I Bet Elephants Taste Like Mushrooms

Promo 1 Sognando Italia

2011-12-25T16:06:00.000+01:00

Sognando Italia- The End (of the Beginning)

2011-11-30T13:48:00.003+01:00

The best experiences in life always seem to end too quickly. I’m not so sure what that says about previous ordeals that seemed to last a lifetime (i.e. corporate finance class or doing the dishes). However, what I do know is that the past two months have flown by. Alas, the filming of Sognando Italia has concluded and I find myself back in Italy- struggling with jet lag and attempting to reinstate myself into the life I knew when I left two months ago- as a slightly changed version of myself. And although in the whole scheme of things, two months is a finite period of time…the things we did, times we laughed and tears we shed- are countless. It all transpired in the blink of an eye yet at the same time, the sum of events is inestimable.

I have always been a firm believer in the fact that each person we meet in this life, each individual we spend time with- changes us in one way or another. The format of Sognando Italia- the fact that we toured through 10 different cities- meeting 10 different individuals and their friends and families, is just the basic idea. The truth is, these protagonists/subjects of ours- let us into their homes- into their hearts. And each individual had messages for us- wisdom to impart. The best bit was that it was all there for the taking- like an abundant feast of knowledge and truths.

So amidst the work, the early mornings and long hours- we had 10 wonderful chaperons- maneuvering through their cities, and their lives- displaying to us what they understand to be true…allowing us to partake in a bit of them-and take what we wanted….well, what they allowed us to have.

Therefore, in the past two months, I have a large file of encounters rich enough to fill up a short lifetime. Each of which, more remarkable than the next.

I have been in a stem-cell research lab watching as the future of medicine changes, driven a 1952 red Cadillac up the Vegas strip, jumped out of a plane with some of the global champions of extreme sports, been part of a TV set in Los Angeles, sung (albeit poorly) in the recording studio with one of the most notable Italian singers/songwriters in the US, played Anita Ekberg in a reproduction of the Trevi Fountain at a black-tie gala in Chicago, been backstage with the headliners of the largest show in Vegas, biked through times square on a Sunday morning, opened a New Orleans radio show, learned to Salsa dance in a basement dressed as a cat, met noted photographer Doug Kirkland at one of his own openings, played poker with professional players in Sin City (and lost even with two Aces in hand!), seen Elton John live, sat and chatted with legend Peter Bennett about the real reason The Beatles broke up, been first row in a Broadway show, attended (and took a little nap) at the opening night of Richard the 3^rd starring Kevin Spacey in San Francisco, been to the Venice film festival as a guest of the production of the new Al Pacino film (thanks Giulia- you rock!). I flew in a wind tunnel, danced in the middle of Hilton’s ornate ballroom in Chicago, witnessed astronauts training in the biggest pool in Texas, touched a moonstone, learned Bocce Ball with the team at Tulane University, visited an authentic oil rig with a select group of MBA students, seen a jazz legend play on Bourbon street in New Orleans, learned to roll a cigar in Miami’s Little Havana, interviewed Italian Ambassador to America Giulio Terzi di Sant’Agata, chatted with Nancy Pelosi and the same day, met with Dr. Robert Gallo, the embodiment of AIDS research in America. I’ve seen innumerable sunsets, far too many sunrises to be considered healthy and dined in the best Italian eateries throughout the US. I sat in NASA’s ground control rooms, seen the Vegas strip from the seat of a helicopter, jetted around the gulf of Mexico in a speedboat, sat in front of the vastness of the desert in Death Valley thinking about nothing- thinking about life, chatted with the director of the Corcoran gallery at an art opening in DC, gotten caught in a hailstorm at Red Rock in the Nevada desert, ran up a $2800 minibar bill by just picking up the objects and putting them back down, danced the night away dressed as Wonder Woman in one of the most famous restaurants in DC, eaten meat after 27 years of being a vegetarian just for the love of the program, rode a horse on a Texas ranch, seen NYC from the back of a Vespa, toured the Miami Design district and been introduced to Wynwood by one of the most up and coming artists in Miami, held a baby albino alligator, hung off of a San Francisco tram in the middle of a sunny day, and the list goes on.

I got to know America again- after many years abroad. I got to know myself again- something I didn’t realize I had lost.

But above all this, I have come across and become acquainted with some of the most extraordinary people I could have ever encountered. And for this, I am eternally grateful. Cristiana Rastellini and her beautiful family taught me that boundaries don’t exist- that anything is possible…maybe with a bit of “flexibility.” She and Luca inspired me on a personal level and a professional level, to an extent that I thought I was incapable of. Roberta Mancino taught me to fly. And for that, I will be forever thankful- and to her friends, some of the most fearless people I have ever met- I thank them for letting me into their world and therefore, opening up mine. I learned from her that we find our own happiness…as she found hers- in the freedom of flight and exploring new frontiers. To Joelle for fighting everyday- for herself, her family, her son. For her strength and talent and strong spirit. For letting me know that its ok to cry- but when the lights go on and the curtains are drawn- to take all the love and passion for what you do- and let it take over your soul. To Giada whose positivity is addictive and smile is captivating- for redefining for me what it is to be successful- and for totally proving me wrong about my thoughts of being a diva. To Annah, for showing me that I should always “Love Today,” and reminding me that maybe I have found my “happy ending” to this new beginning. To Peter for showing me no matter how serious the subject, we can make it funny. To Checco, Robert, Giulia, Franco and Alex for opening up their homes, introducing me into their families and friends, and opening their hearts to the crew and me. Each one of Sognando Italia’s protagonisti, in their various cities and diverse industries, proved to me that there are no limits- that anything is possible. They taught me about bravery and persistence, belief in oneself and having the courage to keep believing…everyday.

To Nikki, Jeihson, Tree, Melissa, etc…for making me beautiful everyday, covering my pimples and dealing with me in the mornings- and Sandro’s “Madonna hair and EYELASHES” in the afternoons.

To Darina, my “fairy godmother,” who has allowed me the possibility to create a life and career around things that I love. Words don’t suffice- they never will. But what I can say, is that I hope one day to simply mirror her patience, fortitude, strength, beauty and kindness. People like her don’t come around too often but when they do, our job is simply to make them proud.

And to my beautiful team- my new family…whose talents are boundless and humor is unparalleled. We have shared in an experience that only we will ever understand and exchanged an untold amount of compassions, uncertainties, hardships and kindnesses. You made me laugh and cry and yell and smile everyday for the longest two months of my life. You have opened my heart and invaded my soul- and each one of you will remain there forever- along with your immeasurable time lapses and paglie giganti. Thank you.

It’s a happy ending…to the very beginning

Sognando Italia- The Middle

2011-11-03T19:29:00.000+01:00

So this is what I think…really. I think that everything we do leads to something else- something more definitive. I now believe that positivity breeds positivity and that flexibility is one of the keys to a successful and predominantly agony free life- I say predominantly because I am quite sure that a life without any agony isn’t really lived at all. I’ve learned that I am so far from perfect- and that I need to accept other people’s imperfections as well as mine. In the middle of what will probably prove to be one of the most significant turning points in my life, I am wrought with preoccupations yet intrigued by the fact that as time rolls quickly by- the lessons I am learning are growing exponentially. My fixations are being exposed and life’s big lessons, previously disguised as little bumps in the road, are revealing themselves to be the most captivating parts of this whole process. It’s all right out there, barenaked…for me and my little crew- those of us with our eyes wide open enough to notice- to unearth and examine.

Mirroring life in general, each experience, or chapter- has its ups and downs. Therefore, the two month filming schedule throughout the US will naturally have its own crests and falls. The middle, I have found, is the hardest part: the newness of the situation has dissipated- and the finish line seems so distant that it’s impractical to try to imagine. Then again, a rapid tour of North America is hardly monotonous.

It happens to be the expectations that forsake me in the middle. At this point, we know what we have gotten ourselves into, but we are too far away from the culmination to allow ourselves to reflect- or become excited about what the result may be. The middle is the part where I tend to feel trapped- counting the days, dragging my feet and struggling not to let fear or distrust gain entry.

I have done a good amount of contemplating and dissecting. I have made a large number of assumptions- most of which naïve and utterly futile. Yet I feel, on the other hand, that I may have happened upon a few truths- the kind of truths I am in constant search of- in order to assign some sense to the larger scheme of things.

I trust that everything we do, every step we take in whichever direction, leads- undoubtedly- to something else.

Those of us courageous enough not only to try something new, but to stand up and try again when we fail (which we all undoubtedly do)…may one day begin again and change course. Those of us lucky enough to abandon the wrong paths before our minds and our hearts become completely distorted- may have a chance at happiness after all.

I think I may have found my path- or a version close to it.

There is no doubt that I’ve attempted things I never should have tried in the first place, and I pushed myself- oftentimes to my limits, only to find out that I had gone completely wrong at the start. But somehow I made it HERE. And everyday, for me, is exhilarating.

I think I’ve stumbled upon something I am truly meant to do. And honestly? It’s so good that I’m afraid it’s going to slip away- or that it isn’t real at all- or that I am going to do something so utterly wrong that it will all be taken away. But I’m trying to stay positive because although this wild ride is filled with nothing I have ever known, it sure feels like a result of everything I have done up until now. And I sense and hope that I am able to do it- and do it well.

The other day, in between scenes- sitting on the steps of a random building in another prominent US city, amongst my new family, my companions - I took a long sip of my oh-so-American Starbucks, a long drag of my oh-so-Italian cigarette…and it all just clicked. A voice in my head, peculiarly close to my own, stated: this is where I should be, doing what I should be doing. Of course, I have a long way to go- many, MANY lessons to be learned and a bumpy road ahead. But a seed has been planted…and I'm trying to work out the precise elements in order to allow me to grow.

Maybe that which I have been told all along, about life being like a puzzle: pieces fitting, square pegs, round holes and so on and so forth…is right. And for so long- I was searching for not only the incorrect pieces of the puzzles- but maybe I was looking in the wrong stores, in the wrong states- and possibly in the wrong time zones on the incorrect continents. Who knows. What I do know is that I am here now. And it feels good- it feels right. Like a new love- with all the excitement of the unfamiliar- but a strong instinctive feeling that you believe in enough to allow yourself to follow it into the dark- hoping to find the light around the edges.

At the end of the day, the anticipation is half the fun…then comes the discovery, the excitement and the exhilarating fear. The risk of disappointment, like the end, is so far off that one mustn’t worry about it yet.

I may be at the lull of the middle of the experience- the beginning is behind me and the end so far away that I haven’t yet begun to contemplate it- but I have this one major affirmation…that I have found something that fits, and I have embarked on a new path that seems to be like a round peg in a round hole- for once- and it’s something that will remain with me forever, something that can only get better from here.

Sognando Italia: The Beginning

2011-10-07T23:00:00.002+02:00

Three weeks ago, nearly 1.5 years after the format was conceived and dutifully developed, after the hoping and toiling and wishing had all been hoped and toiled and wished- a group of eight individuals left Italy to embark on a journey- picking up friends and lessons along the way. Each day brings phenomenal amounts of novelty- and even now, at the very beginning- I can say that this will be one of those times of my life that leaves its mark on me, like a star shooting across a night sky…burning with the kind of flames that rarely fade.

And now here I am- in another somber hotel room, in another city- after three weeks of filming-physically exhausted, mentally satiated, with an alive spirit…and beyond any shadow of a doubt, steeped with excitement about what is to come.

Everyday I am fascinated- astonished by all I didn’t know and startled at myself- the good and the bad. Because in a situation like this one: living out of a suitcase, stuck in a 13 passenger van for hours on end with a group of people who were perfect strangers only a few weeks ago, working 16/17/18 hour days…and for me personally- doing something I have never done before- it’s easy to identify one’s flaws…and one’s strengths. But it’s the flaws that are more noticeable.

And I truly believe that, even in the early stages, before I have had a chance to live it all- and to look back and pick each fragment of each day apart, I am learning that fearlessness is no easy feat, but in this particular situation, it’s the only choice. Not only have I jumped in head first, but I have jumped from a higher altitude I have ever known, head first, in reverse, and done a few backflips on the way down. I am, no doubt, pushing my limits. Once again.

I am seeing America in a new light: through Italian eyes….which makes each moment sweeter and each breath fresher…but I should have expected that. I am falling in love with false eyelashes and beginning to hate hotel room service. I have learned to appreciate individuals I thought I couldn’t support and fallen out of love with aspects of myself I assumed were essential. Every day there are a million lessons to be learned, and I am lucky to seize 10 of them- because they are priceless…and awesome…and just simply beyond…

I genuinely sense that after all these years, and all of the messes I’ve made, tasks I’ve undertaken, and errors I’ve committed- that I have found something that truly works for me. I underestimated the power of being tall, blonde (in Italy) and animated to a point of exasperation. I overestimated the value of remaining within the corporate confines and boundaries that we are taught, at too young an age, exist within our futures.

I think I have finally taken most of what I know, a large portion of that which I have experienced, and all the tiny little aspects that make me, well, me- thrown them together, and come out with something that works- something that I can be proud of. And something that however exhausted I may be at the end of the day, I am thrilled to wake up the next morning and begin again.

Sleep deprivation is beginning to look OK on me, organic protein bars (and organic protein bars alone) are beginning to nourish me, and being a television host is starting to suit me. Let’s just hope the rest of Italy feels the same way.

Sognando Italia

2011-08-24T10:00:00.004+02:00

I was always told, "give a busy person something to do and it will get done"...and I find this to be true. Oh lord, how I do. However, what they don't tell you is that when one is busy- some of the secondary things get pushed to the side. I.e. blogging, writing, running, inventing new recipes, keeping in touch with old friends and of course, manicures ;)

In the past four/five months, I have been in and out of Rome- traveling for work and admittedly, for pleasure. I have begun planning a wedding, raised the most special puppy in the world, remodeled a new home- AMAZING VILLA in the middle of Rome, and have helped to create, organize and begin pre-production of my newest baby/endeavor- an Italian television program aptly titled, Sognando Italia (Dreaming of Italy). Below is the facebook link (become a fan!) and the website will be up soon.

I have to say, despite incredibly long hours, moments of doubt and hesitation and above all, fear of the unknown- I know that without a dubious bone in my body, this next phase is right... I.e. I am exactly where I was meant to be.

The production crew and I will be leaving Italy for the U.S. in mid-September to film: hitting New York, Chicago, Washington, Las Vegas, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Houston, New Orleans and Miami and will return to Italy by the end of November (not before my bachelorette party in Miami though!)

Therefore, I would like to present you with, Moi- Italian Television Presenter! Who would have thought doing an MBA would lead me here? I plan on blogging during the filming and post-production process so I hope that whatever it is I encounter- whether it be triumphs or failures, laughter or tears- I can share with you.

Wish me luck...

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Sognando-Italia/171613956244724

Man Down

2011-04-22T14:24:00.002+02:00

There is a reason I haven’t written in a while. (A real reason this time.)

I have news.

Big news.

News that changes everything….news that I am still digesting…news that until I say it out loud, change my facebook status, or write it down- doesn’t truly become official.

At this point, I’ve processed it as much as I can so I suppose I am going to go ahead and make it legit.

So here goes…deep breath…

I’m Engaged!!!

The World Today

2011-03-24T19:51:00.001+01:00

I sit down and I write about my life- my world. I ramble on and on about daily episodes, transient sentiments, long-ago memories and future uncertainties. Occasionally, I touch on something “valid” that strikes a chord with a reader here, or a reader there- and then realize, again, that it’s the small stuff that connects us- i.e. a new song, the photo of a foreign city or a clever quote. Hence, I continue to write about my woes, about the good times and about the stupid bits and pieces that really don't matter in the grand scheme of things.

But recently, more frequently than not, global catastrophes are taking place and I choose not to write about them. This doesn't mean I am not thinking about them- the honest answer (and excuse) is that I just feel so helpless, so powerless- and I suppose that even mentioning the current international misfortunes and tragedies would be a waste of everyone’s time. Nothing I could say would shed light on the situation- or create any comfort for those suffering. It’s all being covered…and will go down in history books- to be studied by future generations of scientists and sociologists, anthropologists and geographers. But what about us- here and now? How are we supposed to take this?

I seem to be overwhelmed by bad news, fears and sorrow. I sit down to write about my latest adventure and all I think about is how selfish I am. How can I be enjoying myself when the planet is falling apart? In the apt words of Stephen Tyler, “There’s something wrong with the world today, and I don't know what it is.”

When various birds and fish started suddenly dying- and multiple countries began publishing puzzling statistics- the nihilists were arriving in droves with Armageddon premonitions, and I continued to write about cooking pumpkins. When an earthquake hit China last April, I made a reading list. When the volcano erupted in Iceland I wrote about socks. And when the capital city of Haiti was struck by a 7.0 earthquake, I droned on and on about falafel, cheese and in-flight magazines. Maybe I was doing the right thing, maybe not. One certainty is that the world will go on, it always goes on- humanity always recovers.

At night, I lay awake in bed, with images of that day’s newscasts scrolling through my mind- wondering about Japan- the death tolls, the devastation, the nuclear reactors and associated risks. And yes, Japan will recover too. But what about the unborn babies who will come into world from the bellies mothers exposed to the radiation? And the children who waited, in vain, for their parents to pick them up from school, not knowing whether they will ever see them again? What about the innumerable families whose homes were swallowed by the waves of the tsunami?

Then, of course, there’s the lingering question: what’s next? Because it will happen again- and we don't know when, and we don't know where- whether it will be right here, or next door, or so far away that it seems like a nightmare that we will wake up from.

On the other hand, and on the other side of the world (although only a few short kilometers from Italy)- there is a war. Operation Odyssey Dawn. Civilians have perished at the hands of their own leader, casualties are rising, and the words “installations, bombings, forces, targets, sieges and so on” are making more appearances in the news than they have since Iraq eight years ago. Gheddafi is promising “a long, drawn-out war with no limits” and I’m writing articles about marketing and researching natural dog biscuit manufacturers.

I don't know if the world is a scarier place than it was 100,200,1000 years ago- or if the information age merely gives us what it has promised to- information. And here I am, trying to figure out what to do with this influx of data and knowledge. How am I supposed to react? And more importantly, should I be doing more? I wish there existed a handbook to tell me the appropriate reaction to diverse situations. But alas, there is no instruction manual, and there is no guidebook on how to save a world that seems to be imploding on itself.

So I guess I must answer with what I find most suitable in this situation. I watch the news, I write, I contact my friends in Northern Africa and Japan to make sure they are OK, and I promise myself that This Too Shall Pass just as all the other wars have passed and cities have been rebuilt. And I hope that the scars- mental and physical- will one day heal. I hope that future generations we will be better prepared to deal with environmental disasters. And I keep thinking to myself that all those insipid beauty queens had a point as they stood on stage, lights glaring in their faces, spreading their phony dreams of “world peace” as the rest of the world lauged. But the world isn’t laughing now. No one is laughing now. There’s something wrong with the world today…

blogs, tweets, status updates...oh my

2011-03-23T14:03:00.005+01:00

I had a dream....

That I could resist marrying myself (sans prenup) to the web: to actually maintain some semblance of anonymity with regards to social networking.

