Way overdue

So I'm pretty much a terrible excuse for a blogger, journalism student and writer in general right now because it has been so long since my last entry. That being said...I'm still under the impression that I should be living this experience as much as possible and not trapping myself behind the computer screen...haha.

I've been lucky recently to have the opportunity to travel around and outside of Argentina. A couple of weekends ago I went to Mendoza (wine country in Argentina) and spent a weekend biking around bodegas and relaxing in thermal waters...all with the Andes Mountains as my backdrop. First of all, being born and raised in North Central Florida...mountains aren't really on my radar. Second of all...the Andes are in a class of their own. It is absolutely breathtaking and my words/photos do not do it justice. I was also with a really good group of people from my program...which always makes traveling better.

Thermal Water park...in the middle of the MOUNTAINS

Monday my roomie Tara and I broke off from the rest of the group and headed to CHILE. Unfortunately Tara had some sort of food poisoning and was not in good shape during the 10 hour bus ride...I felt terrible for her. But we made it to Santiago (more or less) in one piece and called her friend Christine who is studying in Santiago and graciously let us crash at her place for a few days before acompanying us farther along in our journey.

Interesting snag we hit at the Santiago bus station...we found the taxi area and asked the first free taxi we saw to please take us to Christine's house (we had the address). He looked back at us and replied with a short, curt "no" before loading another family into his taxi. Bewildered, Tara and I asked the next taxi we came across, only to receive the same response. Within our first 15 minutes on Chilean soil, it was very clear that things here were different than our life in Buenos Aires. Third time was, sort of, the charm because the taxi driver at least let us into his car...although he had to radio headquaters to figure out where exactly the apartment was located. Did I mention that it was rainy, dark and freezing? Don't forget the crippling food poisioning of my compatriate. All in all, a not-so-easy arrival...but things absolutely went up from there.

Our days were spectacularly planned thanks to Christine, who unfortunately had class...but Tara and I enjoyed exploring the city on our own. We saw La Moneda (the government building), climbed a few of Chile's many hills, walked through Pablo Neruda's Santiago home (my favorite) and Christine made sure to show us everything the Santiago nightlife has to offer while introducing us to a bunch of her Chilean friends.

Scenery in Santiago

Thursday evening we were off to Valaparaiso, a small town on the coast with a very cool bohemian vibe. "Valpo" (Chileans love their abbrevs...perhaps even more than we do in the States) can be summed up by its great food, cool people and even cooler street art. There we saw Pablo Neruda's second home (he had three in all) and an old jail that has now been turned into a park and is covered in probably the coolest/most creative graffiti I've ever seen.

Graffiti at the Parque ex-Carcel in Valparaiso

Obviously, we hit up the nightlife there too....much of it by recomendations by our fantastic hostel staff. For somebody who had never stayed in a hostel until I came to South America...I have been completely converted. For usually 10-13 dollars a night you get a bed, a place to keep your things and typically meet a heap of hipsters. I've been very fortunate that all the hostels I've stayed in have been clean with great staffs...I've heard horror stories, but I think those things can happen anywhere at any time.

Valpo's well-known houses

Saturday we made our way over to Vina del Mar, a 15 minute Metro ride from Valpo. Vina is the more touristy, snootier cousin of Valpo with beachfront hotels and a casino that was, really, nothing too spectacular. Tara, Christine and I basically passed our whole day sitting on the pier chatting and had coffee and desserts at this beautiful cafe while the sun set. A wonderful, relaxing end to a frenetic week in Chile.

Sunset in Vina del Mar

Tara and I braved the 25 hour bus ride back to Buenos Aires from Valparaiso, but honestly, it wasn't too bad. We had the front row on the top floor and met a really nice Chilean guy on his way to Buenos Aires for an anthropolgy conference. Oh yeah...there was also the view.

Not too shabby, eh?

Now I'm just trying to fit everything I possibly can do into the time I have left in Buenos Aires. Quite a few people have made their BsAs "Bucket Lists" and I think I'll probably follow suit. Some of the adventures I've already got on my radar: a "puerta cerrada" (closed door) dinner at a chef's house...only 16 guests are allowed to come and you don't get the official address until just before it happens...I think Anthony Bourdain would be proud; seeing PIAF at Teatro Liceo...basically a stage version of La Vie En Rose, which tells about the life of French singer Edith Piaf and her crazy life; trip to Iguazu waterfalls with my program; trying to get my post-class travel plans squared away (Peru and northwest Argentina); speaking as much Spanish and spending as much time with native speakers as possible.

