Sleepless in Berkeley

Insomnia

2008-05-05T12:52:00.002+02:00

It's the middle of the night and I'm out of cigarettes. I've been having a lot of trouble sleeping and even more trouble waking up. My internal schedule seems to be sleep at five a.m., wake up in the late afternoon.

This is a problemn. I have work at one o'clock almost every day.

I know for a fact that part of the reason I haven't been fired yet is that I'll be starting school again at the end of August. There's a concrete end to my full-time employment. The rest seems to be cuteness and being competent when I'm there. But I hate myself, I want to be there on time, and it takes all my strength not to cycle into self-loathing, but to work on the problem itself.

Baby steps.

Iris is taking it one day at a time

Gonzo Journalism and Gallows Humor

2007-11-24T10:48:00.000+01:00

I got my first tattoo this week, a simple geometric spider on the back of my left shoulder. The two or three people I know who've read Transmetropolitan understand exactly why. Spider Jerusalem, for all his flaws, is one of my personal heroes.

I spend a fair amount of my life observing people. There are a lot of things I don't understand—Black Friday, for example. I've spent the Thanksgiving break in Los Angeles with Lindsay, in the middle of the world capital of greedy, self-serving consumerism, and I just don't get it. I don't understand waking up at three in the morning to stampede some megastore and buy objects that you don't actually need, all for the sake of a bargain. I hate the relentless advertising, the constant message that everything you own is disposable and should be replaced as soon as possible with something newer, better, with more features that you will never use and have never wanted. I've only been here four days and I already have the overwhelming urge to either commit mass homicide or become a hermit.

This is probably part of why I don't get along with people very well.

There's a certain point at which gallows humor is the only way to deal with society and the state of the world without going batshit insane. The whole concept of Black Friday is completely absurd. Can you imagine trying to describe this to someone from a third-world country, or anyone from a century ago? My sense of humor may be sick and twisted, but you can see why. There's no other way to cope.

As Spider Jersualem once said...
This is the future. This is what we built. This is what we wanted. It must have been. Because we all had the fucking choice, didn't we? It is only our money that allows commercial culture to flower. If we didn't want to live like this, we could have changed it at any time, by not paying for it. So let's celebrate by all going out and buying the same burger.

Iris hates it here.

Amsterdam

2006-08-08T18:01:00.000+02:00

It feels a lot like I'm just killing time until my flight on Thursday morning. Kamilla and Amanda have moved on to Brussels, and I'm spending my days wandering the narrow streets of Amsterdam, staring out coffee shop windows at the misty rain and passing tourists. I don't do travelling alone very well--I always find myself wishing I was staring at someone over that cappuccino or cup of Jasmine tea. The solitude lets me clear my head, but there are so many things better experienced with someone else. Spend dinner talking rather than reading a book or staring into space.

It's been an amazing summer, but I think I'm ready to come home. Come home, go back to school, and start working toward that pipe dream of getting my MS and moving to Europe permanently.

I Know It's Over

2006-08-05T13:06:00.000+02:00

I'm leaving Eindhoven today to spend five nights in Amsterdam. It's weird. After a bout of sentimentality two nights ago, I'm just going about my business. This is how I handle change--do what needs to be done and not think about it. My suitcase is packed again, the room just needs to be vacuumed, and I have to wash my laundry. My badge and office key have been turned in. The project is Mahesh's baby now.

I always seem to leave a place just when I get comfortable. On Thursday night, Martijn, Ruud, Jos, Mahesh and I went out to dinner, and I could read the menu. People assume I'm Dutch until I open my mouth. It's still a slightly lonely existence, but if I could stay here longer it would really become home.

Someday I'll move to Europe. That I'm sure of.

Both Sides Now

2006-07-12T00:09:00.000+02:00

I've been listening to a lot of Joni Mitchell today, and doing domestic things like laundry. A slow, almost melancholy day, most of it spent working at home and waiting for the nice men from DHL to bring me back my camera. I already miss Italy again, especially after seeing the pictures. While they had the camera, the boys took a bunch of photos at work, and my desk is just like it was when I left. Same crowd, same lab, same fairly disorganized mess.

Mostly, life is just calm and quiet. Work, buy groceries, cook, listen to music, do laundry. A fairly simple existence, and one that I'm growing to love. Life feels good right now.

(There's a new link to the photos on the right, I've switched galleries. New photos up, too.)

I Campioni del Mondo Siamo Noi

2006-07-10T00:52:00.000+02:00

Italy won the world cup. Tomorrow I'll try to be a little more articulate on the subject, but there was screaming and lots of beer and parading through the streets of Eindhoven shouting and singing, then dancing and more beer and champagne. My voice is mostly gone.

Nocturnal Exploration

2006-07-08T00:16:00.000+02:00

I love living in a town where I can decide at two in the morning that I want a falafel and go get one. I love riding my bike everywhere. I love that it's past midnight and still t-shirt weather.

I went for a very late dinner at a falafel place in the center, then rode around my neighborhood for a while, just exploring.

I'm having a fantastic night.

Seven Moments

2006-07-07T20:40:00.000+02:00

One.
The Munich airport is familiar now. I understand its idiosyncracies, and suddenly found myself playing seasoned local to a group of entirely terrified American tourists. My own first trip through Munich made me conclude it was the worst designed aiport on the face of the planet (a view I still hold), so I reassured them that yes, this was the bus to our flight to Rome, no the bus was not going to get on the freeway, and this was pretty much business as usual in Munich. I told them that everyone's first flight through the airport is an excercise in patience and utter confusion. It's strange to think of myself as the one who knows the ins and outs of getting around various bits of Europe.

Two.
I stepped off the plane at Fiumicino and breathed a huge sigh of relief. The light had that warm quality I've only seen in Italy, the sun was out, it was warm, and I could understand things. Signs in the bus and airport, the babble of fellow travellers...it was like coming home. On the train from Fiumicino to Roma Termini, I ended up sitting across from two entirely obnoxious Americans, the first I've really encountered since leaving home. They remind me why I want to leave the country. I spent the entire ride from Termini to Ancona staring out the window and listening to music. A lot of the Postal Service, some Jeff Buckley, Elliott Smith, the Alkaline Trio. The light is prettier, the landscape is nicer, the architecture is very specific. In Italy the bricks are yellow, in Holland they're red. The streets are narrower and windier. They actually have hills and mountains. Everything was so familiar, and reminded me why I'd missed the place so much.

Three.
I called Simo from the Termini station to tell him what time I would be coming in, and spoke Italian. I think he was downright shocked. Somehow, in a year of not using it, I've overcome my shyness about attempting to speak Italian. Last summer, communication with Pasqui was very difficult. This summer, somehow, it was easy. We had whole conversations in Italian (his slow for my benefit, mine broken and limited, but still somewhat functional). Peppe and I barely spoke last year, but this year it was like old friends reuniting. Suddenly I discover that his English is fantastic, and we spend dinner talking. Angelo had to worry even less about my understanding him. It was...incredible. Surrounded by my friends, words in two languages flying across the table.