Alas, I have given in.

I now am, officially, on twitter.

Maybe its the innate desire to assign some importance to my daily life- real or imagined. Possibly its my final desperate attempt to remain connected, somehow, to the world that is so much greater than myself- and wider than the tiny insulated bubble I call my life here in Rome. Maybe I just want to feel loved.

Anyway- Let's hope I don't get myself into too much trouble!

https://twitter.com/MorganWitkin

Bella Napoli

2011-03-17T23:06:00.000+01:00

Naples’ reputation precedes it. When most foreigners hear it’s name uttered, the images that come to mind can only be interpreted as negative: heaping piles of trash, organized crime and devastating volcanic eruptions. At least, that’s what I thought about the misunderstood city until I began dating a Napolitano.

Granted, the dialect is a sloppy, loud and a patience-trying bastardized variety of classic Italian, the streets are congested and raucous and around every corner there is a gypsy eyeing your wallet or a local thief eyeing your watch. However, beyond the grit and chaos- Napoli is, in my opinion, one of the most fascinating and beautiful cities of Italy.

Earlier this month- my aunt decided to bring my uncle to Italy (and to me) for his 74^th birthday celebration. I thought and thought about where to take them- being that we had already spent abundant amounts of time together in Rome. Then, it came to me…Bella Napoli! What better than to show them around one of the oldest, most romantic and startlingly beautiful cities in Italy. (Not forgetting to mention that the food is so good that my poor uncle actually got sick from over-eating.) Sorry Pookie, I wont go into the details!

Anyway- when I first told la zia about my excursion idea- I could hear her cringe on the other end of the phone. But I actually believe that the low expectations led to an even better all-around experience. I can’t speak for anyone else but what I do know is that I had an incredible time- from standing on our sea-view balconies gazing out towards Mt. Vesuvius on our left and Capri to our rights, to singing an unofficial Napolitano anthem, Malafemmina, along with the guitar-clad “cantante” while dining at “Dora” down a hidden alley in the center of the city. What I do know is that I have managed to convert two more Midwesterners into Naples aficionados.

So my thinking is, if I actually make it to 74 in the incredible shape that my uncle is in- I plan on spending it in Napoli as well. Photos and accompanying music below.

My friend, I'll say it clear...

2011-02-10T13:35:00.002+01:00

Here’s the truth: I was in Miami on my actual birthday. I woke up at the crack of dawn, glanced at my watch and read 6:10 a.m.- precisely a half hour to the exact minute I was born thirty short years ago. So what did I do? I cried. I let a few idle tears slide off the sides of my face and onto the pillow- I silently whimpered a final goodbye to my 20’s, telling myself that yes, we had a good run.

When I was done with my gratuitous blubbering, I got out of bed, tiptoed downstairs, opened my mom’s sub-zero fridge in order to eat what was left of my Publix birthday cake- every last hot-pink butter cream rose. Although I felt sick for the rest of the day- it was well worth it. I had told myself that in my 30’s- I would be more health-conscious, I would be happier and not wallow in unnecessary self-pity, and that I would (continue to) live my life to the fullest. Well, at least I got the last one right.

In my teens- I wanted to be older. I longed to be able to drink (without the use of my fake ID), to vote, to drive, to get a tattoo…I wanted freedom: no curfews, unlimited television time and financial independency. In my 20s I wanted love. Now, I’m in my 30’s and I don't have a curfew, I can watch as much TV as I want (albeit in Italian), I have a tattoo that I totally regret and I am (pretty much) financially independent. I have found and lost and found love again…many times over.

30 is an age that has been creeping closer for a few years now. When I turned 28, I vowed to make the final two years count. When I turned 29, everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, reminded me that it was my last shot at my 20’s. Then, as the final few weeks flew by and my birthday skidded closers and closer, I tried coming to terms with the fact that the mathematics don't lie: 29+1=30.

I have to say, now that I have finally hit the big 3.0.- I don't feel any different. I am not wiser than I was yesterday. And although I don't feel older, I did look in the mirror and happen to notice a few more wrinkles…but when I asked if this were a good age to start considering Botox, I was told I was nuts- so that contemplation was put to rest.

Somewhere amongst my journals, hidden away, I have a list that I made regarding what I planned to have accomplished by the time I was 30. It’s probably a good thing I can’t find it. Although, as best as I can remember, my goals were not unreasonable. I think, more than anything, I wanted to be a published author- a novelist, by the time I was 30. That didn't happen. I hoped to live abroad. That did happen. I wanted a master’s in business. Got that done. My own puppy. Yep. And I sought happiness. Check.

Now is the time, I suppose, to reassess my goals- and possibly put a few to rest- push harder for some- and bury others, pretending that they never even existed at all. I have to admit, it's a bit confusing when I consider what it is I want to accomplish in my 30s. Part of me says that if I haven’t done “it” yet, “it” will never happen. The other part says, go for it- this is really the last chance. I look around and in truth, it’s hard to judge, based on experience and influences, what I should or should not be doing. At 30, a great number of my friends are married- many with kids. Other groups are starting new careers or embarking on solo-ventures. Some have already made their millions, others are just beginning. I suppose, as opposed to the 20’s filled with education and career decisions- what we do with our 30’s is more of an individual choice.

Looking back, the 20s were amazing. But then again, everything is amazing “looking back.” However, I still think I had a good time. I managed to get a Bachelor’s and a Master’s degree from two great universities, I moved from Miami to DC, to Italy, to NY, to England, to Russia to Mexico to Dubai, back to England, to Barcelona and wound up in Rome. Beyond that- I traveled throughout the world. I met so many incredible individuals that they are hard to count. I’ve had experiences I never even dreamed of having. I’ve learned a million and one things- from making pasta from scratch, to the basics of many world religions, a number of languages and how to change a tire. I gained “non-transferable and thus highly valued business skills” (thank you Steph) and I now know how to care for a bonsai. I’ve climbed glaciers, jumped out of planes and seen my byline in global publications. I have slept under the stars in the Sahara, cruised the Mediterranean and saved endangered sea turtles in Central America. I’ve been chased by a zebra on Safari in Kenya, been skinny dipping in the Redwood Forest, seen the Taj Majal at sunrise and gone on a camel ride around Pyramids of Giza. I’ve taken a boat trip down the Mekong Delta and planted a tree in Israel. I’ve walked through the ruins of Pompeii, Ancient Rome and Greece and spent three days ambling through the temples of Angkor Wat in Cambodia. I’ve bathed in the oldest Hammam in Istanbul and drank too much tequila looking over the Zócalo in Mexico City. I tuk-tuked through the colorful markets of Jaipur and witnessed to a ping-pong show in the Patpong district of Bangkok. I am a godmother, a daughter, a sister, a girlfriend, a best friend, and I hope- a good mother to my puppy. I sang Karaoke in Beijing and visited the clay warriors in Xian. I sailed a felucca down the Nile and drank far too many pints at Oktoberfest in Munich. I’ve gambled in the casinos of Macau and Monte Carlo, and seen Mt. Kilamanjaro from the sky. I’ve been scuba diving in the Red Sea and later, off the isolated islands of Malaysia. I learned to wakeboard in Sardegna, to surf in Costa Rica and to play pétanque on a small island in France. I’ve crawled through the Cu Chi tunnels in Vietnam and sailed along the Norweigen Fjords at springtime. I hope I’ve been a good friend to some- and maybe even made a difference in the lives of others. I’ve laughed till I peed and cried myself to sleep and now, I feel like I'm singing the final lines of Sinatra’s My Way...I did all this- and not in a shy way. And I’m only 30.

Part of me is scared. I can confidently note that I happen to be happy where I am now and I can see myself here for a while- but then sometimes, I wake up and think “is this it?” Is this where the journey ends? I could say that it’s been a good ride and leave it at that. But I know- in my heart of hearts- that I’m not ready to put away the compass and maps yet- that I can’t say that I’m done- I’m not even close to being done. So I guess this is my personal message to my 30’s: Get ready. Here I am!

birthdays

2011-02-01T22:46:00.000+01:00

The blog is 3 today. I'm 30. I have no words. Other than the fact that "they" say the 30's are the best. Here's hoping...

Images of India

2011-01-13T18:04:00.009+01:00

After a trip to Kenya about three years ago, I realized that my greatest regret was not having a camera worthy of the shots I was snapping; lions on the hunt, water buffalo migrating and elephants enjoying communal baths. Therefore, I did my research and learned all I could about pixels, ISO capabilities and image processors for color reproduction. Then, the ideal moment arrived and, at long last, I got myself a monster of a camera. With my acquisition, I was entirely certain that I would never again have another missed photo-op plaguing me throughout the duration of my photoshopping, printing and framing life.

Well, guess what I forgot to take to India? My f*cking camera.

I DID, however, remember to bring enough medicine to restock a pharmacy, enough clean underwear to cover the bottoms of a small nation and enough hand sanitizer to wipe out an entire colony of flesh eating bacteria. Yet, I forgot my camera. And now back home- I still have a full suitcase of unused pills, serums and sprays- but what I don't have are the photographs on the camera that I had painstakingly spent months and months learning how to use. Not one. And why? Cause I forgot my camera.

Luckily, my sister had her point-and-shoot with her. And even though she left it on the plane as soon as we landed (I guess absentmindedness is genetic, after all)- a man from the flight crew was compassionate enough to look through our snapshots, identify the two tall blondes in the photos, wait for us outside baggage claim and relinquish the object to its rightful owners- simply out of the goodness of his heart. (told you…I love Indians!)

Point is- we still managed to get a number of great photos- so here they are…

भारत गणराज्य* a.k.a. India

2011-01-11T21:49:00.000+01:00

I went to India and did everything I could in the short time I was there. Then, I came back from India…and now I am sitting here wishing to g-d that I had stayed longer.

Nothing I had read- and nothing I was told- could have prepared me for that country. My expectations- although not completely off base, were misguided. I expected to feel suffocated and uneasy- to be agitated. Instead, I felt tranquil. Everything around me was sheer pandemonium, yet inside- complete stillness. I was happy in India- it agreed with me.

The major cities are crowded and dirty- but the crowds are swathed in dazzling colors that dot the streets like little bits of sunshine. I didn't see the litter and pollution- I saw the silk shawls and satin saris waving in the wind, brushing the feet of the women walking in their hand-woven leather sandals. India smells- but it smells alive- a powerful mixture of spice and stink in the air- so potent that its hard to discern what it is coming from or where it is going – and you never know whether the next waft will make your stomach moan with hunger, or completely rob you of your appetite.

Next to every five star hotel, is a slum- a makeshift community of littered paths and huts formed of materials found in the streets and strewn among construction sights. The abundant poverty is a glaring reminder of the fact that India, alone, is home to 1/3 of the world’s poor. But even though nearly 50% of the population falls below the international poverty line- they all smile. I swear, I rarely saw anyone without a beaming grin across their faces and friendly open arms. And regardless of income bracket or mode of transportation- Mercedes, rickshaw or donkey…everyone welcomed us- wanted to share something- whether it was a cup of tea or a simple word. The people of India received us- and took as in as if we had always belonged.

Of course, one must be careful not to drink the water- and I, for one, had a suitcase filled with antibiotics to cure any stomach ailment that has ever plagued humankind- but India was a feast of gastronomic delights. It was a banquet of tastes and flavors and smells. And as a lifelong vegetarian- I had found my culinary paradise. It was the first time in 26 years that there were so many options on a menu, I had trouble deciding. India may be loud- horns honking, donkeys baying, people haggling and animated friends eagerly signaling and saluting one another. But I don't know if anyone can tell me that they don't hear the same amount of noise in Manhattan. I quickly became accustomed to the racket- and within a few hours- I loved it. It was different from the chiming bells of Italian churches- but it was a constant reminder that “yes, I had finally made it to India.” And what a good reminder it was…

Amidst the chaos and the inescapable shifting of people and objects and animals- I felt at peace. And I felt safe- I had a sincere sensation that no one there could hurt me- or would hurt me. Of course, there is always the threat of being run over by a tuk tuk- but that would be sheer carelessness. And unfortunately, our trip coincided with the onset of some major terrorist threats- but that could happen in any nation- to anybody- foreigner or national. So I can’t blame India for being targeted.

What I felt in India was like an alarm clock- but one that wakes you from a dream where you slowly realize that the reality is so much better. Not the other way around.

I know that I have become complacent over the past year. My life is incredibly easy- and good. But I don't take risks…I don't venture out of my comfort zone. In fact, it’s hard to- when an entire country seems to have been created simply to satisfy every human desire on a daily basis.

The India trip, in contrast, was not meant to be comfortable. I wouldn't have wanted it to be. It was fast-paced, stressful and dirty. It was incredible.

India is wild and chaotic and so noisy that it is almost deafening. Traveling in India is a bumpy ride- anyway you look at it.

The vast subcontinent, with its outstanding diversity of cultures religions cuisines and languages would take a lifetime just to get to know. But in that lifetime- one would realize that there is a unity between geographical locations, castes and religions- and it's a harmony I had never felt before in any part of the world. There is an incredible sense of pride in it’s people- a dignity synonymous with honor and delight about its history and heritage- and although I am the first to admit that I have only just touched the tip of the great wealth of wisdom India and its people have to offer, what I do know is that I am hooked. And I can’t wait to return.

I wish I could report some big change in myself but unfortunately, I wasn't there long enough to undergo any transformation. Instead, it was a reminder of why I have always wanted to see India- why I travel, and why I plan to always travel. There is a lot to be said for having a home- someplace to come back to and be enveloped in- and Italy isn’t a bad place to call that “home.” But in this life of comfort and ease, challenging oneself to embark on a few adventures is a priority. I think a lot of lessons can be taken from the people of India. They are kind and welcoming. They enjoy as much as they can and they smile continuously. In India- family is important, self-respect is abundant and beauty is boundless.

I used to travel and hope to change myself in some way. I traveled for inspiration and I traveled to broaden my knowledge and understanding. Even though I still do that- I still hope to learn more about myself and the world- I’m beginning to think that I’m done changing. At the same time, I’m not focusing anymore on becoming a different person. But maybe I’m making a mistake. Because after just a few short days in India- I realized that I could live my life in a better way.

While traveling, a quote by Gandhi kept coming to mind: “I do not want my house to be walled in on all sides and my windows to be stuffed. I want the cultures of all lands to be blown about my house as freely as possibly. But I refuse to be blown off my feet by any.” Listening to what Gandhi said, and applying it to my own life, I think there is a great lesson to be learned. That no matter where our homes are- or what they are made of- it would be a sin to close ourselves in, under our roofs with our locks and keys- pretending to protect ourselves from whatever is out there in the great wide world- ugly or beautiful, dangerous or safe. It’s all there to discover, absorb and ultimately understand. We should accept whatever may cross our paths and learn from it- but to remain true to who we are.

And when I return to India, it is with these thoughts in mind that I will confront, yet again, one of the most magnificent places I have ever been.

And a New One Just Begun

2011-01-03T18:33:00.000+01:00

I was wondering…how does one welcome a new year with enthusiasm when the old year was already so good?

Truth is- I would have been perfectly content sticking to 2010. The arrival of 2011 means that I am less than a month away from hitting 30…an age I was planning on avoiding…

2011 means that I graduated from my MBA “last year”- not “this year”- soooo…..no more excuses.

2011 means that if the Mayans were right- this is it. Our final year. Our last remaining chance to do everything we told ourselves we would. And even if the Mayans were wrong- the New Year means we are all (me…you…them) one year closer to the inescapable finality of our time on this earth.

I have never been good at making resolutions- and even worse at keeping them. I.e. Eat less- sleep more. Bitch less- write more. Spend less- smile more.

Truth is- whatever resolutions I would have made- had I bothered to make any- would have been the general rules I attempt to live by on a daily basis. (And usually come up a bit short).

But enough of my unconstructive ranting. As with every dark cloud- there promises to be a silver lining. Therefore, my resolution this year will be…(drum roll please)… to seek the light out from the dark- to live within the silver lining- you know, glass half-full kind of thing.

Instead of moaning about the Christmas lights coming down and the dumpsters full of half dead pine trees- I’m perusing the stores, making a check list of all the goodies I plan on buying when the sales start in 3 days. And yes, I may be getting older- but I am convinced that I am also wiser. Plus- although the New Year means that I have no more time to fit anything into last year- I am told that we all get a clean slate- that we are absolved of our past transgressions and indulgences- saints and sinners alike- and everyone in between…

Other than that, the transition from one year into the next means what it always inevitably does- a chance to celebrate.

Being that my life, currently- is pretty much a infinite holiday- one big, fun stimulating feast of extravagance and excess…it was a bit hard for me to allocate too much importance to New Year’s Eve. But it seems that everyone else around me insisted- so in normal Italian New Year’s fashion- I attended a fabulous party with fabulous people at a fabulous locale- I ate too much, drank in excess, danced just enough, had my new years kiss and managed to not burn any body parts with sparklers. And due to the horrible man walking around with a bottle of Sambuca- pouring that syrupy sweetness down the throats of innocent party-goers (including myself)-I spent the following day ringing in the New Year comatose on the couch- nursing a hangover and begging Dudy not to pee on the floor until I had the energy to get up and take him outside.

Now that the festivities have officially come to an end- and I have finished complaining- I can only hope that 2011 brings me as much excitement, happiness and pleasure as did 2010.

Happy New Year! And may all your resolutions come true…

Christmas Lights

2010-12-16T20:46:00.003+01:00

The Christmas lights have, at long last, been threaded throughout the dazzling streets of Rome. And as I walk along under the evening light, gazing at the beaded illumination, glowing sparklers and shimmering ribbons of bulbs- I experience a mixture of emotions- joy, nostalgia and regret. Joy- because how can one not be joyful in Rome around the holidays? Nostalgia- because…well I don't really know why. Maybe I just miss my family. And a bit of regret- because I am leaving for India in three days- which means I will fully miss out on the three most important Italian winter milestones: Christmas, New Year’s Eve and the Winter Sales (sigh…particularly due to the latter).

Right now- Rome is so beautiful, so festive- and so incredibly charming. But I’m sad- and as I sat on the couch attempting to find the words to explain how I feel, with MTV blaring on the television in the background, I heard Chris Martin’s familiar voice singing a new song, Christmas Lights. Coldplay sang… “Doesn’t really feel like Christmas at all.” Good song- just about how I feel- have a listen below…I guess I would call it my 2010 Christmas anthem. I have to say, its much better than Train’s overplayed Christmas song, “shake up the happiness, wake up the happiness, come on ya’ll…it’s Christmas time.”

I mean, come on. Seriously?

To make matters worse- I just found out that Limewire is under a court order to stop distributing software. Which means no Christmas music on my new hard drive. Sorry Mariah.

Of course, I am thrilled to be leaving for India- it's a trip I’ve been anticipating for the greater part of five years. On the other hand, having spent nearly 15 days of the last 30 in the Indian Embassy has not proven been the best launch to the magical experience I have in mind. In Shantaram, the author mentioned something about the Indians being the Italians of the East. Now, I haven’t yet been to India- but I have spent days waiting around the Indian embassy- and I can honestly say, based on first impressions (from a bureaucratic standpoint) that this statement couldn't be more true. I laughed when I read it. Yet- I cried when I realized it was true.

