You can't stop the motion of the ocean or the sun in the sky

Since I have a super cool job, our Manager of all things Internet-related asked me to compile a little opinion essay on the Tonys.  Keep in mind this is toned down a little bit for a mass audience read, but here are more or less my opinions of last Sunday night.


The Tonys are my Christmas and my New Year’s and my 4th of July Fireworks. They’re my Super Bowl, my World Cup, my World Series. They’re the hot fudge on my sundae, the sizzle on my steak, the apple of my eye, the skip in my step, the bee’s knees and the cat’s meow, whiskers and pajamas. I’ve loved the Tonys since somewhere around age 8 and have looked forward to that faithful Sunday each June when I could tune into a national broadcast focused entirely on theatre. And now here I am, living in the middle of it all, seeing these shows in real life, formulating informed predictions and opinions.
 
I love the Tonys.

Until this year. Producers, you let me down, both in execution and insistence upon roping Hollywood into our night. But enough about that. Let’s focus on the good, shall we?

Production cracks aside, the opening number showed off the talent to come, and I appreciated the concept. (The screeching 14 year old inside me probably loved Green Day’s appearance. Probably.) Sean Hayes gave an adorable opening monologue, helped along by the even more adorable Kristin Chenoweth and it was onto the first award of the broadcast.

The bad: Scarlett Johansson somehow managed to win the award and oust Broadway darling Jan Maxwell from Lend Me a Tenor. Cue panic and shrieking.

The good: ScarJo’s camera moments also provided ample face time for Ryan Reynolds AND co-star Liev Shreiber. Cue much more, but seemingly calmer, shrieking.

Before I could wallow into a pool of too much ScarJo success scorn, the men of Million Dollar Quartet took the stage began to wail (in a good way) and I was happy again. And then Eddie Redmayne won a Tony for his performance in Red, so I was happier still. And then Katie Finneran of Promises, Promises and Levi Kreis of Million Dollar Quartet joined the winner’s circle and I sat on the couch positively beaming. Performances from the casts of Fela, Ragtime, La Cage aux Folles and Memphis brought on more beaming, clapping, and shrieking. (My poor roommates.)

And then Football star Mark Sanchez took the stage and again, I groaned in the producer’s general direction for being so transparent in their attempt for ratings but then actual theatrical people like Angela Lansbury and David Hyde Pierce and Kelsey Grammar, and much later in the show Bernadette Peters and Bebe Neuwirth and Nathan Lane all made me happy once more. And then, more groaning, as Catherine Zeta Jones not only butchered a Sondheim classic but somehow wrestled the Tony away from Memphis’ deserving Montego Glover. Then hit TV show Glee's Matthew Morrison and Lea Michele reminded American they were Broadway Babies before being TV's newest darlings.

And though I’d picked Alfred Molina for Best Actor in a play, I knew it would be a close race between him and Denzel Washington, so I cannot claim surprise or disappointment. At least I pegged Viola Davis for Fences and Douglas Hodge for La Cage aux Folles correctly.

Before I knew it (and after the American Idiot cast delivered yet another phenomenal performance and Spiderman graced the stage) it was time for Red and Memphis to take home the evening’s final Tonys. I’m not sure what made me happier: the fact that two deserving shows brought in so much recognition, or the fact that of the 26 categories up for grabs, I correctly predicted 19 winners. But seriously, next year let’s leave the West Coast out of this, hire new sound and camera crews and have a better go, ok?

And in honor of our big winner, Memphis: HOCKADOO!

It's not over till you're underground.

Tomorrow is one of my favorite days of the year.
TONY AWARDS SUNDAY. (I really am a gay man inside. I'm convinced of it.) Apparently I'm all aboard the Memphis and Red trains. Which is funny, because I thought I'd be more on board the Million Dollar Quartet and American Idiot trains, but when you break out the components of each piece, I do think Memphis has the majority of votes. Also, I'm finding Memphis a harder sell, so I want as many Tonys as possible behind it so I can be all see, EVERYONE loves it! You should buy tickets and keep its music going!

Hard to believe that a few years ago, the Tonys were a chance for me to look through a window and get a faint pulse on Broadway and now here I am making informed predictions. Oh life, you're funny.

So. I'm going to post my predictions (and let's face it - some explanations and rants, too) and we'll see how I do tomorrow night!