Four.
Peppe and I are out in Senigallia on Saturday night, drinking beers. Pasqui has found his friends, leaving the two of us talking about music and life and work. We start to get drunk at about the same time (apparently we have the same alcohol tolerance?) and by halfway through the second beer we're taking silly, vaguely drunken photos with my camera. His friend Riccardo shows up, along with some of the other boys from Chiaravalle (Peppe's hometown), and it descends into the two of them sharing stories about when they were studying in England together, overlapping and contradicting and teasing. The dynamic reminds me so much of when a group of old Czars gets together. Sometime past four, we walk back to Pasqui's car, drive Peppe to his, and Pasqui drives me home. Peppe ends up spending the night in his car.

Five.
On Tuesday, Martijn asks me at lunch if I want to go swimming after work (as soon as I came back from Italy, the sun was out). We try and try to get more people in, but eventually it's just him, Derya (his wife), and me. We leave work and race to the Turkish market for picnic supplies. Derya makes small-talk in Turkish with the grocers while we pick out several pounds of cherries, good bread and cheese, and dinner makings. At the lake (dubbed E3 for the motorway nearby), we demolish all the cherries and about half the bread and cheese, then go swimming until the evil man in the truck starts driving around, berating us all to get out of the water because the lake is closing....in half an hour.
We go back to Martijn and Derya's apartment in the city center, a gorgeous tenth-floor flat with a balcony. For dinner we make a huge Spanish tortilla and a salad, and open a bottle of red wine. They only let me help when I insist that I feel useless. We eat dinner listening to Pink Floyd and fantastic Dutch blues and watching the Italy-Germany game on mute. It's so hot that, even with all the windows and doors open it's all we can do to lie still and watch television, much less do anything. Martijn is cheering for Italy. His logic: "I don't like the French, the Portuguese beat Holland, and I hate Germany...Italy!" (hating the German is a Dutch national pasttime). It's an amazing game, and when Martijn drves me home at almost midnight I spend a while more celebrating and rehashing the game with Salvo.

Six.
Wednesday night at one-thirty I was sitting in the Markt Square drinking vodka shots and Belgian beer and eating chips and salsa with Martijn, Derya, two French, one Serb, two Portuguese, and a Mexican, all Philips employees but Antonio. We'd come from the Irish pub, where we'd all been watching the France-Portugal match. The French were celebrating, the Portuguese were drowning their sorrows, and the rest of us? We were just drinking. It was so warm out that we were in out t-shirts well past midnight. I ended up crashing in Martijn and Derya's spare room, because I didn't trust myself to ride home. Martijn and I spent a while more on the balcony talking about education and engineering and math and drinking water, so by the time I woke up yesterday morning I was pretty much fine...though for a while the three of us looked like zombies stumbling around the apartment trying to get ready for work.

Seven.
Today at work, I was cyber-ambushed by the boys. All of them. The entire hardware lab signed onto Skype and it quickly descended into the kind of half-Italian half-English madness I remember. The boss was out so they were all drinking beer, making the situation even more ridiculous than usual. Marines (who is temporarily occupying the desk across from mine) caught me breaking down laughing, and I explained that the entirety of the lab was in a chat, and they were all completely insane. Eventually there were plans to send me a cup of Italian coffee via DHL, after which we decided that, since they'd invented teleportation, that was a much better method of coffee delivery.

Dreaming on a Park Bench

2006-06-30T10:21:00.000+02:00

I'm sitting in Schiphol airport, with about twenty minutes to go till flight boarding. Wireless in the (ridiculously tasteful) food court.

Reasons I love being here:
The train system works
For five euros I got a very good bowl of fruit and yogurt and a large glass of fresh orange juice. In an airport. In the US you wouldn't even be able to find either of those.
I bought a bicycle yesterday, thanks to which it took me only twenty minutes to get to the station this morning, and the whole route is gorgeous. I love riding my bike in Eindhoven.
In ten hours I will be in Ancona (thanks to plane and train connections, it's a bit of a long haul).
I got window seats on both flights.
The boys organized a committee to plan my weekend. I love them.

Life is fantastic. Early morning, biking on quiet streets, a train ride, and a well-designed airport.

There are racks of S4 PARs lighting the concourse. Teehee.

Just Another Morning Here

2006-06-29T08:43:00.000+02:00

The problem with there being five of us to one bathroom is that I can wake up an hour before I have to leave, and not get into the shower until five minutes before I was supposed to leave.

Life feels really good lately. Work is going well, life at home is really nice, and I'm actually doing something for my brirthday this weekend.

This afternoon I'm going down to the payment office to pick up my pay for June, then use part of it to buy myself a bike on the way home.

I'd been using a bike that belinged to Alan, a former housemate, who'd left a couch, seven guitars, and this bike (as well as some pot that Carel left in the kitchen cabinets and didn't tell anyone about, till Jiri stumbled upon it one day). Jiri and Salvo and I pumped up the tires and checked all the basic controls and it was a perfetly good bike, so I rode it for about two weeks. Perfect. Saved me the trouble of finding my own. Then I got home for work on Monday to find that Alan had finally come for his stuff--no more bike, no more couch in the yard. Time for me to invest in a bike of my own.

Life is good.

Pasta ed Amore

2006-06-27T23:25:00.000+02:00

I know it's been a long time. There's a lot to catch up on. Not all of it will be written tonight, because I have work in the morning, but soon.

I've become good friends with Salvo, one of my housemates. He's Sicilian, so I can practice my few words of Italian on him and talk about Italy, we bond over bottles of Italian wine (thanks to the European union it's almost cheaper here that in Italy). He works at Philips, in research, so we meet for lunch or run into each other around the campus, and through him I've fallen in with the young Italian expatriates, a whole group working on PhDs or at their first real jobs, all under thirty (unusual around here), and all Italian, except for Andrew (Maltese, but adopted into the group because his Italian is good). We've been following the world cup together, cheering for Italy. It's so nice tohear the language spoken again, to hang out with Salvo when he's talking to his friends here and back home and understand what's going on.

Tonight, Salvo and I took over the kitchen to make spaghetti carbonara, which was fabulous. We ate together and talked about work and engineering in general--it's so nice to be living with someone else who gets the same gleam in his eye when talking about integrated circuits and programming languages as I must. Two very likeminded people.

Basically, life here is good. The weather has not been great (dreary for over a week = me begging to see the sun again), but today the sun came out for a bit in the evening and broke the monotony. I'm going to Italy for my birthday this weekend, so I'll be getting away from the clouds for a few days at least.

