I have to be really, really fast here so no editing just writing and I will take care of the rest later.

I was a little worried yesterday about that guy thinking I was Albanian the other day, like maybe I look like a maid, or a hooker. Is it the purple hair? Cannot figure it out.

Because of our lost afternoon Tuesday, we got out early yesterday and ran around Palermo like crazy women. Went to the opera house in the morning – would not have done that, if not for Colleen – but it was awesome, the opera was rehearsing and we got to see for a minute and it was fantastic. Then onto the archeaological museum where I saw something truly weird, a small bronze of an erect penis, that HAD a penis, also a tail and legs. We walked around the port a little, also almost got bit by a rabid dog, then went to get a pizza.

This was the best part of the day. We went to a famous place called Antica Foccaciaria di San Francesco, which also happens to be where we breakfast every morning. We sat next to this big table of seven guys and two girls. After some eyeing of each others food and smiles and stuff, the one girl who spoke some English spoke to us (all the guys were speaking too, and we did the best we could.) So Colleen tells this girl we are here for my birthday, and she tells the group, and they bust out singing Happy Birthday to me. Then all the guys got up and kissed me! (Cheek kisses, not Albanian hooker kisses.) I turned all red and my heart was beating so fast. It was pretty awesome, let me tell you.

So after that Colleen had it in her mind to go to the Crypt of the Cappucine where there are all these dead bodies decaying on the walls. Like 8000 of them. So I decided we would walk, but instead of on the main street, on the back streets. CRAZY. PAZZO. More on this later… then we got there and Colleen was totally grossed out but I made her look at all the dead bodies for a really long time, like 10 minutes.

I am really running out of time now, we are off to Monreale and later, Cefalu… more when we stop running. Fantastic dinner last night, at a place recommended by a friend in Rome… called Sant Andrea. I told Colleen she should start telling everyone it is my birthday and we are going to start counting the cheek kisses. Eight, so far.

I am having a bit of a writers block situation and I think it is because this place is so insane that I cannot even begin to write about it. So this will be really boring but here goes.

Got here OK, even with four flights it seemed to go by pretty fast. But my luggage did not make it. Colleen came in several hours after me so I walked around looking for something to buy to sleep in. There are tons of clothing stores and everything is on sale. Our room is really a suite with two rooms and a little kitchen, and the owners have been so awesome… if it was not for them I am not sure I would have my luggage back…

I feel at home here so far, walking around I seem to know my way, and I am even crossing the street like the locals do, which can be a little terrifying at first. Because seriously, red lights mean nothing.

Right when they opened, I went to this cool wine bar right on our street called Mi Manda something or other and had a glass of wine in there… so far this place is the coolest place I have found, bar wise, but it is possible that I am just from another planet. I may as well be. Then I went home to wait for Colleen.

Colleen finally came in (she missed her connection and arrived at 9:30) and we immediately went back to the wine bar to eat dinner.

OH MY GOD. OK, I was starving but starving or no that was one of the best dinners I have ever eaten. Or maybe I just have not been to Sicily in a really long time. We had a salad with radicchio and pomegranate seeds and pancetta, ravioli stuffed with eggplant and with an eggplant tomato sauce, and I had this pork braised in Chianti. It was huge, like a whole leg or something. It was so good that I ate almost all of it. Plus they had these little rolls stuffed with olives. All that with a bottle of Montefalco Rosso was only 47 Euro.

After that we went back and totally crashed until mid morning. Outside there was thunder, and really heavy rain. But that stopped right when we went out.

After coffee and cornetti, we headed out to the big Cathedral here (awesome on the outside, but the inside did not do much for me) and then walked up to this park where there were some kids playing soccer. We sat on a bench and this old guy comes up and starts talking to us. I tell him my Italian sucks. “Albanese?” he says… (do I look Albanian?) I tell him no and then he asks if I am Italian! Dude, if I was wouldn’t I be speaking it a little better?