More to follow when I have my "official" list. Love and miss you all.

Mariela

So, I was having a tough time even figuring out exactly where this blog post should go. While I think it's important for all the UF study abroad-ers to read this, I don't really know if I wanted to put it up there. Perhaps I'll move it over once I finally get it on to "paper."

Here we are...a month and a half into my BsAs stay and the greatest deal of culture shock I have yet to experience can be summed up in one word "Mariela."

Mariela is the young woman who comes to my homestay FIVE DAYS A WEEK and cleans the house...yes you read that correctly...I am living in a home with a maid. Mariela does all of the laundry, washes the floors/windows/bathrooms, makes my host mother breakfast in bed, makes lunch more often than not and does all of this while referring to my host parents as "senor" and "senora."

I've always felt a little uncomfortable around Mariela, mostly because our interactions have never consisted of more than the following:
Mariela: "Hola buen dia."
Me: "Hola, como estas."
Mariela: "Muy bien, y vos"
Me: "Muy bien, gracias."
Cue SILENCE while she goes about cleaning the kitchen/bathroom/etc. It's very much a "don't speak unless you're spoken to" kinda of relationship...one I feel I have no authority to change.

A week or so ago, the topic of Mariela was brought up at dinner (still don't remember exactly how we got there) but my house mother was sympathizing for her because Mariela recently moved to Gran Buenos Aires (aka the 'burbs...but not in the wasp-y, swanky sense) changing her commute to work from a 20 minute bus ride to a bus ride of 2 HOURS. She arrives every day at 7:30 a.m. and stays at the house until 2:30 p.m. This must mean she gets up around 4:45 a.m. and doesn't get home until at least 5 p.m. or so.

As sick as this made me feel...the kicker was when I inquired whether she had children (I just assumed that this would be the reason/motivation behind this kind of work) to have my house mother inform me that she does not have children and is, in fact, only 23 years old....and has been working since she was 13.

The situation with Mariela illustrates a few issues I have with BsAs...though really is a pandemic around Argentina and South America as a whole. Having somebody who works in your house...as a maid or what have you...is not a sign of the upper class as it is in the US. In fact, it pretty much marks the beginning of the middle class because, as an acquaintence from Venezuela told me, human labor is very cheap. Without even going into the whole "human labor is very cheap" rivaling modern day slavery debate...the words uttered from Maria Isabel were nonetheless chilling. My friend Veronica (from the States) told me about a family she knew that was too poor to buy a washing machine...but could afford to pay somebody to come and do the laundry/cleaning. Which means, the maid was washing the family's clothes BY HAND. As much as I try to push my ethnocentrism aside...things like these are simply beyond my comprehension.

Also, as much as Argentina claims to be a country without racism...it simply isn't true. One of the biggest dividing factors between Mariela's socioeconomic status and that of the majority of Argentina is that she is from Paraguay and, therefore, automatically has a lower standing in Argentine society. Not that people will admit to it...but it's the way I've seen things happen here. Manual labor is done by people with darker skin tones....people with darker skin tones are either indigenous Argentines (from the northern parts of the country) or Paraguyans or Peruvians. End of story.

The construction workers I pass on my way to school every day simply stand to confirm this as I overhear their conversations in Quechua/Guarani/some other indigenous language I don't recognize.

I guess what really gets me is that my house parents are wonderful people. Andres and Maqueca are incredibly loving and they both either work or worked really hard to give their five children good lives. Maqueca cooks fantastic dinners, and Andres always helps her clear the table. However, when he eats the breakfast Mariela prepares for him he leaves everything on the table for her to come clean up.

Ultimately, it is the quintessential case of culture shock. Something I don't understand simply becase I am not from here. I just never thought my culture shock would be something like this. Argentina, you never cease to fill me with shock and awe.

Cordobeses y estadounidenses

Here's the whole group in Cordoba just before we went out salsa dancing...seriously good people and good times.

Two blogs for every story?

Hey guys...as promised I've got the web address for the UF blog.

http://www.abroad.ufic.ufl.edu/index.cfm?FuseAction=Abroad.ViewLink&Parent_ID=0&Link_ID=FF5065A3-1143-D861-ABDC776F3F5D5BA5

I've written a few entries there that may give another view of things going on. I think it's a little more information with a little less snarky commentary from me. Whatever floats your boat, I just know what I do and don't want the censors of UF to see...haha.