Ah, Italy this weekend. I'm so psyched.

For now, to bed. Work in the morning, work and getting paid the day after, and Italy on Friday.

Czech Alcohol and Good Company

2006-06-12T01:25:00.000+02:00

Spent tonight spontaneously drinking and bonding with my housemates. Through a two-hour power outage. We're all from different countries--one French, one Czech, one Italian, one Dutch, and me. The one language we have in common is English, so that's what we speak. Lise's classmate Julien (also French) was over as well, and the six of us sat in the backyard by candlelight talking for hours. Fabulous.

Ohshit.

2006-06-08T10:28:00.000+02:00

I woke up with a start this morning, terrified because I'd forgotten to set my alarm. It was 6:35. So I set and turned on the alasrm, and fell back asleep.

Next thing I know it's 9:45, the alarm didn't go off, and I'm late for work and desperately need a shower.

Infinite

2006-06-07T18:30:00.000+02:00

There's a path that winds through the strip of woods between Locatellistraat and the creek, and it happens to be the shorter way to work. After spending most of the afternoon nearly asleep on my keyboard, the minute I stepped out of the building everything was okay. The sun was out, the birds were singing, I had the Alkaline Trio playing in my ears. I took the path home instead of the road, and the sunlight was filtering through the trees perfectly and I must've had the biggest grin on my face, wandering along and singing "Blue Carolina" under my breath.

When I got to the turn off to go home, I went exploring instead. Down the path more, through wooded areas and along the bank of the creek, past grass fields prinkled with daisies, to a place where I could see the campus behind a screen of tall, beautiful trees--I can't believe I'm really live here, that this is my life. It's too beautiful to be true. The sun, the music, the path through the woods...it's at times like these that I honestly feel life is perfect.

On my way back, I ran across a little dirt path off through the woods, in the direction of home, and followed it. A hundred meters or so of path with overhanging trees so low I couldn't quite stand straight, then the woods opened up and I was in a huge grassy field full of daisies and buttercups, right across the street (and the median) from my house.

I still haven't stopped grinning like an idiot. Life is so beautiful.

Multicultural

2006-06-07T14:19:00.000+02:00

I'm running on no sleep. Incomplete to finish for my data structures course, so after a full (very productive) day at work, I got home last night, panicked for a few hours, and then got down to work and got much more functioning than I thought I possibly could. I should have been working on this project weeks ago, but I started this weekend and avoided really getting anything done for the longest time. It's not done, but it's in, and I saw the sunrise over tile roofs and brick walls, and what I think was a stork flew into the back garden and perched on the wall, before flying off to sit on a chimney to the east, silhouetted against the pink and orange of the sunrise. Every hour from two till morning I heard church bells chiming the hour (my window was open), and around four the sky was lightening and the birds came out, and by 4:30 the sky was pink. On my way into work, when I was on the footpath, Martijn bicycled by and waved from the path three meters over, blurred behind the trees as he rode by. I got to work first because he had to park his bike, and by the time he came in my coat was hung up and my computer was booted, and I started razzing him for being late.

I'm surprisingly awake, considering I didn't sleep. Blame the caffeine, the adrenaline, just being good at staying awake for long periods of time--the first two hours I was at work all I wanted to do was sleep, but I got so caught up in my work that I forgot all about it. And I'm looking forward to falling asleep when I get home, but...I'm enjoying myself. I like work. It's a challenge, a series of puzzles to solve.

Yesterday at lunch there were four of us: Martijn, his Turkish wife, Austrian Matthias, and me. Four people working at Philips, four different countries of birth. Not so unusual, really--multinational company attracts people from all over. I think it was the best lunch I've had here--the four of us joking and making fun of each other, I felt so much a part of everything already. Martijn and I have work jokes, we give each other a hard time...I think I'm beginning to find my place here. I passed his wife on the way in to eat lunch today and we stopped and talked for a moment. I know people. I know my way around. I showed a newcomer how to check the balance on his badge today. There are people who say hi to me in the halls, I know the way from my office down to both exterior doors perfectly, I know where the paths on campus lead. My workspace is comfortable, even if the computer's slow enough to drive me crazy.

Understanding little bits of Dutch is getting easier. Things like putting money on my badge (alone, today--last time Martijn talked me through it, but he was in a meeting), instinctively saying "ja" when the checker at Albert Heijn (the supermarket) asked me yesterday if I wanted my bon (receipt).

Yesterday, I finally got off work early enough to go to the Middle Eastern market down Bennekelstraat, and it's wonderful. Seven or eight varieties of dates, sour cherry juice, three grades of burghul, rosewater, packets of zatar and sumac, a baked goods counter, lemons on sale. I'm going to make a habit of going every Saturday to stock up on food, pick up some more staples. It's a comfort thing, in a way--I grew up with those ingredients, those smells. Being able to choose the right grade of burghul for tabbouleh, buy parsley in huge bunches (not the silly little packages they sell at the supermarket down the street), stand in the spice aisle and just read the labels. (Not only that, it's better food and cheaper. I spent 4.55 and walked out with burghul, parsley, three huge lemons, and a pack of dates--enough food for two dinners and then some.)

Life's good, I'm tired, and I have some faith is my skills as a programmer. When it goes well, it goes really well.

PostSecret

2006-06-05T02:32:00.000+02:00

The thing about PostSecret is that so often it feels like the cards could have been written by me. The secrets are so universal, and it honestly makes me feel better to know I'm not the only one.

Not Alone, Just On My Own

2006-06-01T15:35:00.000+02:00

My desk looks more and more like someone actually works at it--piled high with planning documents, sketches, logbooks, reference books, old coffee cups. There's a huge purple crocodile balanced between my moniter and that of the guy (what on earth is his name again?) who has the other desk in the pair. Usually in the office there's me, Arno, Martijn, Evert-Jan, Ewout, and Gregor--the only ones I know at all so far are Martijn (because we're working on the project together) and Arno (yesterday he had lunch with me and Martijn). Right now, it's just me. Everyone else is off at some lecture on campus.

Life is falling into a pattern. I wake up around 6:45 (jet lag is an amazing thing--I wonder how long these early mornings will last), try to fall asleep again for a few minutes, grab my computer and talk to Lindsay till I have to actually get up (often a bit longer), get ready, grab breakfast, and walk to work. Work all morning, Martijn and I go to lunch together, talk about life and work over lunch, then walk back to building 46 to keep working. Sometime around six I knock off and head home. Kill time reading, finishing my incomplete, fooling around on the internet...and talk to Lindsay until either he has to do something productive or I have to sleep.

