postcard from Firenze.

"Aw crap, you gotta be kidding me," I said as I read the sign posted on the side of Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore.

Helen and I were at the head of a line worthy of any amusement park roller coaster ride to go up the duomo of the cathedral. The sign was a clear warning. Instead of "Guests who are elderly, pregnant, or with heart condition may not ride," it said, "Bitch, you best be in shape to haul your ass up these million steps to heaven."

"Okay, I can do this," I said, "Can't be any different from hiking Korean mountains."

Hiking in Korea isn't all that difficult when there are stairs neatly carved into the side of mountains. It's funny to see Koreans in full on hiking gear looking as if ready to climb Everest and watch them carry their backpacks and walking sticks up concrete steps. If I can take on stepping up to the summit of a mountain, a cathedral can't be that much harder.

I didn't need a walking stick. What I needed was a muscular descendant of Roman gods to carry me up those goddamn steps. How medieval monks managed to use them were beyond me. The only light emanating was from tiny circular windows that beamed through dark staircases. You were fucked if you suffered from claustrophobia as the stairs were only wide enough for people to pass through one at a time. If the space and number of steps finally cause an anxiety attack, it would take hours to locate and remove you from the spiraling stairs. Then you got that ever growing line of angry and impatient people waiting outside for you.

"Okay Helen, I gotta slow down," I said winded after step #346, "Just... gimme a sec... I'll take a picture."

We were almost there. I could feel it. The air felt fresher which gave us enough juice to power on. We climbed up a skinny ladder and finally stood at the top of the duomo. I'm not normally afraid of heights but couldn't help but to get that nervous butterfly sensation in your stomach that made you feel like you gotta crap your pants. I was quickly distracted by the red roofed view of the city spanning below. We sat and cooled our asses on the cold marble floor. It was a good feeling. If I can get a view like this after step climbing, who needs an elliptical machine at a sweaty gym?

postcard from roma.

Helen and I were dead tired. Lack of sleep on a red eye flight caused our hands to shake. Managed to get a little shut eye at our layover in Frankfurt. The harsh German barking over airport intercoms were no match for my exhaustion. Conked out until our shuttle plane arrived to take us to Rome.

Upon arriving, we were greeted not by "Welcome to Italy" signs but by sexy half naked David and Victoria Beckham modeling in Armani ads. First immediate lesson I learned was how extremely laid back Italians are. You will hardly ever get a solid answer from anyone. We were picked up by a tour group shuttle which promptly drove us to the wrong hotel.

"You want that light building," the man at the front desk pointed from the wrong hotel, "I show you. Ehhhhh, you walk, three, four, five blocks over there."
"Great," I sighed.

Helen and I gawked at our hotel room. Two beds neatly cut out like blocks of tofu were waiting for us in what looked like my closet. Right. Space is limited in this city. Got it. Dropped our bags, got into some fresh clothes, and headed out for our first taste of Italy.

호박죽.

Have decided to adopt Maangchi as my virtual Korean mother. I tried out her 호박죽 recipe for tonight's cooking night at Michelle's. It turned out pretty well. In the future, I'd puree the squash after boiling it for a smoother consistency. Also, adding honey instead of sugar makes it pretty good too.

muligatawny.

Tonight, I tried out a recipe I found while flipping through last month's issue of Family Fun magazine. Mulligatawny soup! When I first read the title, I thought it read, "Multi-getaway". Aigu.
It's not good to cook when you're hungry and you wanna eat.... like, NOW. This particular stew takes an hour to simmer alone.

My apartment now smells like curry.

cat for etsy.

For me, a relaxing night consists of crafting in my underwear while watching "Weeds". I finished another cat. I kinda wanna keep him. He is gray. He wears a cotton scarf. He is a cotton/acrylic blend. I really like natural fibers and have been wanting to try cotton. If parents are buying these woolen dolls, I'm afraid their children will be horrified at the site of shrunken and felted animals in the washer/dryer.

Cotton would be easier to wash and keep clean. I found straight cotton doesn't really have a give and is tough to use. The acrylic blend makes it slightly more flexible and softer.