Best Play
In the Next Room or the Vibrator Play
Next Fall
Red
Time Stands Still

Best Musical
American Idiot
Fela!
Memphis
Million Dollar Quartet
(Ok. Every year I hate at least one musical nominated. So totally not the case this year. I love them all like my own darling children. I'm choosing Memphis NOT necessarily because it's my actual pick to win, I just think it's going to be the one TO win. I think Million Dollar and American Idiot are going to divide the committee in votes, and I think Memphis is going to edge out Fela! But GAH - what shows, what talent, what amazingness all around. If I had to pick a personal favorite, I'm going to have to say American Idiot with a Million Dollar Quartet a close close close close close second. But Memphis! Fela! I love love love you two too!)


Best Book of a Musical
Everyday Rapture
Fela!
Memphis
Million Dollar Quartet
(Um. Going out on a limb here. Honestly, Everyday Rapture has a hell of a shot - the other three are fantastic SHOWS but I cannot really commend the scripts for anyone other than Everyday Rapture. Especially not Million Dollar's book. I'm sorry. I can't.)

Best Original Score (Music and/or Lyrics) Written for the Theatre
The Addams Family
Enron
Fences
Memphis
(Come on. Seriously. This one isn't even a competition. Also, ENRON got nominated for something? It is seriously the worst thing Broadway saw this year, if not this decade.)

Best Revival of a Play
Fences
Lend Me a Tenor
The Royal Family
A View from the Bridge
(A View from the Bridge gave it a run for its money, but we all know Fences is winning. Like tickets weren't already hard enough to get...)

Best Revival of a Musical
Finian's Rainbow
La Cage aux Folles
A Little Night Music
Ragtime
(My heart weeps a little with this answer. I loved Ragtime. LOVED RAGTIME. And kudos to Finian's for the nod, though I hardly agree. But La Cage? Shoe-in. Really pretty high heeled shoe-in.)

Best Performance by a Leading Actor in a Play
Jude Law, Hamlet
Alfred Molina, Red
Liev Schreiber, A View from the Bridge
Christopher Walken, A Behanding in Spokane
Denzel Washington, Fences
(No snark. It's just how I feel. Sorry, Denzel and Christopher and Jude and especially Liev. You're all very pretty and talented. Well, 3 of you are very pretty.)

Best Performance by a Leading Actress in a Play
Viola Davis, Fences
Valerie Harper, Looped
Linda Lavin, Collected Stories
Laura Linney, Time Stands Still
Jan Maxwell, The Royal Family
(We all know it's happening. Cannot wait for the acceptance speech.)

Best Performance by a Leading Actor in a Musical
Kelsey Grammer, La Cage aux Folles
Sean Hayes, Promises, Promises
Douglas Hodge, La Cage aux Folles
Chad Kimball, Memphis
Sahr Ngaujah, Fela!
(I want to vote for Chad or Sahr, really I do buuuuut....I also want to be right about who wins.)

Best Performance by a Leading Actress in a Musical
Kate Baldwin, Finian's Rainbow
Montego Glover, Memphis
Christiane Noll, Ragtime
Sherie Rene Scott, Everyday Rapture
Catherine Zeta-Jones, A Little Night Music
(Oh Christiane, I loved you and Ragtime so much, but Montego had BETTER WIN. You hear me, girl? WIN.)

Best Performance by a Featured Actor in a Play
David Alan Grier, Race
Stephen McKinley Henderson, Fences
Jon Michael Hill, Superior Donuts
Stephen Kunken, Enron
Eddie Redmayne, Red
(Because I like it when cute things happen, so I want Red to sweep both actor categories.)

Best Performance by a Featured Actress in a Play
Maria Dizzia, In the Next Room or the Vibrator Play
Rosemary Harris, The Royal Family
Jessica Hecht, A View from the Bridge
Scarlett Johansson, A View from the Bridge
Jan Maxwell, Lend Me a Tenor
(Because dammit, it's Jan's turn. If ScarJo wins...ugh. Gross. I don't even want to think about it.)

Best Performance by a Featured Actor in a Musical
Kevin Chamberlin, The Addams Family
Robin De Jesús, La Cage aux Folles
Christopher Fitzgerald, Finian's Rainbow
Levi Kreis, Million Dollar Quartet
Bobby Steggert, Ragtime
(It's gross how talented this man is. And we ALL know of my love for CFitz, but Levi, you've got this one.)