After lunch today, Martijn and I took the time to walk around the lake with Jos and Andrei (two guys from research we ate lunch with). It was cold, windy, and beautiful. We talked about engineering, school, various majors. The nonsensical placement of a four-story parking garage right on the edge of the lake, instead of by the highway.

The Philips campus is gorgeous. Behind the Strip (three different dining halls, a gym, a bank, and a little store) is the lake, with a path that goes all the way around it, including a long section of boardwalk that zigzags over the water at one end. The buildings are connected to each other and the outside world by bike paths that run through what will someday be a forest--right up to the buildings are densely-planted trees with grass growing wild in between. it's not manicured or trimmed--just left to grow natural, and I think it's the prettiest landscaping I've ever seen. When the first glimpse every day of the building I work in is from a narrow gravel footpath through a growing forest, I know something's going right in life.

Speaking of life, it's coming together. I figured out last night that hot water in the bathroom depends on the radiator--the pipe from downstairs runs first to the radiator, then to the rest of the plumbing. I made it to the grocery store after work yesterday and stocked up on dinner ingredients, breakfast staples, and juice, as well was picking up a nice South African pinot (which I opened last night). My allergies are acting up lilke mad, but that's life. I figure tomorrow on my way to or from picking up my first paycheck from the payment office I'll drop by the little drugstore on Hoogstraat and see what they recommend for it. (See, darling? Reduced to the mundane. At least I'm taking pleasure in it now, rather than cursing it.)

I still miss being surrounded by people I love, but I'm feeilng more and more comfortable (and at home) here. Little things like not even noticing the coffee machine had an option for an English menu till today (I just don't need it), navigating the supermarket, saying "I live on Locatellistraat", paying for lunch with my badge. Picking out words when my coworkers are on the phone, or talking to each other. Being able to decipher the general meaning of some sentences and paragraphs in Dutch, a language I'd barely seen a week ago. It feels really good to be successfully navigating life here. Makes me a little more confident in my ability to really take care of myself. There's no one shielding me here, no one interfacing with the world for me. It's just me, my limited understanding of the language, and my (also limited) interpersonal skills. And I'm doing just fine--maybe even better than fine.

Hallelujah

2006-05-30T20:42:00.000+02:00

I'm floating right now, and grinning like an idiot.

Work was wonderful--a lot of good progress, and I'm feeling more confident about the job. My coworkers are fantastic. Martijn bought me lunch today and we spent about an hour joking around as we ate with Matthias, a musician from Vienna who works in research. It was one of the first moments in a little while that hasn't been entirely about the mundane details of life.

I walked home through the rain, smiling, and got home to find I had money in my bank account. I've been listening to good music, watching episodes of scrubs.

And I talked to Lindsay. One of the most amazing conversations I've had in...almost ever. I miss you like crazy, darling.

Rough Edges

2006-05-30T09:48:00.000+02:00

Another frustrating morning. Walked all the way down to town hall (I timed it--it's a 35 minute walk), got there early, waited for it to open, checked in for my appointment, my number was called...and it turns out there's a whole stack of forms to fill out, and I'd forgotten my passport, and my birth certificate isn't official enough--it's missing some stamp on an attached page? and a residency permit costs 433 euros (which Ineke didn't mention, nor did she mention the paperwork). So I walked down there to be looked at like I was an idiot, handed lots of paperwork, and sent on my way. To walk four km back home. The earliest appointment they have for me to come back is next Friday, which means I have to reschedule my appointment at the tax office, and I won't get my bank account here opened till God knows when...

I am so, so unbelievably frustrated. All I want is a hug--I'm alone, starved for human contact. I don't make friends easily, and I miss all the ones I've left behind.

Now it's off to work to stare at code and will myself to focus. I'm hungry.

Nee. No Visa.

2006-05-29T16:50:00.000+02:00

Today has been such a rollercoaster ride.

I woke up before my alarm went off, dragged myself out of bed, checked my email, talked to Lindsay for a while, and went to take a shower.

There must be some trick to the hot water I'm just not getting. I go in to wash my hands and its warm and steamy from one of my housemates' showers, and the water is warm, but every time I go to shower the water just won't heat up. It's frustrating, to say the least, and I haven't managed to pin down a housemate to ask yet.

By the time i left, I was running late and stressed out. I'd built extra time in my schedule to get to work, because I had no idea where I was going. Turns out work is less than a fifteen minute walk from home, so I was early. That was a pleasant surprise. The receptionist issued me a visitor's badge, and Ineke came and got me.

Less than an hour later, my backpack was full of signed contracts, HR binders, and guides to being an expat in the Netherlands. I had an appointment to register as a resident at town hall, an appointment to get the Dutch equivalent of a social security number, and the name of a bank that cuts Philips employees deals on accounts.

I met Jos, my boss. I met Martijn, the software architect I'm working with and talked through the project, started playing with preliminary coding work. This week is mostly to get settled, get everything worked out. I got my official badge printed--in the photo I'm half-smiling (it's actually one of the better pictures of me ever taken). I knocked off at lunchtime, came home, talked to Lindsay for well over an hour and headed out to get a bike and go to the housing rental agency. On the way home, I walked through the park (hence the photo). The sun was shining, there was a spring in my step...life was wonderful. Everything was coming together. I'm living here and starting to feel like I belong.

I couldn't figure out how to get into the damned bike shop. I think now I was pulling a puch-only door, but the only door I could find was around back and opaque, and I couldn't even tell if the place was open (even though their hours said they were) and...all in all it was frustrating. Eventually, I decided the 2 km from the bike shop to Rots-Vast wasn't too far, and walked it. I was a little late, but it wasn't too big a deal.

Wandered around downtown a bit. Parts of it are absolutely gorgeously picturesque--Europe is like no place else. There are maybe three skyscrapers, and the rest of the buildings are beautiful and old and brick. I'm starting to understand some Dutch already, especially written. Then it was time to walk home, and boy did I regret not having tried harder to get my hands on a bike. I was four and a half kilometers from home, and my feet started hurting about halfway there.

I came across a supermarket and decided to finally buy food. I planned out a whole meal for tonight--pasta with tomatoes and basil. I had yogurt for breakfasts, juice, mineral water...and then I got to the checkout and my card wouldn't run and the checker looked at it, shook her head at me, and said "Nee. No Visa." Turns out the company credit card was a great idea, but in practice, in a non-touristy town like Eindhoven, Visa isn't widely accepted. It's all Pin. So I'm stuck without money (I spent the last of my cash paying rent today--I should have insisted on using my card despite the 5.5% surcharge. There's no money in my account in the States. I have a slice of pizza and less than a euro to my name.