We left there and went to where the President of Sicily has his quarters and there was some kind of demonstration with lots of cops. I kind of like Italian cops, so we hung out there and thought maybe we would see the President. The old guy comes back, tells us it is some sort of demonstration for the workers. Then he asks if we like Bush and we say no, and he says Bush is always making war. (Colleen got that one – don’t give me the credit.)

Sadly after this we had to rush back to the apartment because the guy who had my luggage didn’t understand me and I didn’t understand him, and he thought MY name should be on the door instead of the B & B’s. So, after many calls by the B & B people and many hours of waiting (plus I was starting to get really nervous, also stinky) the luggage arrived.

More walking around and now we are headed to eat at a place called Vino Rosso.

Sorry this is so boring but I will try to do better. I think my body is all the way here but my brain has to catch up.

The packing is done, and the floors clean. I think I am too tired to be excited quite yet, about the journey that is right in front of me. Tired from a lot of work and not enough sleep. I am ready to be awake now.

Now it is almost time for the trip. I’ll be in the air, or waiting to be in the air, for twenty-four hours straight.

It’s almost better sometimes this way. A lot of stimulus right before you go to make you forget about the trip, so that when you finally get there you are like, holy shit, I am fucking here!

And I can swear all I want now that I own this website. That kind of freedom is uber-liberating, even when I felt like I could get away with a lot of swearing before.

Can I just say, how happy I am that I have the life I live and the friends I have? It has been done, but I have new friends now, and you know who you are. My last entry was called Lucky. I am the lucky one. I am seriously an extremely lucky person, flaws and all.

Next up, Palermo. A place I have never been. I’ll breathe deep that cigarette scent when I find it next. Cigarettes, and warm pastries, car exhaust and coffee. I am thinking that is what Palermo smells like.

I woke up in a cold sweat this morning. Somewhere between sleep deprivation and anticipation, I think.

We are headed into a great freeze. Snow on Mt. Etna. Red wine weather.

Yesterday I talked to one of my customers, who told me he was going to Italy for his honeymoon. They will be in Venice the same time as me – Easter week. With NO hotel reservation! A quick search on Venere told me they were up it without a paddle.

I emailed my friend Amelia who owns Ca’ Bernardi B & B, and by some twist of fate she just had a cancellation.

Are these honeymooners lucky or what? They are so lucky, they have no idea. And they get ME to show them around.

So with this theme, Luck, I give you the lyrics to one of my absolute favorite Radiohead songs. Just imagine three guitars gently crushing your head when you read them.

Lucky

I’m on a roll,
I’m on a roll this time
I feel my luck could change.

Kill me Sarah,
kill me again with love,
it’s gonna be a glorious day.

Pull me out of the aircrash,
Pull me out of the lake,
I’m your superhero,
we are standing on the edge.

The head of state has called for me by name
but I don’t have time for him.
It’s gonna be a glorious day!
I feel my luck could change.

Pull me out of the aircrash,
Pull me out of the lake,
I’m your superhero,
we are standing on the edge.
We are standing on the edge.

I am so bummed… Wilco just announced a show here April 29. The same day that I have to be in San Francisco to help put on the Wine Literary Award tasting for work.

Of course it has to be that day.

It’s a crushing blow.

I’ll try to figure something out.

There is a thread over on the Fodors message board, a guy asking for advice on his week long trip to Rome (first trip to Italy…)

Day one: arrive at FCO, rent car, drive to apartment, check in, look around Rome.

Day two: Drive to fucking Florence! See many things in Florence, go have dinner (7:30), drive BACK to Rome.

Day three: I think there is a Pope thing happening.

Day four: go to Capri, and then to a shrine near Napoli or something.

Day five: Drive BACK to Rome.

Day six, seven. Hang out, see some more of the Pope (maybe.) Return car. Leave.

Am I high, or is this plan just a little psychotic?