I have been completely at the mercy of this incredibly unfortunate culture clash. Simply put Italians (disorganized, slow, stubborn, proud, fiery and aloof) in an office, add a few Indians (indifferent, smug, stubborn and apathetic) and voilá- welcome to inefficiency and a lot of unanswered inquiries. Finally though, I am happy to report, I did manage to get my visa. Please don't get me wrong- the larger fraction of my favorite people in the world consist of both Italians and Indians- I am purely speaking on my experience with the employees of the Indian Embassy of Rome on Via 22 Settembre, 5 (in case anyone was wondering how to find where misery lives…)

I suppose one good thing about Italy is that its national colors are already green and red- therefore, only a few changes have to be made in invoke the “Christmas Spirit”- a snowflake here, a silver bell there- and there ya go. Along with the lights and the trees and the Santas in store windows- Rome is utterly freezing- but like .01 degrees too warm to snow- which is the worst. This weather means, to me; blue lips, walking around in my ski clothes, three horrible days of the flu and the interminable waiting for snow like Waiting for Godot. I am so pumped full of medicine it’s hard to really bask in the Christmas joy of hanging lanterns and glittering palazzi. I did feel good enough today to go to the dog park in Villa Borghese, where a baby Dalmatian maimed Dudy’s perfect little nose so badly I think he’s going to be disfigured for life. But as my friend Stephan says, I’m building up my sh*t capital so that the India trip will go off without a hitch. (here’s hoping…)

Oh, and I spent last weekend in Naples for the Baptism of my Boyfriend’s niece. We went to the family church in the tiny city outside of Pompeii where Antonio grew up. That was interesting as well. Here’s how it went (I’m going to do this in English):

Antonio: “Morgan I want to introduce you to the priest. He basically raised me” (at this point- I should have known to run)

Morgan: “OK”

Priest: “Hi Antonio. How’r’ya? This the girlfriend? Ah well, Antonio- I was watching you, you didn't cross yourself in the manner you were raised. (looks at me all knowingly) You should teach him.”

Morgan: “I’m Jewish”

Priest: (looks at me with an expression between shock and disappointment) “hmmmm ….well….(looks at Antonio) Are you going to convert?(Looks at me) I guess….you are still waiting for your God.

Whatever that means…

Morgan: (speechless)

Aunt of Antonio: (Interjects) “No she has Allah.”

Morgan: (still speechless)

Antonio: (babbles something inaudible)

Really? That was news to me…

So that was fun.

Now...I’m going to go out, eat pizza, and snap a few shots of some dangling lights before I leave for the third world.

A dopo….

Giorno del Ringraziamento

2010-11-25T11:02:00.001+01:00

Another Thanksgiving sans family and sans turkey…(not that I eat it anyway…)

While as I woke up this morning with a twinge of longing for my family and the beautiful November Miami weather, I can’t say that I’m not contented here.

In the last few days I have taken long walks with the pup- one beginning from Piazza Navona to Piazza di Spagna, ending in a fountain on Via Margutta- which was fun, but the clean-up wasn't. I attended a Unicef gala with a Ballet by Bolle and his troop that was so poignant it made me want to take dance classes again. One evening, I cooked Zucchini Flowers I found in the market and Eggplant Parmigiana for friends who came over to dinner. I’m writing a business plan with a friend, eating tons of pizza, watching the puppy lose his teeth, eat them and grow them back (not due to the ingestion of course).

And in between all the action- I have read three books:

Loving Frank, by Nancy Horan

Love The One You’re With By Emily Griffin

And

One Day by David Nicholls

All great stories. All worth reading- all taking time away from my writing.

Dudy is growing at an impressionable rate and is the best puppy ever- except, of course, for the weekend spent in the hospital hooked up to tubes due to the packet of ibuprofin he ate while I was sleeping. Fortunately, he survived…and is thriving.

It’s truffle season in Italy and I am certainly eating my fair share- particularly the white variety, straight from Alba- requesting shavings on everything- pasta, cheese, asparagus…etc. I would put them in my coffee if I could.

Life is good- Rome somehow seems to get more beautiful by the day and as winter approaches, the lush fur coats in all shades from ivory to rich browns and blacks pass under my windows in droves screaming- “whats PETA?”

So this thanksgiving I wont be standing on any chairs singing the American national anthem- but you may find me in Villa Borghese- with Dudy- humming Va Pensiero to myself…

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

One Simple Equation

2010-11-21T18:20:00.005+01:00

It's possible that I've finally deciphered the key to happiness:

puppies + good wine + plenty of sleep +Uggs

As simple as that...

U.A.E. & Me

2010-10-26T19:57:00.007+02:00

A few weeks ago, I spent about four days in Dubai. It was my third time in the Emirate, but my first as a tourist. This time around, I was there merely to explore and enjoy. And along with the exploration- and snapshot taking, I did some reflecting- and happened to note that Dubai appears to be the city most unlike Rome in the world.

If I were to describe Rome- I’d have a sizeable catalog of adjectives, anecdotes and images. If I were asked to describe Dubai- I would simply state that it’s the opposite of Italy.

What is old and crumbling in Rome- is new and shiny in Dubai. Where Dubai has “the biggest,” Rome has “the oldest.” Dubai’s man-made islands shaped like palms jut into the Gulf- while Rome’s man-made temples weave their ways in and out of history books like threads. Dubai runs like clockwork. Italy, oftentimes, ceases to run at all.

In Rome, the destroyed heels of my Italian shoes slide between the mislaid cobblestones- and in Dubai, my heels either clapped along the newly paved streets or sunk into the sand in the less developed areas of the city.

In Rome, one can stroll through the city- ambling from the Spanish Steps to the Trevi Fountain- passing sculptures and churches built hundreds of years ago. While in Dubai, one can drive and see the Burj Khalifa, the tallest building in the world standing at 2716 feet, from almost any point. Rome has the Vatican and Dubai has the Burj al Arab with its florescent lights illuminating the city, its gold plated interiors with aquariums and glistening walls.

Dubai’s ruler, Sheikh Mohammed, is in power as a result of the constitutional monarchy. The Sheikh dreamed up the city as it is today- and transformed that dream into a reality. Italy has Berlusconi- who, in his own words stated, “I am absolutely sure to be the most democratic man to ever become Prime Minister in Italy.” (ANSA 2002)

Dubai is a gem- something that has never existed in the middle east- a place of dreams. And Italy, alone, is home to 50% of the entire world’s artistic heritage. Italy is the birthplace of the Renaissance and Dubai is the birthplace of banking- with a Muslim twist.

Dubai is decadent- filled with imagination and desire. It’s a shell though- lacking foundation. Italy is anything but a shell- its layers penetrate deep with history, culture, philosophy and art. Dubai dazzles where Rome astounds.

Being in Dubai, I had fun. I had forgotten what it was like to be around a diverse group of young professionals, moving and shaking in a society that they seem to be building together. In Rome, I arrived and promptly got the impression that I was invading a society- something deeply embedded that was already congested. I am trying, as hard as I can, to fashion my own place- to find an empty spot in the already cluttered terrain to set my roots down- and to be accepted into a society that seems to have shut its doors long before I was even born. Every day, I am learning how to be something more than the token American, or the foreign girlfriend. Because I know there is so much more of me to give- but it’s hard to furnish an identity when one’s role has already been defined. It's a challenge- and I will overcome it…at least, that's the way I’m looking at it. In Dubai, everyone seems to have a clean slate- and their values are solely dependent on what they accomplish while they are there.

Ultimately, Dubai served as a reminder of a number of things- of my own identity, my past and my value. At the same time, it was a great time spent with great friends. Most importantly though, despite the small difficulties I have encountered through making my way in Italy- I quickly realized that I would choose Churches, fountains and the Tiber- over Mosques, malls and Sheikh Zayed Road. Any day of the week.

Trash Clash

2010-10-24T01:41:00.000+02:00

Trash, evidently, is a political issue with a long history in Southern Italy. Whether or not the current crisis has reached the media on an international level, I am not sure- but what I do know is that it’s occupying headlines throughout this nation. At present, it is impossible to open a newspaper or turn on the television without seeing images of burning garbage trucks, teeming dump-sites and livid locals yelling angrily into the microphones of the few news agents that managed to pass through the barricades.

Garbage in Naples is anything but a new concern. Unfortunately, the city itself is well known for its trash crises- in particular, the major eruption in 2007, which consequently became one of the top priorities for the incoming political party- Berlusconi’s PDL. The truth is, before I got to know Naples, I associated it with its garbage issues. Later, once I spent some quality time in the city, I realized that it is so much more…Napoli is this gritty, soulful, stunning, and incredibly alive city. It’s got this pulse you can feel running through your veins as you walk through the streets.

Since the Italian government cleaned up the trash, Napoli and its outlying towns once again became tourist destinations. Regrettably, and somewhat in-tune with Napoli’s ill-fated issues, a new garbage battle has ensued. Due to an existing, overflowing landfill and the planning and creation of a considerably larger, more intrusive landfill at the base of Vesuvius- the outlying towns of Naples currently appear to be more like Bagdad then they do the Mediterranean. I have watched on the news, for over a week now, protesters road blocking garbage trucks on the route to the existing landfills- flying rocks, explosions, police blockades and numerous burning vehicles.

In the past, I have tried to stay away from political issues- and from the ugly parts of the country that I find so beautiful. To me, Italy is the most special place in the world – and I try to portray that. Unfortunately however, the “discarica di Terzigno” hits closer to home than other political concerns. Terzigno, just outside of Napoli, is the birthplace of my boyfriend- and I have spent many a weekend perusing the streets of the tiny town.

Furthermore- last night, I partook in an experience I never could have anticipated. I found myself in the middle of a rally on the streets of Terzigno, along with nearly 400 irate Italians, blocking the road to the dumpsite. There was yelling from the angry mobs, there were fires- but what struck me the most were the tears of anger and betrayal in the eyes of the local citizens. Signs were suspended all over the city walls with heated phrases, trash was piled everywhere- if not on fire, than creating roadblocks to the major throughways of the area.

Now, I am not a fan of protests and I am not a fan of violence or unnecessary damage to property- private or public. But this time, I get it. These people are tax paying loyal citizens of a country that they love- that they are proud of....and at present, they can't walk out of their houses without smelling the mountains of trash left more or less at their doorsteps. (Not to mention the potential environmental implications.)

Of course, looking at the situation from an objective perspective- the alternative choices are slim- and there are more parties involved than just the heads of government. Yet I believe, at the end of the day, that Berlusconi is a decent man and a good leader- and will do his best, along with his party, to clean up the literal mess and regain the confidence and fidelity of this large portion of the Southern population.

On another note; as I was walking away from the demonstration (realizing that these people were accomplishing nothing but freezing their toes off), I was reminded of which country I am in when I got a whiff of the strong aroma of garlic and olive oil- and heard a slightly muffled voice reverberating over the megaphone exclaiming: “Sono arrivati i fagioli!!!” In truth, I was expecting an angry proclamation, or a call to battle. In actuality, the woman was saying, “The pasta and beans have arrived!”

Clearly, an Italian demonstration isn’t truly Italiano without the dinner.

Puppy Love

2010-10-16T17:04:00.005+02:00

I haven’t written for a while- not on the blog, not for myself and definitely not for anyone else. Not writing, in my world, is something that seldom occurs. Whether on crinkled paper napkins in sidewalk café’s or in any one of my various multicolor Moleskines- I’m always scribbling something or another.

These past few months however, I have found myself not wordless- but “assertionless.” I always have words- oftentimes far too many- but words that I deemed valuable enough to write down were few and far between. This lack of writing was set in motion as I read through past blog posts and began wondering how one goes from writing about being part of an MBA, about the future prospects of big jobs and changing the world- to writing about pumpkins. And it was at that point that I quietly vowed to stop writing- at least until I had something substantial to report.

Yet in my silence, I felt stifled- even gagged. It is writing that brings me clarity; it is writing that brings me peace. Without it, I become overwrought with emotions lacking an outlet- and burdened by the thoughts smothered by my own unwillingness to pick up a pen and attempt to make sense of everything.

I have begun to acknowledge that writing about pumpkins, for instance, isn’t wrong- and it isn’t irrelevant. The minor instances and events in our lives are only as important as we believe, or allow them to be. In lieu of beginning a long-winded philosophical discourse- I would like to say, and learn to believe- that my life is as significant as the next- whether I am making pumpkin casserole in the quiet of my home, studying the mechanics of business in a bustling city or working behind a desk towards something bigger than myself. It is possible that that which is most important is making people around me happy, enjoying, and trying to do as little harm to myself and others as humanly possible.

I also had a recent chat with a friend about the meaning of life- whether its procreation, living in harmony with nature, serving God or any number of God’s, searching for truth, or working towards the good old utilitarian “happiness principle,” I don't know- and I doubt I ever will. Personally, I lean towards the side of existentialism regarding free will, choice and personal responsibility.

This life of mine- as I see it- is simply a result of the choices I make based on experiences, desires and beliefs. It’s grounded in arbitrary luck, chance and uncertainty. Taking into account all that we are given and all that that happens across in our paths- we have to make the most out of it. Enjoy. Dream- and then do our best to allow those dreams to become realities. Yet that's a chat for another time…

So our minor accomplishments or experiences are only as important as we consider them to be. And for me, I crossed a major bridge the other day...(no, not blogging about pumpkins). In fact, I got my first puppy. For some, having a dog is a no-brainer- for others, it's a no-no. For me, it has been a fantasy since I was a child and my parents told me that I was too irresponsible to own a dog. Thus, I promised myself that as soon as I was older, and perhaps more responsible, I would get a dog. Then I got older- and with age, came my travelling. I embarked on a somewhat nomadic lifestyle from the time I was 18- where I didn't live in any city for any more than two and a half years. Therefore, owning a dog would have been unfair.

Now, however, I have a dog…my very own puppy. And for me, this is fairly significant. It’s like an unspoken affirmation to myself that I am happy enough where I am to know that I wont be picking up and leaving anytime soon. It’s a promise to myself that we (my puppy and I), are here to stay. Of course, one can never say never- but what I do know is that I am more settled in Rome- and my life in Rome, than I have ever been before. And my puppy is a testament to that fact. So as unimportant pumpkin soup isn’t or as relevant as dog-ownership is, I know that there is something in my life that is changing- something inside myself that is growing- and that’s bigger than I could have imagined when I moved here six months ago.

It also doesn't hurt that he is the cutest puppy in the world…

Dudy

Monster Zucca

2010-09-17T10:27:00.002+02:00

Being a vegetarian my entire life- as well as a lover of food and a passionate cook- I’ve learned, over time, to be inventive in the kitchen. Furthermore- while living in Italy attempting to be a “healthy eater,” as well as a non-meat eater- it becomes somewhat wearisome eating the same “verdure alla griglia” (grilled vegetables) and green salads. I’ve always done my best to smile and chew- when eating at some of the best fish or meat restaurants in the world- raving about the eggplant this and the fennel that and the outrageous taste of the tomatoes and the freshness of the lettuce. And of course, there are the numerous evenings when I “fall off the wagon” and eat several baskets of bread, plates of creamy cheeses and heaping platters of carbohydrate-filled pasta.

In my kitchen, though- it's a different story.

Having lived all over the world- I have taken parts of each cuisine- different dishes and cooking methods- and integrated an assortment of items into my repertoire. I love to cook- I love to invent- and I love to experiment. That being said, I am lucky enough to be in Italy with some of the freshest produce in the world.

Yesterday, a friend of Antonio’s family lugged this huge green stripey vegetable thing into my kitchen. After he noticed my arched eyebrows and confusion, he says to me: “é una zucca- te l’ho portato dal mio giardino giú.” Translation: “it's a pumpkin. I brought it to you from my garden in Naples.” Turns out, upon dissection, it was indeed a pumpkin. So this fat, long, green thing- weighing half of what I do- was at last plopped down on my kitchen counter with a wink and a few words that can be translated into: “get to work.”

With my massive zucca, I invented about six dishes. I could have done more- after avid Internet research- but I am, as of now, limited in fancy kitchen equipment and elaborate ingredients. Basically, if it’s not grown, made and packaged in Italy- it’s nearly impossible to find. Of these six dishes, two were pretty good, one was a disaster, and three were absolutely delightful. So delightful, in fact, that I thought I would share- should anyone else come face to face with a monster pumpkin.

Below are pics and recipes.

1. Pumpkin Parmigiana

Ingredients:

Fresh Pumpkin- thinly sliced

Olive oil

Smoked provolone cheese

Parmesan cheese

Salt

Pepper

Pepperoncino (hot pepper flakes)

Garlic

To prepare the pumpkin: Take about 10 thin whole slices, drizzle extra virgin olive oil and salt- turn the oven to 225 f and cook until slightly browned.

Take another slice of the pumpkin and grate about 2 ½ cups- in a pan- saute two chopped cloves of garlic with pepperoncino, until garlic is soft and throw in the grated pumpkin, stirring until fully cooked and a bit brown- add salt to taste (also, if you like spicy- add more pepperoncino). Once the cooked shredded pumpkin has cooled, add about ½ cup grated parmesan and stir until mixture is even.

Take a medium sized casserole dish and begin layering- first, cover the entire bottom surface with the pumpkin slices (they should have enough oil on them to not have to grease the pan. Next- add a layer of the smoked provolone (this can be substituted by any soft cheese- but I think the smoky flavor goes well with the sweetness of the pumpkin. Add another layer of baked pumpkin and after, another layer of cheese. On top of the cheese, spread the shredded pumpkin/parmesan mixture as another layer in the dish. Follow that with the final layer of baked pumpkin slices Finally, sprinkle the remaining grated parmesan cheese over the entire surface of the top layer and bake. I left it in the oven for a good 40 minutes- but it will be ready when the top layer is sizzling and brown. Let cool.

Unfortunately, we had guests for dinner that night and I totally forgot to take a photo before we dug into the dish. However, I did manage to salvage one slice. Photo below.

2. Pumpkin carrot soup

Ingredients:

Fresh Pumkin

Whole Large Carrots

Vegetable Bouillon Cubes (1/ two cups of water)

Onion

Garlic

Olive Oil

Pepperoncino

Pepper

Salt

Plain Greek Yogurt

Honey

Boil about 3 cups of water with 1.5 bouillon cubes. Throw in two halved small onions (I used red, but any onion will suffice- depending on your tastes) and two whole garlic cloves.

While the water and ingredients are boiling- slice the pumpkin into ½ inch slices irrespective of size and drizzle with olive oil and salt and let bake until soft enough to cut into easily. (I used about 1 lb of pumkin)

Once the pumpkin slices are well cooked, throw them into the boiling water, along with a few cleaned and peeled carrots (I used ½ lb carrots). Add a bit of pepperoncino and a bit of olive oil.

Let boil until carrots are soft- about another 10 minutes.

Blend the entire soup mixture. Add about 1 cup greek yogurt, 1 tbsp honey and salt and pepper to taste. Blend again. Serve. (I sprinkled a bit of parsley on top- but parmesan cheese, thyme, cream or yogurt can all work as garnish).

