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.