti covered in fog, and I can say it was one of the best nights of the year thus far. Heck, the only downside was walking to the bus stop in the clothes I wore last night, making me look way overdressed for 12.30 on a Saturday – Chelsea boots, paisley shirt, floral tie, burgundy sweater; I really went ‘all out’ on dressing myself up. Still, this is Italy; they probably just thought I was trying to be like mio papà…

Beyond everything in the past, there is only what I have to look forward to: I need to book a flight to Lleida, or at the least Barcelona. I need to contact Joan Carles about getting myself booked into a hostel so I can house hunt while I’m there. I need to finish reading Jacopo Ortis, and Dante, and get my head around Parini and Petrarca by Thursday. Oh, so much to do, so little time to enjoy my last days in this gem of a city. *SIGH*

It seems as though I haven't written a blog in a long time. I think it must have been at least two weeks by now. I keep meaning to write one, just to prove I'm still alive, but it seems that not a lot has happened since the last one. The usual antics happened at home, so you don't need a list of drinks I drank and food I ate. I also managed to waste a whopping 12 days playing Fallout: New Vegas, and I think I'm now a convert to the Fallout universe. So addictive.

Anyhow, I'm back in Pavia, and it's very cold. It was barely 2ºC when I landed on Wednesday afternoon. I have no idea what it is now, but it's very cold! Epiphany was two days ago (as it's now Saturday), but I gave that a miss by catching up on my sleep. I have three full days until my written exam for Linguistics, and then another two til my oral. The others, thankfully, are a bit later in the month, but I really need to knuckle down and start learning stuff or be prepared to fail through failing to prepare.

If I get some time, I'd like to get one last trip somewhere in. I keep on about going to Novara, to see the Basilica  built by Antonielli, the same man who designed the synagogue (now cinema museum) in Turin. So, perhaps I'll go there after my art history exam if I have the time. It'd be a nice way to test out my swanky new camera before going to Spain -- that's a hassle in itself that probably deserves a blog once I've splashed out the cash on getting myself there, and half of my junk sent back home! Such a pain; some days I wish I could just stay in Italy and do a Spanish course here for my credits back home.

Anyhow, with much revision to be doing over the next three days, and 4 books to read and analyse in 12 days, I think I've got my work cut out for me. And that doesn't even bring in my Art History exam in 18 days. Oh well, wish me luck! I'm sure as hell going to need it!

Well, this is it. My time in Pavia is slowly running out. The last of Pavia 2010 is trickling away by the second, and, y'know what, I don't want it to. This place really is like a second home for me, and I love it. I actually think, aside from Christmas weekend, the entire experience of being at home is going to be one big downer and I can't wait to set foot back in this beautiful place.

Time to get all mushy for a second: I thought I wasn't going to blog before going home, because I really had nothing planned at all for my final days. I was just going to sit inside, wrapped up warm, feeling sorry for myself with my cold and the then-miserable weather. But then the weekend rolled around, and things became a sequence of fitting in time with other people: I studied, or attempted to, with Roxy and Rebecca; I went out and ate pizza with them; we had late night chats. Basically, the last five days have been filled with sharing my time with my favourite people here.

I'd love to say that Pavia would be just as cool if I'd spent my time here with other people, but that'd be a lie. I'm really glad I met Roxy and Rebecca and that we seem to have got on so well, and they've actually made living here fun. Last night some of us sat in Roxy's lounge and chatted into the witching hour, which was nice, though it did make me think that I wish I had got to know Brandon and Harry a bit more beyond the last week of interaction. Simply put: if there were only four people I could transpose to Spain, I'd take those guys any day of the week. I sometimes wonder if I'm going to find people who live up to the high benchmark they have set for 'friends'.

Anyhow: last night I drank some beer and chatted with Savino before going for a pizza and spending the evening rambling on with the gang; and this afternoon I said my goodbyes to Savino and Francesco at the bar, and then went and drank more caffè corretto than is advised in an hour -- generally, I think they'd recommend you only drink one, but Roxy and I managed to power our way through two with Grappa and one with Limoncello before deciding it was probably best to not drink any more alcohol-infused espressos. Now, I'm sat wasting time that I could be using to pack my case properly, rather than leaving it in the mess it's in now.

