Italian professors come late to class, anywhere from ten minutes to half an hour. Then they stroll in and start teaching right away, sometimes without any point of reference, no book, no notes. All the students take notes, and rarely ask questions. (Except in my literature class, there's this guy that sits in the far right side and kind of hums during class. Any time you happen to look over at him, you find him staring at you. And he interupts the professor with strange and incomprehensible questions.) It's very important, when dealing with Italian profs, to remember that they are omnipotent and omniscient. So, basically, it's very easy to get along with them.
After returning from New York last Monday, my wonderful friends decided to come over and cook dinner to celebrate my birthday. It was wonderful, but rather squished. Everyone tried to be in the kitchen at the same time, with the excess trailing into the hallway. Really, what am I supposed to do with thirteen people? Serena, awesome roommate that she is, baked me a cake. We ate on Ania and my bedroom floor, it being the largest continuous space in the apartment.
A new game: How many people can we fit into the kitchen?
Me and Serena, and the beautiful cake saying "20 Auguri."
Group photo! Alex, Michelle, Serena, Allegra, Erin, me, Anne, Robert, Clara, Rodolfo, Vicky, and Alessandra.
Our fabulous chefs: Robert and Rodolfo.
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