3. Really Easy Pumpkin Zucchini fritters

Ingredients:

Pumpkin

Zucchini

1 egg

Breadcrumbs (I prefer whole wheat, but white work as well)

Salt

Pepper

Olive Oil

Grate about 5 cups of fresh pumpkin and 2 cups of zucchini. Beat the egg while adding salt and pepper to taste. Mix together the egg and grated vegetables. Add breadcrumbs into the mixture until it becomes thick enough to mold into small patties.

Heat about 1 inch of olive oil in a frying pan. Place the patties into the oil and fry until golden brown on one side- flip and repeat.

I would place the patties on paper towels to drain some of the oil out before you serve. They are also great with a bit of greek yogurt on the side as dipping sauce- any variation works.

(p.s. excuse the photo quality- I used my blackberry)

This is the zucca- and a few slices:

These are the slices baking in the oven. I know they look like pancakes. They're not.
This is a slice of the parmigianna. It was better than it looks:

Pumpkin Zucchini Fritters:
Pumpkin carrot soup:

Summer Snapshots

2010-09-14T17:54:00.010+02:00

Sardegna photos as promised...

שנה טובה

2010-09-13T12:54:00.006+02:00

Italy shuts down in August. Restaurants, businesses and at least half the shops are completely out for the count. Of course, a number of establishments must remain open due to the influx of tourists. But for the locals- Rome is, for all intents and purposes, closed. “When in Rome,” I try my best to do as the Romans do. And when “out of Rome,” I did as the Romans do as well.

The first half of the month was spent in Sardegna- in one of the most delightful and lavish hotels I have ever seen- hobnobbing with the rich and richer (and their Russian girlfriends). It was the vacation of a lifetime- shared with some of my best friends and loved ones, reminding me daily that life really is about the company we keep. Nearly two weeks were spent overindulging in excessive buffets, wakeboarding amongst yachts and massive seaside villas, shopping on private beaches and attending glittering parties and events while our eyes shimmered from the fine champagne running through our veins. (photos to come shortly).

The second half of the month, as I mentioned, was in the United States. I landed in Chicago, spending five days catching up with my sister who just moved to the city and attending the wedding festivities of one of my closest friends. I met Marissa seven years ago. We were both fresh out of college and decided to make a go of teaching English abroad. After an intensive TEFL course, Marissa and I were sent off to Lodi, a small town just outside of Milan. In truth, I lasted about three months as a teacher (some things just aren’t for me) and then bailed, leaving Marissa to brave the fog and Northern Italian winter alone.

Marissa eventually forgave me and since then, we have kept in touch- keeping one another appraised throughout the years and miles that separate us. During the wedding weekend, we had the chance to revisit our ancient histories and laugh about our long-ago woes. I was reminded of all that I have to be thankful for- including: losing the freshman 15, finally speaking fluent Italian and for living, yet again, in my favorite country in the world. Most of all- I am thankful for people like Marissa who I have met by chance across one ocean or another- and having forged friendships that withstand the tests of time. Since the Lodi days, Marissa and I have each separately been around the world a number of times. We have both fallen in and out of love on a number of occasions, moved cities again and again, and somewhere in there- we managed to get masters degrees. The best news of the weekend came when Marissa told me that she and Jeremy will be moving to Rome next year- totally by chance- due to Jeremy’s career in the government. It’s a big world- and anyone who says differently has yet to see it- but it is the people in it that make it smaller.

After Chicago, I sauntered (rather- took a train) over to Michigan and spent a week with my family in their summer home, enjoying nightly sunsets over the lake, boatrides, lazy days on the beach and an abundance of good old american food.

Back in Italy- the first week of September was relatively slow. As the Romans were unhurriedly filtering into the city- opening their shops, organizing their schedules, and arranging their plans- I was making deals with myself. September, as opposed to January- is the beginning of a new year. It's a time to create improvements- renew hope and fulfill agreements and promises- or at least try to.

This year, it just so happened that my first week back in Rome coincided with Rosh Hashanah…the Jewish New Year. Although I didn't attend synagogue- and I didn't blow the Shofar- I quietly celebrated at home on my own, making lists of all I plan to accomplish this year. I ate a modest lunch of apples and honey- as my days in Hebrew school taught me years ago, to signify a sweet new year. I thought about my family- and what growing up amongst them has instilled in me. I didn't pray- because I don't pray. But I did smile to myself thinking about my mother’s improvised holiday dinners- and being surrounded by the people who brought unconditional love amongst other blessings into our home- creating the childhood that will stay with me forever…even though that particular version of my family is long gone, as well as many of the people I loved so dearly in it.

So to all my family, friends and readers, I would like to wish you: Shana Tova- (שנה טובה)- a sweet new year to all. xx

Comparing and Contrasting

2010-08-30T18:03:00.001+02:00

After 12 lengthy (but wonderful) days in the US- the longest period yet since 2005- I have a clear understanding of what it is I love…and hate….about being stateside. And after further comparisons, contrasts, and considerations- I have decided that I am happiest here, and not there- despite the absence of hydrogenated oils.

Below are my top 12 (for the 12 days I was in the states) things I missed the most when I was gone, and indulged in (multiple times) while I was home:

1. Cookies

2. Taco Bell – and Chipotle, but really- Taco Bell

3. Un-dubbed movies

4. Molly, my family’s GoldenDoodle (pic below)

5. Flip-flops and baseball caps (I would probably be shot dead if I walked down Babuino in Havaianas and a cubs cap)

6. Subway (the sandwiches, not the underground)

7. My mommy

8 . Pharmacies (CVS, Walgreens, Duane Reade, you name it, I went there…)

9. Dollars

10. Starbucks (at least 3 per city block)

11. Asphalt, pavement, cement, and the like.

12. Outlet stores

And here are the top 12 things I missed about daily life in Rome:

1. Bidets. Seriously.

2. Espresso (despite my love for- and wavering loyalty to Starbucks)

3. Extra virgin olive oil. On everything.

4. Passeggiate for no good reason other than to walk

5. Italian (excuse me, Italiano)

6. Aperitivi

7. Pasta al dente (as opposed to the mush they serve in America. Yes, I too am becoming a pasta snob)

8. Late dining (“late,” being anytime past 8 pm)

9. Cooking- in my kitchen, after going to my mercato, and serving hungry people on my piatti at my tavola. Americans don't really eat anymore.

10. Cafés

11. Pizza

12. Italy. In general.

Then, of course, there are the things that I adore and abhor- that don't really fit into either list- like central air. I love central air conditioning- but I froze my ass off in every store, house and restaurant. And now I’m sick.

I can't spend enough time in English bookstores, but it's rather annoying paying the airlines for extra weight- due to books than can easily, and more cost-effectively, be bought online.

I adore American baked goods- and ice cream: mushy centered cookies, brownies, caramel covered apples, grocery store cakes with buttermilk frosting, sundaes, fresh doughnuts, etc…but I’m less than pleased about the 2.3 kilos I gained. (that’s 5 pounds…but it sounds better in kilos).

So, with that…I’m off to the gym.

(Above is Molly the wonder dog, complete with her swimming device especially designed for the treacherous waters of Lake Michigan)

Italianopea

2010-07-31T16:59:00.005+02:00

There was an interesting article in last weekend’s Wall Street Journal about how language influences the way we see the world:

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748703467304575383131592767868.html?mod=WSJ_hp_us_mostpop_read

In the article, Charlemagne was quoted stating, “to have a second language is to have a second soul.” After reading the article, I thought about this for a long time. My conclusions are that: maybe another language doesn't supply a second soul, but possibly a mirror into another aspect of one’s soul.

The Italian language, above all, is a romance language (sounds better than Vulgur Latin, doesn't it?). Living in “Italian,” I am seeing myself as more of a romantic then previously. By romantic, I don't mean that I make candlelit dinners and place rose petals on the duvet. Not at all. What I do mean is that in Italian, everything appears more beautiful- a sunny day has now become squisito (exquisite), a nice dress is stupendo (stupendous) and a good lunch is meraviglioso (marvelous). My sentences have dreamier tones to them when I speak and there is a slight possibility that some of my rough edges seem more tender. My extreme Passion, on the other hand, has always been a bit exaggerated. Yet in Italy, it’s normal- and accepted- and no one blinks twice.

The entire language is like onomatopoeia: “a word or grouping of words that imitates the sound it is describing.” It’s like whatever you are feeling- is right there in the sounds that are coming out of your mouth. Ugly is brutto, beautiful is bello, love is amore and war is guerra. To walk across the street is to attreversare and a before dinner drink is aperitivo- and all these words have rolling r’s in the middles and end in vowels that softly tumble instantly into the next words. Italy is probably one of the most beautiful countries, aesthetically speaking, in the world. So it makes sense that the language would reflect that.

I would be exaggerating if I said that I am fluent in Italian, but I think that I’m almost there. More importantly, I live my life in Italian. Meaning: when I remember them, my dreams are in Italian- when I play scrabble, the first words that come to me Italian- and when I get angry, I curse in Italian. Naturally.

I have heard that the Native Americans believe that humans are the only animals narcissistic enough to actually believe we have souls. Although we are the only animals intelligent enough to form a concept of a soul, and beyond that- the only animals with sufficient language to communicate the concept of the soul, I think that the Indians had a point. So to say that I have a number of souls due to the languages I speak, as Charlemagne would have noted- I think it would be going a bit overboard.

What I can say is that thinking in another language has broadened my thought process. The way that I look at things changes through the words that denote the meanings of objects and events. Italians, like in the business they do, always leave open ends- the meanings of phrases can always be interpreted in one of 100 ways. And although this can be frustrating at times, I’m finding it quite useful. “Ci vediamo,” literally means, “we see each other.” In daily discourse, it means, “see you soon.” But it can also mean, depending on the person you are speaking with and the context, “see ya sucker,” “I’ll see you tonight,” “I'll see you around,” “I’ll see you later,” “or “I’m being polite but I truly have no intention to ever see you again.”

Going back to this mirror into the soul that I mentioned, I have repeatedly wondered about how the words I use shape my thoughts- and not the other way around. Therefore, by broadening the expressions I use to describe things through an entirely different language- my world has been expanded. A sunset is not just a sunset- it can be, in English- sundown, dusk, nightfall, twilight, the day’s end- and in Italian- tramonto, sera, crepuscolo and calare del sole. See what I mean? I now have 10 ways to refer to the setting of the sun. And that, in turn, changes the image that comes to mind when I describe a sunset.

On another note, rather than a second soul, or even a mirror- languages help us to understand our souls…being that it would seem somewhat obtuse to ascribe only one language to each soul. In understanding my own soul, I have noted that I spent years with Spanish. From growing up in Miami, to taking hours upon hours of the language throughout high school to doing my MBA in Spain- I should speak Spanish better than English by now. Not the case. Spanish never stuck with me- it didn't agree with my character. Yes, it’s useful. Yes, it's a simple language to learn. Yes, it’s very similar to Italian. Yet with all that- I never “took to it.”

I can speak Spanish. But I don't like to. Whereas, speaking Italian, for me, is like singing. I find joy in it. I find that I am more capable of expressing my true feelings in my limited Italian than I was ever able to in Spanish. Sometimes, I find that when describing something- I describe it more aptly in Italian than even in English. So as some friends like to say that I have become “italianizzata” (Italianized), I think that maybe I have always had an Italian soul- and the language has only helped me to become acquainted with it.

Capri. In Pictures.

2010-07-27T11:07:00.012+02:00

Apparently, a picture is worth a thousand words.

Being that words, to me, are some of the most precious things in this world- it is relatively difficult for me to accept this assertion.

However, after a number of days in Capri, I'm coming around.

Below are some of the photos- and seriously, I don't think I have the words...

Next stops: Paestum and Sardegna!

Gandolfo the Great

2010-07-20T19:24:00.008+02:00

In an effort to mix things up a bit, and a desperate attempt to escape the heat for a day- we took a little excursion out to Castel Gandolfo last Saturday. The town is around 30 km from Rome and serves as the summer residence of the Pope. It's a miniature and charming city overlooking picturesque Lake Albano and apparently, has been voted one of the most beautiful towns in Italy.

It was a nice day, although I can’t say that the heat was any more bearable than it was when we left the city. Upon arrival- we did what we do best: found the finest restaurant with the best view and ate ourselves into oblivion. Lunch was a four-hour affair, accompanied by marvelous wine in vast quantities. Before heading back to Rome (for dinner, of course), we took a stroll along the winding road down to the lake- while I snapped a few pictures just to stretch the legs on my underused camera. Verification below:

Spaghetti Number 9

2010-07-15T19:11:00.001+02:00

I could talk about Italy forever- the indignities, the laughable moments- and the things that leave me incredulous- asking, yet again, is this really my life?

I was talking to someone about television in my teens. Mid-way through the conversation, she turned to me and asked if I was a fan of “nove-zero-due-uno-zero.” Initially, I had NO idea what she was talking about. Really. I didn't. I told her, without a doubt, that “we didn't have that show in America.” And she said it was filmed in America- California to be exact; “Don't you remember? ‘Bevedlee Heels nove-zero-due-uno-zero!’” Ha!

Hearing “90210” in another language not only transformed my association with the show, but it slaughtered everything that those simple numbers ever meant to me. It was like seeing my formative years through the Italian language. Or something like that.

As far as the rest of the entertainment industry goes- I’m still astounded by the vast differences between American and Italian entertainment.

I have a love-hate relationship with Italian Cinema. There is no American Federico Fellini- not even close. And for his existence- I am grateful. But, seriously, what’s with all the voice-overs? I cannot bear to watch one more American movie dubbed in Italian. Imagine watching The Godfather where Marlon Brando’s voice is not Marlon Brando’s voice. Or Scent of a Woman, where Al Pacino’s “hoohaw” is more of a “ooohhhahhhh.” Not to mention the fact that there seems to be only a small cluster of big-time “voice-over” actors. Consequently, let’s say for example that one day- you’re watching a Brad Pitt tear-jerker, the next day- the same voice is Batman’s Joker. Then, that evening- you go to watch Sex and the City and Big has the same voice as Batman/Brad Pitt and later, Wall-E. But then- there are the Fellini’s and Benigni’s of the world- and I admit that I can’t totally discard Italians of murderers of the cinematic art.

Of course, beyond the movies, there are plenty of minor differences I unearth on an hourly basis. Lately, I’m finding that certain elements or incidents that used to bother me are transforming into the beloved details of my daily life. Now, having integrated myself into this entirely backwards and loveable nation- I’m starting to appreciate the “stupidagini.” They make me smile- and laugh- not only at the folly, but at the fact that I’m totally starting to buy into it- all of it.

I used to hold the Italian way of doing business in contempt. As an American- no less an American with an MBA, fully aware of ethical methods and “good business practices,” I used to wonder how anyone ever did business in Italy. Now, although I don't totally accept it- I’m beginning to welcome it.

In Italy, everything is negotiable. In Italian business, nothing is concrete. You can only believe a small part of what anyone says- even the most respectable of individuals lie through their teeth. Every number, detail and word is inflated. Whatever is being offered, and whoever is offering it- is exaggerated. The beauty in it is that- once the frustration subsides; one realizes that in Italy, you can be whoever you want to be. “Basta che lo dici”- meaning “its enough just to say it.” Because everyone believes you. You even begin to believe your own fabrications. For the most part.

I know this seems rather extreme but I cannot stress how true it is. I mean, if you go to have a drink at a hotel and a man walks up to you and begins flirting, before long, he will undoubtedly tell you that he owns the hotel. Case in point. When I tell someone that I am from Miami, there’s a great chance that before long- they will present me a laundry list of the best hotels in South Beach- that they apparently own. “Oh this belt? It’s Versace. I’m Versace’s son. Doesn't matter that he was gay. Nice to meet you. And by the way, Donatella’s waiting for me on my yacht with a suitcase full of millions for my summer vacation. Want to come back to my place for a drink?”

And so on and so forth…

Its fun though. In the past, I got frustrated. It made me angry. I was both distrustful and cynical of everyone I met- simply knowing that if they weren’t already lying to me, they would be soon. Now however- I play into it. It’s like a game. Italy is a world where whoever you want to be- you can be. And no one asks any questions.

Another interesting tidbit about Italians and the importance of food in Italy:

Did you know that Barilla pasta is identified not only by type, but by number?

I didn't.

And I got in trouble for getting a number 3 spaghetti as opposed to a number 9.

Apparently, each number denotes the thickness of that particular pasta.

So not only must I remember the type of pasta I have been sent out to buy. i.e.: spaghetti, fussili, linguine, fettuccine, bucatini, papparadelle, tagliatelle, penne, pennette, maltagliati, maccheroni, paccheri, rigatoni, cavatelli, orecchiette (my personal favorite), trofie, strozzapreti, etc… the list is endless, but I now know that I must be aware of the exact thickness of whichever pasta goes best with the sauce I happen to be making.

Word to the wise; never buy spaghetti for an Italian without first consulting a specialist.

Despite conflicts over the width of pasta and a daily dialogue filled with embroidered fabrications, for the first time in a very long time- I can admit, and truly mean, that I am happy. Like…really happy.

I’m actually surprised about how contented I am. Happy to the point that I’m waiting for some tragedy to jump out from behind me and piss all over everything. But in the meantime- before it all comes crashing down, I’m going to bask in my happiness…because as I have learned in my 29 years, it’s not that easy to find.

My life in Rome hasn't changed much, so I cannot attribute this sudden elation to anything specific. Summer has quickly descended upon us with suffocating heat and hordes of tourists- but I can’t help but smile as I walk down the street- dripping with sweat and veering off the road in order to avoid vacationers staring down at their maps- as opposed to who they may be walking straight into. (me).

I spent a few days in Milan. The short vacation kicked off with an evening of Faust at the Scala opera house. I then spent the fourth of July at lake Como- attending a gala dinner at Villa d’Este, followed with a spectacular display of fireworks over the lake- accompanied by an orchestra playing the American national anthem. And as I heard my anthem and my chest filled with pride, I thought to myself, “It’s ok if I never make it back stateside.”

Career-wise, things are finally starting to come together. I’m working on a number of projects- trying to get them off the ground. I’d rather keep my cards closer to my chest right now- superstitiously speaking. But what I can say is that if I am able to fully execute any of these ventures, I’ll be spending my time doing exactly what I've always wanted to do- embarking on a new(ish) career combining writing, business, travel, PR and marketing. So- fingers crossed. More on that later…

However, with regards to all the above- I feel lucky. Lucky to have people in my life to give me the opportunities to do what I have always wanted to do. And lucky to have done everything I have done up until now- in order to arrive at this point.

And if what they say is true, that life is a journey- my journey hasn't been half bad, and the next part is shaping up to be quite a ride. How could I not wake up with a smile on my face? Not to mention the fact that as I roll out of bed for a cup of coffee- all I have to do is look out the window and see views that really, I think one would be lucky to witness in a lifetime. Beyond that, I’m surrounded by amazing people who make everyday an adventure.