Everything here is going well, per usual. I'm hoping to transition in Spanish-only speaking tomorrow...eek. I'll keep you guys updated on how that goes. Also, tango dance class is tomorrow and hopefully we'll get a little more information about the showcase we're putting on in FOUR days. Why oh why did I sign up for this???

"That's Argentina..."

So I've been here for more than a month now, and I cannot believe how fast time has passed. I can't possibly catch you up on everything that's gone on...but I would like to comment on some of the more unique experiences that I've had during this time.

I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but Argentina has an exceptionally high rate of image-consciousness (especially regarding women, and weight). A few weeks ago my professor told me it ranks number 2 for anorexia/bulimia...and a classmate said today that they've moved up to first place, with Japan and the US rounding out the top three. I said all of this to recount a "hindsight makes this hilarious" story I experienced about two and a half weeks ago...

Whether it's mineral deposits in the water or super-strength Argentine soap...my clothes are wearing out much faster here than back in the states and my only pair of skinny(ish) jeans recently got a gaping hole directly under the left butt cheek. Considering I shelled out the money for a pair of suede boots, and that skinny jeans are super "de moda" here...I figured I should go buy another pair. I also purposefully packed pretty light...and my jean casualty left me with only 3 functional pairs of pants.

So I set out on my merry way Thursday afternoon down Avenida Cabildo (it's got a bunch of shops/restaurants/my study abroad office/etc) for the epic jeans search. Granted, I usually have trouble finding pants in the good ole' US of A because something about my waist/ass/height ratio doesn't seem to compute with most pants manufaturers...and this is a country where obesity is an issue and jeans sizes go up to the upper 20s. I walked into a little boutique where they seemed to have a decent selection, and more importantly, numerous signs in the windows touting "ofertas" (sales).

Immediately I realize that I have no idea what my size is here, and start trying to "eyeball" which pants will fit me. This store had sizes that ranged from 28 (appropriate for a 7 year old) to 40...which seemed the closest to my size. I tried a couple pairs of 40s and they were just a smidge too tight, I could definitely button them...but was also inching dangerously close to muffin-top-ville, and nobody wants that. I, very politely and in Spanish, asked the girl working if she had any size 42 pants.

First of all, her look of disdain should have tipped me off that this was not going to end well. She half-heartedly flipped through their stacks of pants and replied with a simple, short "no," which was clearly dipped in a "you're fat" candy coating.

Let's recap. I, as a size 6, was TOO BIG for a store meant for grown women in Argentina. Not only was I too big, but the attitude of the sales girl was that I was ridiculous for inquiring otherwise. Luckily, I'm pretty secure in my skin (apart from the moments of self-doubt that everybody experiences from time to time) and even as this was going down I thought about how funny the story would be to tell/blog about later. And, most importantly, I managed to get pants later that day...though I was still at the upper end of the size chart.

This is just one of the things I've learned to accept as normal here in BsAs...some of the "that's Argentina" moments are drastic improvements from life in the US, others not so much. Improvements include kissing everybody on the cheek as a manner of saying hello/goodbye as well as the complete social acceptability of drinking wine with your lunch. Less fantastic are disorganized classes and dog poop all over the sidewalks.

Ultimately it's all part of the learning experience. Sometimes I get so comfy here that I forget exactly where I am, then I have one of these "you're foreign" experiences and it reminds me all over again. I'm hoping that the next couple of months will bring me closer to the Argentine culture while allowing me to see it in different locations away from my home base in BsAs.

New blog location, among other things

I got the position as a blogger for the UF International Center, which is pretty sweet. A good thing to put on my resume if nothing else. And hopefully I'll actually serve as a resource for other people thinking about studying abroad. I know I felt a little adrift when I was starting this process...and considering it's such a financial/time consuming decision, help would have been greatly appreciated. So, once I get the address figured out, I'll probably post that here and it can be another place to look for updates about life in BsAs. Though I imagine i'll still be posting here about things/feelings that I wouldn't want screened by UF.

I thought I was going to chat about a couple more things here, but I honestly can't remember what they were...perhaps later today they'll come to me.

Hasta luego, les echo de menos.

Que vas a comer vos?

So since dinner is in about half an hour, I figured I'd do a quick blog post about some of the Argentine food. Much of the stereotypes I've heard are true...they are very much a "meat and potatoes" culture leaving many of us americanos craving a good salad. Also, what the portenos consider "spicy" would not light the palettes of many of my spicy food lovers back home. Aside from my first night, everything my host mother has made has been excellent...some classic Argentinan, some Italian and some inbetween.