In 24hours, I should be back on British soil, standing in a queue, waiting for my passport to be checked to prove I am indeed the person I claimed to be when the Italians let me fly...and then it'll be back to the mundane life of a Welsh boy in the valleys, for two whole weeks. To sum it up: Blergh.

So there's a week left in Pavia, you guys! Actually, that exclamation mark isn't one of happiness; it could never be one of happiness...but we sadly never found the time to create a "sadness mark" so it's the next best thing. Anyhow, I digress. Lecturers aren't around much, people are going home in droves, and it's cold and foggy outside (like freezing-fog foggy) so I just want to stay indoors and curl up in bed with a film... I don't have anything exciting to add about my week; it's been pretty standard. Just letting you know about my departure in less than one week's time; my horrid cold that I got from staying out til 4am with two of my favourite people; and my top 10 albums of this year!

Yes. That last bit: I'm serious. It's an annual tradition. I'll link each album title with the 'best song' from that album, in my humble opinion. No pretentious 'reviews' of them, though. Just name, rank and number. Anyhow, let us kick off immediately, or we'll be here all night!

10. Hurley - Weezer
9. Subiza - Delorean
7. Root for Ruin - Les Savy Fav
7. High Violet - The National
6. Sea of Cowards - Dead Weather
5. Interpol - Interpol
4. Pop Negro - El Guincho
3. 1Inch:1/2Mile - Grasscut
2. Lights - Ellie Goulding
1. Lonely Avenue - Ben Folds/Nick Hornby

And I've just realised almost all the music I've listened to this year has been in the same vein. So much for discovering new stuff, eh?

I guess, considering I'm not going to be travelling around before I leave, and the next few days are just going to involve studying for my Linguistics mock exam and getting back home...the next blog to sate your appetite (Emyr...) will probably be the weekend of Christmas, perhaps...

Disclaimer: To save my arse from potentially being shouted at, it was just bad karma that my internet would cut out for two days when trying to organise a trip somewhere. However, I can’t really expect a host of “Why didn’t you invite me!!?” comments, because the message sent out was still sans replies less than an hour ago. I can, however, be shouted at by the Parmigiani and Laura, for not informing them I’d be in town – sorry, spur of the moment visit, though I will come back before I leave the Bel Paese!

Anyhow, let’s bring you up to speed. Since last venting, over a week ago, there has been nothing but days off. Days and days and days and days off. I should have used them and brushed up on those things they call subjects, since I am in University. I should also have used them to visit Italy, but I was hoarding my metaphorical pennies after a bit of a Christmas blow-out – the result of which means the quality of photos, at least in terms of clarity, should improve vastly in the new year! So, in short: for the last seven days, I have unashamedly sat on my arse and done nothing; literally veg’d out; so much so I started collecting beer labels… As you do…

On Saturday (or was it Sunday?) I bumped into Emilia and José on the bus, and we talked about how I’ve been a lame Erasmus student (Sorry, Emyr!) and that we should definitely go somewhere this week thanks to Wednesday being Immaculate Conception (Italy shuts down), Thursday being the feast of San Siro (Pavia supposedly shuts down), and today being a day off just because this is Italy! I tried to cajole people into going to Novara and Vercelli, though my guess is that it didn’t appeal…

So, today rolls around, and I’m up at the crack of dawn – I was even good enough to provide you with the proof! – and my internet had been out for a whole day and a half (which I mostly spent playing Plants vs Zombies…). So, I thought “Sod it, I’ll go into town and put up a text status on Facebook saying I have no internet. I assume people will get the message, and let me know if anything is going down.” – after a half hour talk on the economic crisis that is gripping the world with Savino in the café, I gave up all hope of anyone coming to find me, and asked for a recommendation on where to go. It became a toss-up between Parma and Bologna. Now, since I’ve seen the prices for Bologna on the ESCity trains, and didn’t like the looks of 4 hours on the ‘bog standard’ regionals, I opted for Parma.