I trudged the rest of the way home, muttering curse words under my breath and trying to figure out how on earth I was going to survive the next week. Ugh. It's a setback, but I'll pull through somehow. I have a job, I can walk to town hall tomorrow to register as a resident (lord my feet are going to be sore...) and with any luck I'll be able to buy some food once Dad deposits some money in my account. I just need to scrape together enough for living expenses, eat a big lunch at Philips every day...it'll all work out.

Not Quite a Social Leper

2006-05-28T22:14:00.000+02:00

That was fabulous.

Turns out some restaurants open for dinner on Sundays. As I was walking down Bennekelstraat I noticed one that had caught my eye earlier--Shoarma Ramses, a kebab/pizza place--was open. So I wandered in, looked over the menu. They had the meat roasting behind the counter, right next to a fancy pizza oven. I didn't see falafel on the menu, so I went for Pizza Margherita. Turns out Dutch Egyptians really know how to make pizza--nice and cripsy, with plenty of cheese and basil. I ate my pizza, read, and eventually got talking with one of the guys who runs the place. He wanted to know where I was from, why I was in Eindhoven, etc. I'm not used to being exotic, interesting, a topic of conversation. So we talked for a while, and I paid my bill, and taught him how to pronounce my name, and he packed up my pizza, gave me a menu, and told me to come back. Wished me luck on my first day of work.

Everything looks so much brighter when I've eaten well. I've even got pizza in the fidge for breakfast, so I can throw out my crazy plan to wake up early enough to walk to the store before work. I walked home from dinner grinning like a lunatic, feeling like I really belonged here (for a little while at least) and generally at peace with the world.

I can do this. I really can.

Zondag: Gesloten

2006-05-28T13:01:00.000+02:00

It's easy to forget, coming from the States, that there's such a thing as closed on Sunday. Sure, back home, both the corner store and the around-the-corner store are closed Sundays, but they're the exception, not the rule. Here, it turns out, everything is closed on Sunday, at least in the area of shops near my house. Everything, that is, except an ice cream shop and a little diner-type place where the guy speaks very little English but I still managed to order my food--seems I've come across the ocean to eat fries and drink coke. The shops are a kilometer or so from here--down Locatellistraat to Bennekelstraat. I'm most excited about the fact that there are two middle eastern markets--there's a huge immigrant population in this area. Now when I get homesick I'll have access to all the ingredients for childhood comfort foods.

I'm not sure when I'll manage to actually buy food, as I have to be at work at nine tomorrow. After I get off, I guess. I also have no idea how I'm getting to the housing office tomorrow to sign my contract...I'll just have to talk to Ineke about that tomorrow morning. I don't know how much of the first day is going to be finding my way around, arranging things, and meeting people, and how much is going to be talking with Martijn and getting to work on the project.

Locatellistraat is a narrow street of brick row houses. Number 26 (that's it in the picture) is a corner house, so we have more windows, but other than that it's unremarkable. This whole neighborhood is gorgeous--the streets are like Locatellistraat but with houses on both sides, and most of the tiny front yards have been turned into gardens. Here and there are beautiful parks, not as manicured as most American parks but a little wild, with undergrowth and towering trees. The flowers are in full bloom, adding color to the green that seems to be everywhere I look.

I'm happy. I'm really and truly happy here.
(A few hours ago I missed you so much it hurt, but now I'm okay.)

A First View of the Dutch Sun

2006-05-28T09:22:00.000+02:00

The sky is clearing and I'm seeing sun for the first time. Slept for fifteen hours, including right through the alarm I'd set to make myself get up and find food. I haven't eaten in about twenty-four hours--I'm thinking it's time to fix that situation. Woke up at 6:45 or so and have spent the time since then fooling around on the internet and talking to Lindsay. I really have nothing much to do till work tomorrow--maybe try to find a bike, buy food, work on my incomplete. Finish unpacking my stuff. Check if there's laundry detergent downstairs or if I should buy some while I'm out. Maybe get coffee and sit outside reading a book. Take a shower.

Even the mundane seems exciting here. Grocery shopping? An adventure!

(I'm still nervous about getting around and buying things, even though everyone I've met thus far speaks English--I feel unbelievably guilty being the foreigner counting on everyone being able to communicate with me. I hate living in a country and not speaking the language. It's like I don't deserve to be here because I haven't made the effort to at least try to learn Dutch.)

There She Goes

2006-05-27T13:46:00.000+02:00

I'm here.

The plane ride was uneventful. Spent it journaling (I've taken up the paper journal again), reading trashy magazines, and knitting, interspersed with passing out from exhaustion. Twenty-four solid hours in transit after not sleeping one night and barely sleeping the night before has me almost to the point of hallucination. Almost no caffeine to pull me through, either. Passport control at Schiphol took forever, causing me to miss the train I'd intended to take, and when I finally got through and tried to buy my train ticket the machine kept prompting me for a pin before it would try to authorize my credit card. I figured out later what I was doing wrong, but at the time it was unbelievably frustrating. The good thing is that the Dutch train system is ridiculously well designed and labelled. By the time I'd waited in line at the ticket window and purchased my ticket with cash, I had three minutes to catch the next train to Eindhoven. At my connection in Duivendrecht I swallowed my fear of telephones and talking to strangers and, in the two minutes I had between trains, called my landlord (Carel) to tell him the new time I'd be arriving.

The Netherlands is beautiful. Obviously no earthquakes here, because absolutely everything, new or old, is made of brick. Brick and wrought iron. Fire escapes are spirals and those picturesque windmills really do exist (and still turn). All the train stations are obviously old, and absolutely gorgeous. The streets are narrow and cars are parked every which way, like in Italy.

It's raining here--gorgeous.

The house is cute and tiny and brick, right next to the campus so I can easily walk to work. Three stories with incredibly steep, winding staircases (my feet are too large--I've already nearly fallen down the stairs twice). The only housemate I've met so far is Lise, who has the room at the top of the house. The other three are boys.

The view down Locatellistraat from my window. The campus is basically right on the other side of that grassy stretch.

The back yard, as seen from my other window. Carel and his wife live in the other house.

It's been a long time since I slept. I'm going to crash for a few hours, then explore the neighborhood and buy some food.

Paranoia, Panic, and New Beginnings

2006-05-26T22:25:00.000+02:00

I didn't, in fact, end up going back to Italy. The funding fell through, so, after several sad emails, I started looking for another job.

Which is why I'm sitting in the Cincinnati airport waiting to catch a flight to Amsterdam, wherefrom I will catch a train to Eindhoven. My landlord is picking me up at the station, giving me my keys, and taking me to the house.

I'm terrible at making decisions and following through. About eight times on the flight here I thought about the fact that I could technically use my company credit card to buy a plane ticket home. The thing is, once I get somewhere I adapt so quickly and easily. Wherever I am becomes my whole life in no tome at all. Maybe that's why I'm scraed--I've reached a reasonably good point in my life and it scares me to let that go. I'm simultaneously so unbelievably excited for this summer--I love being alone and independent, I love managing things on my own, finding my way through foreign train stations, etc. I love it.
(I'm terrified of the thing I most love. Must be crazy...)