I thought, at this point, that I would be bored. I’m not travelling the way I used to- not right now at least. And although I eat at the best restaurants, drink the best wines and am living a life in Italy the best way possible- my social life is considerably calmer than it has been in the past. But as the Italians say- “non manca niente”- nothing’s missing. At least, nothing I’ve noticed yet.

Rain and Reading...and some other news

2010-06-29T10:55:00.003+02:00

My days knocking around Rome have more or less all blurred into one long interlude. The hours pass rather slowly but the weeks are pretty speedy- as if a gust of wind blew through the pages of the calendar and left me with only the spine. I graduated from the MBA three months ago and although I have learned more about life in Italy than I care to admit, news on the job-front is slim.

I was speaking to a friend of mine from ESADE and she as good as summed it up in noting that, “In this economy- the MBA is a curse. We’re overqualified and too expensive to hire.” Not to mention the fact that none of us have any savings left- due to the drainage of our accounts during the pricey MBA.

Now, I’m not speaking about everyone. Some of the fortunate (and perhaps previously a bit more ambitious and focused) ex-classmates of mine have found great jobs. Positions including: Product Manager at J&J in Sao Paolo Brazil, Senior Analyst for Yahoo! in Geneva Switzerland, Airbus engineer in France, a one-year rotational program at Whirlpool in Monterrey Mexico, Operations Manager at Amazon in Glasgow Scotland, consulting for Deloitte in Johannesburg South Africa, business development and finance at a television station in the Philippines, Consulting in London, Finance in New York, rotational program for GSK beginning in Philadelphia, etc…

I must acknowledge that I’m delighted for my friends- I not only love them all dearly, but I have an immense amount of respect for them as individuals, their capabilities and their talents. I know that wherever they are and whatever they are occupying themselves with- they are making the ESADE name, and all their former classmates, very proud.

Then, there are those of us not as lucky: a few ex-students winding away their days on the beaches of Barcelona between job searches and networking events, while some alumnus returned to their homes- or their wives- waiting for news of that scintillating “post-MBA job.” And others, like myself, are taking each day at a time- while nevertheless enjoying the much needed “down time” that the post-MBA unemployment vacuum provides.

The MBA flew by. Just yesterday- I was 27, flying into Barcelona’s El Prat airport and reading a bus map trying to find ESADE. I blinked and then it was over.

On the other hand- these hours, days, and weeks here in Rome- teetering on the edge between “my big break” and “eternal joblessness” has seemed like a lifetime.

There was a period where it rained for almost a month straight. Therefore, the sparkle of my supposed “Roman Holiday” had faded to grey. Have you noticed that when the weather is dreary, everything seems bleak? Job opportunities morphed into empty promises. My beloved walks to the gym became tedious trudges through unceasing drizzle and darkness. Going anywhere- whether to a store, restaurant or café- rendered me a drowned rat- as opposed to chic Italiana.

Then, one day, the rain stopped. The sun came out, Rome twinkled yet again and “La Dolce Vita” recommenced. This time however, a new desire and motivation was born within me- and I got moving in attempts of putting my education to work. ESADE has been, in part, characterized by its “entrepreneurial spirit.” For that reason, I’ve come to the conclusion that instead of sluggishly waiting to be discovered as a brilliant, capable and interesting MBA graduate by some successful company with multiple future opportunities and a huge salary- it is in my best interest to invent something on my own. That is, of course, if I plan to remain in Italy.

So I’ve been networking, devising, creating, brainstorming, establishing, generating, and fashioning an ideal job for myself. And in my downtime…I’ve been discovering more about the Italian mentality, about Italy and about Italians. I am confident in announcing that in my findings, my original assumptions have been confirmed- Italy is one of the most backwards countries in the world- Italians are some of the most indolent and oftentimes insincere individuals I have ever met…but they sure know how to have a good time! And amongst the masses, there are of course- the gems. A good Italian is a rare find- but if you happen to encounter one- it’s worth its weight in Bvlgari Diamonds.

I’ve also been reading. (thank you amazon.co.uk)

I read the Stieg Larsson Series: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, The Girl Who Played With Fire, and The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets Nest. Entertaining but maybe a bit disappointing considering the hype. I prefer surprises.

I also read a Marion Keyes series- three books centered around three sisters and their early adulthood experiences: Angels, Rachel’s Holiday and Watermelon. The first two were great. Quintessential chick-lit but a good escape. Beach reading. The last book, Watermelon, is a waste of space on my expanding bookshelf.

And then I read a book on Kabbalah and was all in-tune with my spiritual self for a few days. I, at that point, believed that I had found the link between myself and my religion- Mysticism. But then, a few days later when I began reading another work of chick-lit fiction I thought suited me, Shoe Addicts Anonymous, I forgot most of what I read and Kabbalah became a distant memory. Besides, it was a book entitled God Wears Lipstick, so how much was I supposed to remember anyway?

And finally, I read Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts. I have to say that this book is without a doubt, one of the most incredible, engaging and inspiring novels I have read in my entire life. It reminded me what I love about literature. It reminded me of the type of writer I have always aspired to become. And most importantly, it transported me to another place in another time but by the last page- the characters were as close to my heart as my best friends and Bombay could have been “my city.” It was one of those books that for a week straight, I stayed at home reading on the couch instead of going out. It was one of those books that made me laugh so hard that my stomach hurt and at points, made me wail with tears- I couldn't wait to get back to the book during the days and at night, it invaded my dreams. It was one of those books that inexplicably connects me to everyone else in the world who has ever read it.

Shantaram warmed my soul and filled me- as a traveler, explorer and writer- a powerful desire to “do more.”

Moral of the story: read Shantaram.

Until next time….

Morgan

LYMY

2010-06-21T12:30:00.002+02:00

Three weeks ago my grandma had a stroke. Yes, the news upset me- but I wasn't too worried. Nana had already suffered a few strokes, coupled with at least two heart attacks and more bouts with cancer than I care to remember. Nana, in my mind, was never really going to die. She was the survivor of all survivors. But then- a week later, she did. My nana died. My Nana.

Nana contracted pneumonia in the hospital, was rushed to intensive care and then her heart just stopped. I didn't get to say goodbye- I didn't get to tell her how much she has meant to me and how much she would be missed. My father however, sitting next to her tiny withered body held up his computer to her empty eyes while I, stuck in Italy, waved and tried to smile while I told her how much I loved her.

Five minutes later, she passed away.

I would have given anything to be next to her, holding her hand…but it all just happened so fast. I was told that she had waited to see me. Of course my Nana waited to see me- she was my biggest fan- she loved me more than anyone else she had ever met. This favoritism was common knowledge in my family and something she never had any qualms about being made known. The general response when one of the other grandchildren inquired was “well Morgan was the first grandkid, there’s a special bond there.” And I do believe it was that- that I was the first- I don't think I was the favorite because of what I do or who I am- but I took that unconditional overflowing love and did what I could with it, knowing that I would never find another soul on this earth willing or able to love me as much as Nana did.

I could relay her life story or describe how beautiful and selfless she was. I have a million memories running through my head- some of which make me cry, some of which make me smile, and some of which make me roll will laughter. But I think that when someone we love dies, what we need to do is take the lessons they have taught us and move forward in our lives- trying to make them proud- every day.

There were really only two things my grandma would have asked of me in her passing. One: to finally start eating meat and Two: to find a “nice Jewish boy” (preferably doctor) and get married.

It would be easier if nana wanted me to become president of the U.S., win the Nobel Peace Prize, or become an astronaut. Unfortunately, her love was too great to ask me to accomplish anything- I was already perfect in her eyes.

In losing Nana, I lost one of the few stable things in my life. Nana was my rock- my anchor. I always knew where to find her, I always knew that she’d be that person on the other end of the phone elated to hear my voice. She was always proud of me- for everything. In losing Nana, I lost my scrabble partner (although she had been known to cheat), I lost a sense of anxiety- always wanting her to improve her own living circumstances, I lost one of my best friends and I lost an enormous part of my past- of myself.

I could look at Nana and know where I got my nose, my height, my stubbornness and my humor. What I didn't get from Nana though, was her selflessness, forgiveness and her unconditional- I mean really unconditional love. I didn't get her devotion to her family- regardless of how angry they made her at times, and I didn't inherit her ability to see the good in people- as bad as they were. So I suppose that is my lesson- that is what I am supposed to take away from my Nana- try to emulate all the good she brought into the world. Even though, at the end of the day, it’s not what she would have wanted- because like I said, I was already perfect in her eyes.

If I were to truly commemorate my Nana, I would sit around watching reruns of I Love Lucy and The Golden Girls. I would go on a cruise and spend ¾ of my time and all of my money in the casino- feeding coins to the slot machines. I would waste away hours in the kitchen cooking potato blintzes (making a few cheese blintzes on the side for Tyler) and tart tatin for my dad. I would order pizza loaded with onion and garlic (or as nana called it in her Brooklyn accent she never managed to lose, Gaalik) and I would spend as much time with my family as humanly possible- taking pictures of them with one of her disposable cameras that always seemed to have “one or two pictures left,” giving them huge suffocating hugs and wet kisses leaving both crimson lipstick stains and bits of food on the cheeks of those that I love.

I miss nana. My life without her in it is emptier. Palpably emptier. And as much as I tell myself that she is in a better place or that she isn’t suffering anymore- I regret that she never got to see me get married, that I didn't grant her the pleasure of meeting her great-grandkids. I have a million and one regrets and nothing seems to make me feel better.

I just keep telling myself that she really is there on the other end of the phone when I call- she just doesn't hear the ringing because she forgot, once again, to put her hearing aids in.

Caput Mundi

2010-06-05T16:00:00.011+02:00

I walk daily, around the center of Rome, ducking beneath the curved arches of renaissance palazzi and cobbled alleyways teeming with shaded cafés and slices of history disguised as crowded shops and cozy restaurants. I’ve gotten lost in Rome...not lost in the damaging sense- not lost in where I can’t find my way home. I’ve become rapt by this captivating city in the sense that I don't want to turn around and head home. I am lost in the enchanted sense- like Alice down her rabbit hole. This city- the eternal city, Caput Mundi- and the little life that is slowly forming around me- is my castle in the sky. Maybe I’m too much of a romantic- or a dreamer- and I’m simply refusing to look around and see the world as it really is. Or maybe I just got tired of it. Because in Italy—in my Italy- my fantasy world- there is no economic crisis, there is no hunger, no loss, no death and no suffering. The world isn’t speeding towards it's own destruction, there is no war- and with no war- there’s no hate, no anger and no unfulfilled desire or need. I fell in love with Italy almost ten years ago when I stepped off a plane in Florence- and since then, along many roads and paths- I am always lead back to Italy- in one way or another- whether it is in my mind or in my heart. And now I’m here, in body- and this is my life.

Some days, it’s as if I’m waiting for the bottom to fall out- or I'm waiting for reality to set in. And so I take my camera and try to capture it all before it ends- as all good things do- and as all stories end and glittering fantasies eventually lose their shimmer and turn into the darker and subtler realities.

It’s been two months now- and although I keep looking over my shoulder for trouble- or fate- or duty to come knocking - I’m still here. I’m living a life of hedonistic pleasures that even Cleopatra would envy. And while I wonder when and how it will all end- I’m doing the best I can to bask under the Roman skies that shroud me in their light every morning and grant me the sweetness of dreams that each star filled night brings.

Enjoy the pics. ;)

Rome Through my Lens

2010-05-17T11:58:00.007+02:00

When I first got my camera, someone said to me, “now you will see the world differently”- as if through the lens- my perspective would change. Or at least the tint of the world. After owning the camera for a full three months- and using it a full three times (not my fault…talk to canon), I beg to differ.

Maybe It’s that I always saw the world with a skewed view- or that I have always looked for the strange and beautiful parts of it- ignoring that which my untrained eye deemed dull or undeserving.

Either way- unlike what I was told, my experience thus far- behind the lens of my camera- hasn't changed at all. Don't get me wrong, I still love the world- I still love what I see and enjoy every moment of seeking out the unexpected and unusual bits- and then attempting to capture them. Although I am still an amateur- I’m working on it. I’m finding myself gravitating towards pictures of old cars and antique Vespas. (not exactly sure why.) And if I were to be completely honest with myself and my camera- I would take pictures of pizza and gelato, pizzerias and gelaterias, people eating pizza and gelato, etc… but I guess that wouldn't be as interesting as everyone else as it is to me.

Here’s Sunday:

p.s. this is my fish (the one that survived), who sits and stares at me all day long:

Alcune Foto di Roma

2010-05-14T23:25:00.005+02:00

and an exercise in learning how to use my new camera...

A Day in The (Post-MBA) Life

2010-05-03T23:23:00.003+02:00

I wrote a number of articles/posts relating to “A Day in the Life of an MBA Student.” With those, I shared my experiences as an American in Europe, as a right-brainer amongst nearly all left-brainers, as an MBA student during the economic crisis, and so on. Of course, my stories were similar to many other stories that can be found in magazines, books...the virtual universe. Stories of MBA students are abundant- if you know the right places to look. On the other hand, stories of post-MBA graduates are fewer and further between. I think this is due to a number of factors. For one, many MBA students go straight back into the workforce after the MBA and are therefore lacking in free time in order to relate their accounts. Or, they feel that once the MBA is over- their stories are not as significant. Or- the masses of MBAs who graduate without jobs (i.e. ME) may- in some sense- not want to write about the "battle of the job search." Whether they see graduating without a job as a failure, or a hiccup, or even a blessing- the numbers of stories that post-MBA grads have seemingly waned as the new rush of current students begin to tell their tales.

Either way, my story continues. As I have previously mentioned, I began writing this blog before the MBA and I plan to continue it until I feel I have nothing more to say. And looking at my life as objectively as I am capable of, I’m not doing so bad for myself. I’m happy, I’m calm, and I still believe that my existence is interesting enough to write about- with or without the 8 a.m. classes and bag weighted down with accounting books.

With that said- I give you “A day in the life of an unemployed post-MBA graduate living in Rome and searching for jobs when not eating pasta, pizza, roaming around taking photographs, pick-nicking in Villa Borghese and drinking Brunello in fine restaurants.”

For the first few weeks, I woke up around noon. I think I was restoring, mending…I guess I needed it after the past two years at ESADE. As well rested as I oftentimes told myself I was, it did take a good number of weeks with 12 hours a night to recharge my batteries. And then- one day- I started waking up at 7:30…just like that. It's like my body told me; “you're better now. Time to get going.”

So I got going.

I wake up each morning and stumble down to the café across the street. The baristas know me, they know what I want before I order it, and they greet me in the mornings with big smiles and delicious cappuccinos.

In any city, one can visit as a tourist- but they can also live as a tourist- or an impermanent resident. I’ve been an impermanent resident in many cities. And It’s not a bad thing. It’s nice- the transient lifestyle. A bit too nomadic for this age when everyone seems to be having babies, but better than being a backpacker. Either way, I’m finally beginning to feel like a local. I did live in Rome before- about seven years ago…and although my experience was amazing, I was an ex-pat…I mean, a GLARING ex-pat, surrounded by ex-pats, living like an ex-pat. Now, though, due to certain circumstances…Rome is becoming home to me. And my café is one of the first steps.

Once hopped up on enough caffeine to fuel a small vehicle, I do the shopping. Veggies and fruit from the street market where the vendor hands me something to munch on while I pick out the produce. Meat and poultry at the butcher. Everything else at the supermarket, never neglecting to say "buon giorno" to the crazy man who sits outside yelling at tourists in at least five different languges.

Additionally, after a painstakingly exhaustive internet search, I found a “Bio” (pronounced bee-o in Italian. Ha) store about 20 minutes from my apartment. The first time I entered was like Christmas...all over again. I found everything I had been dreaming about since I left England- tofu, quorn, veggie sausages, veggie chicken fingers, soy fillets, veggie burgers, seitan, etc… They even had vegetarian mortadella! (I.e. a smoked Italian sausage made of ground pork and beef and cubes of pork fat and pistachios, flavored with wine and spices). Only in Italy…

As I walk home, people have begun to greet to me on the street- people who know me just by sight. It’s my little community- a place that I love. That I have loved for years. A place that I feel very lucky to be able to call home. And to all these people, I may just be the American girl living with the Italian on Via del Babuino, but to me- I’m living a life that I have always wanted to live. (minus the job, of course.)

Once home with the daily groceries put away, I get ready for the gym.

I found a gym in Rome. Which was a huge part of my shift to Italy. Through my many lives and the many cities I have called home, I have a basic list of things to find in order to conclude the relocation:

1. Doctor

2. Gym

3. Salon

4. Supermarket

5. Café

The gym was the last listed item to be crossed off. Therefore, when I finally, after a tiring and generally disappointing search, found a clean and well-located gym- I was ecstatic. My gym has become one of the focal points of my week- and admittedly, the highlight of many days. Actually, the gym isn’t the highlight- but getting there is. The gym is a gym. However, being that I am in Italy, in the center of Roma, the gym is more like a fashion show…where the men show off their muscles in tiny shorts and skimpy tank tops- and each woman is more skeletal than then next. The walk to the gym, on the other hand, is a daily (or every other day) reminder of how lucky I am to be here:

In order to get to the gym, I walk through Piazza del Popolo and then over the Tiber, with views of renaissance church cupolas above the trees. (photos coming soon).

The only problem with the gym in Italy is the number of pizzerias, gelatarias, and arancinerias on the way. I counted. Final numbers: From home to the gym I pass; 10 pizzerias, 4 gelaterias and one “mondo arancina.” If you don't know, arancini are like this little balls of greasy heaven. Or, in real terms, they are “fried rice balls coated with breadcrumbs, originated in Sicily in the 10^th century, usually filled with tomato sauce and mozzarella.” I mean, seriously, can you imagine anything yummier???

Anyways- back to my point. I walk to the gym- in the Roman sunshine-weaving between hordes of tourists, chic locals, Fiats, Minis and Vespas- staring incredulously at the tops of the buildings that don the covers of guide books around the world. And I think to myself- this is really my life. And I smile, and then take pictures with my blackberry hoping not to get run-over by a Cinquecento.

Once home, early afternoon, I make myself a small lunch or I meet friends out for a quick meal to discuss gossip and local politics. I’m sorry but there are things that happen in Italy that would not/could not happen in any other modern country. I love these people, I love their motivations, their mentality and their joie de vivre- but come one- GET it together people!!! Sometimes Italy is more like a circus than a first-world country in the middle of Europe. Oftentimes, I truly believe that Italians should stick to what they know best- food, fashion, and the restructuring of old masterpieces.

After lunch, my “workday” begins and I get on my computer to answer e-mails, contact potential job-leads, and continue the inexhaustible career search.

Then the fun stuff begins.

I actually spend a few hours a day putting my MBA knowledge to use- and if truth be told, finding it useful. My boyfriend/roommate is an architect. Recently, he has opened his own architectural studio. Which, I must say, I am very proud of. Furthermore, I am learning a lot from the process…as I would with any start-up business, from the financing, structuring and marketing perspective. He found a great space right next to the Spanish Steps (big smile) and is currently knocking down walls, pulling up flooring and reconstructing the entire space. Being that he has a degree in Architecture and masters in Interior Design, he is designing the entire thing and we have been, for the past few weeks, picking everything from the chairs and lighting, to the staplers and paper.