Thank god for laziness. MY laziness. Ambition while traveling can be deadly. Not to mention overestimating yourself.

Five days, till my own lazy Blast Off.

My blog turned one year old over the weekend. I thought of this before I thought of how yesterday would have been my 12th anniversary, if I was still married. But instead that experience crashed and burned in 1995. I wonder how my life would be different if it had worked out. Like, would I be a mother now? Would I be spending my vacations camping at Yosemite instead of flying to Europe?

You can try to map a path but a storm will always come and wash it out. It’s better to just let life make the path for you. If there is one thing I have learned in forty years, it is that.

At the Great America Amusement Park in Santa Clara, California, there is a roller coaster called “The Tidal Wave.” This roller coaster leaves the boarding station at 60 miles per hour. You are catapulted forward at a high speed, instantly, and it is a total rush.

This is what the beginning of Interpol’s “Not Even Jail” sounds like. And they played it last night, but without the first, launched rocket moment. Still, it was a pretty stellar show.

Mark and I got there after some fortification at The Vine, armed with small water bottles of Syrah in case the line to get into the club was long. The line WAS long, but it was moving really, really fast. There, we ran into Renee, a server at The Vine and her boyfriend (I think his name is Jim.) Lucky this, as I shared the wine with them – otherwise I would have had to guzzle it, or throw it out. And I don’t like to throw wine out, ever.

Once in, we got somewhat close to the stage along a side wall where there was a little ledge about four feet off the ground. Thanks god for this ledge, and for my own pushy self. Because of this ledge, and being pushy, I got to watch the entire show from a great height while the teeming mass saw the backs of each other’s heads. Mark wasn’t so lucky, and looked up at me often with a look of total pain. The show was oversold, and everyone was pushing and shoving on the floor.

At first I sort of just hung out by the ledge, as there were many people sitting on it already, with no room for me. When Blonde Redhead came on, and all those people stood up, I hoisted my butt up on the very edge and waited. I could tell the guy standing behind me wanted to kick me in the head, but he didn’t (thanks god.) I tried to be good at that point and not move around too much. Blonde Redhead was Just O.K. But opening acts aren’t really allowed to shine.

Once the opener was off the stage, everyone sat down but I stayed where I was – I was up there above everyone and there was no way I was giving that up. But finally the guy standing behind whined, “can you get down? I was here first…” I really had no choice but to move. Those within hearing distance exchanged “what a wanker” glances with me. When you’ve got a thousand people in a space for five hundred to fit comfortably… let’s just say you have to give a little. It’s what we put up with, for the music.

Thankfully, the girl next to me went to the bathroom, and I took that opportunity to sweet talk her boyfriend into letting me back up, which he did, no problemo. For this I gave him a hit off my flask of Bouteille Call. Now I was sitting right next to the Wanker, who would not look at me.

All this drama did not matter once Interpol came on. We all stood up (me with some difficulty – my pants were way too tight to do this with any sort of grace) and from then on, everyone was screaming, including the Wanker. He even drowned out the hundreds of screaming teenaged girls on the floor at one point.

My ears are still ringing; it was Really Fucking Loud. Everyone on the ledge was happy, and in front of the stage the teeming mass pushed forward, screaming. I was SO happy I was not down there. I was SO happy that I had the view I did. It was like being in a box seat. I could then see why the Wanker wanted to protect his spot- it was the best one in the house. So I gave him a chance to apologize to me.

“Sorry I sat on your feet before,” I yelled.
“Sorry I was a dick,” he screamed.
He then ceased to be a Wanker, and from then on was just a crazed music freak, just like me.

This show was not the best show I have ever seen, but I really have to say, the lighting was, without a doubt, the absolute best lighting I have ever seen. Even better than Radiohead’s shows – and this means genius. The combinations of color rocked as hard as the band did. Oranges and pinks, turquoise and purple… this shot about says it all.

