Also in non-vacay news: this wonked Google Map that shows Zappos’ sales in real time is fully bananas. [via TK]

On a non-vacation-themed note: did you people know that Revlon still makes Eterna 27? I thought it was just some mythical nonsense that queens of a certain age made up (like this guy I used to work with at Maison Blanche who swore by the stuff). But apparently, it’s as real as turducken, the Snuggie, and the Judas Iscariot Dildo [nsfw, obvs].

Well, I hope your Good Friday is as productive as mine.

Venice, the Frari

From my first batch of vacation pics. (More to follow, unfortunately.) Also: my first-ever stitched-together panorama pic. Does my lack of experience show much?

Par for the course: Jonno’s leading, I’m following

I’m back. We’re back. But only barely. As usual, the trip home turned into a 24-hour slog through security checkpoints, customs lines, and baggage claim areas. Though we were both exhausted by the time we reached the house, I only slept about four hours last night. Maybe I should take a couple of dolls this evening, just to ensure I wake up in this time zone.

Also: you may have heard that there was an earthquake in Italy. It hit yesterday morning, about four hours before we were set to head to the airport. I slept through it, though Jonno and I were awakened by car and building alarms that were probably set off by the tremors. His mom and aunt heard some unusual rumblings around that time, too, but I suppose they could’ve just been garbage trucks. All I know for sure is that we were very, very lucky.

Given my previous post, it’s probably obvious that I’m happy to be home. Even though I didn’t sleep long, I was happy to be in my own bed, with some dogs beside me. I have a lot of thoughts about the trip–about travel in general and about traveling with in-laws in particular–but I’ll save those for a day or two.

It’s impossibly beautiful in Rome right now. The sky is blue, the birds are singing, the light reflected from the facades of buildings–buildings older than most anything standing in North America–has filled our apartment with a glow that I don’t think I’ve seen before, though maybe I remember seeing it as a kid. Which means I’ve never actually seen anything quite like it except in memories that may or may not be grounded in anything real.

It figures: just as I start to slow down and enjoy the trip, it’s time to come home.

Charming but schmaltzy in Venice (the room, not just me)

Anyway: yes, we made it. And so far, so good. Mostly.

Venice was pretty, but it held 0.00% interest for me. It’s old. It’s charming. It’s mysterious. I get it. But then, I live in New Orleans, so I see that schtick every day. Other, less-jaded people in our party would gladly turn right around and spend another week there. Which only goes to show…something.

Other things of note:

• Venetians really hate to make change. I don’t know why this is so, but if I’m going to buy a flavorless cheese sandwich from some gum-smacking waif in skinny jeans, the least she can do is break a twenty.
• Americans get a bad rap on the road, but compared to the Russians I’ve seen, we’re a nation of Donna freakin’ Reeds.
• I do not understand the Italian aversion to ice, leg room, and blow driers, but I can appreciate two of the three.

And now: coffee. Lots of it. Florence awaits. (The city, sadly, not Ms. Henderson. …But OMG how funny would that be if she were here? Could you imagine? Like, you know, The Surviving Bradys and Their Groovy European Smile-Time Variety Hour and Funicular Hoe-Down Holiday? This, people, is when I ask myself, “Why am I not a bazillionaire TV producer with the Swifty Lazar glasses and the murder of Pekingeseseses at my feet?” And the answer: probably because I’m an idiot and because a group of Pekingeseseseses would be a pack, not a murder. But whatever.)

What was I saying? Oh, yes: coffee.

I don’t like traveling. In fact, I kinda hate it. But why?

1. I don’t like leaving. Seriously, I love our house. I love hanging on the sofa. My life’s pretty full these days, so when I have the chance to do nothing but lay around with the hounds, I’m as happy as a clam. A clam who enjoys spending time with dogs.

2. I don’t like the expense. To be fair, I think that’s pretty weak rationale: it’s always costly to go places, it’s never an especially good time. I could avoid leaving my house for the rest of my life with that lame excuse.

3. I don’t like the work that piles up while I’m gone. By the time I get back to my desk and sort through all the snail mail and email and memos and whatnot, I need a vacation. Surely you see the irony.

4. I don’t like flying. Not that I’m afraid of airplanes and hurtling across the stratosphere at hundreds of miles an hour (though it’s not my fave thing to do). No, I hate the ritual of flying: the lines, the checkpoints, the anxiety of hurrying up and waiting. From dashing to the counter to worrying if you’re going to make it before they shut the cabin doors to zipping down the runway, it’s all so fast and thoroughly unpleasant. One might even say: uncivilized.

5. I can’t see the vacation for the travel. In part because I hate flying so much, I can’t look past that and get excited about the destination. Like, point A is interesting, and point B is interesting, but getting from one to the other is not.

Anyway, all that’s moot because by the time you read this, I’ll be on my way. See you soon.

Michelle Obama Refuses To Stop Being Charming,

Even For A Moment

On the president and her wardrobe:

“He’s always asking: ‘Is that new? I haven’t seen that before.’ It’s like, Why don’t you mind your own business? Solve world hunger. Get out of my closet.”

She teasingly imitated him: “‘You didn’t need any more shoes. The shoes you had on yesterday were fine. Why can’t you just wear that for the rest of the presidency?'”

—New York Times

Future first ladies, take note: you can totally be a lawyer or a brain surgeon or whatever, but at the end of the day, it’s sassy and down-to-earth that sells.