Lavorando

Not much to report.  I have spent most of the week and last weekend working on three papers: Bronzino's Descent of Christ into Limbo, Etruscan wall painting restoration technique, and the creation of the high chapel of Santa Maria Novella.  Otherwise, I have been studying Fra Angelico in San Marco and Bronzino and Brunelleschi in Santa Croce.

I went to the clubs last weekend with friends, but I have found that I do not like going out anymore.  Chalk it up to my bankrupt youth.  It's expensive, the people you meet are rarely interesting, and you end up wasting too many hours that night and sleeping late the next morning.  The upside is unlimited Lady Gaga, gaggles of drunk American girls begging for someone to pay them attention, and showing off your Euro-shiek.

A pigeon had died on the terrazza two days ago.  Silvia has been freaking out about the "zombie-pigeon" since then.  She won't go into the kitchen, fearing that it would watch her with empty eyes through the window.  I was planning to depose of the bird last night but got in late and forgot.  While I was in Santa Croce this morning, Silvia cleaned that apartment, gathering her courage, and tried to remove the pigeon.  She failed, claiming she almost threw up.  The bird hadn't begun to decompose.  I removed it this afternoon, picking it up by the wing and throwing it out in a grocery bag.  She retreated through the hall, shaking her hands, crying out in disgust, and then locking herself in her room.  Italians can be so weird.

Francesco is probably moving out this month, and we're looking for a new flatmate.  Tonight, a ragazzo who works at Gucci is coming to see the apartment, now free from any signs of pigeon death.