Milanesa: This falls under the "classic Argentinian" label. It's beef (or chicken) pounded very thin, dipped in egg and breadcrumbs and either fried or baked in the oven. My house mother made it for dinner last week, and it was delish. I had it at a restaurant this past weekend as a sandwich, and ordered it "completo" which meant with ham, cheese, hardboiled egg, lettuce and tomato. Even more delish. Keep in mind, pretty much any sandwich can be ordered "completo" style...including hamburgers.

Empanadas: Come in all varieties, though my favorite have been the pollo (chicken) and carne (steak or ground beef) ones. They also have jamon y queso (ham and cheese), queso y cebolla (cheese and onion) and verduras (vegetables). I've found that these are a fantastic solution for a quick, cheap way to eat. I really don't see myself getting sick of them anytime soon, though students that came for the intensive month tell me it will happen.

Pasta/polenta: Always with a lot of cheese, and sometimes a lot of olive oil. Different than I'm used to, but quite tasty all around. Pasta here tastes fresher than it does in the Estados Unidos, probably because it is. I think it's much easier (and cheaper) to get fresh pasta here than it would be back home...but I haven't investigated that claim too much.

Now to dive a little deeper into the reasons food seems to be the way it is. Yesterday we discussed the lack of spice in my traditions/culture of Argentina class...and yes, the professor agreed that Argentine food does not use very many spices for the most part. He brought up an interesting aspect of Argentine past (and, I guess, present) that I was not aware of ahead of time. The majority of Argentina is of white/European decent (Italian being the vast majority) and while there isn't "racisim" in the sense of violence against people of different races, there is widespread discrimination on the bases of class and ethnic background. The migration of Europeans to Argentina caused the indigenous population to be pushed to the fringes of society, and they quickly became viewed as "less" by the much of the new immigrants. Much of the indigenous culture was pushed "out of vogue," one of these things being the use of spices in cooking. Argentine food is bland because spicy food was viewed as something of the peasents, or indigenous culture...not of the Europeans who had recently inhabited the country.

As my professor finished this, I nearly fell out of my seat. I always knew that a culture's food told a lot more than what they like to eat, but somehow this realization resonated really deeply. Just as I was getting ready to condemn the Argentine society-at-large as discriminatory, my professor raised another point.

The meat in Argentina is some, if not the best in the world. Perhaps the lack of spice on the food is a demonstration of the pride that portenos and other residents have in their country's best product. Maybe the people like to enjoy their food pure, rather than covering the natural flavor with other elements.

Food for thought? I definitely think so...

Beautiful Buenos Aires

So I've been here for just over a week, and already it feels like home. My house parents are incredible, and so willing to help me figure out how to get places, work on my Spanish, etc. I'm meeting so many new people and seeing new things everyday and I find this culture absolutely fascinating. Portenos (locals in Buenos Aires, literally meaning "people of the port") have found a way to slow down their pace of life in the midst of a huge city. While things are swirling around them at a rapid pace, it is normal for lunch to be a two hour affair because people take their time eating and then spend the rest of their time chatting with friends or reading the paper/a book. What a novel idea, appreciating the company and atmosphere around you, rather than rushing through everything to get back to whatever is perceived as "important."

Classes start tomorrow, and I am thoroughly excited to be in an environment with other people that want to learn about the same things as me. Oh, and I'm also taking a tango class...I can't even imagine what that is going to be like, but I await it with much anticipation. I'll update everybody once I have my class schedule nailed down for sure.

The only negative thing that's happened here was the unfortunate loss of my wallet a couple days ago, but that hasn't really done anything to dampen my spirits about being in Buenos Aires. I've taken the steps to get my debit card back and my parents are working on a Western Union transfer, I made the decision that I wouldn't let something insignificant freak me out too much, and it hasn't. I continuously count my blessings about how fortunate I am to have this opportunity and reminding myself to cherish every single day I have over here.

I guess that's it for now, today another girl from my program is coming back from vacation meaning that there will be seven people living in my house. I've never lived with more than four at once, except in the dorm, which I don't really count because I only interacted with about four people there. Dinner tonight should be muy interesante.

Te echo de menos Gainesville, hasta noviembre.

The final countdown...

I've started counting down my departure to Argentina in days, not months or weeks, and it's all becoming very real very quickly. People from my program are starting to reach out and friend me on Facebook, which despite the ease of the gesture (it is just clicking a button after all) it makes me feel better, knowing that I'm with a group of individuals that cares to know about others.