On the way out of San Francisco I kept my face pressed to the window, watching the familiar landmarks go by. We flew right over campus and I could see the campanile, Evans and every other building I've had classes in, and CZ. I got all choked up when I recognized the campus, and started searching desperately for the roof of my house. I wanted one last look before I was gone. I wanted to call home and say I see you! I'm less than a mile up and I miss you already.

You know, I have to admit: after this semester, it's going to be nice to have a fresh start.

I guess the deal is that if I could take a few choice people with me, I'd go without looking back. I think I get too attached.

She's Just Leaving

2005-08-05T17:29:00.000+02:00

Now that the last day is almost over, it still doesn't feel like the end. Stefano and Bicio have said goodbye and left, Simo's been waylaid by the boss, and Michi is on the phone with his wife. He's already said goodbye.

But it's not really goodbye, because Angelo told us all today that I have a guaranteed job here next summer. It's all'anno prossimo and see you next summer, which is much less final and therefore less painful.

I will be back here.

Still it's strange to think that for the next nine months I won't hear Michi's computer telling him "H'arrivato un email!" I won't work scheduled forty-hour weeks. No one will be teaching me phrases like in culo di ballena (which I am not translating for you guys). Simo and I won't be joking about Mamma Pasqui (then dodging the retaliation). No monthly measuring day courtesy of Stefano. No coffee conversations with Sara, the Other Girl in Hardware, who I didn't realize had a French(?) accent until this week. No VHDL lessons with Giorgio, who just said goodbye. By the time I come back, someone will have painted over the GIULIA TI AMO graffiti on the beach wall. Elena will almost certainly have a new boyfriend. Simone will have probably lost a lot of the conversational English fluency he's picked up from working with me for two months solid. Maybe Peppe will have become famous and left the company to go on tour with his band.

It's Friday. My cheeks are raw from all the European double-cheek-kissing I've been doing today.

All right. I guess it's time for a new adventure.

2005-08-04T22:21:00.000+02:00

I started trying to pack tonight, so my life is spread out around me in this room. The VHDL books I need to remember to give back to Giorgio tomorrow, the pants my father bought me in Paris, a stack of books my Neil Gaiman and David Sedaris, the silly Sandra Boynton book my mother sent me for my birthday. My US passport, a mini English-Italian dictionary, two AAs and a spare 9-volt for my multimeter, which I need to remember to bring home from work tomorrow. The framed photo the boys gave me.

I doubt I'll show enough emotion at work tomorrow--to make things even more difficult, the boys have challenged me to speak only Italian on my last day. I know the fact that it's over won't really sink in until sometime this weekend, or maybe in trasit to Vienna and Budapest for the holidays. Simo asked me today what I was going to say tomorrow, and I told him I didn't know, that I was terrible at goobyes, and I'd probably just say "ciao" and walk out, trying very hard not to look back. Because there are so many things I want to say, but I can never find the words.

2005-08-03T14:10:00.000+02:00

At coffee this morning I danced in the pouring rain, while Simone and Simone and Mauro watched and laughed from under the overhang. The nice guy whose name I don't know but who also likes rain joined me after he finished his cigarette, and together we stood and stared off at the hills as the rain beat down around us.

And Starring . . .

2005-08-01T11:29:00.000+02:00

My life feels more like a teen comedy than it ever has before. And the only teenagers I know here I never see.

But I got home at two o'clock Sunday morning after a night spent taking silly photos and drinking Cokes in a public park on the edge of Ancona, before which we'd been at a pizza place teaching each other how to swear in multiple languages and telling the sort of stories that are funnier when everyone checks their dignity and maturity at the door.

The language we speak has been renamed Anconinglese, for its mix of Anconetano (Ancona slang Italian) and English.

On Sunday, we spent the day in the ocean, making and breaking alliances in a constant dunking war. Laura and I teamed up to dunk Lorenzo, Lorenzo and Laura dunked me, and all four of us finally succeeded in dunking Mauro (He has a significant height, weight, and strength advantage over all of us. As well as being trained in martial arts.)

Laura, Lucia's very skinny twelve-year-old sister, kept trying to dunk Mauro. Which was ridiculously amusing and not very succesful, as he would just pick her up and throw her in the water.

Add a soundtrack ranging from Metallica to Peter Gabriel to Mauro's endless (very amusing) renditions of the Italian pop song "Lascia che io sia," and I think we have a summer hit.

Simply Friends

2005-07-28T18:03:00.000+02:00

We walked to the beach for lunch again today. Simone and Peppe and I left work around one-thirty, stopped at Peppe's car (he drives a black Citroën) for his sunglasses, and set off down the road. Just before we reached the beach, we were nearly run over by Mauro. I'm still not sure where he was going. We persuaded him to return the car to his flat (about 20 meters from Aethra) and come with us. He ended up paying for my piadina, because he's just that nice. Peppe bought me water and an ice cream, and we sat around a table joking half in Italian, half in English about everything from politics to the fact that I should never, ever go into public relations.

If English+Spanish=Spanglish, what is English+Italian? Because this is what we all speak now.

2005-07-28T15:28:00.000+02:00

Every day there are less people in the lab. Peppe starts his vacation tomorrow, Pasqui is off this week, Simone was supposed to leave this weekend but changed his flight. This morning, Mauro and Simone and I were the only members of Mini Pony (normally a group of seven) present.

. . . I can't believe my life . . .

2005-07-25T20:01:00.000+02:00

I was just the sole witness to Teo's first time crawling.

From an Email to Neil, Which More or Less Sums Up How I Feel

2005-07-25T17:29:00.000+02:00

Am feeling sadder and sadder about leaving this place. I'm almost out of meal tickets for the mensa, Simone goes on vacation at the end of this week, Berkeley is sending me frequent emails about Things I Need to Do. I may be a wreck for a little while after I get home, because I have a whole litle life here that I'm leaving behind, complete with friends and children and a job and a home . . .

My ATM card doesn't work for some unknown reason. I think the bank's claim that airport security somehow erased it is bollocks, because it verifies my pin and then tells me it's been told to return the card. I, therefore, have 4,70 euros to my name, which is better than two days ago when I had exactly zero.

Okay. I feel like I'm about to start crying. This emo kick has got to end soon.

My job is wonderful. My friends are a bunch of ex-punk hardware engineers. Alessia said the other day that she loved me a lot. I've seen Teo get his first and second teeth, and start to figure out how to crawl.

Shit, now I'm really close to crying.

. . .