Best Performance by a Featured Actress in a Musical
Barbara Cook, Sondheim on Sondheim
Katie Finneran, Promises, Promises
Angela Lansbury, A Little Night Music
Karine Plantadit, Come Fly Away
Lillias White, Fela!
(Because all 15 minutes of her performance were the one bright spot in an otherwise blah production. I'm sorry. I really wanted to like it otherwise, but I really did not.)

Best Scenic Design of a Play
John Lee Beatty, The Royal Family
Alexander Dodge, Present Laughter
Santo Loquasto, Fences
Christopher Oram, Red
(Because I love an underdog, so I want Red to beat Fences in as many categories as possible.)

Best Scenic Design of a Musical
Marina Draghici, Fela!
Christine Jones, American Idiot
Derek McLane, Ragtime
Tim Shortall, La Cage aux Folles

Best Costume Design of a Play
Martin Pakledinaz, Lend Me a Tenor
Constanza Romero, Fences
David Zinn, In the Next Room or the Vibrator Play
Catherine Zuber, The Royal Family

Best Costume Design of a Musical
Marina Draghici, Fela!
Santo Loquasto, Ragtime
Paul Tazewell, Memphis
Matthew Wright, La Cage aux Folles

Best Lighting Design of a Play
Neil Austin, Hamlet
Neil Austin, Red
Mark Henderson, Enron
Brian MacDevitt, Fences
(Red, Red, Red...)

Best Lighting Design of a Musical
Kevin Adams, American Idiot
Donald Holder, Ragtime
Nick Richings, La Cage aux Folles
Robert Wierzel, Fela!

Best Sound Design of a Play
Acme Sound Partners, Fences
Adam Cork, Enron
Adam Cork, Red
Scott Lehrer, A View from the Bridge

Best Sound Design of a Musical
Jonathan Deans, La Cage aux Folles
Robert Kaplowitz, Fela!
Dan Moses Schreier and Gareth Owen, A Little Night Music
Dan Moses Schreier, Sondheim on Sondheim

Best Direction of a Play
Michael Grandage, Red
Sheryl Kaller, Next Fall
Kenny Leon, Fences
Gregory Mosher, A View from the Bridge
(...Red, Red, Red...)

Best Direction of a Musical
Christopher Ashley, Memphis
Marcia Milgrom Dodge, Ragtime
Terry Johnson, La Cage aux Folles
Bill T. Jones, Fela!

Best Choreography
Rob Ashford, Promises, Promises
Bill T. Jones, Fela!
Lynne Page, La Cage aux Folles
Twyla Tharp, Come Fly Away
(Because if Bill can win for Spring Awakening but not Fela! I will laaaaaaugh and laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh.)

Best Orchestrations
Jason Carr, La Cage aux Folles
Aaron Johnson, Fela!
Jonathan Tunick, Promises, Promises
Daryl Waters & David Bryan, Memphis

Every rose has its thorn.

The days keep flying by and I keep meaning to get all introspective on this here page and then poof, another day is gone. Is this what it's like to be a grown up?

I've been running at a non-stop, full-tilt boogie for a little too long now and frankly, I'm exhausted. Spring brings flowers and therefore allergies and it also brings visitors for both me and my fair city, so between playing travel planner by day and personal tour guide by night, I'm a step or two beyond exhausted. Frankly, I need a couple days on the beach complete with day drinking and trashy novels before I'm going to feel anything like "normal" again. But then again, what the hell is "normal" for me anyway? This is the life I've chosen, this is chaos I willingly embraced and walked directly towards. So no complaining, right?


I saw American Idiot a couple weeks ago. I loved it, but frankly I need to see it again. Crissie and Megan have dubbed my ADD the "Oooo, shiny!" disease and being easily distracted does not lend itself well to a show with no less than 3 scenes occuring simultaneously at all times, with a hell of a lot media also happening all over the stage. But the orchestrations and the cast? Spot on. Last weekend brought Promises, Promises. It was fine. I was underwhelmed because Kristin Chenoweth decided to take the evening off (the nerve!) and her understudy was little more than a vocal mimic without the necessary acting chops or grasp of comedic timing to carry out the role. Sorry. I'm usually not an understudy hater. But this substitution definitely broke the spirit of the show.

