Tomorrow I am taking off again, for two weeks. I seems I just got back. It’s a familiar scenario. I seem to be forever moving.

I can’t believe it has been a year since our last Big Event at work. Today, I have to drive to Lodi, and I’ll spend a few days in the Sierra Foothills before I head back down to San Francisco. This year’s winner is Andrea Immer. I bet SHE won’t give me any “oh you’re not Gloria Swanson looks.” (You’ll have to read that first link to get what the hell I am talking about here.)

San Francisco will be hella fun – I am staying somewhere I have always wanted to stay – the Rock N Roll Hotel , also known as the PHOENIX. SWEET. And on May 1 there is the Doves & Mercury Rev show at the Fillmore Theater. Two of my favorite bands at one show – bonus. I am bringing earplugs on this journey. Last time I saw Doves they played an old Sub Sub song that did serious and permanent damage to my hearing. It was truly and unbelievably LOUD.

Other than that:

There are themes in life, and they fluctuate, but are also impossibly present. It’s either great, or fucked, depending on where you are at the moment. It’s fun, and heartbreaking at the same time, not to make any sense.

Whatever. I’ve long given up that I actually have any control over anything. I learned that I don’t a long fucking time ago.

It’s always a sad day when you find one of your favorite bands has broken up. I was lucky enough to see The Delgados twice, both times at the Casbah, with my hands on the speakers. Both shows were awesome… the first time I heard these guys (The Great Eastern record) I was under the influence of, uh, something and it was pretty unbelievable. “Thirteen Guiding Principles” remains, to this day, one of the most epic listening experiences I have ever had.

Check out that song. It’s seriously and totally EPIC.

I think these guys partied so hard on tour that they just couldn’t do it anymore. I remember many calls for Maker’s Mark and coke at those shows. Getting older sucks that way.

My brother Tom has, finally, discovered The Vine. He came in to find me on Wednesday, and loved it so much he came back on Thursday. The first night, he ordered a fucking BUD LIGHT. I was like, Tom, PLEASE… but he insisted. Thanks god the next night he graduated to a Pure Hoppiness. Anyhow, this is pretty exciting, because now I’ll maybe see a little more of my brother.

There is a little picture of Brian and Sky at the bottom of my friend Keith’s web page. But I have it in my mind to do better. I’m going to wait ’till Sky gets drunk and get a really good one.

Now, for your viewing pleasure, PALERMO.

Some might think this is ugly, but I think it ROCKS.

It’s that post-trip love affair you have with home.

Fucking A. It’s enough to make you realize you can give up grappa, but let’s face it, you don’t really HAVE to.

On the Carlos D front, I found this most hilarious little ditty from another cult member. How did we ever amuse ourselves before the internet discovered us?

I just bought tickets on ebay to the Doves/Mercury Rev show at the Fillmore in San Francisco May 1. Bastardi, not only skipping San Diego but skipping fucking LA! No they aren’t bastardi, I love them, and I love the Fillmore too. So it’s all good, just a little more time consuming and expensive than normal. Whateves, they are worth it.

In the meantime I’ll just be hanging out in this paradise until I have to head out again for work next week. So indulge me if I post more killer sunsets here. I can’t help it.

When I was leaving Rome, I happened to be checking in for my flight with a group of fifty Christian pilgrims from Louisiana. They totally surrounded me in line, and it was all I could do to push my way up so that I might get checked in with time to get one last cornetto.

I made it through, and past the guy who asks the questions like “where were your bags last night” and up to the yellow line, where I waited in the midst of all these pilgrims and their giant suitcases and piles and piles of shit (like I was any better, where the pile factor was concerned.)

So I am waiting, and there is this queenalicious priest next to me. He is one of the Christian leaders, but not from Louisiana. I don’t know where he was from, because his accent was Total Queen.

Anyhow he comes up to me, because I have somehow got to the front of the line, and says something to me in Totally Unsure Italian. He thought I was Italian! I had a feeling about him, so just to fuck with him, I replied to his Italian inquiry with a big, fat, “WHAT?”

So he says to me (after his “oh, you are American”) “um, they are checking in our group of fifty right now, so I don’t think they will check you in.”

I was like, “dude, you are fucking high, if you think I am going to wait for all fifty of you, plus your 18,000 bags to get checked in, before I get checked in.” Well not quite in those words but you get the gist of it.

He then said, all queeny, “I don’t think they’ll check you in!”

And I said, “Dude (I think I really used the word Dude this time) these people are not going to make me stand here while they check all of you in, I can assure you!”

He huffed off, I got checked in immediately (of course, what planet was that guy from?) but then I got the being-mean-to-priests affliction, food poisoning, on the plane.

But now I am home and also, recovered. It was even OK being sick, with the Santa Ana’s blowing wet, cool air through my window in the night. Fantastic.

My backyard. It’s the place for me, at the moment, I have no desire to leave.

and it doesn’t suck.

I am home. I sure will miss those little juice boxes full of cheap red wine.

