morning protest

Winter mornings lend to that really hazy, fuzzy feeling. The alarm sounds and you just snuggle in tighter, disappearing under the downy mountains of comforter. You rub your feet together and wait for the courage to emerge from hibernation. Winter. In a high-ceilinged, drafty house. Saturday morning are the worst at this time of year.

Now the first (and only) snow squalls of the year have blown through Florence, leaving a white film on roof tops and potted herbs - a film which disappears by noon in this city. During these winter months, Italians are in danger of getting a colpo d'aria (a hit of air). Strange illnesses such as this, whose translation makes no real sense to us Anglo-Saxons/Americans, seem to effect only those of Italian origin. I think I'm immune for now. Or at least until my citizenship comes through.

In the mean time, I'll spend the morning rolling around on the floor, risking torcicollo, in protest of winter and having to work at 9am on Saturday.
Link to video: (click me!)
BLUE ROOM IMPROV 1