This weekend, I'm seeing Fela which means for the first year ever, I will have seen all four shows in competition for Best Musical at the Tonys. (Well. In their Broadway forms. A couple of times I'd seen the off-Broadway versions so passed on pouring more money into almost the same show.) And while I loved Million Dollar Quartet and Memphis my money is still on American Idiot.

Yesterday marked exactly 10 years since graduating high school and finally fleeing the tiny kingdom. Tomorrow, little brother will walk the same stage to get the same degree from the same school. My ten year reunion is just over a month away The amount of things that have changed in the past decade blow my mind. I'm a lot further along than I thought I'd be in some ways, and paces behind in others. I'm nervous. I have dreams about the reunion at least once a week, which is so completely silly to admit. I'm going to try really hard to hold my head up high and march in there 100% ok with where I am now, despite it not being quite where I planned to be. No marriage or even engagement ring, no mortgage, no future plans, certainly no kids but hey, I live in New York City on my own dime and found a job that doesn't suck that I'm GREAT at so does that count for something?

I'm so completely frustrated with my weight I can't stand it. The nonstop stress leads to bad food decisions and the pounds aren't coming off this time. Sure, I don't weigh 300 pounds anymore so the weight isn't going to fall off now like it did then. I guess every other time I've put my mind to lose, I have and this time I swear my body is working against me. Size 16 for life? Geez, I hope not. That's mighty depressing.

Everything boils down to this: something big needs to happen. Soon. We all know once I begin to feel stagnant in life I freak out and I'm very much feeling stuck right about now. I pray the winds of change blow my way soon because I'm tired of whining and you're tired of listening.

It's you I like.

When I was four, I didn't know much. I especially didn't know there were things in my life I didn't like and didn't treasure and didn't know I'd one day crave. I didn't know that one day naps would become a luxury. I didn't know quiet time could be a reward instead of a punishment. I thought holding hands was stupid. I didn't like green beans. Or pineapple. Or anything not made out of bread and cheese. I had no idea how important family was, and how lucky I was to be born into mine. I didn't know I'd one day cry myself to sleep over flaws I didn't yet recognize. I didn't know I was a drama queen, emotional basketcase, future fat kid, or at all unbalanced.

And of course, I knew nothing of the people I'd one day meet and love or the places I'd see or the things I'd do. Four year old Alison had yet to be tainted with high school or ignorance and wasn't broken by cruel words and ridiculous people and didn't know anything about all she'd learn in college and New York and beyond. She had no idea she should do anything but love and play and imagine.

This week, 27 year old Alison saw Everyday Rapture...the story behind Sherie Rene Scott's rise to Broadway fame. I loved it. (Note: non-Broadway snobs, don't bother. You'll spend much of the show giving the quizzical "huh?" looks my roommate shot my way each time I erupted into peels of laughter over the morsels of obscure theatrical tidbits thrown my way.) And for no real reason whatsoever, other than to pay homage to a great man, Sherie serenaded us with a song I listened to as often as I could when I was four.

That's right...Mr. Roger's It's You I Like


It's you I like,
It's not the things you wear,
It's not the way you do your hair--
But it's you I like
The way you are right now,
The way down deep inside you--
Not the things that hide you,
Not your toys--
They're just beside you.

But it's you I like--
Every part of you,
Your skin, your eyes, your feelings
Whether old or new.
I hope that you'll remember
Even when you're feeling blue
That it's you I like,
It's you yourself,
It's you, it's you I like.


Suddenly I realized, I did know a heck of a lot when I was four. Because when I was four, I knew the important reasons behind liking people. And I hope that every day moving forward, I sing these words to myself to remember again and sink further into that whole "big picture" mentality we late-twenty-somethings are eventually supposed to relax into.

Every time I see your face, my heart takes off on a high speed chase

Ok. Fine. I might never finish the European tales. Surprised? I'm not. There's still Florence and Paris and Volterra and Pisa to discuss and every time I try I get frustrated and abort mission. Pansy.

Anyhoo. Life in this neck of the woods got real exciting, real fast. Somehow, I survived another January and February (and those of you who work in hospitality know what I mean) and now things are crazy busy between work and networking events (ahem...cocktail parties) and the new season of Broadway shows. This week I saw Sondheim on Sondheim and Million Dollar Quartet.