One thing I’ll say for train journeys in Italy is that they don’t disappoint when it comes to the views. In Wales, it’s a case “same old, same old” on the Valley Line – hills, hills, hills, river, hills, river etc. – but Milan to Parma was just rolling fields as far as the eye could see, and mountains! Actual Alpine mountains! Plus, you can travel for half an hour without having to stop…it takes an hour to go the 20miles to Cardiff; I did 148km in 2 hours today…with a break for my change-over at Milano Rogoredo.  British Rail: you could learn something from the Italians! Who needs to stop at Ton Pentre anyway?

But, I digress.

Parma is a city in Emilia-Romagna. It’s roughly an hour and a half away from Pavia, and by contrast is a hybrid of peaceful streets and bustling pavements. Maybe that was just today, though. It’s also my nominee for the prize of “City under construction at the most inopportune time!” – not only is the station receiving a makeover, but so is the bell tower of the cathedral. Put a bit of a dampener on my trip.

The first thing I noticed about Parma is that it is quite underwhelming…then I realised that the station is nowhere near the ‘historical centre’, so it would be like basing my opinion of Cardiff on Cathays. It has a river – wikipedia quotes a historian as calling it a stream, but would you call this a stream:

I certainly don’t think it’s a stream. In fact, I was quite in awe of it, though the bridges have nothing on Pavia’s Ponte Coperto! On this side of the bridge (i.e. the side I am taking the photo from) is some large park, which, at first seems a bit like Bute Park with a bit of a superiority complex. But, then I walked further than just the front gate, and it’s quite beautiful. I reckon in the summer it would be amazing, what with leaves on trees and such. But still, after walking the full circumference of the park, I was at a loss as to where the ‘historic centre’ was. Considering the fact that the Duomo in Pavia can be seen from most places, and the one in Milan has its own metro stop…surely the most important medieval baptistery in Northern Italy, if not Europe, would be well signposted??

Unless I’d missed the signs, I spent the time wandering aimlessly, considering giving up my search for this holy grail of medieval church architecture. Sure, I found plenty of other churches and buildings and statues to make my nerdy side happy, but in the back of my mind I felt I was missing something. When I found myself back at the river, I sighed, sat down on a bench and conceded defeat. “Sod it,” I thought, using a phrase I over use in writing so that my blog is vaguely PG, “I’ll get the next train home and come back in January and get Sara and Erica to show me where it is!!”

Figuring I had an hour until the next train, I thought I’d find out what lay to the other side of the Palazzo del Governatore (not under construction, but maltreated and hidden by a sign telling everyone it was Christmas, I do believe…*mumble grumble*) Woe was I when there was no sign of the Baptistery. The street went on, and ended at a bell tower, but no piazza. I reached a crossroads – literally – and only by the sheer luck that I glanced to my right, rather than turning left and just storming off to the station to pout, did I see it. My jaw dropped – metaphorically – and I have trouble relating the feeling. I can, however, tell you that I became a total church architecture nerd: there are photos on my camera of the intricate details on the Baptistery, the triple loggia of the cathedral, the parts of the wall where it looks like an arch was removed, the masonry, the art…ooo, I was happier than a pig in the proverbial!

 

Isn’t that just beautiful. Eight-sided on the outside, sixteen sided on the inside; four doors - one at every compass point; four loggias on every side. And just look at those blind arches making an arcade at the top. Oh, I am in heaven! It’s probably best that I leave it there, rather than including the sheer boredom which came with the hour and a half back to Milan, and the twenty minutes to Pavia… And that sums up my (probably) last day of travel in Italy of 2010!

As normal, all of the photos from today (not that I took many in the two hours I was in Parma – that’s what leaving it to the last minute does; cuts your time short), are up on my flickr page.

