Who's Reading My Gmail?

Everytime I open a letter on my gmail site I get a list of advertisers on the page.
Every advertiser relates in some way to words within my letter. If I write that my back hurts and I'd like to get a massage - voila'! - pain management centers, chiropractors, massage therapists, or any sellers of services relating to that text, no matter how vaguely, will appear. Wow. (Don't want to use too many exclamation marks. I heard it was a girlie thing and who'd want to be accused of that?) I digress.
So, wow, not only is Google reading my mail but they're selling it to others. It's like having all these people looking over my shoulder. They're not just looking over my shoulder, they're invading my private space. I used to think of my private space as the area within two feet of my physical being. But now I think about it as the space inside my head, where I keep my most private musings. What are all these "stuff sellers" doing there? And how free is this email service really?
This leads to the really creepy thoughts about who's out there spying on me? You may be concerned about the NSA, FBI, CIA or even Mossad but I wonder how GM or GE or Pfizer will use this info to talk me into buying things I don't need - to separate me from my hard earned dollers. Or maybe the newest political party will use my thoughts to prey on me, my fears and concerns.
Do I have to go back to snail mail? Does Verizon record my telephone calls and sort through my words? To what end I couldn't guess.
I'm starting to get a little nuts now. Maybe I'll have to stop communicating all together.
Uh, oh. No talking? No writing? Is that like no water?
If I think about it, I have to guess that someone has probably been reading my email since the start. So, I'll continue doing what I've been doing for so long - spilling my guts on the electronic page but maybe not all my guts.

Almost Christmas

I'm back from Rome and pretty well settled into my old, new routine in Montclair. I just wanted to say hi to anyone who might still be checking in. I may be gearing up for a new adventure. I thought I may have found a new adventure in a known place but it didn't pan out. But I'm ever hopeful and positive.
Have a wonderful Christmas and easy on the resolutions for the New Year.
Talk soon,
E

In the home stretch

Do you realize these guys are expected to protect the Pope? If you wanted serious protection
Hey, where’ve you all gone? What happen to the zippy repartee’? Where’s all the great advice? Don’t you want to know if I’ve finally gotten to San Andrea Delle Quirinale? Well, I did and more. Went to Orvieto and saw Signorelle’s “Last Judgement”. It cost me four euros to see it. I don’t believe Signorelle slept one minute while he painted that.
I never saw devils so fiendishly and energetically going about their work. Actually they were downright enthusiastic.

I little devil relief. Take a close look at this. This is the first bikini. Circa 100BC. I never noticed if there was a bottom.
I don't think so.




I can’t decide if I can’t wait to come home or if I need another few weeks to understand the Romans.
There are moments when I feel I’ve made a real connection and other times when I absolutely know that I’d die if I knew what they were really thinking.
They’re generally pretty nice if they’re trying to sell you something. That's mean and unkind and I promised myself I'd learn to be nicer. So far it's not working. In truth you must love the Romans because they have the great good sense to live in a wonderful place filled with great stuff.
Here’s a quick list:
Caravaggio
Raphael
Filipino LIppi
Bernini,
Borromini
Michaelangelo
Fab boots
Cool costume jewelry
One euro transporation
Vino, vino, vino
Gorgonzola dolce
Farneses, Borheses, Phamphilis Roveres
Trams, metro and ferroverie
Gorgeous men
Gorgeous men
Gorgeous men
Oh, and have I mentioned…. Gorgeous men?
And for you out there who would like to comment on how smashingly funny I am, don’t bother, I’ve been told.
Here are some of my photos and the things I’ve been seeing.






Later,
Emelia

Stll Walking, may be crawling soon.

My oh my have I traveled. See those feet? They're 4" shorter then when I began this trek. You'd never guess what these feet have seen ... and what these feet have avoided. It's amazing what the Romans will leave on their sidewalks.



It's definitely not Montclair, NJ. It's probably not like anywhere where any of you live. But it's neat and I get to see it every day.
More then half my time here has passed and part of me can't wait to be home again and there's a part that knows I'm going to miss this like crazy.
I've been doing this online thing for over 6 weeks now and hope you're reading it and enjoying what I've had to say. Please don't be shy about responding. I want to hear from all of you. I think its been a real kick.