In short:
Sondheim is one funny motherf'er and hearing Norm Lewis sing "Being Alive" ranks as one of my favorite moments as an audience member ever. Great show...if you like Sondheim and know his work inside and out.
Million Dollar Quartet left me pink cheeked from all the squealing. I'd rank it in top 10 for quality of performances. 4 actors portray Jerry Lee Lewis, Elvis Presley, Carl Perkins and Johnny Cash as they meet in Memphis one December evening to record their greatest songs. Heartfelt and amazing and my God, the talent. Please succeed. Please let everyone go see this and please let everyone love it and please award the talent involved the recognition they deserve.

Enough about that. I'm also here to tell you tales about how I'm becoming a real live New Yorker.
Exhibit A: Subway Behaviors
This week, I took the subway from one of my work locations to my office somewhere in the neighborhood of rush hour. (Then again, when isn't it rush hour?) As the doors opened at my destination, a crowd begin to rush the door. Nope. This is how it works people: I get off then you may get on. So. I stood there, arms folded, smile on my face until a path was cleared for me. There was some grumbling from outside, but certainly some chuckles from within.
The next morning, I boarded my subway car and to my delight found a 3 person bench with two people on it. And one person's bag. So I said hey buddy, wanna move that? He muttered something but obliged.

Exhibit B: The movies
Tonight, Megan and I saw Hot Tub Time Machine. Ridiculous. Hilarious. Definitely NOT this year's "The Hangover" but whatever will be again? The twerps in front of me thought I was too loud. (Yeah. I NEVER get that. So weird.) And when I say "twerps" that's me being polite because they were about 14 years old but in reality, complete little shits. The more they complained about my hearty laugh, the further forward I leaned and the louder I boomed.

Exhibit C: Dry Cleaner's Etiquette
My dry cleaner has a habit of losing my things. Usually it's my skirts. My jacket comes back. My pants come back. My skirts get lost. But last time, it was one of my shirts. And not one of my Filene's Basement $15 shirts. (Exhibit D: I shop at Filene's Basement.) My Calvin Klein shirt (Exhibit E: I also own LABELS and care about them). So I walked in, bitched him out, got my shirt back, and some free dry cleaning for the next go around.


My final tidbit of the evening is to tell you that I'm about to start Alli. Everyone I tell this to groans and tells me they hope I don't poop myself and to be wary of oily discharge and a bunch of other gross but delightfully humorous in a TMI way things. My friend Katie and I were talking it over, and we have decided a new turn for my blog to take will be a section I will call "Ali on Alli." It will probably go a little something like this:
Dear Blog,
Today I pooped myself!

or
Dear Blog,
Today I didn't poop myself!

I'll let you know exactly how it goes.

Something has changed within me. Something is not the same. I'm through with playing by the rules of someone else's game.

If you know me at all, you probably know at least a handful of Absolute Truths about Alison. And probably one of the best known Absolute Truths is (was?) my overwhelming fear of being alone.

Since moving to New York, the fear morphed to discomfort, and the discomfort has now settled into a considerably more tolerable "feh. I'd rather not." That being said, when I took off for Italy, I knew there'd be a solo day or two, and I knew my old fears would likely reappear when introduced to a strange new setting. I gave Taryn a preparatory talk instructing her that, under no circumstances, is she to allow Old Alison to seize control of Alison v.2.0. I would spend time alone in a foreign country and I would like it, dammit.

After our Rome adventure, I did spend a day of rest and managed a walk into Ponsacco only to discover everything was closed. But since Tuesday promised pretty blue skies, Taryn dropped me off at the train station en route to work, and I set out solo for Cinque Terre. This involved an hour or so train ride to La Spezia, and then a transfer to the "local" trains that run through these adorably quaint little mountain-on-the-beach towns.

Despite the fact that I hadn't packed proper mountain gear, I decided to take the train all the way through to town number 5, Monterosso, and then hike my way back through to Vernazza, Corniglia, Manarola and Riomaggiore. How hard could it be?

Hard.

How lucky am I to have experience it?

Extremely.

There is nothing - nothing - like taking a train from anytown, Italy through a mountain tunnel and arriving in a place that feels like it just may be on a completely different planet from anything you've ever known. And there is nothing (nothing) like a 2 hour hike over mountain cliffs dangling over the sea.


As I hiked, I laid little pieces of my former self to rest along that trail and bid them a long, eternal sleep. I said goodbye to alone-aphobic Alison, because she never would have had the guts to take in this view:

And I gave peace to 300 pound Alison, who never would have made it across the narrow paths and up and down the mountains.

