I'm dying of bird flu!

Well, that's a slight exaggeration. In that I don't exactly have bird flu. But I am dying of a cold! Brought on by that exciting last night on the boat no doubt (I can't say much here, but let's just say it involved me staying out on the deck till about 1, and then sleeping on the floor of someone else's room, as my cabin was... occupied). But anyway, I'm suffering now for that by being forced to sit in my bed, blowing my nose every 3 minutes, snuffling pitifully into a mug of tea, and watching the Olympics. By the way, Happy Valentine's Day! A big wet kiss to everyone who reads this.

As soon as I started coughing and sniffling and turning pinkish, my host mother said in just about the scariest voice you can imagine (think Frankenstein. Frankenstein with bird flu), loosely translated, "You were in Sicily all week. They just found bird flu in Sicily. This has to be that! What else could it be? I recognize it, the pinkness, the sour throat, the hacking cough. What if you have to go to the hospital? There was a girl last year who had to spend a month in the hospital, and she didn't even have bird flu! YOU'RE DYING!!"

It was discouraging, to say the least. But on the bright side, you all have to be nice to me now. I'm dying of bird flu. Bonus points to my mom, who sent me a box of chocolate (See's is as good as Lindt truffles any day). Admittedly, the chocolates might have been for Valentine's Day instead of my impending death (the red, heart-covered wrapper could be a clue), but oh well. Chocolate is chocolate.

So between blowing my nose, sleeping, and coughing, I've been doing college research. It's strangely.... fun. Until I stop and think wait, not only do I have to get myself into one of these places, then I'll have to choose which one to go to, and then choose a major, and then write a THESIS and then get a job, and then realize that I have turned into Dilbert, at which point I'll go insane and break down my cubicle and then steal money from the company (think Office Space, only cooler... like, with more chocolate and fewer dead fish). I feel so empty and purposeless when I think of that. The future I'd kind of like to see, on the other hand, is me surviving college by taking some cool courses that I'm really into and nothing more, and staying up till three every night watching Blockbusters rentals and drinking smoothies. And being able to take as many showers as long as I like as often as I like. That's the clincher right there, that is. And then when I graduate, I was sort of planning on retiring to a flat Lugano or Sicily (or other cool places I will have gone to by then and fallen in love with), where I'll write for the rest of my life, traveling on the money I make from my bestsellers and making amazing scientific breakthroughs on the weekend. Then I'll leave all the money I will have earned by then to future students. It'll be called "The Holly McKelvey fund, for kids who plan to get through life brilliantly without actually ever doing anything."

I sort of want to apply to.... (this doesn't quite match up with my life goals, unfortunately... however it'll leave me with an INCREDIBLE linguistics/language degree, which is sort of a minor goal, secondary of course to the whole brilliance-without-doing-anything plan, but nevertheless something I'd like to aim for) ....Cambridge. Someone said to me a while back, in a terrifically pained voice "I'd love to go to Oxford or Cambridge, but then there's the problem... which one would I want to apply to?" Implying, of course, that should he apply to either one, he'd get in, so the real challenge would just be deciding which one was good enough for him and his superior skills. I wish I could brush off Oxford and Cambridge with such ease, but I can't help but take them really seriously, and grovel in their presence. Cambridge, at least. I didn't like Oxford's website, so I didn't even look into it very much. If colleges were books, I'd be judging all of them by their covers. But after I'd glanced at Cambridge's site, more to amuse myself than anything, I became utterly enamored of everything it has to offer. Frankly, I still have no idea what I want to do (other than live somewhere scenic and write), so I've been taking note of all the subjects that are of interest to me, and what stands out the most is linguistics. In the Cambridge language program you study two languages, in one of which you already have to be proficient (can you say Italian?!). The other you can start from scratch, and then starting in the 3rd year you focus on one. At that point you can also move into the Linguistics program - how rich would that be, doing Linguistics with two languages under one's belt? Ah, dreams. You know, my greatest role model at the moment is Danny from Stargate. Basically, I want to be him. Maybe I could even have a boyfriend on every planet, like he has girlfriends! Yes, that's what I'll do! Now, to find a stargate....

By the way, I've fallen in love with Valentino Rossi. If I ever finish La Fabbrica di Cioccolato, which has so far taken me a month and a half, I'll read his autobiography. Although I think anyone who fancies he can write an autobiography that young is lacking a little thing we like to call humility. But it's okay, because when people are as beautiful as Valentino Rossi, it doesn't matter if they're a teeny bit egotistical. If you don't know who Valentino Rossi is (probably not, he's really only big in Italy, I think), he's a champion motorcycle racer here. His autobiography is probably all about the challenges he faced in becoming a motorcycle racer. Because, as I'm sure you can imagine, there are many. There are the cutest little "home videos" on Italian TV of him when he was maybe 6 or 7 riding a motorcycle about the size of your fist (well, a little bigger, about two fists). What kind of parents were those, who put their kid in motorcycle races when he was 8! Italians and their motorized vehicles. Though I can hardly talk, coming from the land of gas-guzzlers and SUVs, specifically the part ruled by Schwarzenegger...

Hey, did you hear the one about the duck? It's really something: What is the difference between a duck?

. . . . waaaaait for it

One leg's the same.

Yes, that's right. It's brilliant.