And I guess I am a new convert in the Cult of Carlos D. Those lights on those tight black pants? My God. He really was quite a figure up there ? I had to be fifty yards away but that guy just screams charisma. I searched all morning for a shot of his, ahem, backside. But all I could find was this shot from the Matador Records website (scroll down to the first picture.) My days of being a teenybopper are long over, but I just totally fell in love with that guy. Long legs, long torso, and a seriously tight outfit. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. It’s enough to make a girl go Goth.

Damn.

All in all, a fine evening, and now if I have to go to SOMA again I’ll know about that ledge, and get there early enough to get myself up there.

Today I was off for President’s Day and spent a good part of the day looking for pictures of Carlos D on stage. Now I am going to order Chinese food and watch Gone With the Wind on TCM. Who said being alone sucks?

This sucks though – my brother’s department (percussion) at San Diego State got cut because of budget cuts. Just like that. He is, understandably, totally pissed off. And a world without drummers would be a sad world indeed.

I’m just about to head off (via The Vine) to see Interpol and Blonde Redhead. For the first time in my life, I am kind of dreading a show. This is because this show is in the most horrible venue possible, San Diego SOMA. At SOMA, a) they have no bar and b) it is all ages (which I could put up with if there was a bar) and c) they always oversell their shows. Plus d) there is no ventilation. It’s like being squished into a sardine tin with hundreds of sweaty, tall, pimply 16 year olds.

So why am I going? It’s pretty simple – the first two seconds of Interpol’s “Not Even Jail.” I have to hear that live – if they don’t play it, I will be hella bummed.

I think I am just cranky because I have been working way too much. I just slept all afternoon and I NEVER do that.

Now I am off to The Vine, hopefully a glass of Pinot Gris and then perhaps some Tablas Creek Cotes de Tables will give me the energy I need to get to the first two seconds I am waiting for.

This morning, for some bizarre reason, I turned on the MTV show “Newlyweds.” I have never, ever watched this show before (though once I did see the scene where Jessica Simpson doesn’t know what tuna is – I think everyone has seen that, right?)

So, it is Jessica and Nick’s second anniversary, and they go to the Napa Valley! (This is announced at dinner the night before, at a fancy restaurant. Jessica: “What’s Pphhheasant?”) No wonder I turned it on – it’s the Nick and Jessica Wine Episode. First they go to Domaine Chandon where, in honor of their anniversary, there is a Champagne Sabreing. This is a ritual where you open a bottle of Champagne with a big sabre. You cut the whole top off the bottle, cage and all – it is pretty cool, let me tell you. This was kind of wasted on Nick and Jessica, but I am sure it will raise the awareness of Champagne Sabres, which is good for me, since I sell Champagne Sabres. I reckon every 16 year old girl is going to want a Champagne Sabreing for her 2nd anniversary, whenever it should come, just like Jessica.

Jessica gets hammered on Domaine Chandon, lets out a huge burb, and can’t speak very clearly in the limo on the way back to the hotel.

The next day they go to another winery, where they cut grapes off the vines and then press them with their feet in a tiny cask. Nick digs it, but you can tell Jessica ain’t too hep on the purple feet thing. She says, “shouldn’t you clean your feet first?” Nick takes a big slug of the juice.

Later they go to Beringer Vineyards, where the chef has prepared a special three-course lunch for them. All through the lunch, Jessica makes faces like she is eating various steaming piles of shit. Dessert comes, she takes a bite of ice cream, she makes a face like she is eating a six-month old chicken liver. “It tastes like a LEAF,” she says. “It’s HORRIBLE!” Then the chef comes out, says hello, and leaves. “I feel SO bad!” Jessica moans.

Not exactly the best PR for Beringer, but I guess it’s better than V. Sattui’s Rat Sandwich.

I would have watched the next episode of “Newlyweds,” but I didn’t feel like watching Jessica at the dentist. Though I won’t be so dismissive of this show anymore, at least if I am at a motel in Bakerfield and there is nothing else on.