I giggled at workaholic Alison and thanked her for loosening the reigns on her blackberry long enough to take this picture:

And I wished luck to bitter Alison and said a quiet prayer of thanks for the opportunity to stroll Lover's Lane at all, even without my hand in someone else's.
(And I wished luck to future Alison, in the hopes that someday, she'll get the chance to clasp hands, hearts, and clang down a lock over there here bars.)







Cinque Terre ranks high on the list of coolest things I've ever experienced. I'm glad I didn't let fear strap me to the couch that day. And in some odd little way, it's something I'm almost grateful to have experienced alone because nothing can quite touch the feeling of learning something new about yourself while you listen to your feet thud and heart race between the hills and sea.

It's got to happen, happen sometime...Maybe this time I'll win.

You know, maybe there is something to be said for this jetlag business. I was pleasantly snoozing by 9:30 last night, and wide awake at 3 this morning. After an hour of fighting it, I tossed back the covers, bid good morning to Maggie (who is still quite upset with me for abandoning her) and started my day. I've already responded to work emails, chatted with Taryn, brewed a pot of coffee, toasted a bagel, done a little light pilates and stretching, showered, and straightened my hair before the time I'm usually even out of bed. So now before I dust off my suit and prepare to fight the elements en route to the subway (there's a blizzard out there, y'all) I'll talk to you for a bit. Several people have asked when the stories will begin, and I can only get away with the "I'm re-adjusting and decompressing" excuse for so long.

So, Rome. After the previously detailed prosciutto-in-the-throat incident, we returned home, reviewed maps, and clamored into bed. We awoke the following morning to a hotel-provided continental breakfast, once again consulted the map, and set off in search of a "Roma Pass," as directed by Rick Steves.


Side note: before you go trapsing all over Europe, get yourself a guidebook. I highly recommend Rick Steves, as he as an uncanny ability to make history and mundane details funny and he does a great job of pointing out strange new customs you'll want to be familiar with before traveling.




So, Rick tells us to go back to Termini, find the Tourist Information (which I never would have found without his directions) and invest in a Roma Pass. 23 Euro, and it covers your public transportation for 3 days, free entry for the first two sites you visit, and discounted entry for all sites thereafter. Being that the Colosseum/Roman Forum are two of the most expensive sites to visit, we hopped on the metro and hit them up first.

Behold, the Colosseum. Glorious, huh? 1500 years old, and still packin' in those crowds daily. We had just enough time to arrive, point and laugh at the crowds waiting to BUY their tickets, scan in with our Roma Passes, walk into the main circle...and then run right back under cover due to a pretty heavy albeit brief rain storm. This happened the entire weekend. Little rainstorms peppered with bits of blue skies and sunlight. Thankfully, we were usually near some kind of shelter to dash under, wait five minutes, and then re-attempt our Roman exploration.




















So after the Colosseum comes the Roman Forum which we mainly used as a way to get even more kickass shots of the Colosseum. Am I right?


Don't get me wrong - ruins are cool, but once you've seen one ruin, you've basically seen them all and I could only gasp "I can't get OVER how OLD that slab of ROCK is" so many times. Although, we did see the place where Caesar's body was burned after his death, and that's pretty nifty. Marching on, we hit up the Victor Emmanuel monument and found a place to stop for lasagna (Taryn) and pizza (me). Bellies full and bodies rehydrated and recaffeinated, we consulted the map a dozen more times and set off in search of the Pantheon. Which looks like this:and should not be confused with the Parthenon, which is in Greece and looks like this:

Right, Taryn?

So the Pantheon is also called "Rome's Umbrella" (at least according to Rick Steves) and as it was time for yet another rain shower, we used it for precisely such before heading inside to St. Maria's Basilica, final resting place of Raphael and home to one incredibly large duomo.

From there, we headed over to Trevi Fountain which was crowded and incredible and we stood entirely too long snapping pictures and listening to the water bubble and the crowds delight in goodness knows what.









Next up, I got us good and lost, Taryn rescued us, and we made our way to the Spanish Steps and Shopping Triangle. As I do not shop at Gucci and Armani in New York, I elected not to in Rome, either, but it was still fun to see. And take too many pictures of.