It's bloody freezing, and it seems Italy has gone nuts. I decided to be good, and go in early today, and even had time for some breakfast (marmalade-filled croissant for €1, don't mind if I do!) Anyway, I arrived at Uni at 9.10, only to find the door to our class already open and nobody outside. Sheepishly, I entered, and could hear the quiet tone of our little old Arts lecturer. I glanced to my left, and there were five girls standing in the walkway between the lecture hall and the wall, so I toddled on over to see what the fuss was about. The lecturer spotted me, and turned, and summed up everything in one sentence:

Dicevo che la nostra facoltà sarà chiusa per due giorni, per mostrare supporto alla manifestazione di oggi, perché riguarda al vostro futuro.

Or something like that. Basically: class are suspended to keep your protesting pals happy. So, I guess this makes it a five day weekend for me! On that note, I'm going to go on a bit of a jolly today. Either to Genova on the 1pm train...or to Milan, again...or to somewhere else. I've not quite decided. What I have decided, however, is that I can't for the life of me type on an Italian keyboard. Who in the hell puts the apostrophe at the top, next to 0, and the colon at the bottom, and the @ sign hidden behind an alt+ctrl on a key labelled òç@ eh!? (essentially the key next to where the questionmark is on an English keyboard. I keep hitting that button, only to come up with à. What the frackà?)

Hello and Good Monday 22nd of  November. I'm Molly, and this is Rocketboom. (Sorry, that's a lie; but such a nice way to introduce a blog/vlog.)

Today, dear readers, I'm on a bit of a down. My entire weekend was composed of a 12:1 ratio of Suck to AwesomeSauce. In fact, it seems my entire life lately is hitting that rut of suckage : awesomesauce. I really don't think it's right. However, for those of you who follow me on Facebook, you'll probably have spotted the reason why. My current status reads:

Vorrei essere studioso. Invece divento scostante.
(Or in English: I want to be studious. Instead I become unapproachable.)

Every week there's something to do, at least if I'm a student -- I can go out with friends, I can go out with the ESN folks, I can grab a coffee, I can pass the day in the company of people I've never met -- but because I feel the urge to actually be a good student this trimester, I'm missing out on all of this. Last trimester, you may know, I missed out on a lot of lectures; I just couldn't hack going in after being out til 5am drinking. This trimester, I have been out once, on a Sunday, which is good because I don't have lessons on a Monday.

It's bugging me though. I mean, I have to attend these classes, to be able to write the notes, which I will revise from later, to get my grade this year, no matter how small it is. I'd rather get the grades than have to pass my summer writing a paper on it all. But, it's cutting in on my 'social hours'. Most people in the "World of Work" would call them unsociable hours, but from 10pm til the early morning, Pavia is most alive with people I want to spend time with.

I know, I know. I could just say "Fuck this for a game of soldiers" and go out, enjoy myself, read the articles for non-frequenti, and quit my moaning. Thing is, that's harder work than just sitting indoors and attempting to read about the phonological to phonetic changes in transcription, or the design of a 12th century Lombard basilica. But, by not going out I'm alienating myself from the people I like the most here -- the Erasmus people. I'm also letting my Italian slip as I spend more time talking to friends back home while attempting, and failing, to open a book to study.

I guess this is a bit of a downer for anyone who came here expecting to read of my epic exploits in Italy, where I travel and have fun, and get blindingly drunk, and we all laugh at it later. In fact, were my glasses not broken, and I had a bowl of crisps (chips) then this post would definitely fit the criteria given on Thursday of coming home, writing a blog nobody cares about, but thinking it's very important.

Anyhow: Where did this extra long, extra-sucky rant come from? Well, I went into Uni today just for the whole "I should study" idea. I bumped into an Italian friend, Signor Gigio, and was asked if I was going to the beer contest tomorrow night. I declined, and then felt like I was turning down something that I didn't have to participate in, which is silly. So, it got stuck in my head that I came across as totally antisocial and an ass, so I just grabbed a coffee and left. Weird reaction, I know; but when you've been a bag of suck for the last three-or-four weeks... The word that sums it up is: Ergh.

Today's post was brought to you by the letter Y, and the number √-1.