Among the multitude of things I have left to do before I leave, there's one more story I'm working on for the Gainesville Sun. It's my most challenging story as of yet for a number of reasons. First of all, I've mentally checked out of the Gainesville sun a bit...there just seems to be more pressing things I have to deal with, but that's something I can push aside for one more day.

The story is going to run on the Religion page, a red flag for those that know me, and it is a profile about this young man Marc Levitt. He's about to deploy to Iraq/Afghanistan and is a recent UF grad. At the beginning of his tenure here he was in a serious car accident, and afterward became very involved with the Baptist ministry on campus. He carries a camouflage devotional book and tries to share his faith with those around him as they get ready to fight for this country.

On the surface this doesn't seem too intimidating, but as I was doing my background research I saw a few things that simply make me uncomfortable. Marc recalled in another story when an Army chaplain went to tell a mother that her son died in combat, via the chaplain Marc said the woman was less upset about the death of her son and more distraught over the fact that he died without knowing Christ...and she knew where he would be sending eternity. He said he never wanted that to happen to any of his men.

Beyond the fact that this memory is laced entirely with the projection of his own beliefs, you really think that somebody that died defending this country will spend the rest of eternity in Hell because they hadn't accepted Jesus Christ as their personal savior? I like to believe that God appreciates the good things people do rather than holding grudges.

The other thing that bothered me was the "call to action" that the church's website posted about not allowing the homosexual-fueled legislation to pass any further through Congress. It was actually calling people to vote against hate crime legislation because it would turn anybody that spoke out against homosexuality (it gave their pastor as an example) a criminal. What happened to the God that was full of love? Apparently that doesn't extend to gay people. Later this afternoon I have to interview this man who, to me, is sending his prejudices and hate through a population that looks up to him and believes what he says, simply because it is him that says it. I understand that these topics will most likely not be a part of our interview, but I also know it is going to be very hard to get them out of my mind when he's talking about how wonderful Marc is and how much he follows the Lord.

It will be something I prepare for through the rest of the morning, hopefully God will grant me strength.

And so it goes...

Well I guess this is my humble return to the blogosphere. Things have gotten back into a routine after the end-of-semester craziness, followed by beginning of summer laziness. I spend my days at the Gainesville Sun among fellow writers, editors and interns. I honestly enjoy being there, and I'm fortunate enough to have had a decent number of articles published with a fair amount of positive feedback to go with them.

Salty Dog hasn't really changed either, but what's the surprise in that. I guess the only thing that has shifted is the amount of time I'm trying to spend with friends before I leave. ACR birthday season is in full effect, which means that quite a bit of partying has gone down in the past couple of weeks. And yet, I find myself spending more time with my coworkers.

It's an interesting predicament. I love both groups of people, but I have very little desire to join them with each other. I've yet to figure out exactly why this is, but I'm working on ending it for my birthday. There's no reason that my "groups" shouldn't get along, but I think it's easier to keep them separate on the off chance something goes wrong.

As a matter of fact, I find that to be a common trend throughout my life. I like compartmentalizing each of my activities, and can find it awkward when I see people out of their spot. I was speaking to one of the reporters at the Sun today and mentioned that I bar tended, she seemed shocked (I'm used to this reaction...I guess I don't give off the barmaid vibe) and immediately asked if anybody else knew. "Well," I stammered. "A few do."

I began to think of what it would be like if some of the Gainesville Sun staff came into Salty Dog when I was working. I don't like to think that I change my personality depending on context, but I do. Gainesville Sun Gabby is much more reserved than Salty Dog Gabby who is often more energetic and sassy than Chilling at Home Gabby.

Ultimately I have to wonder if this is such a bad thing. I believe that all of these people exist within myself, but the context makes it more or less appropriate for each on to be at the forefront.

buenos dias Buenos Aires?

I think I’ve decided that I want my study abroad destination to be Buenos Aires, Argentina. I’ve been going back and forth between Spain and somewhere in South America for a very long time, and the “somewhere” recently got narrowed down to Buenos Aires.

There are definite pros and cons for each destination, and I think no matter what I choose both places will still be on my “to visit” list.

Some pros for BA: It’s significantly cheaper, without really sacrificing anything of cultural significance or “stuff” to do. I can see way more Latin American cultures in South America than I can in Europe, which has started to interest me more since I’ve been taking this Gender in Latin America Class this semester. I know a few different people that have taken serious excursions to South America and who would be able to help guide me when I choose where to go/what classes to take.

