Presto

Presto is one of those words that doesn't mean what we think it means. For some reason it has come to be something we associate with magicians, as in, "Presto! The bucket is now a duck!" but it actually means "soon," as in, Presto, vado in Italia. Actually, soon I'm going to Switzerland and then soon thereafter to Italy, but in any case, I'll be far away. Some of you (rightly enough) are thinking that it will hardly matter where I am in that I never write anything anyway, and to you I say: shhhhh. I don't see the blog bully so much these days; he's got his hands full. I miss him. And so do you. This just in: I do not enjoy Bryan Ferry. At least not the song playing right now. I actually thought it was Roy Orbison, which, if you're me, is not a good thing. I realize that most of America comes down on the other side of the Roy Orbison question. Ditto Neil Young. I don't want to hear about it.

I leave in a week. Before I go, I will see three plays and a circus, because that's the kind of girl I am. I will also do various more typical pre-trip things like wondering if I secretly hate all the clothes I'm planning to pack; making all kinds of lists of international phone numbers; trying to figure out how to use my so-called "mobile devices", which I never use at home; practicing lifting the Too Many Books I am taking with me, making a last-minute trip to the pharmacy. Things like that. Also, I think I may need to buy some more socks. I know they have socks in Switzerland, but I imagine they are about $250 a pair. Switzerland? It costs a lot there. Consider yourself forewarned.

The importance of trifles

I made toast from two slices of the newly purchased loaf yesterday. I think I'm safe in saying that it is the worst bread I have ever eaten. Is it made of recycled paper? Possibly. And I'm not saying that that wouldn't mark an exciting advance environmentally, but I don't think it does a hell of a lot culinarily speaking. Only this morning did I notice that bread bag is proudly emblazoned with the words, "No Salt!"

I would not have previously thought that salt was a critical ingredient in bread, but I'm older and wiser now.

Friends, do not let this happen to you.

I cannot stress the importance of this enough. Constant vigilance is required. Be careful out there.

Phew

Right now, there is a flatbed truck parked directly in front of my building. On it, are six huge, unmarked wooden crates, approximately the size of elevator cars. They come up to the middle of my bedroom windows, which makes for a startling beginning to the day. There are three squabbling guys with crowbars fussing around and I waited anxiously as they pried open the first crate. I was afraid it might contain one of several robot overlords, here to take over the human race starting with my block. But it appears to just be some guy's furniture. I don't know where he's moving from, but apparently normal moving trucks can't drive from there to here. Welcome, exotic neighbor. Thanks for not orchestrating the end of civilization.

Buongiorno

The blog bully has lately been otherwise engaged and, as you can see, without the tsking, things go all to hell. But here I am. To be honest, I am still not feeling all that chipper. Meanwhile, I feel that all the world is Getting On With It and being all self-actualized and proactive. I secretly feel sort of small and glowery and envious instead of "Go Team!" about the whole thing. I'm not pleased with myself. There also continues to be a fair amount of tearfulness and hand wringing. All in all, it's not been terribly amusing chez moi of late, and I do my best to spare you the really bleak bits. Still, there are sunny moments.

1. I cleaned the apartment. Now, I know that this doesn't seem very noteworthy, but when you are suffering from a sort of tedious malaise, things can get rather untidy. The revolting dishes have been washed; the bathtub is gleaming; the seven wigs' worth of hair that seems to routinely fall out of my head and strew itself around the house has been vacuumed up; all the shoes have made their way back to the closet. And you know what? It's an awfully pretty apartment when given half the chance. It makes me happy to come home to its clutter-free surfaces in the evenings when, during daylight savings, actual rays of sun come into the living room at about 7pm. Sono fortunata.

2. Italiano! In my new class, I am the dumb one, but at least I'm also the funny one (in English, at any rate). I am ploddingly making my way towards an understanding of when you use avere and when you use essere in the passato prossimo. Soon I will be able to tell you what I did yesterday. Actually, let's give it a whirl now. Ieri sera sono stata in classe. La lezione è cominciata alle 19:30. Or (hold onto your hats now) La professoressa ha cominciato la lezione alle 19:30. That's right ladies and gentlemen, I have no fear of your direct objects and their crazy corresponding verb changes. At least not if we stick with cominciare. I feel pretty good about cominciare.

3. Yesterday I managed to do one of my very favorite things: get a phone service rep to talk to me like a normal person and (bonus points) to laugh. If the person is a native English speaker, I usually succeed, but it never fails to please me. Yesterday, while I was talking to a very pleasant woman at my credit card company, she was explaining the benefits of upgrading my reward-earning card to some other reward-earning card. I told her that I didn't see any difference between them.

"Oh no," she said. "There is a very significant difference. Right now, you're in a tiered redemption structure."

"A tiered redemption structure?" I repeated. "I'm pretty sure you're describing Catholicism. That's what I got out of Dante, anyway."

That got the best laugh I've probably ever gotten from a customer service rep. Fortunately, she was Catholic. I think it works better if you're Catholic. So that was a good day. Plus, I'm no longer in a tiered redemption structure, so I'm pretty sure I can do whatever the hell I want. With my credit card, at least. It's a start.

Collectanea

I am often compelled to entitle these posts "miscellany" in that, well, that's all they can accurately be said to be. Today, I thought I'd see if there were any useful synonyms on offer. (Hi, Thesaurus!) And so it is that I have been introduced to collectanea. I don't think it's altogether accurate to use it here, as I believe it implies a collection of writing by various people, not just a rambly assortment by one, but is it not a lovely word? Might it not be derived from the Greek goddess of collections? May Collectanea bless your baseball cards and bobble-head dolls, to say nothing of your depression-era glass pitchers.

1. I know I have mentioned this to you before, but I don't know whether you behave like proper minions and go look at things merely because I have told you to. Just in case, I'm telling you again. Letters of Note is fascinating. Fascinating, I tell you. And it will make you wish that people wrote you real letters. Sadly, today the first thing on the home page is a letter from Axl Rose, which makes the whole thing seem slightly less elegant than usual, but then, I am a snob. Perhaps Axl Rose is the very person you most desire for a pen pal.

2. Will I ever stop needing to blow my nose every three to four minutes? Ever?

3. Will I make an ass of myself in Italian class today in that I missed the whole first week and perhaps everyone else has totally mastered the passato prossimo? I intended to turn my attention to it in quite a serious way last night, but what with one thing and another, I pretty much just watched more old episodes of a show about FBI cases being solved with math. I did also pause to put some rotten chicken in the compost (Monday night is trash-collection eve) and that incited a lengthy bout of sink-scrubbing and window-opening and regret. These things take time, Italian. What can I tell you?

4. Why is "color-blocking" seen as a good thing while "matchy-matchy" is seen as a bad thing when, to me, they are the same? (And, what's more, I like to have things match. Secretly, I think many street-fashion blogs feature people who look as though they're homeless and only have access to a dumpster from 1986. So there.)

There really is no number 5 unless you would like to hear a long story about how awful the parking is on Tuesdays, and I'm sure you'd rather not. Anyway, I'm in dire need of a Kleenex.