Like what I did with the title? No? Well, you haven't read this yet, so you probably don't get it. This isn't so much a blog, as an opinion piece. If it bores you, sorry. I was going to include my rant that Terry Gilliam makes everything he touches turn to shit, but it doesn't work when it's not 'spur of the moment', so you just get this little...thing:

Dear Internet,

Don't you hate it when you get a crush on someone but you never know if they like you? I'd like to explain the way crushes work for me. I like to think of it on a Donald Rumsfeld scale of knowledge, thereby creating three types of crushes (There are actually four, but the fourth is so rare it hardly counts). They are:

Unknown Knowns -- The crushes you get on the street. You see someone and you think "They're actually my type, superficially. I wish I knew them more" and then you forget all about them and move on because you don't know them, and assume they'll freak out. They are Unknown to you, but you presume that their feelings towards you are known.


Unknown Unknowns -- These can both be people on the street, or acquaintences. You don't have a brilliant friendship going, but you still like them enough to pluck up the courage to say something. In essence, they are unknown to you, and as their feelings are unknown you'd like to delve deeper.

Known Unknowns -- The most common type of crush, where you crush on your best friend (or a member of your friend circle). The result is that they are already known to you, but their feelings are always hidden, or unknown. Griffiths' Law of Curiosity, that is "Curiosity usually, if not always, tends towards the murder of felines," makes it a dead cert that at some point you will inevitably "kill the cat" and ask what they think of you.

Known Knowns -- The rarest type of crush. Rarer than hens' teeth. This is the type of person who is already known to you, but it's also bloody obvious (known) that they like you as more than a friend. When these crop up; pounce!

Now, where am I going with this? Well, that's just it: I'm not going anywhere. I'm just making the point that having a crush sucks. Here comes the part where you can get all mushy and soppy with me, or you can switch off. Fair warning? Let's go then:

This isn't an out of the blue thing. I've been having crush conversations with people for a while, but I feel I don't reciprocate, so I'll admit here to having had three crushes in my time in Pavia. One has been a Known Unknown for some time, one is still an Unknown Unknown, and one has recently hit the status of Known Unknown, though I'd say she started as an Unknown Unknown. Thing is, I'm a massive [insert pejorative here] who doesn't have the balls/chutzpah/cojones to make a decision, and to take the leap into the unknown. I've probably missed out on a hell of a lot of rejections in the past few years; and probably some acceptances too. Couple that with the fact that no girl in their right mind asks the guy, and I'm stuck in a perpetual limbo where my crushes just pass me by and I never tell them.

It's not like I'm now going to say "Crush #1, you are....[name]", so, sorry to disappoint. I'm just making the point that I have 'Pavia Crushes'. Maybe it's my way of feeling like I'm getting it 'off my chest', without actually ruining any friendships, and my way of saying "Look, if you like me -- if I am your (Un)Known Unknown -- just ask me already. You may be surprised." -- this goes for anyone, not just people in Pavia.

I'm just fed up of the onus always being on the male to make the leap. Why can't it be down to the girl once in a while? That is all. Here is a song:



[[God, I love a bit of Swing-Hop in the afternoon -- and have no doubt posted this very song further back in the blog...]]

So, on the one hand I have been single for just over a year now. Say it with me: Awwwwwwww! But, on the other hand, I'm living in Italy, so who gives a flying ****?

It's Monday, and not a lot has happened since I last blogged, in all honesty. I believe I went to buy a book last week, and was told it has been out of print for a while. The conversation basically ran:
"Hi, I'm looking for Parini's Odes, edited by Dante Isella..."
"Okay, let me have a look" *typing* *waiting* "Well, that's been out of print for a while, I'll find you another if you like..."
"Can you try Stefano Carai?"
*typing* *waiting* "Carai isn't in stock, but there's one by Tatti...which is in the Bookstore of the University of Trento. I can order that for you, if you'd like?"
"Nah, I'm good. Can you recommend me another one?"
"Well, who's your professor? Cremante, right?"
"Yep"
"Welcome to Pavia...." (said in the most knowing fashion, before selling me a €13 book that is mostly poems I don't need, when he could have just sold me the cheaper Odes, without the Il Giorno cycle included...)