Later

Lost in Roma, Not a bad place to be.

I miss all the great map readers, direction knowers, east, west, north, south direction finders who’ve been here. The people who know without needing a compass which way the river is, which way the piazza this or the palazzo that is simply because they’re been there once. The Pats, Mikes and even the Angelas of this world who can point me in the right direction without looking at the map for 15 minutes. What happened to my internal compass? What happened God? Why wasn’t I given that knowledge? Why do I walk into the street and immediately feel confused? Is this fair? Is this right?
How many times do I have to go to the lavandaria before I know whether to turn right or left? Will five times be the charm? Huh, huh. I was standing in front of Andrea delle Valle, trying not to cry, looking right, looking left. My son-in-law is not saying a thing. He’s a very nice guy because I know he’s thinking stuff I don’t want to hear and he has the good grace not to say it.
“Hmmm, let me think? Angela said the river is right, right? No, no, she said she thought the river – right but it was not. But do I have to go towards the river to get to the wash and dry or do I have to go,,.. Oh, God, I’m lost again.
F… it, take a chance. Go right. Whoopiie! Correctomundo. God is great, God is good. We thank you for the right direction. Amen.
Amen brothers and sisters, talk later.

The Good, The Bad, The Crazy

When coming to Italy you must be wary of two kinds of workers. They live on the edge of reason and can blow at any time. The first are the cashiers at Despar (supermarket) on the Torre Argentina. They are fevered in their quest for exact change. They will not change a fifty. Well, maybe they would if your bill was 49.98, but don’t try it if your bill is 19.65 or 32.78. They will absolutely refuse to change a big bill and will sit there with their hand out, shaking their heads, rolling their eyeballs and commiserating with the nearly rioting customers backing up behind you. It’s a terrifying ordeal. This is their job: They sit in a chair, ask you if you want a “borsa”, push your items over the computer reader, sometimes twice if need be, tell you your amount in the fastest Italian possible, responding to your quizzical look by whipping the amount viewer in your direction, then they slump into their chair preparing for the inevitable battle of the coins with a look of utter hopelessness because they know. They know without a doubt that you won’t have anything near the exact amount. If by some trick of fate you do have the exact amount they throw it into the cash register with barely a nod.
The other day I was positive I was going to outsmart these toughies. I had my credit card in my pocket at the ready. Why hadn’t I thought about this before? What a simple solution - always the exact amount. Easy no? Easy? No.
Totally cocky, with a smirk on my face, I whipped that credit card from my pocket and handed it to that cashier. She eyeballed the credit card, looked at me and asked as she leaned back in her chair with the same hopeless look I’d come to know well. “I.D.” she asked? Foiled again! I couldn’t find the copy of my passport I thought I always carried with me and I had to empty my backpack to find enough money to pay her while she and the guy behind me clucked their tongues to a crescendo
Now all anyone has to do is whisper “Despar” and I break into a sweat. But I’m formulating a plan to master my fear. I’ll let
you know how it works out.



These are the people I had breathing down my neck at Despar. You can only see their backs but believe there's murder in their eyes.