Some pros for Spain: It is the “holy grail” of Spanish culture (obviously). Being in Europe would give me a broader experience as far as seeing other cultures would go. Muriel talks about her year in Spain with such fond memories, I know I could put myself in that position. There are so many classic things to see there that I’ve learned about since early high school…the art and architecture alone could take up an entire semester.

I’m attending a “general meeting” for study abroad programs Tuesday morning. Hopefully that will really start the ball rolling in deciding exactly how I want this to go. This process began much later than I wanted it to, procrastination at it’s finest, but I hope it hasn’t messed up my chances. One thing that terrifies me is that UF will tell me that I started getting my shit together too late to study abroad in the fall, but due to the university’s policy I can’t study abroad during my last semester either. I guess the meeting Tuesday will help put some of these questions to rest.

Not-so-personal life

I’m in the process of writing another article for my Magazine and Feature Writing class, only for this one we have to do a “personal essay” for an online publication called Tango. Having really only been in one relationship in my life, clearly that is what I’m drawing from to inspire this piece.

I thought that I was going to write about the trials and tribulations of being in a long distance relationship during the college years. However, I didn’t realize that finding the words to relate my experiences to other people was going to be so difficult. Somehow it seems as though there is was too much “history” between Aaron and I to present a neat package to complete strangers.

That’s the other thing; if my article gets selected for publication (which would be excellent, believe me) it means that other people will actually be able to read it. Beyond the fact that other people will now know the inner details of my life without actually knowing me, how do I write about my life so that it is compelling enough to make other people actually want to stop and read it.

Anyway, as I’ve been reading other personal essays this morning and attempting to outline my own I’ve stumbled across something that should probably be my topic. Instead of focusing on our distance as the obstacle to our relationship finally getting of the ground, I think the article should be more about my fierce (occasionally to a fault) independence.

Luckily it has become somewhat of a joke between Aaron and I, he’ll say “I’m not trying to take away your independence. I’m just trying to be nice to you.” But is that something your boyfriend should even have to say? Admittedly, I don’t ever want my independent streak to go away, but I have made strides to dial it down a little bit. Nobody wants to be known as some crazy feme-nazi, right?

Like I said, this is an evolution still in progress, but I think more women will be able to relate to this problem than my vague waxing poetic on what it is like to make long distance work. We shall see how the article ends up playing out. Perhaps I’ll even post it up here after I’m finished.

Perspective

I sometimes wonder if when I’m 35 I’ll look back on this decision and think of it as a mistake, or some silly college phase. Granted I understood when I got a tattoo that it was permanent, but how well does any 19-year-old (or anybody for that matter) conceptualize the idea “forever.”

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t regret the decision at all. Getting a tattoo, especially under the circumstances I got mine, was a truly moving experience. Some background for those that might not know how the tattoo came to be. I decided when I was in my early teenage years that I was going to get a tattoo upon turning 18, not necessarily immediately as proof my rebellion (I’m not the rebel child of my family by any stretch of the imagination, but that is a different subject entirely), but I knew it was something I wanted to experience. Deciding on a design was much harder than I thought it would be. There always seemed to be some discomfort about what I really wanted, which clearly meant (to me) that I was not ready.

Eventually I reached my decision and to my complete shock, my dad expressed desire to get a tattoo as well. At 55 years old my dad was about to get his first tattoo, and I was getting mine right along with him. He decided to get a memorial tattoo to my grandfather, who passed away in 2002. We were lucky enough to have an artist, Kyle, who took incredibly good care of us. He designed my dad’s tattoo and it was obvious that he put serious thought and effort into its execution. On the night of our appointment, my dad decided to go first and seeing the tattoo develop over the two hours that he sat in the chair literally brought tears to my eyes.

And yet, two years after this, part of me wonders if I rushed into this decision. The difficult part about tattoos is that everybody views them differently. Some people expect them be representative of their personality for the rest of their life, while others use them to showcase a snapshot of time. I guess I think it’s a little of both. I got the Dalí clock to remind me about perspective, and how the “right” way of seeing something doesn’t really exist.

I think this is a lesson that I will need to be reminded of at 35 and many years beyond that.

The beginning

If somebody had told me a year ago that I would be starting up a blog with legitimate efforts to keep it going, I never would have believed them. I've always been a pen-and-paper kind of girl, but this is the "online era" in journalism, and pretty much life as we know it.

So here I am. Nearly midnight on a Sunday and I'm wondering exactly I should write about in one of these things. I hope to give insight into college life in Gainesville and other things happening around me. I'm sure a few of my favorite and least favorite things will also make it on here. Time will truly tell how this evolves.