In fact from that point on, I was unable to buy any book recommended to me. In fact, it's almost as if they sell out of these books in the first trimester, before the profs even recommend their favourites! (At this point, it would be worth noting I changed my spell-checker back from Italian to English as I didn't trust my spelling of 'recommend'. Huzzah for my English gradually failing me.)

What else has been done in the last six days since that really, really, really pointless list blog? Actually not much at all. I've drunk more coffee than is probably healthy, I've bought an Italian audiobook of Dante's Commedia, just so I don't waste my time pausing on words to get the pronunciation right, I've finished reading High Fidelity (best book ever, in the trashy Romance genre anyway), and have started reading The Castle of Crossed Destinies which is what I assume the Canterbury Tales would be like if told through Tarot Cards.

As of today there are five weeks remaining of my 2010 Italy sojourn. I get a lot of questions about "When are you back?" so I shall just state for the record: 22nd December I fly back, but I'll probably arrive so late home that I may as well say 23rd. I am home until January 4th, and am flying back January 5th at lunchtime. The silly thing is: January 6th is Epiphany. If anything is running in Italy that day, I'll be surprised. Beyond that, things worth mentioning:
1. I expect plenty of Christmas-time escapades. I'm only really back for a week-and-a-bit, ya dig. I need you to make me think that coming home for more than just Christmas was a worthwhile idea.
2. I'm trying to get people to come out for my six days off in December. If you stay in Milan, you could get a nice, cheap hotel (€40 a night?) and get the nice, cheap train to Pavia (it's literally like €3). No, I'm serious. Do it. Otherwise, I'll be spending those six days in Tuscany -- staying in Florence, doing a day in Siena, coming back via Pisa. It'll be annoying spending six hours on trains just to get to Florence for €15, but that's the price I'd have to pay (literally and metaphorically)
3. Forbidden Planet = best place for useless crap. Just look at all the potential Scott Pilgrim nonsense I could own! I'm determined to have a roller-skating Ramona and a t-shirt that says "Let's Make Out" though. I love my pointless to-the-point t-shirts. It'll go well with my "If you can read this, it's dark and you should kiss me" glow-in-the-dark failure t-shirt.
4. NaNoWriMo is back up and running, at a snail's pace. I'm at 8500 words. NaNo Stats estimates I will reach 50000 in January at this rate; that's not good for the NaNo front, but it's good for the story front as I can just take my sweet time. So far, it sounds terrible, but who cares; it's not like I'm going to suddenly become a published author overnight, right?
5. I have discovered the written exam for Linguistics is actually quite difficult. Not because of the points it makes, but because it's in Italian. The thought of asking the Professor if we Erasmus could use a dictionary is silly, because what dictionary doesn't contain phonetic spellings that could help us cheat!? I may just have to book an appointment with her at some point, just to allay some fears that I'm not going to suck at it. Curious about it? Here's the .pdf

And on that note, I really have to get off my behind, now, and go into town. I feel like I'm going to get no studying done with this laptop on, so I'll head to the café, have my lunch in the company of Francesco and Savino, and then go sit in the University bar for two hours or so, trying to plough through a bit of Dante, or some Linguistics. I really don't know.

Okay, so this post follows on from a conversation held between Roxane, Rebecca and I. I guess I thought it appropriate to fill in the blanks from earlier, and to just give an all-round view of me for those of you who read this, but haven’t known me all that long. In short, it’s going to be a lot of Top 5 lists which will range from “Top Five Films” to “Top Five Celebrity Crushes,” all with the aim of giving you a better perspective, a look at what makes me tick. Things I feel should be seen/heard/understood are linked. So, let’s go:

Top Five Films

In order:
1. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
2. Dead Man
3. Twenty-Four Hour Party People
4. My Neighbour Totoro
5. The Rocky Horror Picture Show

Top Five Works of Fiction

In order:
1. Fiesta, Sun Also Rises
2. Invisible Cities
3. The Great Gatsby
4. Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep
5. Love in the Time of Cholera

Top Five Non-Fiction

1. Helter Skelter, the True Story of the Manson Murders
2. Stupid White Men
3. Who Killed Marten Hannett? The Story of Factory Records’ Musical Magician