Being that I am not currently gainfully employed, I have taken on the position of pseudo-office-manager. I figured, well- I do have an MBA now and I suppose keeping the finances in order is in my best interest, so I may as well set everything up before he really gets going. As a result, I have been compiling information on expenditures, receipts, calls, requests, payments, etc…and have thus far, created everything from daily call logs to income statements to cash flow statements and inventories and expense reports.

I must admit that all the work I did during the MBA with Excel seemed somewhat excessive to me- but now, well now I couldn't live without it. And the most shocking thing of all- beyond the fact that I am actually capable of doing this- is that I am liking it. I’m enjoying the numbers and calculations and data. I even went so far as to create multiple color-coded-pie-charts relating to fixed costs, variables, overhead, etc…

One evening, proud of what I had accomplished and eager to show my boyfriend how lucky he is to have an (unpaid) MBA as his office manager, I sat him down and took him through about 10 spreadsheets and a number of related data. The first thing he said to me? “Ma Morgan, perche non puoi mettere tutto su una sola foglia? Sembra molto piu facile.” Translation: “But Morgan, why can’t you put all this information on just one sheet. It seems like it would be a lot easier.” My reaction: I closed the computer and walked away. The second thing he said to me: “Ma Morgan, perche non facciamo tutto a mano invece dello computer? Cosi avremo tutto l’informatione fisso e concreto.” Translation: “But Morgan, why cant we just do everything hand-written instead of on the computer? Therefore, we will have all the information in a fixed and concrete manner.” My reaction: “Lascia stare questo lavoro. Trovi un’altra. Forse dalla vecchia scuola.” Translation: “I quit."

Slowly though, he came around- I think a friend talked some sense into him. And a good number of days later, he caved and said that “tuo modo va bene” i.e. “your way is fine." I know he will thank me in the end. At least that's what I keep telling myself…

Once the evening commences and the workforce begins to spill out of offices and on to the streets mixing with the roaming tourists, I take leave from my “office” and begin the “passeggiata” process. I wander around, stopping for a coffee, or a peek in a store along Via Condotti- hoping that one day soon I will be able to afford the many potential purchases I covet on a daily basis. I stroll, maybe meet someone for an aperitivo (pre-dinner drink) sitting outside in a café in one of the many charming piazzas surrounded by exquisite architecture. As the sun sets, I am always surprised by the light in Rome. It astounds me over and over again- on a daily basis.

And then I slowly make my way home. If we don't go out to one of the many phenomenal restaurants in Rome, friends come over for dinner- complete with wine from the boyfriend’s family’s production and numerous dishes full of fresh vegetables, herbs, cheeses and sauces.

I am learning more about this country everyday- and about myself. I knew many Italians in my life, and although I lived in Italy for over two years in the past…I think I finally “get it” now- and I “get” why I have always been drawn to Italy. And I love it. I hate it and I love it. I love to hate it and hate to love it.

Once the evening winds down and our guests leave, I normally make my way over to the couch, computer in lap, and continue whatever it was I was working on. I drink chamomile tea with honey from the family farm in Campania. I read, I write, I think. And in thinking about how much I need a job- I realized that I have been counting the days. And then I noted that these should be the days I am not counting...because these are the days i'll look back on and wish I had more of.

Oh, and I have a fish! There were two but one died last week.

So, excluding the small death in the family-in my opinion, “a day in this post-mba graduate’s life” isn't so bad after-all.

Random Internet Find...

2010-04-26T12:39:00.003+02:00

A friend sent this to me.

Not sure what it is, but I think it's pretty funny...

(click on the screenshot below to go to the page)

Non-Reading List

2010-04-23T15:59:00.001+02:00

Normally, I create reading lists (posted on the blog or not) of books I have read and liked, books I would like to read, books that have been recommended to me, books I love, and so on and so forth.

As I was clearing out my apartment readying myself for the big move to Italy- I found a number of half read books that seemed to have gathered enough dust to grow their own legs and hide themselves in hidden corners on their own. This discovery, the result of an excavation of all my leftovers from the past year and a half, came as a surprise. Before I began the MBA, I can honestly say that I NEVER began a book and didn't finish it. It was almost as if the compulsion manifested itself into an obsessive-compulsive disorder. I mean- in the past, I would lose sleep if I left a book unfinished. Even if I knew how it ended, if I hated it from page one, or if I had a stack of another 100 books to read just staring at me from my bedside table- I finished every book I had ever opened.

Now, however, there has been a change. I didn't realize the severity of it until I discovered a total graveyard of half read novels.

There have, however, been a number of books I did finish. Therefore, this must mean that I am cured of my OCD and I have learned- through no effort of my own- to save precious time and energy by not wasting it on substandard books- since there are so many novels in the world to be read (and now it seems that with the arrival of the e-reader, I am on a deadline as well).

So here is my non-reading list, for anyone who wants to know what books I would return if I could. This isn’t saying that these aren’t good books- they just didn't peak my interest in the short amount of time I gave them opportunity to…being that I was doing an MBA and all…

1. Outliers, Malcolm Gladwell. I thought, with both Blink and The Tipping Point, that Malcolm actually got to his point, explored it and finished it within the first 20 pages of both of these books. In Outliers, I didn't even get through ten. I would read the back cover, and leave it at that.

2. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Hunter S. Thompson. Just see the movie. Much, MUCH better.

3. Have a Little Faith, Mitch Albom. LOVED Tuesdays With Morrie. This one though…not so much. Skip it.

4. Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov. Just couldn't get through it.

5. Ex-Girlfriends United, Matt Dunn. Just Awful. This purchase (and the following) were due to the limited selection in the “English Section” of the bookstore in Rome. It’s amazon.com from here on out…

6. True Love and Other Disasters, Rachel Gibson. Mediocre for beach reading.

7. Any vampire book written and subsequently published in order to capitalize on the success of the Twilight series.

On the other hand, I have recently acquired three novels that I am truly looking forward to reading;

1. Shantaram, Gregory David Roberts

2. The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, Stieg Larsson

3. The Girl Who Played With Fire, Stieg Larsson

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Back to Basics

2010-04-14T15:55:00.001+02:00

I could say that in a perfect world, I would be able to talk about my fabulous job, my post-MBA experience where I was taking steps to become who I have always wanted to become-moving forward in the world…maybe an editor of some global business publication, a strategic advisor for high profile luxury brands, a political consultant…

Truth is, even now, I don't know what my dream job is. Throughout the development of the MBA, I kept believing that something would simply drop into my lap- a new passion, the thing I excelled at- my path.

I knew that an MBA would open up the business world to me and at the same time, somewhere deep down, I hoped that in the process, I would discover a new road- or at the very least, an alternate direction. Perhaps banking, some type of consulting, operations…I don't know. And within my two years as a student at ESADE, and the many, MANY courses I took- I did unearth new interests. However- I did not, in fact, find a new vocation.

At the end of the day, when all is said and done and both Barcelona and the MBA are behind me- it is clear that I walked away with two years of great memories, a diploma and advanced knowledge of the Spanish language. Yet the greatest lesson I learned is that maybe I always knew who I was, what I was good at and what I wanted to do. And what I know how to do- with the knowledge I have gained and the few gifts I encompass- is to try to share the world around me, through these eyes of mine, with my words. And that? Well, that's the best I can do.

During any experience where groups of people are placed together for extended periods of time- whether it be professional, social or educational environments- each individual brings with them their distinct and oftentimes defining characteristics. In my MBA, every student was identified as something that set them apart, we were assigned roles- and whether these roles were truly representative of who we were or not, we were each labeled as something or another amongst our classmates- from the party planning duo, to Mr. consulting, the “operations ant,” the loudmouth, the most opinionated, the most altruistic, the hardest worker, the hardest partier, and so on and so forth…

My MBA identity was the girl with the blog, the girl who was put on the cover of the brochure, the girl who wrote the ESADE piece for BusinessWeek, the girl who worked on loads of cover letters and resumes for her classmates, the girl who edited the papers, the girl who writes. And I love that. Because I love to write. And part of me believes that had I not done an MBA- I wouldn't have been the girl who writes. It's the “big fish, small pond” syndrome.

An MBA program, any MBA- is filled with left brains- numbers people…logical, sharp, sane minds all capable of something distinctive- analytics, calculations, quants, evaluations, etc… Point is- not many writers are found immersed in an MBA. Had I gone in another direction- done something that came naturally to me, i.e. a masters in literary theory, art history, marketing…or whatever, there would have been plenty of people just like me- individuals who are creative, who can write well, who are illogical, messy, disorganized and overly emotional. I don't think I would have stood out the way I did- I would have had a different identity. What that is? I will never know- but that's not something I care to find out either, because I love my MBA identity. I love that I was “the writer.” And in a way- it validated me. It made it ok for me to not be like everyone else. It made it ok for me to be me.

I think what I am trying to say is that the MBA taught me something I never would have thought to expect or hope for. Beyond knowledge, know-how, beyond experience and wisdom- it showed me that I have never been wrong about my passions…it confirmed that what I have always done is what I do best. And it proved to me that I was right all along.

Chapters

2010-04-07T15:05:00.002+02:00

Ok, so I took a little hiatus- but don't get me wrong, just because the MBA is over- “I Bet Elephants Taste Like Mushrooms” lives on. I began the blog before the MBA and although I never aimed to be labeled an “MBA blogger,” my writing took its natural course and I did, in fact, become the ESADE MBA blogger- or one of them at least.

Now, however- and to my own chagrin- I am no longer an ESADE MBA student. I am not a student at all…I am unemployed. It’s quite a fine line, actually, between playing an active role in the academic system and unemployment.

I do have an MBA though- which is more than what I could have said for myself two years ago. And I plan to forge on in the world, as the same person I have always been- with the same goals and the same dreams and desires…only this time with all the knowledge that the MBA has brought me, somewhere in this brain of mine. Not so bad, right?

So as I sit on my couch in my new home in Rome (yes, I moved to Italy…more on that later)- I am sorting through the millions of emotions whirling around in my heart, while my weary head is working on grasping the fact that my life in Barcelona is actually over. The MBA is over. Everything I lived for the last two years is just a memory- but an amazing memory at that.

As for the time between the actual graduation and now- it’s been a frenzied whirlwind. I spent another few days in Barcelona- doing everything I should have done while I lived there but I was too busy “living there,” like visiting the Picasso museum and taking the two-hour trip out to Montserrat. And then I occupied myself doing everything I loved doing when I was living there “just one last time.” This time though, I dragged my sister along with me. We ate Maoz falafel in Plaça Reial, drank Cava Sangria at Cervezeria Catalana, and spent hours window-shopping while sipping Starbucks on Passeig De Grácia.

And in between doing everything either for the first time or the last time, I ended my memberships, closed my accounts and gave back my keys. I made numerous trips out to the recycling bin and disposed of finance books, old exams and term papers that took months to write but only moments to throw away. I packed my life into my dusty suitcases and donated whatever didn't fit to whoever would take it. I went to dinners and goodbye drinks. I sang karaoke once again with the same group that sang karaoke with me in Beijing last summer. I drank my favorite German beer with my favorite Germans and ate my favorite Indian food at the home of the best cook of the MBA, Saurabh.

I ran around for four days saying goodbye to everything and everyone that I have taken for granted over the last year and a half. Then, on my final night in Barcelona, outside of a bar at about 3:00 a.m., I couldn't take it any longer. The realization that the end had come and gone and it was finally time to move on- hit me like a ton of bricks. The knot in my stomach tightened, my throat closed off mid-sentence and my eyes started burning. While saying not “adios,” but “hasta luego” to a number of friends, I suddenly found myself in the middle of a street challenging my tears, in vain, to stay within their ducts. It could have been the alcohol or possibly the emotional exhaustion- or maybe it simply happened to be the moment that life decided to hit me with the truth- but I couldn't bear it any longer. I couldn't take any more pictures pretending to smile; I couldn't give any more hugs without feeling my body heaving with tears. I couldn't look into the eyes of any more familiar faces, not knowing when the next time we are together would be, and say goodbye. I just couldn't. So my sister put me in a taxi, I went home, finished packing and ineffectively attempted to sleep. A few hours later- I turned the lights off, took the Spanish SIM card out of my phone- and left Barcelona for one last time. And that was it.

It was a slightly bitter and exceptionally sweet end to one of the best chapters of my life. And even now- contentedly sitting in my beautiful apartment in Rome- commencing a veritable “vita bella”- I am filled with excitement, a bit of sadness and enough nostalgia to last a lifetime.

And as I mentally close one chapter, I am realizing, above all else, that I am ready for the next.

So...

2010-03-28T13:29:00.005+02:00

I Bet Elephants Taste Like Mushrooms....AND I HAVE AN MBA!!!!!

La Última Clase

2010-03-24T17:21:00.000+01:00

At this very moment- I am sitting in my last MBA class, about to give my last-ever presentation with the help of my new best friend, “PowerPoint.” (Yes, I should be paying attention- but I have this knot in my stomach that won’t seem to go away- and the best way I know how to get rid of it is to write about it…)

I thought that this class, the last class, would never come. I did plenty of complaining about the duration of the process- but I think a small part of me was hoping to complain forever. I may have spoken about the end- but it never felt like it was actually going to happen- like it was just part of a plan that would never conclude. The end of the MBA was a far-off concept and the future- just a hypothesis.

Now- it’s here and as I sit in this familiar classroom with my MBA colleagues who were complete strangers a little less than two years ago- I feel nothing but sadness, a bit of regret that I’ve run out of time- and fear- of the unknown.

I don't want to repeat the sentiments I keep referring to…but what I suspected up until this point is true- that the nostalgia would kick in as the end approached. I have no unexpected emotions or thoughts to reveal. Although I do thrive on change and I genuinely believe that the “next step” will be great, I am overwhelmed by my own completely startling sadness.

My classmates have, against all odds, become my family- some sort of dysfunctional, bizarre family- but I love them- and I never thought I would say that. We have shared what seems like a lifetime together- the good, the bad, the highs and the lows. They may be sitting around me at this very moment but already- I miss them. I don't want to say goodbye.

And ESADE- the immense, arresting pink building, the classrooms, the ubiquitous blue chairs, the glass walls, the never-ending internet problems, terrible food, weak coffee- they have all become the elements of my home- the fixtures.

I was pulling up to school this morning and as I walked up to the doors with the big ESADE “E,” I remembered three years ago, when I drove up for my entrance interview and they were like the doors to a whole other world- the world of Business Education….a world that I was just thinking about entering. Now, those doors are as familiar to me as the doors to the house I grew up in- ESADE is a place I belong…where I can walk in and I can navigate the halls and the floors and the offices and rooms. I know where all the bathrooms are and I know how to work the light/sound systems for each projector. I know where the comfortable couches are should I need an afternoon catnap and I know where to hide when I don't want to be found.

Today is my last day as a student in this school and when I walk out of this building, I will be leaving behind another home- I will be leaving a home that I have grown to love very much. And that scares me…it makes me sad.

I think the point is, I may be ready for this to be over- I may have learned all I can learn from ESADE- but I don't want it to end…not yet.

Pseudo-Twittering

2010-03-23T13:23:00.004+01:00

If I had a twitter account….

I would be on it all day. My readers would see how disorderly and arbitrary my thoughts really are. I would probably alienate a number of people. I would be totally unproductive in class. And if I had a twitter account…this is what I would say right now:

“Graduation in three days…What. The. Fuck.”

However, I don't have a twitter account. Although I occasionally think twitter would be useful. Not that my “140 characters or less” thoughts are that brilliant, but at least I would actually get to my point- as opposed to my run-on sentences full of metaphors and oftentimes overly descriptive explanations. Furthermore, I seem to feel the need to preface EVERTHING- and in the end, draw some kind of conclusion. It gets old- even for me.

In this sense, twitter would be useful.

Additionally, I write between 5 and 20 notes to myself in my blackberry daily- generally just random thoughts- but material that could potentially become blog stuff.

I was reading through today's list on the way home from school and in light of my exceedingly limited time and the impending end of the MBA…I’m not going to drone on today- as I would usually do.

Instead, I’m going to pseudo-tweet...Straight from my blackberry’s “MemoPad.”:

I love that in Spain, women refer to each other as “reina,” i.e. “queen.” I’m going to make everyone refer to me as “reina” from now on.

Paraphernalia should not be spelled like that.

I think I want an iPad. What’s the deal with those?

Google may shut down its China operations. Sad.

For our MBA Awards, I was voted “most likely to become famous.” It’s flattering although I don't think that's what I was really going for when I decided to do an MBA.

I don't really think it’s that devastating to be a mismatched sock. I was having a bad day.

Wait…is twitter with or without spaces?

To be continued…

Life As A Sock

2010-03-18T14:23:00.003+01:00

Something horrendous happened last night- a sickening realization;

After a lengthy day of presentations, meetings, classes and other school-related crap, I could take no more and left at around 8:00 pm. I ran out of the building so quickly that I only realized, once home, that I had left my computer’s battery charger plugged into a desk in a classroom at school.

Once I made it home, I quickly did as much pending school work as I could- until my poor computer went into “reserve battery” mode- at which point, I quickly typed out a to-do list, emailed my Spanish professor telling him I would be unable to do my final presentation tomorrow (due to tonight’s technical difficulties)- and shut down my baby (computer) for the first time in two years.

1. I finally realized how attached I am to my computer. I am lost without it. The Internet is one thing- it’s my lifeline. But my computer- well, that's my soul. Sad, huh?

2. I didn't know what to do with myself. It was the first time in years that I sat in an apartment alone- without a TV, without a computer, surrounded by a bunch of books I had already read.

It was just me- and my thoughts. (a dangerous combination.)

So what did I do?

I sorted socks.

I have an ongoing war with my washing machine, which I lovingly refer to as; “calcetín creatura” (sock monster)- i.e. he who eats all the socks. Well, not all the socks, just one sock of each pair- leaving me with mountains of mismatched clean socks.

From my first ever wash in Barcelona back in August 2008, until now, I have been saving these lonesome socks. (yes, I’m a packrat- and I hold on to the hope that one day, I will walk into the apartment and the washing machine monster will give my socks back to me)…so I collect them and put them in a big shopping bag under my bed.

Tonight- I decided- was the night that my socks would find their mates.

Now, I’m sure you thought that the no-computer part of the evening was the horrifying “thing” that happened to me. And as bad as THAT was…it got worse…

Of course, like many small things that we do or think or see, they signify something else- something much greater. So take this “sock metaphor” as you will…make it yours- and possibly, you will see the distressing experience from my perspective:

There I was, innocently sitting in front of a pile of socks. They were all perfectly good socks: clean, undamaged, cute, comfy, warm, etc…basically, all the things a sock should be.

I did happen to find a few perfect pairs towards the beginning of the exercise- at which point, I rolled them together and placed them neatly into the sock drawer. As time went on, I found less and less mates for my socks and although they were meticulously spread out in order (by size, color, material and length) along my bed- I was reaching the end of the twosomes.