Back to our faithful hotel, where we cleaned up a bit. After the disaster known as last night's dinner, we decided to consult a more reliable source - yup, Rick Steves. He pointed us to a restaurant not at all far from the hotel and boy hidey, once he once again right on the money. Delicious, incredible, and wonderful, with a kindhearted staff and amazing food. In Rome, it seemed that no one wanted to practice Italian with us or introduce us to their customs. They heard an American accent, and they immediately wrote us off as dumb tourists. But not at this restaurant. I could tell the waiter loved Taryn's anxiousness to learn and to try. I just sat back and smiled. And reveled in the perfect food and wine. And thanked GOD that this place was the polar opposite of the last night's "find" in every way, from the way there was plenty of time between courses to the way the waiter took made polite suggestions to the way we actually wanted to stay for dessert to the way the prosciutto slid right down my throat.

Sunday was a little more tedious and a little less adventuresome. We went and stood in line to get in free to the Vatican Museum. And spent the following two hours battling idiot tour guides who stopped their groups in doorframes and stairwells, all the way up to the Sistine Chapel. Which was beautiful, but also packed with grown-up lunchroom monitors who suuuuuussssshhhhhhed all too often. Rick Steves suggested we exit at a little door to the back right of the chapel, which led us right up to St. Peter's Basilica. Have I mentioned lately how much I love Rick Steves? So we did. And we were greeted with the Pope's voice, hosting his Sunday Papal audience to the anxious crowds gathered under umbrellas inside the Vatican City's walls. Pretty neat, huh?

Onward and into St. Peter's. Which. Is. HUGE. (Thatswhatshesaid.) I mean, this space could easily lodge about 20 of my hometown churches. And even though I'm Lutheran, which is about as anti-Catholic as Christianity can get, I don't know. There was certainly something magical lurking here. I loved every second I spent inside, and it certainly calmed all the frazzled nerves brought about by the idiot crowds of the Museum.

Outside Vatican City, Taryn managed to locate a Chinese restaurant. Being that her favorite cuisine before she moved to Italy was Chinese and that Chinese (hell, anything other than Italian) restaurants are few and far between where she lives, I indulged her. It was bad, but I got some gelato later so I don't really care. Then, it was time to head back to our hotel, grab our bags, and catch a train back to Ponsacco.

Up next: Cinque Terre and Florence!

But I don't know no love songs. And I can't sing the blues, anymore.

I really was going to blog.

I was going to tell you lots of stories of losing myself in the beauty and finding myself, and finding God and happiness too. And I hope that once I get back, I'll be able to remember clearly enough to articulate how exactly I felt while climbing in the mountains of Cinque Terre or trapsing along the rain-soaked cobblestones of Florence, how good the food and wine were while we enjoyed them for hours high atop a mountain somewhere between Livorno and Ponsacco, and what if felt like to experience Paris for the first time with two of my nearest and dearest. I hope I do, but perhaps I won't and perhaps all we really need to know is that for the past two weeks I've been just plan happy, and full of life and love and too much cheese.

Don't worry. There will at least be pictures. That, I can promise you. Sometimes I think the reason I take so damn many is because they do a much better job of doing justice to things words never can. Of course, the pictures can't come close to the memories, but I at least like the opportunity to try and share something with you.

But for now, I'm off in search of vampires. Yup.

Andiamo!

Before anybody gives me any sort of crap about "wasting" time online while in Italy - let me make something very clear. This is my vacation. So even though it will be spent largely in part by trapsing all over this GORGEOUS country, sometimes I do just want to sit down and veg out and tell you all about my adventures.

It's about 10 AM here in Ponsacco. I'm sitting here with fresh coffee and biscotti and yes, I have just done a tiiiiny bit of work. Taryn and I returned from Rome last night and boy, will there ever be lots to tell you (and show you!) in the coming days.

After 7 hours on a plane across the Atlantic Ocean (and with a rude European's seat fully reclined into my lap), 3 hours in London's Heathrow airport, and 2 more hours on a much much tinier plane, I arrived in Pisa. And luckily, finally engaged my travel instinct and found Taryn. (How in the WORLD did people live before cell phones???) Europeans are funny people. Heathrow was out of control at 6:30 in the morning, full of loud people and a myriad of languages and absolutely and positively NO QUEUES and yet somehow, things get done faster and with more expertise than any American way I've ever seen. I ordered a coffee with milk at Pret a Manger and was immediately corrected "FILTER! WHITE!" before being asked for payment. And yet, somehow, none of this was done in any sort of rude way. Europeans are just generally faster and more passionate in any crowded situation. The gate for my Pisa flight was not even announced until 10 minutes before flight time and, by-george, we still took off on time and landed early. American and their lines and 45 minute boarded processes have nothing on these people.