(I actually don’t read enough non-fiction to warrant this at all…)

Five Bands I am Currently Listening to

1. Ben Folds & Nick Hornby
2. Anamanaguchi
3. Caparezza
4. From Monument to Masses
5. Explosions in the Sky

Five Bands I think You should listen to

1. Explosions in the Sky
2. Ratatat
3. The Shins
4. The Decemberists
5. Belle & Sebastian

Top Five Bands of All-Time

1. Adam and the Ants
2. Duran Duran
3. Bright Eyes
4. Daft Punk
5. The Eagles

Top Five Celebrity Crushes (Female)

1. Lauren Laverne
2. Natalie Portman
3. Karen Gillan
4. Siouxsie Sioux (hey, for a 50-something she’s still good-looking)
5. Melissa auf der Maur

Top Five Celebrity Man-Crushes

1. Kevin Spacey
2. Early 90s Richard Gere
3. Johnny Depp pre-Pirates, post-Scissorhands (i.e. in Blow, Fear and Loathing, Ed Wood etc)
4. Sean Connery 
5. Zach Braff

Top Five Languages (Because I find some nicer than others)

1. Italian
2. Catalan
3. Finnish
4. Icelandic
5. Dutch

Top Five Places in the World (so far)

1. Artà, Mallorca
2. Venice, Italy
3. Pavia, Italy
4. Toronto, Canada
5. Walt Disney World, Kissimmee, Florida

Just so this doesn’t end with a list, I thought I’d just give me a nice pretentious musical profile, to clear up any doubts:

I was brought up listening to the Eagles, country music, and 80s pop stars. Like every child of the 90s, I went through a phase of liking all the pop music available, from B*Witched to STEPS, before finally being pulled away from Britney and Michael Jackson to Eminem. I was never really that into his music, I guess I was only along for the ride. From there, I guess I started trying to outdo people, to ‘stay cool’, so when I met someone who said they liked Alice Cooper, I tried to one up them by saying I liked Ozzy Osbourne and Black Sabbath (having never listened to either before) – within a few weeks, I owned their greatest hits, as well as a Rob Zombie album, because it had a nice psychedelic cover.

For the next few years, I bounced between the tame (Marilyn Manson, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Bauhaus) and the extreme (Satyricon, Opera XIII, Hypocrisy etc) in the hopes of being taken seriously, and looked upon less as a mall-goth and more as a ‘real goth’. During that time I attended my first real gig, Slayer’s Unholy Alliance Tour (Hatebreed, Mastodon, Slipknot and Slayer), but didn’t get my first taste of moshing probably until Taste of Chaos 2005, when I got punched square in the face by a girl. From then on, any moshing was done in the style of “get from an edge to an edge quickly” – though, within a year I’d moved on to bigger and better things.

2006 was when I grew out of being such a narrow-minded fool. I discovered Mercury Rev, Explosions in the Sky, Animal Collective, The Decemberists, and a host of other groups. This opened my eyes to the fact that chugging riffs weren’t everything. Within a year or two I was listening to Justice, Daft Punk, The Knife, Klaxons, CSS, and all that was vaguely electronic, but I still kept my old musical tastes. Four years later, having stumbled blindly through Dubstep, Dancehall, Grime, Hip-Hop, Blues, Rock n Roll (and so on),  I think the only genre I have yet to explore is jazz – with the exception of Kenny G’s The Moment (which is as far from Jazz as Britney is from being a hardcore punk…in the literal sense, because we all know Britney is “p.u.n.x. 4 lyf yo”)

I try to avoid reading Pitchfork and the NME as much as possible, and pretty much take my musical recommendations from those outlets I trust: Leigh, Jake, and Metacritic. Serves me right for being, despite my protestations to the contrary, so closed-minded and pretentious when it comes to my musical habits. And if you don’t look at me now and think “My God, he’s an ass” then we may just get along for a long time…

(Any questions, other lists you want from me, ask away. Maybe next time “The story of how I became such an ass”)