So then, what did I do? I attempted to find the socks that seemed the most alike- the ones that would not cause people to laugh at me should I wear them together and take my shoes off at airport security. (this has happened to me before).

Therefore, the short blues went with the short blues, the tall blacks went with the tall blacks, and so on and so forth…

Before long, even those not-so-perfect pairs were all folded and placed in the sock drawer.

When this was done, I looked down and I had at least 50 individual socks that looked nothing like each other. Their companions were not to be found.

As much as I hated to throw them away- because they were, in fact, perfectly good socks- (they just happened to be single socks), I realized that it was time for the mass exodus to the dump.

So that's what I did. I went to throw them away. And as I was walking to the garbage bins down the street, with my trash bag full of perfectly good socks- it hit me…I may be a mismatched sock. Here’s the thing- maybe I did have my mate at one point…and I don't have it anymore. Maybe I am with the wrong sock somewhere in the sock drawer- Maybe I am with the wrong sock because I don't want to end up in the garbage can- and my current partner is “close enough” that people wont notice that we weren’t made to be together.

As for the sock that was made to be with me- well it’s not in my sock drawer. It’s nowhere near my sock drawer.

And what about all of the single socks? They had to be thrown away. What if, instead of finding their perfect companion, they were off getting an MBA??? What if they were busy traveling the world, exploring, learning…

What if, while all the other socks were being rolled into their pairs and settling into their cozy sock drawers, they were still trying to figure out what kind of sock they were- and where they belonged.

And for these individual socks…what generally happens is that by the time they make it to the right sock drawer, all the good socks are taken.

So in the end…in this 2 minute walk down the street to the garbage bins- I came to the conclusion that I would not, and could not, throw my socks away.

I turned around, walked back into the building, dragged my garbage bag full of socks back up the stairs, and I put them into the sock drawer with the rest of the mated socks.

I will never wear these socks. They will only be a cause of annoyance and grief while I am routing around the drawer at seven in the morning trying to find something that does match- but I just couldn't throw them out. I’m not giving up on them. I have to believe that their perfect mates are still somewhere out there…

Springtime in BCN

2010-03-14T23:22:00.005+01:00

It is my experience that when something is ending- whether it be a relationship, or a job, a vacation- the whole thing seems to reach a climax. It’s this illusion of a high point that only makes it difficult to accept that it’s over- and the departure becomes even harder. When something is ending, expectations may or may not have been met- but without fail- nostalgia sets in and the prickly fear of leaving something remarkable behind settles deep in the stomachs of those off to a new beginning. I have found that the greater portion of the people around me have begun to view everything, even the negative, under a rosy glow; the Barcelona sky appears bluer, the same old classes are seemingly more interesting, the nightlife gives the impression of being unparalleled, the food is tastier, our apartments are homier, our relationships are better and the air is cleaner. Basically, in the end, everything always gives the impression of being better than it is. I expected to reach this point and see Barcelona as some sort of utopia- and the life of a student as a kind of paradise.

Instead, unexpectedly- the little things around me seem to be falling apart…it’s as if the universe is telling me that this chapter is over- letting me know that it’s time to move on:

I came home from a trip on Monday, ready for the Barcelona weather to welcome me into its sunny and warm embrace. Instead, the plane landed and I had to check my boarding pass twice to make sure I had gotten onto the correct flight. The ground was covered in snow, the sky was black and enormous flakes were falling from the thundering sky. By the time I left classes that same day, public transportation had stopped, ESADE closed the building, and I was forced to walk 30 minutes in a blizzard. Photos below.

The following day, my hot water disappeared. There is nothing wrong with the pipes, the heater, the neighbors’ water…the landlord told me to tell the doorman and the doorman sends me back to the landlord. I’ve been showering in the gym for the past week.

Not 24 hours after that, the internet went…and as I went to check out the situation, I saw bugs crawling in and out of the router as the “alarma” light was flashing. Essentially, bugs ate my internet.

I thought that this would be the period of sheer pleasure and joy. I believed that I would begin to feel my comfy roots being violently pulled from the ground. I was enthusiastically anticipating that “rosy glow.” Instead, it seems as though Barcelona is ready to get rid of me and I’m not exactly sure how to take it.

Springtime in bcn...

Almost done...

2010-03-10T11:56:00.003+01:00

16 days till graduation.

Still no job...

No real idea of where I am going...

Very little desire to start over once again...

Although, I'm actually OK with it.

Snow Daze

2010-02-28T16:45:00.002+01:00

This past weekend was the annual ESADE “Snow Daze” ski trip to Andorra.

Andorra is, in fact, a small country located in the Pyrenees between Spain and France, and about a three-hour drive from the center of Barcelona- which makes it quite convenient in terms of logistics. As for the country itself: its tiny- with great skiing- and a tax haven. As far as I can tell, that's about it.

Last year, I missed out on the ski trip due to the fact that it was planned over Valentine’s Day weekend- and as much as I love my fellow classmates, the ski trip debauchery wasn't my ideal way to spend V-Day. Luckily this year, I had the occasion to enjoy both- Seperately.

It was my first (and probably my last) Business School trip with over 100 students to a location outside of Spain. It began with two busses leaving from school Friday afternoon and ended with the same busses dropping us off at about 10 p.m. on Sunday evening. We left fresh faced and bushy tailed and came back sore, sick and hung-over. It was perfect.

The two days in Andorra were passed on the slopes, getting to know the students we have not yet bonded with, and of course- getting drunk. Within the madness, were mixed a few inspiring conversations about future plans to make a real difference in the world. It was in these exchanges that I took note of the fact that I was not just amongst a random group of 20-somethings on a weekend vacation…but I was on vacation with amidst my MBA classmates – a group of individuals comprised of great minds and future leaders- who know how to drink.

After speaking with a number of students, I have decided to highlight the highlights of the Snow Daze experience and share a few photos.

The weekend, of course, demonstrates one of the best parts of being an MBA student. That is- comprising part of a group of people who have been through life-altering experiences together and in the end, can all go on holiday and truly enjoy each passing moment. It was as if ESADE took over the mountain. Every lift line had a representative in it- every run had an MBA skier- and at the end of the day- the bar was filled with students from every race, religion, professional background, educational background, culture, and age- the one thing we had in common was the ESADE name on our CV’s.

My personal favorite moments, and the things I will probably never get to experience again are:

-A two-o-clock- a.m. Michael Jackson dance-off followed by a group of 50 MBAs swinging their arms and curled fingers to “Thriller” in the middle of the dance floor. (I think my biggest regret in the past two years, thus far, is not filming it. But I was too busy dancing…)

-Sunday’s blizzard where all of a sudden- each student stumbled into the mid-mountain café frozen and exhausted…too cold to get back on the slopes and too ambitious to call it a day. Therefore, about 30 of us sat staring at each other- red nosed and short of breath, drinking mulled wine and hot chocolate. It was so cold, even the Swiss and Germans had to turn back.

-Bus ride card games- specifically: noting that no matter where we went to university- on what continent, we all new how to play “asshole.” The only problem: the rules were different. For everyone. You can imagine how that turned out.

-20 guys in bathing caps crammed into the tiny jacuzzi in the hotel’s spa. Admittedly, I did have intentions to partake in the spa situation: until I walked in (flip flops, bathing cap and bikini in tow), and felt more like a lamb in a lions den than anything else.

-Learning that (unsurprisingly) Spanish law states that the bus driver had to take a 45-minute break after 2 hours of driving. Only in Spain… It was then that I was told the lifts would close for two hours for “siesta” in the middle of the day…and I believed it.

-The 4 a.m. poker tournament in the hotel's hallways between myself, three students and our "Andorra" guide.

-Amidst racing down one slope or another, après-ski celebrations, sweating in line in the ski rental shop and stuffing our faces at the hotel’s breakfast and dinner buffets- sitting down at the bar, speaking to a student I have never met, and realizing that he has intentions to change the world (in the good sense)…and moreover, I think he will.

-And of course, “King Bong Carlos” made an appearance. Bong Carlos is our resident beer-bong-and the cause of a bit of upheaval, but I won’t get into that. Nevertheless, I just have to share the information I received from the roommates of King Bong’s owner the morning after he made his appearance. Apparently, this student (who shall remain unnamed for everyone’s sake), made it back to his room- quite inebriated- and although he failed to change his clothes, brush his teeth, or wash his face- he DID thoroughly wash, rinse and delicately hang the beer bong up to dry over the shower rod in the bathroom. Now that’s love. (and a testament to the fact that this individual will one day, make a great father…)

-Below are a few pics…enjoy:

There...I said it.

2010-02-18T00:50:00.000+01:00

Today- as an exercise in explicit narration – I have decided to express only very specific thoughts, views and incidents. Don’t take this lightly- it’s quite hard for me. At the same time, I know that oftentimes, I write too generally about life. I make observations and then I somewhat skirt the main issues and rather, take a broad view of this world and my experiences in it. Basically, I’m trying to broaden my skills. Allow me to indulge.

Currently, I don't have the concentration to focus- nor do I have the desire to muse over an exact and meticulous description of my day-to-day life- as a woman, a dreamer, an expatriate- and an individual about to close one major chapter and begin a new one. But what I can do is share the exact thoughts that pass through my mind on a daily basis.

I’m sorry in advance if I offend anyone, but as always, I am open to discussion regarding any of the following issues.

Below is a list of the most significant, painful, judgmental and candid opinions that I happen to have of life today:

-There’s no such thing as a perfect job, or a perfect path. We take what is thrown at us and then try to make it ours- try to make it fit into what we want out of life- and try to make ourselves fit into the roles that we think we should be playing. Furthermore, 99% of the people who came to the MBA “knowing” what they wanted to do- and those who truly believe that they have a path- are just fooling themselves. Ignorance is bliss.

-Life isn’t about how smart you are, or how hard you work. Success comes from luck, who you know and how bad you want it. But mostly luck.

-I’m tired of being a vegetarian- it’s exhausting. It’s so bad, I’ve found myself uninterested in the whole hunting, gathering and consuming process. If I’m not wasting my time trying to find something appealing to eat, I’m busy defending my eating habits to the incessant probing of carnivorous individuals. People are expecting a fight- at least a healthy debate. They want me to come out with a statement like, “meat is murder” or some kind of ethical declaration- an eternal oath to Mother Nature and her creatures. I’m learning that people, in general, love to argue. My answer? Look down…my shoes are leather. Not just regular leather- but soft as hell baby calf leather. (Although I do feel kind of bad about the baby thing…)

-Which camera brand you ask? Nikon or Canon? NIKON!!! I spent over a year deliberating a digital SLR camera. It’s something I have desired and coveted for years. I’ve hesitated purchasing one due to its bulk- and the cost…but I figured that its really now or never, and I’ve already missed so many opportunities- I will forever regret going on Safari in Africa with a small point and shoot, Angkor Wat, the floating markets in Vietnam, and so on and so forth. Therefore, for my 29^th birthday- I asked for an SLR. I did my research, I talked to about a million people and in the end- it was between Canon and Nikon. Solely due to the fact that I have used Canon for years- I chose Canon. BIG MISTAKE. I got my camera, opened it, shed a few tears of joy, went to turn it on- and nothing. NOTHING! The fucking thing is a dud. I brought it to Canon in Spain, and they wanted over 200 Euros to fix it- being that it was bought and is under warranty in the U.S. I have now sent it back home. Between FedEx and DSL- my mother and I have spent $300 on shipping and insuring the shipping. And now? I don't have a camera. Just heartbreak. So my advice? Nikon. 100% Nikon.

-It is possible to be in love with more than one person at the same time. (just ask this season’s Bachelor…yes, I watched it. It was either that or American Idol.) Often times, the problem is not finding love- it’s about which love to choose. And the choice has so much more to do than with just hormones…although someone (mean and cynical) once told me that love is just hormones. Anyways…hormones aside, choosing someone to love entails a great deal more than straightforward desire and emotion- its geographic location, its network, its possibility, its prospects and opportunity. I hate myself for saying this- I hate myself even more for believing it. But it’s the truth.

-Maybe happiness doesn't really exist at all…anywhere- we mistake hedonism and self-indulgence for joy. (This is by no means an assertion- merely a speculation.)

-I saw the movie “Paranormal Activity.” Bad idea. It’s been over two weeks and I’m still sleeping with the lights on.

-I miss listening to the The Indigo Girls. Sometimes I sit on my bed in my pajamas, open my worn-out and tattered journal and put the Indigo Girls on repeat. It’s a guilty pleasure of mine- like chocolate. I cant seem to figure out why I feel so wrong- like I’m too old to like chick rock, or too straight to like lesbian rock- or maybe that it actually does make me feel old, being that my favorite album of theirs was released in 1992. I may as well just admit it- as I’m getting up there. And while I’m at it- I’d also like to add that I listen to Bette Midler, Jewel and Alanis on a regular basis. (My cool rating probably just went down about 10 points…but I’m old…so I ~~don't~~ shouldn't care).

-Some students keep updating their facebook statuses with the number of days left of the MBA- as if its something to actually count down to…like New Years- or birthdays- but seriously…I’m trying not to think about the impending end of life as I currently know it. I wish they would stop.

I think that's it for today. I actually wrote more but was advised against my own judgment to “leave some stuff for the journal.” And after further consideration- this post has been edited to death so as not to make it appear that I have gone “over to the dark side,” as another one of my “blog consultants” mentioned.

Thanks for listening.

Tomorrow

2010-02-10T15:45:00.001+01:00

In life, it seems as though we are always planning for what comes next. We are taught to prepare for tomorrow- to organize, practice and ready ourselves for what is approaching- or the idea of what is approaching- because in the end, life never ends up the way we planned.

I’ve slowly begun to notice that everything around me is pointing me in the direction of the future- it’s preparing me- warning me- pushing me towards something that doesn't even exist yet. This utter exhaustion, born from relentlessly staring straight past what is right in front of me, struck me this morning when I realized that even the fashion industry is forgetting today and thrusting tomorrow upon its followers. Fashion, to me, has always been about immediate gratification- living the NOW aspect of things. i.e. spending money I don't have for a quick adrenaline rush- only to later find whatever it is I bought lying dusty and underused somewhere in the back of my closet. Fashion never had anything to do with the future- until I had the startling realization that as soon as I finally splurged on “this winter’s hottest boots,” I received an email from a fashion magazine advising me to, “get the top 10 must haves for Spring.” Screw the spring. It’s still cold out. Night continues to fall far too early and I still have yet to plan my winter ski trip. I’m not done with winter. I’m not ready for the future…not ready for it in so many ways.

Nevertheless, we work our asses off to save up in hopes of one day enjoying our overloaded bank accounts and at the very least, our 401k’s and pension plans. We hire lawyers and write out our wills so that should that day never come- and we can’t spend all that hard earned money- it’s left to make someone else’s future better. We cut butter out of our diets, eat less chocolate and drag ourselves to running clubs or gyms so that we can improve our chances of ageing gracefully- and living longer.

This whole MBA thing was about the future from the very beginning. I was working in New York, perfectly happy with my life and job- and then I began to muse about my own future. It was over four years ago when I decided that, one day, I may want to do an MBA. So I bought an MBA guide, hired a Kaplan tutor, and took the GMATs. Later, I changed careers and put the MBA guide back on the shelf- saving it “for the future.” Two long years after that, I figured that maybe I was ready to become a student again…so I started applying and was accepted. And in the time in between the moment I chose to come to ESADE and the moment I got here, I was preparing to be a business school student- even though, in retrospect, I really had no idea about what that implied.

I arrived- and from the very first day, we were told that we had to start planning, yet again, for the future. We weren’t given any time to just bask in the whole “I’m a student and nothing more” aspect of being once again a part of the academic system. We had to choose between industries and potential career paths from the first week. We have been bombarded with career fairs, internship searches, interviews, CV writing, interview workshops, career counseling, applications, and the like…I could go on forever.

Now, at the end of the day- at the end of the MBA, I find myself where I was when I began- not 100% sure about what I should do with my future- with about a million options- and a year and a half gone, filled with a bunch more planning that honestly- didn't really change the outcome of anything. I would probably be sitting in the same chair, in the same class, with the same job opportunities and the same disorderly thoughts and grave reservations- than if I had spent the last year and a half NOT planning- and just learning. But then again, I will never know that, will I?

So here I am, still unsure of where I will be going the day after graduation- with a blurry path ahead of me- and of course, still wearing last season’s boots.

Compleaños Feliz

2010-02-01T20:00:00.001+01:00

Today I turn 29. Only one more year and then I’ll have reached my 30’s- something I truly believed would never happen. However, this is a topic that I don't even want to think about for another 364 days.

On the other hand, my blog turns two today. I would just like to quickly mention (before I go out and celebrate the depressing yet inevitable passage of time) that I would have never expected the amount of pleasure writing this blog would bring me, or the level of recognition it would receive with regards to my peers. I can only say that I am honored every single time I receive an e-mail from an old friend or a new acquaintance or someone who has never met me- letting me know that my words mean something to them.

An additional distressing fact is that I have two more months and I will no longer be an “MBA blog writer.” Nonetheless- I will unquestionably continue to religiously write my blog- hopefully with even more frequency. I can only hope that whatever it is I am doing- wherever I am doing it- will be as interesting to read about as the past two years have been.

So thank you to everyone who reads what I have to say- because without you, each time I write would simply be a means of procrastination and nothing more. And tonight at dinner, in lieu of toasting to the last year in my 20’s- I will be toasting to my blog and all the individuals who have found some kind of solace or entertainment or comfort in my posts…as disjointed and overemotional as they may sometimes be.

So…Thank You from the bottom of my heart.

"'cause every little thing, gonna be alright"

2010-01-28T00:50:00.003+01:00

Two months until graduation and apart from abundant weekend festivities and lunchtime banter, there’s an unsettling frenzy descending upon the student body of the graduating class. Several different sentiments are suspended in the air above our heads. It’s like a current- an electrical charge that we are each carrying with us manifesting itself as fear, desire, apprehension and even some sadness. A few people are doing their best to party as hard as they can every chance that they get, because they know that this is it. For this particular crowd, school has taken a backseat to everything else- but to no detriment- as classes are generally light in both time and work-load.

Other people have been hiding out, due to job search anxiety- and the reflections in their eyes consist only of career search websites and cover letter drafts on their overused laptop screens. I get these people- I see why they feel the way they do and occassionaly, I can commiserate. But at the same time, I’m not one of them- not yet. I’m still working on finding my balance.

Of course, I have my freakout moments. Of course, my CV is perpetually in an open window on my laptop. And of course, my wheels are always turning, visualizing, scheming and thinking about what I will be doing after the MBA.

Monday and Tuesday of this week was “Winter MBA Career Fair.” Around 30 companies came to ESADE, generally industry-focused. Presentations ranged from L’Oreal and Nestle to Roche and Pepsico. I never actually expect to find a job at a career fair, and to be honest- my time is probably better spent working on my resume. At the same time, one never knows when the best opportunities may pop up. And at this point in the MBA game- with graduation looming at less than a two month distance, skipping any networking occasion would be careless.