That said, I went out to lunch today (the plan started with an email from me to Simo in which I declared I was sick of pasta) with Pasqui, Michele, Simone, and Manuela (an occasional member of the coffee group). We walked to the beach and ordered piadine and a large bottle of water, and sat under the awning talking and joking, then had ice cream. Michele paid for my lunch, because I am broke and he's a nice guy. This is the kind of thing I'll really, really miss.

2005-07-21T11:35:00.000+02:00

Most of my colleagues shave once a week. Every Monday they come in cleanshaven, ready for work (more or less--most of our coffee break is spent discussing how not fun it is to wake up on Monday). By Friday, they are all rugged-looking (and tired). So every weekend I think "You know, Peppe's not actually that pretty" because I remember Friday-Peppe. And then Monday I walk into work and he's sitting at his desk all pretty with no stubble, and that's the way life goes.

On Monday, Lorenzo picked me up about half an hour later than I usually go to work, so, for the first time, I was in the house at the same time as Mira. Every morning until now I've been running out the door as she's arriving, and I say "ciao" or "buon giorno," but she knew I was la americana and assumed I didn't actually speak any Italian. On Monday I asked her if she could lend me her house keys while Roberto was in Israel, told her the kids were sleeping, and generally managed to sort of communicate.

That night, I got home and Silvia said "I think you really surprised Mira this morning . . ."

I have eleven and a half days of work left. Three weekends. Every few days I idly contemplate what would happen if I asked Angelo to give me a full-time job and just stayed here.

But I know it's a bad idea, and I know he wants me back next summer, and I occasionally miss things about home (there is no Thai food in Ancona), so I won't--but the thought of leaving is more painful the closer I get to the end.

Hai fatto la caca?

2005-07-14T16:54:00.000+02:00

Okay, three parties in three days is kind of excessive.
But this one was upstairs, so we went up, laughed at the number of parties there have been, got free drinks, went downstairs for coffee (Mauro and I took a sidetrip to the lab to grab Peppe, who works too hard), drank our coffee outside, went back upstairs, got some more drinks, and came back here.
This doesn't mean that we're doing anything now. Mostly we're talking about the fact that my Italian vocabulary mostly relates to two-year-olds (and their bodily functions).

Dorks

2005-07-14T10:58:00.000+02:00

When I got to work today, I held up a sign I made this morning that said "Buon giorno!" After this, we declared a truce.

People in Glass Houses Sink Ships

2005-07-13T22:51:00.000+02:00

I meant to post this.
On Sunday, when I finally woke up, everyone else was taking a nap. I wandered into the sala to see what movies were on, and it was the very beginning of The Boondock Saints.
I think the gods must have been smiling on me.

Testardi e Sciocchi

2005-07-13T17:38:00.000+02:00

I don't know how these things start.

Somehow Simone and I (recall that our desks are right next to each other) started emailing. This turned into a staring contest of sorts: whoever talked first lost. Everything we've said since lunch has been by email (and we've said rather a lot). We've been relaying packets through a mail server in California to travel the meter-and-a-half between our computers. It progressed to the point that, when he left just now, instead of breaking the silence and losing, he wrote "Ciao, Iris!" on a piece of masking tape and held it up.

I Swear We Occasionally Work

2005-07-13T13:05:00.000+02:00

This morning there was another success party--there are still piles of food and drinks on the dedicated lab bench.

I really should have said to hell with it, emailed Lorenzo, and gone to lunch with Pasqui, Simone, and Michele. I'm not in the mood for pasta, no matter how good a cook Mara is.

Cuanto tiempo pasa

2005-07-12T21:27:00.000+02:00

This afternoon was one of those times when, to any casual observer, it would look like the Aethra hardware engineers never actually got anything done. About five minutes after I got back from lunch, Giorgio showed up with wine and biscotti in celebration of design success. There goes half an hour of supreme hardware engineer silliness. Fabulous. Then Peppe pulled out a DVD of his band's music video to show Simone, and a bunch of us crowded around his computer to watch it. Twice, because the first time through only Simone and I saw the bassist hiding (in a bright orange shirt, playing a bass) on a couch in the background of a whole series of shots. I maintain that the best part of the video is Peppe completely seriously playing the guitar in a corner of the bathroom. Bloody hilarious. A while later, time for coffee. Which, as usual, took a while, this time because we were talking about the video. Mauro and other-Simone hadn't seen it, so after fifteen minutes we all trooped back upstairs and watched it again. No one who hadn't already seen it saw the bassist. Simone and I started tallying points based on this: +10 for each of us, +9 for Peppe's fabulous bathroom guitar playing, -1000 to Mauro for not seeing the bassist, and -3000 to other-Simone for not seeing the bassist and then making lame excuses.

2005-07-11T20:52:00.000+02:00

I'm afraid I'll forget the little things--the signs I pass on my way to work, the songs that play on the radio, the way Peppe smiles.

I Love Thunderstorms

2005-07-10T14:39:00.000+02:00

The building is shaking from the thunder, lighting is flashing, and it's pouring rain. Maybe I'll stay here forever.

2005-07-10T12:08:00.000+02:00

Yesterday we drove across Italy to Rome (three hours). I've seen the Colisseum, the Fountain of Trevi, the Forum. I've passed the metal detectors and the dress code check to get inside the Vatican, and seen the works of Michelangelo. I've ordered pizza in Italian and drunk wine made by the restaurant where we had dinner (a restaurant that grows some ridiculous percentage of the food it serves, as well as bottling its own spring water). We drove home listening to the Gipsy Kings while the two best travel babies ever slept.

Sometimes I can't believe my life.

2005-07-10T12:07:00.000+02:00

I'm going to miss a lot of things when I go home next month.
-Listening to Tegan and Sara with Simone while we work
-Mini Pony coffee breaks with Mauro, Michele, Simone, other-Simone, Peppe, and Pasqui
-The double-takes people do when they find out that (a) I'm working in hardware, (b) I love my job, and (c) I'm going to the Berkeley College of Engineering in the fall
-Having a glass of good red wine with dinner
-Alessia
-Talking about quantum mechanics with the software crowd

. . . I don't know how I'll be able to come home.

2005-07-07T17:29:00.000+02:00

Simone's baby son is adorable. And his wife is very nice. I'm in cute overload, will reemerge eventually. Maybe.

My God I Love My Job

2005-07-04T17:56:00.000+02:00

Today was measuring day.

What does this mean?

It means that Stefano keep a set of calipers and a chart in his desk drawer and on the fourth of every month he accosts every hardware engineer and measures their body fat. This become a source of merriment for all involved, and no one gets any work done for a good ten minutes because we're too busy laughing. Peppe and I were the only two who fell in the "ideal" category (he was almost too skinny). Stefano, amusingly enough, was the only one declared "overfat" by the chart.