That shit makes your hair look perfect.

There is a time in the visiting of every town when that town all of a sudden becomes home to you, even if briefly. That time, for me and for Rome, was about 10 minutes ago. Walking on the Viale Trastevere with the trams going by, at night which is a different Viale Trastevere than it is during the day.

It was a pretty stellar day, too. Met Steph near Piazza Navona for coffee. Before, I had the most kick-ass whole wheat cornetto filled with honey, walking down the street trying not to trip while totally concentrating on the pastry. After coffee with Steph, I went to the San Luigi di Francese church to see the Caravaggios so that Colleen will not call me totally lazy when I get home. Went over to the Pantheon and then back over to Trastevere to eat a long, long lunch with Nancy.

I thought for sure it would be nap-time after this, but Tony Polzer called so I went back over the river to hook up with him. He took me to the most fantastic, cool wine bar called, of all things, Nick’s. Mi Dio! I had SUCH a great time in there… we had four different wines served by Lorenzo, totally cool tattooed bartender guy, plus snacks like the best mozzarella di bufala. I had a great time with Tony, Lorenzo, and the other guy working at the bar who kept doing impressions of the fish vendors at the Catania fish market for me. I am, for sure, going back there tomorrow. It was AWESOME.

Eventually I left to go eat pizza with Eric Lyman, a journalist who lives here who I was suppose to be hanging out with, but then the Pope died so now he is working all the time. He took me to a pizzeria that is like a 50’s diner, with guys wearing those paper triangles on their heads. Some interesting stories were exchanged, plus since he was getting phone calls from various fact-checkers about the funeral on Friday, I learned many things about the Pope, the funeral, and some other wacky stuff.

It was a really great day. Tomorrow will be my last. It always happens… you start to get into it, and then you have to go!

I arrived in Rome on Saturday afternoon. The Pope died on Saturday night. I knew the Pope was going to die when I was here.

Where I am staying, in Trastevere, things seem as normal. It is beautiful and sunny again. I have not used my umbrella once on this trip.

Yesterday I walked up to and along the Gianicolo and then down to St. Peter’s to watch part of the Post-Pope Sunday Mass. There were a gazillion people there, of course. I get panicky in crowds these days so instead I sat on a little wall right outside the Piazza. I could see part of the choir and the mass of bodies packing the Piazza and up the street that leads into the Piazza. The choir sounded beautiful and I almost started crying, though not for the Pope. I think I was crying for humanity. This always happens to me when I am around so many people.

I can’t believe I am here for this.

After I left the Vatican I walked over the bridge and into a cool enoteca on Vittorio Emmanuele for a glass of prosecco. The woman there told me there will be more people here for the viewing and the funeral, than there was at the Jublilee. Something like two million people.

Last night there was a get together with some slow trav people. We ate and drank until almost midnight. So, because of this I got a really late start today… it is pretty embarrassing, how totally lazy I am.

Pretty soon I will be heading back to Ocean Beach. I am ready, I think… I miss the Pacific, I miss my bed, and I miss The Vine. I’d say I miss work but I would be lying. I don’t miss work quite yet. I miss tortillas.

In a few months though, I’ll miss traveling again. So it goes.

I have been running all over the past few days. I think I have circled the islands 1,375 times since Sunday.

It has been beautiful here, I have met some really cool people, and hung out in some great new bars. Tomorrow I am going to Rome and I think while I am there, there will be a historic event.

I am running again. Six days was not enough…

It is always so good to get back to Venice. It is, in so many ways, where I belong.

I say this after not living here for almost three years now. One must keep these little tidbits in mind, before getting one’s panties all in a twist about possibly moving back.

I got in Saturday night, just barely after a five minute sprint across the Frankfurt airport, and immediately went out to eat a pizza at Casa Mia and then go have a glass of wine at my favorite wine bar, La Cantina. By the time I did all that, it was already 11:30 P.M. So I went to the Piazza to hear the midnight Marangona, the bell that rings in the Campanile, the bell that I measure all my Venice time by.

I thought Easter would be a quiet day, with all the bars and restaurants closed. Boy was I wrong. It was PACKED here, and all the restaurants, all the bars, were open, even the places that are normally closed on Sunday. Osteria da Alberto was open. It is my favorite place (besides La Zucca) and I absolutely love the guy who works behind the bar. I went in and asked, in my most pleading voice, if I could please, pretty please have a table, but they were completo. They are always completo. There was a flea market in Santa Maria Nova, so I went and checked out the stalls there, then skulked back in to Osteria da Alberto. “OK then,” I told Favorite Barman. “Cichetti solo, alla banca.” It’s almost better, anyway, standing at the bar there. I had the best plate of cichetti, roasted potatoes so soft they practically melted in my mouth, peas with pancetta, some frittata, and some little marinated peppers stuffed with anchovies and capers. Favorite Barman commented on how good my Italian was. I wish I knew how to say “dude, you must be totally insane, because my Italian truly sucks.” Maybe Alice Twain can hook me up here.