The second kinds of worker to watch out for are bathroom attendants. I don’t know if something truly horrible happened to these women in a previous incarnation or when they left home this morning but there is no denying it had to be traumatic. You can find these attendants in public bathrooms in the Borghese Gardens, the Palentine, the Colosseum, almost anywhere there is a public bathroom. These women are way beyond huffing, puffing and eyeball rolling. They go for the full-throated, eardrum-damaging yell. They are equal opportunity screamers, shaking their mops at every race, creed and socio-economic group. Of course they always do it in Italian so I think it makes it that much more frightening for us who do not speak the language.
Why are they off their feed? On the surface of things it seems to be: A. Women going into the men’s toilet. B. Men going into the women’s toilet. An easy mistake if the doors are open, they look alike. C. Anyone goes anywhere if the floors are recently mopped. D. You need to puke. E. Your wife needs to puke and you follow her. F. You knock something over. G. You move too quickly. H. You just won’t listen to the damn instructions – you idiot.
I thought the girls at Despar were scary until I saw one of these women in action. It was enough to stop me from peeing for the whole day. And when they start yelling at you they can’t seem to stop themselves. One man was followed half way up the steps of the Palatine Hill, I thought he was going to cry I never saw what happened to his wife. She was probably made a prisoner in the stall. It could really happen you know. Anything is possible. You just don’t know what we’re dealing with here. Ask Pat. Ask Angela. They’ll vouch for me.
Do you think these women are tested and hired just for these character…traits? Could the department of arts and parks or whoever is in charge, examin these people and like what they see? Is aggressive toilet maintenance beneficial to the city?
Are they trying to save …water? Soap? Toilet paper? Please, someone let me know, I haven’t peed in 3 days.



This lady has an actual tape of a bathroom attendant on a rampage.





This is the results of an encounter with the bathroom lady on a rampage.

I think I've said enough about this.
Talk later.

What a week it’s been. We were busy, busy every day and up late drinking espresso and sambucca in the Campo. Angela left yesterday and I’m waiting for a phone call from Kim and Mike to meet them at the Termini. So I have some time to write. I feel like I haven’t talked to you all in a long while and I have to say I’m getting a little home sick.
Haven’t they invented those machines yet where you get transported from here to there in a heartbeat? No, too bad, because I’d love to stop by for a visit. Truth be told though, I think the mozzarella lady would miss me. We’ve been meeting at least three times a week.

Last weekend we went to San Giovanni In Laterano. Built in 318 it is the first church in Rome. It was the pope’s home until 1870 and still is his as the bishop of Rome. I’m learning a lot of Rome’s history. It can’t be helped it’s visible everywhere you go.
Don’t ask me what’s going on here today. I watch the news but don’t understand a thing, they insist on speaking Italian. Is that rich guy still the president?

We finally got to the beach without rain. We even packed a lunch and rented chairs. I put my toes into the water. Angela went in all the way. She never was a girl happy with half measures. It’s all or nothing at all.
What do you think of those Speedos? Attractive, no?



Tuesday we went to Tivoli. We wanted to see Hadrian’s Villa and the Villa d’Este. All the guidebooks say it is difficult to get to Hadrian’s Villa, but it’s not. All you need are better directions and our bus driver. After asking about 4 people we found the bus stop in Tivoli that would take us to Hadrian’s. The bus left us steps from the gate of the villa complex. We asked the bus driver to help us and we think he changed his route to leave us near the site. When we took that bus back to Rome later that day it went a different way. Isn’t that a great story? I thought so.



Going back to Tivoli from Hadrian’s was a little dicey. See the bus coming down the street? That’s the whole town and the tabbachi was closed and we didn’t have a ticket and some women we asked for help thought she had some unused tickets she would be happy to sell us. What a doll, right? And then her chubby hubby came outside and started yelling at her and she rolled her eyes and answered him. This is what they said,
Him, “what the hell are you doing? It’s late, where’s my dinner?”
Her, “Do you want these two stupid American women to stand out here all night because they didn’t have bus tickets? What are you an animal?”
Him, “Well if they’re too stupid to remember to buy tickets it’s not my fault. Let them walk back to Tivoli. What about my supper?”
Her, “My mother told me not to marry you. I think maybe she was right. What if I didn’t come in and make your dinner, what would you do starve to death?”
Him, “Your mother was a big mouth, you know that? I never liked her anyway and no I wouldn’t starve to death. My momma would always have a nice bowl of macaroni waiting for me.”




She turned her back on him and he walked inside. “Stupido,” she said quietly and I don’t know if she meant him or us but I’m putting my money on him.
The bus did come and our tickets were good after all. (Maybe she did mean us,)



Some photos from the Viillas.

Every week we have to go to the launderia and have this jerky guy put our laundry in the machines and charge us 3 times what we should pay, but half the price of the regular laundry. Since we have to go there every week I thought you should have a chance to see the place.