Laundry Day

This morning was devoted to laundry.

Had the place to myself, which was pleasant. Only the occasional person came by. One bum asked for 50 cents for caffe and I gave it to him.

Felt good to actually be doing something. The tromping around and staring at art has been good, but at a certain point, I am just not good at enforced leisure. I require work.

I also feel like not quite as big a wimp once I caught the news and the temp. 13 degree C during the day and a whopping 2 degree C at night. In other words, fucking freezing. My LA skin wants to hide.

Today, I'm off to the park and possibly the English Cemetary. Dunno. Haven't fully decided yet. Whatever the plan ends up being, I am not heading to the Fortezza. Hanging around the photography seems to scare people off. So, none for me.

Tomorrow is the Gala Dinner for the Biennale. I realized I brought completely inappropriate clothes and I had a decision to make. I could be stylish and freeze, or I could be warm.

Warm has won.

In other news, it's been gratifying if odd to see the Biennale on the local TV here and to hear it being advertised on the radio. It's one thing to know something's a big deal. It's another to be hit in the face with it.

And in the complete non-sequiter: Dolph Lundgren and Chuck Norris are huge in Italia. Who knew?

So that's me. Off to tromp. Think good shooting thoughts. It's an exceptionally gray and overcast day. We'll see what I get.

Down to the Arno and Back

Yeah, so much for the English Cemetary.

I went the opposite direction.

I'm glad that I did. The day ended up being an awesome shooting day. The overcast ended up being what I refer to as God's Own Diffuser. Perfect, even light.

After that, I ended up at the cafe for a caffe americano to thaw out.

Speaking of caffe, the shit that they serve in the States is a pale joke to what real caffeine can be. I'm going to miss it when I get home.

I will say that I'm going to miss the ability to walk wherever I want to go when I get back to LA. The old Missing Persons song is still too apt. No one walks in LA, because frankly, no one can. The sprawl is just too damn spread out. And pub trans is a joke. It's times like this when I curse that LA has no real rail, the way that Tokyo and London do, or local things to walk to, the way it is here in Florence, the way it is in San Francisco.

Tonight, I'm in search of a plate of ravioli.

* * *

Today is also the anniversary of the day my father died. I lit an electric candle for him at the local church. It left a little to be desired, but it was in front of a plaque of St. Francis.

It's been five years. I still miss him more than I can say. But today, it's just melancholy and wistfulness. The painful grief stage has passed, at least today. I know he's proud of me. I know he looks out for me and for my Mouse.

But not being able to email him all about what I'm seeing here... Well, until the Summerlands get a T3 connection, I'm left with talking to the sky.

I love you, Poppa Bear. Take care of my little cat for me.