The fact of the matter is, I’m not sure about anything other than the fact that I am not sure. And that the day after graduation- I’m not going to just disappear if I don't have a job. I’m not going to discintegrate into thin air. Something will happen. Something will come up. Time will push forward, I will move on, and one day- hopefully sooner rather than later- I will end up doing something that I can say with some sort of conviction; “I was meant to end up here.”

In other news, ESADE fell to numner 19 in the FT MBA rankings. As long as it stays in top 10 in Europe and top 20 in the world, I wont ask for my money back.

And as a side note, I beat all the boys in their weekly poker game the other day. I think that's the MBA’s numbers/probablility/statistics working… And then as an homage to all the CSR courses and seminars, I donated my winnings to Haiti.

Here’s the Red Cross link, should anyone else desire to give a little back: http://arc3.convio.net/site/PageServer?pagename=ntld_main&s_src=RSG000000000&s_subsrc=RCO_BigRedButton

The funny thing is though, except for the brief moments in the middle of the night when I wake up sweating, imagining nothing but a dark abyss after the MBA…and the all-too-often converstions I have with those “super motivated” students wondering how many CVs I have sent out and how many networking events I have attended, Im really not that stressed. I’ve always said, excuse my language but, “shit just has a way of working itself out.”

So as much as I do sympathize with my fellow classmates who cry themselves to sleep at night, experience has taught me that- above all else- I will be just fine…probably better than fine.

And recently, while revising the 1000th version of my CV and his 50^th job application, my classmate gently declared, “I hate you because when its all over, you are going to walk away from this MBA with the dream job I will never be able to get.”

God, I hope he’s right.

Maoz and Montjuic

2010-01-18T19:58:00.001+01:00

There comes point when a place- a city, a town, a country- transforms from existing merely as a current address to when it becomes a home. Barcelona is home to me now. I don't know when this change took place, but I can pinpoint the moment when I realized it. I was at my family’s house in Miami a few months ago and as time began to drag, I remember thinking to myself, I can’t wait to get home.

And that was that.

Barcelona, in my mind, is now home.

It's the one place on a map that I can point my finger to and say that's where my stuff is, that's where my bed is, its where my current network is to be found. In flight search engines, my local airport is saved as Barcelona and the little flag that comes up next to my name on Skype is the red and yellow banner of Spain. Barcelona is not just where I live anymore. It's a city where the guy at the café on the corner knows what I want before I order it and where the teller at the bank greets me by name. There is nothing scary left about this city- there’s nothing waiting to jump out at me from around the corner and nothing that I have to try for the first time. I have my favorite restaurants, my hairdressers and my own locker at the gym. I know how long it will take to get to almost any point in the city- and I know which bocadillos to stay away from in the school cafeteria. I know my favorite corners in my favorite plazas, where to get the best patatas bravas in the city and who has the cheapest beer. These things don't necessarily make a place a home, but for me- it's the closest I’ve come in a long time.

Unfortunately, my time here is limited and in about two months, I will have to go off into the world again and find myself a new home.

Therefore, I must keep reminding myself to enjoy it while it lasts- and I can only hope that my next home welcomes me as readily as this city did. Barcelona isn’t a bad place to occupy for a couple of years. Its not my ideal- but I’m glad I chose it.

In the beginning of my time here, I established a few lists of my favorite places and features the city has to offer. Now, the lists have changed a bit as I have learned to tailor the city to my own needs and desires. Over a year and an entire MBA degree later...the things I love are not the same- but they are plentiful nonetheless.

I love…

-Saturday morning coffee dates on Passeig De Gracia.

-Strolling along Diagonal on beautiful sunny days- reminding me when I’m just about to forget- that Barcelona is pretty cool.

-Falafel runs to Maoz at 3 a.m. on Las Ramblas.

-Discovering the underground, lesser known side of Barcelona’s nightlife with locals.

-Montjuic at night- and the view of Barcelona from Monjuic at night.

-Massimo Dutti. Who knew?

-Terminal 1 at El Prat. I could spend hours there. In fact, I have.

-Window shopping at Rabat on Rosello. Can’t help it. The glare of the jewels gets me everytime.

-The Vueling in-flight magazine, Ling.

-The skyline full of the long white masts of the boats docked at the port.

-Manchego (secco)

-Plaça Reial’s palm trees

-I love that I figured out the bus system after all this time- it may have taken me over a year but I finally worked out a route that swings me right by Starbucks.

The biggest changes I find between the beginning and the end are the differences linking what I loved then and what I love now. I suppose this, in effect, is what makes a place a home- as opposed to a temporary visit or an impermanent residence.

The most glaring example of this change is what I saw when I looked up then, as opposed to what I see when I look up now.

When I first got here, I loved the drive to school- glancing up and seeing the curves of Gaudi’s designs and the bright blue of the sky that never seemed to darken. Now, the buildings are old news and the weather proved susceptible to nature’s follies. These days, I love looking up in the middle of class and seeing the faces of my classmates. Whether they’re smiling, deep in thought, deep in gchat conversation, rolling their eyes, or even sleeping (you know who you are…), it is their faces that have been the glue between me and this city- making it my home. It is the faces of these people that make me smile to myself knowing that they are in my life- even if its only for another few months.

"Of our elaborate plans, the end."

2010-01-12T14:04:00.002+01:00

OK, so it’s been a while since I last wrote and for that I apologize. If I had a valid excuse, I would probably mention it. Truth is, I don’t. Whether it was the fact that “Christmas Break” was three weeks long and I did nothing but eat, drink and be merry- or the fact that I decline to admit to myself that the MBA is reaching its end and therefore am refusing to acknowledge anything of the sort- I have barely opened my laptop since finals.

Now, after an idyllic Christmas in Rome, an absolutely perfect New Year’s in Cortina and many long and lazy days eating my way through Italy- I find myself back in my sub-zero Barcelona apartment- complete with a new family of roaches who seemed to have made a home of my kitchen cabinet. Nonetheless, we are two days into the final term and I’m already short on sleep. This deficiency, however, is no longer due to absurd amounts of work and early classes. Instead, I am now losing sleep as a result of the knowledge that in less than 10 weeks, I will be graduating.

School commenced as it always seems to do after any sort of break…classes began as seamlessly as they ended, we welcomed the new faces here on exchange, said hi to our old friends, dusted off our computers and dug the course books out of our mailboxes. I’m not worried anymore about making it through- If I’m still on the roster after the first year, I am confident that I will be a permanent fixture in ESADE until I am handed my degree. What I’m worried about is the imminent end. On March 26^th, we will be official MBA’s. That’s exciting. What’s not-so-exciting is March 27^th. “The Morning After.” I will wake up…and then what?

Of my classmates, I think only between 5%-10% have post-grad job offers. And of the remaining 90% of us, there are a good number who are still unsure of what they want to do and where. Although I do wish the best for my schoolmates and their futures, it makes me feel much better that I am not agonizing alone in this quiet disorientation.

It seems that throughout the last four years of my life, I’m continuously heading towards the end of something and the beginning of another.

I’ve heard, read and described the life of an MBA student in countless ways. From “incredible whirlwind,” to “bizarre ride,” MBA students around the globe assume a broad array of emotions throughout their programs. To me, its like I’ve lived an entire miniature life in this finite period of time. In the all-too-short 18 months, I’ve experienced more than my fair share. But the part I’ve loved most about it- is all the many little beginnings and endings wedged in between the margins of the one big beginning and end- the day we began to the day we finish. It’s almost as if- in this one imposing pink building on this one quiet street in this one European city, we have all lived a whole life together, complete with a dawn, a period of growth, a dusk, and a new family that we probably would not have chosen but have grown to love. Now that we are approaching the ultimate end of this part of our lives- all the slightly inconsequential beginnings and endings begin to take on more significance and I have found myself trying to cram as much as I can into the next two and a half months. I’m already starting to miss parts of my life here in Barcelona.

My best friend said to me as we were discussing job searches on the way to school today, “Our little party has come to an abrupt end.”

I couldn't have put it better myself.

Cover Girl

2009-12-19T23:33:00.001+01:00

The new ESADE MBA brochures came out last week. I knew they were due to materialize around this time- as they do every year. For that reason, I walked into school one morning and there, on the wall, was a stack of brochures- with my very own face smiling back at me.

I have to admit, I was moderately surprised. I knew I was in the brochure but I didn't know I was on it. Of course, its fun to view oneself on any type of media- its like that “15 minutes of fame” thing. I’m not sure why humans get a kick out of visible recognition, but we do- from the reality TV craze to any type of artistic endeavor. As a writer, seeing my name in print is one of my greatest joys. For anyone in the film industry, I’m sure that seeing their names as the credits role brings an immense amount of satisfaction. For an artist, seeing one’s own works hanging on display in a public arena must bring with it indescribable joy. Therefore, when I saw the brochure, I couldn't help but smile.

My MBA class is comprised of over 100 students the face on the pamphlet could have easily been any one of us. I’m beyond certain that there is nothing more that I bring to the business school than any one of my other classmates- we are all comprised of individual strengths and diverse weaknesses- we have each faced various struggles within the MBA and we have each attained distinct goals. I know that there is no more reason for my image to be on display than anyone else’s. Because of this, it’s not an ego-thing. Instead, after grabbing a few copies (for posterity’s sake)- I leafed through the brochure and put it away.

Yet….it doesn't end there. Later in the day, as I was sorting through my bag for tomorrow’s classes and I caught a glimpse of the brochure, I finally realized how much the recognition means to me.

I was brought back to a moment nearly three years ago when I had an informational meeting with an ESADE representative in London. It was before I had finished my applications and before I was completely sure where I would go or if I would actually end up doing an MBA. Sitting in the Hyatt Regency in London’s Portman Square, resume in hand and a massive knot in my stomach- I introduced myself to the first person I had ever met from ESADE and she handed me a neat little information packet. It was then that the MBA became a reality. For the next few months before my trip to Spain for my interview, I took the “ESADE Full Time MBA” brochure with me everywhere. I flipped through it on my commutes and before I went to bed, I looked at the faces of the then-current students.

I was never one of those people with a path from the very beginning- in that, I didn't know when I was an undergraduate student that I would one day be an MBA. I had no idea what I would be. Therefore, when I flipped through the brochure and saw all these professional looking students in big blue classrooms, studious and determined, I wondered if I would ever make it there. I know that back then, I seriously doubted whether I would actually fit in- if I would ever belong.

Then, a few months later, I finally made it to ESADE where I was introduced to the school and a number of students and met with career services for my official interview. On the way out, I grabbed another brochure- the newest version. And again, I was fearful of the fact that these individuals, these students, would ever fit into my world. Rather, I in theirs.

And then the MBA began. The brochures still lined the walls we walk by everyday and every so often, I would pick one up and browse the photos of the faces I see around the halls, the profiles, the descriptions and the ideals I have come to know so well.

The MBA began so quickly and as I am sure any current student will note- we are thrown so aggressively into it that we stop wondering whether we will fit, whether we will make it, and if we belong.

I know I stopped wondering and simply started doing.

And amidst all this DOING, I’ve nearly reached the end…

And then the brochures came out today and there I was on the cover. I realized that I AM that person- the face that will represent the ESADE MBA for thousands more students who are considering an MBA, wondering where they will fit in, speculating as to whether they will make the cut, and basically- in the middle of some of the decisions that will change the course of their lives forever. Moreover, I looked at my face with a huge geeky grin smiling back at me and although I cant believe I am admitting this, I kind of got all choked up! I thought about that day, the first time I held an ESADE pamphlet in my hands, and had serious misgivings about my place in the whole MBA sphere. And here I am, today, representing at least a small part of the domain.

Of course, next year there will be a new brochure and although there will be plenty of uncirculated copies collecting dust- I will have my copy. And no, its not a degree, a medal of honor or a prestigious award- and I’m not attempting to make it into anything greater than it is. But what it does represent to me- is that I am an MBA student. I did an MBA. I did well enough, and gave enough of myself for the staff to acknowledge me and to allow my face to grace the cover of their brochure. And that's enough for me. For now at least.

The Pursuit of Happiness

2009-12-14T00:14:00.001+01:00

As with most wedding receptions, guests are forced to suffer through numerous speeches with personal anecdotes that mean absolutely nothing to 99% of the people in attendance. Once in a while, we get the occasional comic who rustles up a few laughs. But beyond that, family and friends generally sit around picking at their plates, straining to maintain their plastic grins and feigned interest. In contrast to what I have been trained to expect, there was one thing stated during a speech at a recent wedding that has resonated with me. The father of the bride coolly declared, mixed in with some other mushy stuff, that “there’s no such thing as happiness, just happy moments.”

Being that I have spent the greater portion of my life searching for the “happiness” that supposedly exists (yes, I even got the Japanese symbol for happiness tattooed on my back as a stupid 16 year old with a fake ID), this succinct idiom has put a new spin on everything I have been searching for. No happiness, huh? I wish someone had told me this before.

If there really is no such thing as happiness, which I could probably attest to, then I’m doing pretty well for myself. Meaning- in the “happy moments” department of my existence- I’ve accrued quite a few. Furthermore, when looking at my current status, I am sure that the proportion of happy to unhappy moments is distributed in a manner that quite favors the former part of the equation.

I’m a pro-complainer. I’ve somehow inherited this lethal negativity with which I view my life. Some friends attribute it to the fact that I’ve done so much, that my threshold for excitement and satisfaction is too great. Others say it's the Jew in me. I’m not exactly sure what I should blame for this insatiable search for contentment- and the inability to oftentimes appreciate my current situation, but what I do know that I am continuously searching for something else. I am living one moment while waiting for the next- in hopes that I will find my happiness there, since it’s obviously not here. But then, if what this man said at the wedding is true, then I’ve actually found my happiness- I’ve had it all along. My happy moments have been amassed in abundance.

I receive advice all the time. Of course this advice comes out of love and only good intentions, but it’s not easy to “just look at the bigger picture” or to “think about how much you have accomplished.”

All sound guidance- but not very helpful, if you ask me.

Now, with this new knowledge that there really is no such thing as happiness- I can serenely revel in my “happy moments” and appreciate that no, it doesn't ever get any better than this.

In the beginning of the MBA, I made a few lists naming what I love about being here, the great moments in the MBA, and the advantages to living in Barcelona. Now, nearly a year later- this city has become familiar territory and school has morphed from something novel into something routine. And with this familiarization and passage of time- my happy moments have transformed and been modified into what makes me happy now- as a student finishing up her MBA, probably leaving Spain for a new country, and taking all the lessons I've learned and people I've encountered with me as little happy pieces of my happy moments right here, right now.

O! Say Can You See...

2009-11-26T12:13:00.006+01:00

A year ago, I may have lamented about being stuck in Spain during Thanksgiving- with a 7:30 wake up call, classes all day and not so much as a suggestion of a cornucopia. What makes it harder though, is the thought of my fellow Americans at home with their four-day weekends, the company of their entire families and a table full of enough food to feed a small country. Today, however, during my second Thanksgiving in Spain as an ESADE student- I'm surprised to find myself with only a shy hint of homesickness. Instead of longing for traditions of the past, I have a new tradition in which to partake.

After class, I will be picking up the ingredients for the creamed spinach I plan to cook for 40 students at our second annual Thanksgiving feast. Being that the MBA lasts only 18 months, it’s infrequent that we have the opportunity to create traditions. This year, we're not starting something new- we're not trying something out that hasn’t been done before. This year, our Thanksgiving celebration will bring with it a familiar quality- Manu with his famous Sangria, Felix busily basting (or whatever it is you do with poultry) the turkey and Vicky with her fabulous all-American apple pie. Thanksgiving in b-school is a new tradition, but a tradition nonetheless. And for that reason, I welcome it into my repertoire of unforgettable pastimes- into my MBA memory bank.

When I was little, after sitting around the Thanksgiving dinner table with my family for hours- full bellied and nearly ready for our early evening naps, we were all acutely aware of the fact that there was something to be done to signify the conclusion of the feast. Every individual- from Nana Annie to eccentric aunt Liss, would stand up on their chairs, place their hands over their hearts- and sing “The Star Spangled Banner” at the tops of their lungs. Being that the only person in the room that could actually carry a tune was my sister, it wasn't a pretty sight. However, our feigned patriotism stands out for me as the symbol of Thanksgiving in my home.

The Witkin clan chorus is family tradition that began at some point with my grandpa’s odd outburst of song, and will continue throughout the generations to come (on my part, at least).

As I got older and didn't live at home anymore- my mom never failed to fly me in for the Thanksgiving festivities. And each year, we continued the singing ritual. In later years, my parents divorced and although our Thanksgiving dinners took place in two different locations, at two different times- we still sang “The Star Spangled Banner” with gusto. And although, as the years have passed, we have suffered the loss of loved ones and welcomed new additions to the family, the custom holds strong and the neighbors can still hear our wailing from down the street.

At some point in the last decade, in addition to our singing, we somehow managed to add another tradition to the mix. I don’t remember exactly when it began or from whom we adapted it- but it is still maintained among family members on Thanksgiving regardless of how far apart we may be.

Now, after all the food and the subsequent singing, we go around the table and ,one-by-one, give thanks for everything good in our lives- everything we appreciate, everything we recognize as a blessing. We were never necessarily patriots, nor are we religious- but I was brought up to "Carpe Diem"- and to appreciate all that I have. Maybe this tradition began because amongst the wine, turkey, tofurky, the chatter, the airport runs, the days and days of shopping and cooking and preparation- Thanksgiving loses its meaning- that is: the day of thanks- the secular type.

I was thinking...if I stand up on my chair at dinner and attempt to hit the high notes shrieking “…and the rockets’ red glare, the bombs bursting in air…”, my classmates might finally consider me certifiably crazy. Therefore, I am simply going to stick with giving thanks.

We have about four months left in the MBA, so it seems that now is as good a time as any to define what I am grateful for. Last year, when our first Thanksgiving together came upon us- each friend filled the voids left by family members back home carving the turkey and mashing the potatoes. At that time, this year’s Thanksgiving felt like a lifetime away. Now it’s here and is most probably the last thanksgiving I will ever spend in Spain. That said, I know I have plenty to give thanks for:

I am thankful to Ray, my GMAT tutor, without whom I never would have rocked the math section and therefore, probably wouldn't be doing an MBA.

I am thankful to Mary, the career services dynamo who interviewed me 2 years ago. Not only did meeting her make me hands-down choose ESADE, but she let me in. She had faith that this artsy, creative non-business person would actually be able to succeed in an MBA.

I am thankful to my mom and stepdad Peter, who have given me all the opportunities in the world. They are the ones who pushed me to do an MBA and they are the ones who pay my credit card bill when I realize I have no money left in my Caja Madrid account because the stupid Euro has skyrocked.

I’m thankful to all my friends here at school, who made the MBA what it is- who made the tough parts bearable and the good parts even better. These are the people whose faces I see every morning on the bus when the sun has not yet risen and the faces looking at me from across the room with the same tired eyes or knowing grins.

I am thankful to Papa Louie who began the singing tradition, and who I miss more and more each year.

Most of all, I have to give one more shout-out to my mom who worked her ass off to make every thanksgiving of my childhood and early adulthood extraordinary. We should all be lucky enough to have a mom like mine.