I had intended to visit Firenze, but ...

once in Roma, the course of my trip changed. Firenze, which had occupied a large piece of real estate in my head while planning my month’s stay in Italia, was discarded, replaced, superseded by Roma. I can hear Tony Bennet’s voice in my ear, “the beauty that is Rome is of another day,” but Tony got it wrong. Roma’s beauty is timeless, ageless, limitless.

Roma has an abundance of energy. The energy of all the people who live and work there, of all the tourists who tromp through the streets, ride the buses, sit in the cafes and ristorantes and cool their hot feet in the fountains of Roma. Roma pulsates with the energy that seeps from the buildings and sculptures, the churches, the cobblestones – so old, carrying the energy of centuries - of the people who trod those same streets centuries ago and built those domes, those columns of marble, carved those statues, painted those frescoes. That’s the grandeur and concrete, daily reality of Roma.

My first trip to Roma lasted three days and before departing I booked another two-night stay with the hotel for the following week. But even upon return, two nights wasn’t enough – I added a third, because while tramping about Roma on what was to be my last day there, I chanced across an opportunity to attend a production of La Traviata at San Paoli en la Mura Chiesa. I just had to buy a ticket – and then find a hotel room for the night!

Roma is dangerous like that - you're just walking along, your jaw dragging on the cement in awe, or a silly smile plastered all over your face, and suddenly, you turn a corner and one more extraordinarily delightful thing pops up - an opera, the perfect gellato, a cobblestoned piazza with a beautiful fountain, a building with magnificent marble columns, a narrow street with children playing a wild game of tag - something just pops up and you suddenly change your plans - play tag with children, eat gellato (even though you just finished melon e prosciutto with a white wine at the last piazza!), buy an opera ticket (even though that means you have to find a hotel room for another night).


Roma is like opera. Captivates you, provides moments of quiet tenderness and instances of rousing crescendos that overwhelm you with delight, glee, joy.

I have no words for Roma that do it justice. Exquisite. Awesome. Captivating. Powerful. Rich. None of these words convey the essence of Roma. Not a one. Roma is all those things, but more than that too. And those words are so paltry compared to all that Roma is.

I spent today at the beach in Marina de Pietrasanta, an hour’s walk from my apartment in Pietrasanta. But tomorrow I leave Italia. My month is over. I head back to New York for a two-day stopover and then on to San Francisco, home. After Italia, after Roma, I am even more grateful that I live in San Francisco, for if I did not have San Francisco to go home to, I would cry at leaving Italia. I may cry anyway. San Francisco now has a true rival for my heart. Ah … I have been a bit unfaithful, but it’s nothing serious I will tell my beloved city. After all, I am coming home.

But I leave you all with a few pictures of Roma and St. Peter’s. When I visited St. Peter’s, I was struck dumb. But when I gazed on the Pieta, I cried. (I cried at the Sistine Chapel too.) The beauty, the craftsmanship – how did Michelangelo create such a masterpiece as the Pieta? The man was a genius. But then, all of Roma is a genius.

















Until we meet again Italia e Roma (for I did indeed throw a coin into the Trevi Fountain to ensure my return). Arrivederci!

The Double-Ds Ride Again

Yup, my buddy, Jae, from high school flew into town this past week and of course, as is our wont, we partied.

What else can two girls do?

She flew in on Tuesday and out again on Friday, so the party was swift and frenetic. Van Diesel would have been proud of our velocity, our fury, not to mention the somewhat macho (albeit feminine macho) discipline such partying requires. We ate, we drank; we danced. We discussed all manner of worldly and personal concerns. We ate. We drank. We drank. We ate. Did I mention we drank and ate? And ate and drank?

I paid the price on Friday with a hangover – something I’ve not felt in quite a long time (last time was … hmmm … let me think … when my double-d partner was in town – damn that girl will be the death of me!).

Jae has a philosophy: if you want something, you must outline in relatively specific detail exactly what you want – write it down. Make a list. Look at that list every day and sure enough, sooner or later, what you desire will manifest itself in your life – it will happen.

As one of our more benign activities, we created a wish list for the type of man I want as my Italian lover this summer (I’ll be in Italia for the month of June). We sat at a bar, sipping wine, eating steamed clams and sour dough bread, and scratched out the list on a piece of scratch paper begged from the bartender. Lord only knows what that bartender, the two old fellas to our left, the 30-something hetero and clearly tourista couple to our right thought as they heard bits and pieces of our conversation. No doubt, the lord cares probably just as little as we.

Jae has found the list only works when limited to ten specifications. We brainstormed, we pondered, we discussed the difference between desirable, highly desirable and absolute minimum requirements and finally settled on the following randomly-ordered qualifications:

Bird’s Italian Lover must be

1. Disease-free (both mentally and physically).

2. Between 35 and 50 years of age.

3. At least 8 inches at erection with a fulfilling girth (no pencil dicks need
apply) and need relatively little recuperation time between consummating
activities.

4. Available (i.e., not married, not shacked up).

5. Generous of spirit, as well as with his money – yet is nobody’s fool and does
not allow himself to be used unless it suits his purpose.

6. Has a multi-lingual (speaking at least both Italian and English) sexy voice
–rich as cannoli, deep as Italian roast coffee, sweet as tiramisu, smooth as
gelato.

7. Possesses a sharp wit and an appreciation for irony and dark humor, yet
exhibits a joyous zest for life.

8. At least 5’10” and with a muscular build that has little extra poundage.

9. An expert and quite generous at kissing, foreplay, fucking & lovemaking (and
clearly understands the difference between those last two).

10. Knows perfectly well that a woman on her knees is in a position of power, not
submission.