From there I went into San Marco, and sat in the window in Il Cavatappi for the longest time, staring at the gazillion tourists streaming by. Nap time, then Easter dinner, with friends. The Maltese wine was not a hit, but I kind of liked it. I got home just before the bell rang.

I thought Sunday was uber-crowded. Yesterday was like Sunday on steroids. Speaking of Alice Twain, yesterday I got to meet her, and hang out with her and her boyfriend Luca, for the day. When I walked from my apartment near San Giovanni & Paolo to the train station (a thirty minute walk on a main thoroughfare) it was like a wall of people, all the way… thousands and thousands of people headed to San Marco and Rialto. I have never seen Venice so crowded. Not even during the Carnivale.

So when I met Silvia/Alice and Luca, I took them over the Scalzi Bridge, where we might have a chance to breathe. And sure enough, for most of the day, we walked around without total tourist annihilation. I took them to Campo Santa Margherita, down to La Salute, then back up through San Polo (where we did run into some tourist hell). We spent a good part of the day sitting in the cafes of Santa Margherita. It was sunny and warm there. Silvia gave me a beautiful scarf of purple and light blue wool that she made herself. They were fun to be with and we had a great Pasquetta just wandering around.

It is pretty funny, Alice wanted to come to Venice to see the “new” bridge that connects Piazzale Roma and Ferrovia. I was looking but I didn’t see any bridge! It might have occurred to me sooner that there is no way they are going to be able to build a bridge over the Grand Canal that fast. Eventually we saw a sign and a rendering of the bridge that isn’t built that Alice Twain came to see.

Last night I went to Trattoria da Alvise for dinner, on the Fondamenta Nove. Ruth wrote this one up for the book, so I went in to check and make sure it was still good. I ate some salad and fried calamari and they had a really nice house Cabernet Franc. They had a copy of “Chow!” on their bookshelf. I wanted to out myself so bad… but I didn’t, because that would defeat the book’s purpose, right? There is a new hotel on the Fondamenta… it looks really nice, with rooms looking out over the Northern Lagoon.

After dinner I went to the Tortuga Pub, a bar where there are no tourists, ever, to make sure the music selection was as I remember it. I remember the Tortuga used to be so smoky that I would have to stick my head out the window from time to time, to suck some air in, but I endured this because where else do they play Queens of the Stone Age in Venice? But now, with the new no smoking law, we get to breathe again! It is totally awesome, let me tell you.

The pub was playing U2 (old stuff, not new drivel) but there was a birthday party for a 16-year-old in the other room and a DJ started spinning some fine Italian rap. 16-year-olds on Guinness plus bad music equals I think I will finish my wine and go. But then I started talking to this British couple (his very first words were, “you are not a George Bush supporter, are you?” I kid you not) and we ended up drinking and talking for several hours; I am meeting them at La Cantina in an hour or so.

I love walking home from the Fondamenta Nove at night. My apartment this week is very close to where I used to live, and this is a walk I know well. The mists, the canals, the calli where if you stick out both elbows you hit both walls. In the day there were thousands, at midnight, I cross paths with two, maybe three people. The only sounds are soft, tiny waves breaking and the click of heels in an echo chamber. The Marangona is ringing, in the distance. It is a city of ghosts, my ghost, other ghosts, shrouded in a veil of midnight fog.

It is our last night to look out over Spinola Bay. Who knows if I will ever get to Malta again.

We lucked out, meeting John and Angella. Yesterday, John drove us around and took us to a bunch of places – it would have been impossible, on the bus. He drove us through the cities and the small towns and through twisty streets and on pockmarked roads. We saw the Mosta Dome, where a bomb fell during World War II and did not explode, we saw the temples that are the oldest freestanding structures in the world. We took a boat into the Blue Grotto, and the sea was kind of crazy and the boat was pitching all around. As we were going in, another boat came out, and all the people had life jackets. We didn’t have any life jackets, and there were some pretty big swells out there. We’d rock a little and the boat guy would just smile a toothless smile. We’d go into a cave, and he’d say “look to the left! See the colors!” But I was looking for something I might hang on to if we went down.

Later, we went to eat with Angella, and a woman who I met in the bathroom (she commented on my hair) came to our table and presented me with a Jesus booklet. She was a missionary, and I am clearly a heathen. In the back of the booklet, there is a form you can fill out that says I, ________________ on this day of ______ the year _______, have accepted Jesus as my lord and savior. Now all my sins are forgiven and I will definitely go to heaven. Witnessed by _____________.

That just seems a little too easy to me, to get all your sins forgiven and be able to go to heaven just like that. I left the booklet on the table – it kind of freaked me out. But now I wish I had kept it.

Abortion is illegal in Malta. Divorce is not common. People drive like maniacs here. Today it was 75 degrees. Tomorrow I am leaving.

Happy Easter, may all your eggs be See’s Bordeaux.