But I really didn't come here to talk to you about airports and queues. Upon landing in Italy, Taryn treated me to a cafe macchiato which is NOT that very large caramel flavored thing you order at Starbucks. "Cafe" means a shot of espresso, macchiato means steamed milk. Cappucini simply have even more milk than a cafe macchiato and are ONLY to be consumed at breakfast time...to order any time post noon will certainly draw gasps of exasperation. I spent the next few hours volunteering at Girl Scouts North Atlantic Headquarters, where Taryn works. Her darling coworker apologized for welcoming me to Italy and putting me to work. My take? If I have to do something mundane, might as well at least do it in Italy. Taryn drove us home and I marveled over her new Italian driving skills and mastery of traffic circles. She then welcomed me with a lovely little antipasti platter before her friend Rachel joined us. Dinner that night brought "real" pizza (yuuuum!) and a stroll through Ponsacco before limoncello and a pastry. Home again, I gotta say, having not slept in 48 hours, a bed and pajamas have never felt so good.

I awoke Friday morning and again accompanied Taryn to work, as we had planned to catch a train in the afternoon for Rome. Some packet assembly kept me nice and occupied, and then it was off to Livorno to park the car and hop a train. Taryn took some time to explain the Italian train system so that I'll be prepared for this week's solo daytrips. 4 hours later, we arrived in Rome and navigated through Termini (Rome's main train hub) and onto the rainy streets, where I navigated us to our hotel without much fanfare. (Travel tip - Romans apparently consider some streets optional and therefore elect to not put them on maps, leaving dumb tourists to wonder "Am I going the right way?" far too often. Also, this New Yorker CERTAINLY missed her gridded, numbered streets.) We checked into the Hotel Stella, which had offered a nice and low rate and proved to have clean (though tiny) rooms, private baths and ample accomodations for our needs. Being a concierge meant my first instinct was to ask the front desk for a dinner recommendation. We set off (in the rain) for La Famiglia, and were greeted with a multi-lingual menu and grumpy staff. Though the food was tasty, this was clearly a tourist trap, start to finish. Over-priced, and courses were served on top of each other, which is NOT the way it had been promised to me. My gnocchi was divine, but my cut of lamb was a joke and resulted in MAYBE 10 good bites, as the rest was all fat and bone. Also, I got a piece of prosciutto stuck in my throat during the antipasti course, which left me very uncomfortable for the duration of the meal. It's funny now (hey Alison - remember that time you got a piece of ham stuck in your throat??) but seemed a disaster at the time.

We left without bothering with dessert or cafe (a sin in Italy) and headed home to study the map, set the next day's agenda, and fall into bed. And as this entry has grown too long, I'll pause here to allow you to digest this tale's antipasti and pasta courses before I dive into the much heavier secondi pasti and meat courses. (Did I really just compare a blog entry to an Italian meal???) Besides, I'd really like to locate a camera cord so that I may begin to punctuate these stories with pictures!

And, it's high time I showered and started my day, anyhoo. You know, this is my first "grown up vacation" where I didn't just fly to Charlotte or Birmingham or simply head to the beach for the weekend. It still astounds me that I have over a week in this lovely place!

But for now, ciao ciao!

Blessed is the Fruit of the Loom.

I have several halfway witty posts saved in drafts that I never quite finished. Perhaps one day they'll get done. But then a week and a half of work got in the way and now I'm sitting here staring dumbfounded at my suitcase wondering how to place 2 weeks of life into so small a space.

I can pretty much guarantee you there will be no posts until I've returned. Maybe I'll surprise us all, though.

In the meantime, I am off to Italy to see this one.

Hey, T...remember that time you WOULDN'T LET GO OF MY HEAD??

Once I get to Italy and we go to Rome and I go to Florence and Cinque Terre and whatever else I feel like doing, Taryn and I will board a plane together to go to Paris and see this one:
(C'est ma cousine, Lexie!)

Alright, y'all. Back to this packing nonsense. Ciao!