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Showing posts from September, 2009


I went to Italy with the intention of finding some really good, old stuff.

I've come home from Italy without finding anything.

Well, of course, that's not true in the metaphorical sense. I re-discovered friendships and cemented old ones. And I saw lots and lots of good, old stuff. I just couldn't get any of that into my suitcase. Italy is just chocked full of old stuff--thousands of years-old stuff, in fact. And pardon me if I've misunderstood all the issues of Progressive Architecture and Elle Design, but supposedly it's also full of really new, groovy stuff--Italian designed shoes and clothes and light fixtures and hip, chrome, minimalist furniture. Italian design. So, somewhere around that country, I thought, there would be at least a couple centuries worth of stuff floating around somewhere in between, you know, Marcus Agrippa and Donatella Versace.

There had to be someplace where Italian women dump their old Prada shoes and Mussolini-era cigarette lighters? Those…
A fellow writer friend of mine has given me a bit of grief over writing a blog, basically stating the old wisdom: 'why will they buy the cow if they're getting the milk for free?' Although, since he is a novelist, he used something more creative and more PC, and it's telling I can't remember what it was.

During the '70's my mother pointed out--perhaps reasonably, in retrospect--that your basic corner whore was smarter than those academic feminists who declared that not only did good girls do it on the first date, good girls should do it on the first date. "At least the whores are getting paid something for the job they do. And if those women think being able to go out and work their asses off at some office and then go home and put out for free is going to make them liberated, they've got another thought coming." She took a dramatic drag on her Pall Mall. "I tell you: work like a horse--they're gonna ride you like one."

Fair enough…