I fucking love my coworkers.

2005-07-04T17:00:00.000+02:00

Astrologist sues NASA over Deep Impact crash.

I think the article speaks for itself here.

Fucking Tech Ninja

2005-07-04T11:12:00.000+02:00

I have found the easiest and cheapest way to use a laptop as an alarm clock: set a media file as a scheduled task for the desired time, leave computer on, and go to bed. The magic of computers handles the rest.

2005-07-01T16:41:00.000+02:00

If a justice had to go, why couldn't it be a conservative nut?

Diet Snake

2005-06-30T22:08:00.000+02:00

This morning, Simone sleepily stumbles to the cupboard and reaches in to grab something for breakfast. Not unusual. But he reaches in, feels around, grabs a package . . . it takes him a moment to realize something is wrong. It's too light. He looks at it: the clear plastic packet is perfectly sealed, but there's nothing inside it. So he brings it to work, writes "merendina" on one side and "diet snake" (Michele's pronunciation of "diet snack," the translation for merendina he found in his dictionary) on the other, and leaves it on the desk of one of our coworkers who's known for eating everything (every birthday he's the one who finishes the cake).

It's become the hardware lab story of the morning, even funnier with Simone acting out finding the package, holding it up to the light to make sure it's really empty, etc.

2005-06-28T23:04:00.000+02:00

I love these kids. I don't know how I'll be able to leave.
Teo has fallen asleep in my arms twice in the past thirty-six hours.

I'll leave you with this:

2005-06-28T09:06:00.000+02:00

Tentative Schedule:

CS61A: Programming for Non-morons
Physics 7A
Math 1B: All the bits of calculus I still feel shaky on. 1A is derivatives (which I know).
Astro C10: Filippenko!

The annoying part about being in Europe is that I have very strange windows in which I can use TeleBears (open hours run from 5-9 am). It just went offline as I was trying to work out new scheduling after some discussion sections filled up that I needed to make my schedule work. Sigh.

2005-06-27T08:50:00.000+02:00

As of yesterday I will be coming home with a tan (how weird is that?)
I also have a bad sunburn on my back. Blech. I was trying to avoid those, damn it.
It hurts every time I move.
Carrying my backpack into work this morning was almost unbearable.
But life goes on and I will return to normal (+ some odd tan lines).
Teenagers are the same everywhere.
I'm (surprisingly?) really psyched for the fall.
Life disjointed and odd. Every few days I have this moment of realization that I'm in Italy.

2005-06-24T17:21:00.000+02:00

5:30 on a Friday. Peppe and Angelo and I are the last three people in the hardware lab.

2005-06-24T12:20:00.000+02:00

Understanding is getting easier and easier. Their English (especially Pepe's and Simone's) is getting better, and due to near-full immersion I can pick up a lot more of the Italian conversations. We take our coffee outside because the building is so stuffy (because I'm not an employee the company doesn't care as much if I leave, so I badge us all out and in). When I almost missed coffee the other day, Simone said "Coffee without Iris cannot be."

I've only been here for two weeks.

I don't know what will happen.

Tonight, I cook dinner again. Silvia is so tired and stressed that it's the least I can do. And I like to cook. It's a win-win situation.

Alessia has taken to calling me Irisi (trust me, it's the cutest thing ever). She's also learning English, words like "yes" and "okay" have been completely integrated, and every so often I'll say something to Silvia and Ale will know exactly what I said.

Having friends here is nice. I shouldn't worry as much as I do about my social skills.

Back to work.

The Sicilian Sun Has Cooked Your Brain

2005-06-22T14:18:00.000+02:00

Pasta for lunch again. I will return home ten pounds heavier and several shades darker.

Why I Love My Job

2005-06-18T22:30:00.000+02:00

So Indie Boy is the guitarist in a local band. He also likes the Pixies. And is very nice.
Yesterday afternoon I got Simone hooked on Tegan and Sara. Indie Boy is next (he's been working on something else, not with us).
One reason to love my job: while soldering yesterday we listened to Juanes, Tegan and Sara, the Pixies, etc.
We also take a lot of coffee breaks. Four or five times a day Simone and Peppe (also known as Indie Boy) and Pasqui and I vacate the lab and spend five or ten minutes around the coffee machine on the first-floor landing talking about life, music, and everything. Roberto is always making jokes about how hard I work because he always sees me on coffee breaks. The one time he came to the hardware lab during the day it was in the middle of the birthday party we had for Simone, with cake and champagne. There are little dents in the acoustical tiles of the ceiling from the champagne corks every time someone has a birthday.

2005-06-16T10:39:00.000+02:00

Apparently I will be working with Cute Italian Indie Boy in the afternoons (I can't help thinking you would like him, Ingrid). He looks so much like a California indie boy that I keep having to remind myself no, he's Italian, don't speak rapidfire English . . .

Waiting for Angiuli

2005-06-15T14:04:00.000+02:00

I work from nine till six, with about an hour four lunch at one. Angelo, my boss in the hardware division, doesn't speak much English, but it's certainly better than my Italian. Every day there is a new phrase he wants to teach me. Yesterday was "See you later," which I no longer remember exactly how to say. Today was Come va? (How's it going?) and Va bene (Well). I've relearned SMT dicrete rework, this time without a miscroscope. My work isn't always pretty, but every board except the first works perfectly (on the first I was ridiculously rusty--I accidentally popped two pads off the PCB). I eat lunch with Lorenzo and the software crowd. There's Chiara, who's sick today and looks miserable; Lorenzo, who is almost always late to lunch because lunchtime is when Lucia calls him from Milan; and several other regulars. The woman who runs the lunch room already knows that I am la vegeteriana, and points to the menu to show me which meal to order for the next day.

Already there is a routine. It feels like I've been here for longer than two days.

2005-06-15T12:31:00.000+02:00

I'm in the middle of a thunderstorm. In Italy. At work, where we have the windows open because the building gets stuffy. Can life get better than this?

[No, this is not sarcasm. I am so giddily hapy right now.]

Películas de amor

2005-06-14T23:02:00.000+02:00

I take back most of the bad things I've ever said about children. I spent the evening playing with Alessia and Matteo, the two kids of the family I'm staying with. Matteo loves to be held and has developed an obsession with my necklace. I spent a while after dinner, when Matteo was crying and Silvia and Roberto were both busy, walking Matteo back and forth across the flat and talking to him. He kept smiling at me during dinner--so adorable. Alessia, who's two and a half, seems to be determined to teach me Italian. She'll say something, then when I don't understand she'll start pointing and gesturing to explain. It generally works. We spent about half an hour running about after balls, with her always asking Dov'è il baloncino? Tomorrow I'll try to get my hands on the pictures Roberto took tonight and post them.