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.

I’ve finally decided on, and registered the domain name for my website.

After months of deliberation, it’s going to be….

POPTARTICUS.

It’s done, don’t try to talk me out of it.

Other than that, not much, just working too much and getting ready for Sicily. Two and a half weeks to go.

In those times in my life when I don’t have to work – like vacation, and when I lived in Italy, I turn into a night creature. Right now it is 11:00 P.M. and I am totally exhausted because I have to work. And on the weekends if I stay up ’till 4:00 A.M. it kind of wrecks me the next day, because I don’t feel like I can sleep until noon and then start it all over again. This really sucks because I totally love being a night creature. And not like a night creature that WORKS at night. Only a night creature that gets to SEE at night.

The best things happen at 3:00 A.M. Things that not too many people see. There is nothing better than drinking wine in Piazza San Marco at 3:00 A.M., at a deserted cafe table at Florian’s, all the waiters and musicians home asleep, you with a Valpolicella in a paper bag. Extra points if it is a full moon, or if it is Acqua Alta, when the water seeps up around you until you are surrounded by a lake. The Basilica glows and eventually, you’ll have to be carried, or jump from chair to chair, to avoid getting wet on the way out.

3:00 A.M. smells like stale cigarettes and cheap Cognac, but sometimes that is the best smell in the world. It sounds like old David Bowie. 3:00 A.M. is best when all responsibility is gone, or even when it seems responsibility will never rear it’s ugly head again. 3:00 A.M. is the murmur of voices across the Campo, policeman voices, but they don’t want to bust you, instead they want to drink with you. The first two seconds of “Kid A,” seeing a tattoo clearly but nothing else, thinking everything is a dream, but maybe it’s not.

Just thinking about it makes me want it again. Just thinking about it gives me energy, because here is is 11:30, and I’m still awake…