Propaganda

If my perfect Roman apartment had a favorite restaurant, this would be it.
Caffè Propaganda, I am in love with you. Say you miss me.

Foolishly, I neglected to take a picture of the restaurant (though I did take a picture of my dinner), but other people were not so remiss.

You should click on this one to see all of it. In fact, I insist.

It's is from here.

See that high table by the door? I sat right there. Quite near the charming hostess and within easy ogling distance of the gorgeous bar.

This one is from here, which is a very useful website, indeed.

After a tiresome/worrying delay waiting for the #87 bus, I only just made it before they stopped serving dinner, but the hostess, who was extremely charming (and beautiful and wearing very tall shoes that seemed not to give her the slightest trouble), took pity on me. I had Prosecco, green salad, and pasta della Nona, followed by Marco Polo tea from Mariage Frères, which is my very favorite tea. They were puzzled why I would be ordering tea at 11pm, but they still served it with fetchingly mismatched china, including a tall, long-spouted pot painted with flowers and lovers of yesteryear.

On the whole, I was dizzy with happiness. Upon my departure, I thanked the hostess very effusively for being so kind and we clutched each other's hands and beamed at each other dazzlingly as though we had shared some experience rather more bonding than a dinner which only one of us ate.

I could look at pictures of Caffè Propaganda all day long. In fact, I sometimes do. If you think we may have this in common, prego; here are lots.

School days

The students are back.

I am happy to report that, after the long, arid days of summer, eavesdropping is once more a fruitful activity. Welcome back, you crazy kids. You amuse me.

Friday confessional

I expect that you got excited there for a minute, didn't you? Thinking that "Friday Confessional" was going to be some new feature. Well, first of all, it should be pretty clear by now that this is a platform devoid of "features." Unless "I actually wrote something!" counts as a feature, which, for me, it does. Besides, there's a whole bunch of stuff that I'll never admit to you, so no. No regular confessions, but I have to get this off my chest. If you are in San Francisco, you might want to take a deep breath; this is probably going to upset you.

I like "Call Me, Maybe". Yes. I said it. Would I want it to be the only song I was able to hear for the rest of my life? No. But, if it comes on, I will turn up the radio in the car and I will sing along in a spirited fashion, especially relishing the part about "all the other boys try to chase me" a phenomenon of which I have no personal experience whatsoever. Partially, those Olympic swimmers really sealed it for me. Is there a more adorable girl in all the land than Missy Franklin? I think not. But even without Missy lip syncing in my mind, it's awfully catchy. If it comes on when I'm on my way to work, I arrive more cheerful than if it does not. So there.


Furthermore, I like "We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together." That's right. I am a grown woman and I like "We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together." Indeed, I have more than one past relationship where I wish I would have arrived at that very conclusion much sooner. Was I in high school at the time? Um...no.


You know what else? I have never heard of a great many of the bands who played Outside Lands this year. And, finally, I recently discovered that I don't like Yeasayer. I tried. I failed.

There. I feel better. Have a good weekend. I invite you to dance in your living room or sing along soulfully into your hairbrush to whatever secretly makes you smiley.

Roma--cinque

I'm going to tell you a dark secret. Please keep it to yourself. I wish I had not even gone to the Vatican Museum. I know. Shhhh. Believe me, I feel quite guilty about this, but it was just way, way too crowded for me. And hot, of course. I think it is what Coachella must be like, only with sculpture instead of music and no freedom to just sort of give up on the whole thing. Why? Because you are penned in on all sides by tour groups from 18 countries. Seriously, no matter how magnificent the spectacle, at no point do I want to be so close to hundreds of strangers that the overriding odor is not sweat, which, of course, was in abundant supply, but halitosis.

I felt horrible that I wasn't filled with awe. I tried very hard to be filled with awe, but by the time I got to the Sistine Chapel I was almost desperate to get out. I find this in my journal, "Catholic treasures, I'm sorry I couldn't better admire you. The Lord made too many people."

Still, it is quite amazing to be at the site of so much history, even if your overriding emotion is not one that Jesus advocated.

Here are some things I had room to enjoy:

If I happen to be in Rome some February, I'll go back and try again.

Well, that was easy

Just this very minute, I took something that was half-done on my Life List and completed it. That feels good.

Number 95. Contribute annually to NPR and Planned Parenthood. These are both organizations that matter to me. They are not the only organizations that I contribute to, but they are two that I found I was giving to some years and not others. I wanted to commit to send something, no matter how small the amount, every year, to each of them. In the last year or so, KQED introduced a monthly contribution plan among their membership options and I was quick to jump on board. I don't even feel the impact of the monthly $5, but I do feel proud about honoring a commitment I made to myself.

Still, I hadn't gotten it together on the Planned Parenthood front. Willy-nilly is not a great philanthropic strategy, but it seemed to be the one I was sticking to. Just now, it occurred to me to check if they had a similar monthly option. Of course, they do. Well, sheesh. Why didn't you just say so instead of sending me so many darn solicitation letters? Done.

Is it a great deal of money? No. But I don't have a great deal of money, so that's fair enough. Besides, this works out to slightly more than I would be giving if I wrote a check once a year and it's painless to spread it over twelve months. Besides, I know from my long experience in nonprofits, when they say any amount makes a difference, they mean it. If you're faltering, know that giving something truly is better than giving nothing--assuming, of course, you have anything available to give.

I really recommend the automatic monthly contribution; if only doing the right thing were always so easy. If you have greater financial capacity, by all means, dole out larger monthly allotments, but let's all stand up for things we care about, shall we? Maybe we could save the world, five bucks at a time. It's worth a shot, right?