Don’t know.  Haven’t seen rain since I left the US in June.  I’d love to see some rain.

But I do know that I am pouring out posts tonight like a bat outta hell.  My stream of consciousness runneth over.

So, dear reader, travel backwards in time with me to a few posts ago when I mentioned I’d be picking up this thread again sometime about the sodas:

I was in the Palazzo Reale campus in Torino, walking through the Galleria Sabauda, and honest to god after having my mind absolutely blown by the magnificence (and that’s a word I don’t overuse; I hate hyperbole) of the palazzo itself, I was unprepared for the magnificence again of the art holdings of the Galleria Sabauda. I mean it absolutely blew my sox off when I wandered in front of a painting by Bronzino, a bas-relief by Desiderio di Settignano, and more.

The best way to view a museum, in my opinion, is without knowing what to expect.  You go to the Met in New York, you expect to be wowed.  And you are.  The Met is magnificent.

But what I like even more than that is the opportunity to have my sox blown off.  And that’s what happened in the Galleria Sabauda.  And, there’s more.

Also attached to the Palazzo Reale campus is the Archeological Museum.  I just spent 5 minutes spelling archeological correctly.  Where, I would like to know, is spell check when you actually want/need it.  No where to be found is where.  Exactly.

For some reason I will never understand, the Galleria Sabauda is overly air-conditioned (which, believe me, is a compliment in this tropical heat wave we’ve been in since July 2, but who’s counting?) and the attached archaeology museum is not.  Benvenuto italia.  Nothing makes sense here.  Which is one of the reasons I love it.  I fell down the rabbit hole a long time ago.

And when I walked into the heat of the archeology part, the heat hit me like a wave.  And I realized I hadn’t had anything to drink in too long.  And I wandered down a long hallway that led to the light, kinda like near death experiences are always described.  And I wound up underground in a hot cement underground staff lounge, with

wait for it

vending machines! and I put a Euro in the slot not knowing how much a Pepsi was because of course there was no signage about the price…

and I pressed the button for Pepsi

and listened for the magical sound of my item dropping from the machine into the fabulous slot below

and heard the sound

and reached in for my Pepsi

and pulled out a lemon lime soda.  And drank it faster than you can type Pepsi. And then sat down at a table while smiling at a group of Italian tourists who wandered into this rabbit hole after me and also spied the vending machines, or possibly just the crazy americana, and started digging for their change.  It was a couple with their two young sons.  And the minute those boys heard the pop of my can, or the site of the vending machines, or something like that…they were all over their parents for change.

and I inexplicably found myself explaining to them that I got lemon lime when I hit Pepsi and they put in the money and hit lemon lime and got one, and then we all smiled and shrugged our shoulders about the deep mysteries of life

and then I noticed that way back in the back of the fabulous, magnificent vending machine slot was an unloved, undetected can of something.  And naturally I stuck my hand in and pulled out the can and it was my Pepsi afterall.  So I got a free lemon lime soda.

And I popped the lid on that Pepsi faster than those boys could say “mamma mia” and like the crazy americana that I have become (or maybe always was), I downed that Pepsi.

I like to think that on my good days–back when I spoke English fluently and so forth–I would have given the free Pepsi to the boys.  And that they wouldn’t have fought over it.

but what with my dehydration and such like, I just went ahead and drank the liquid moonlight in a can.  Normally I would say sunshine in a can, but honestly, I’ve had enough with the sun and heat for a while

And the most amazing thing to me is, that no matter how many liquids I consume this summer, I never have to use the bathroom.  Because my body has already sweated out the amount of liquids that I will consume until October 17, 2015.

And as far as I can tell I am still alive, or maybe I found the light and am already in heaven and just haven’t woken up yet.

And that is the end of the lemon-lime/Pepsi story and I’m happy it’s finally told. I hope it was worth the wait.

This is the correct proportion of the drinks I received from the magnificent vending machine in the Archaeological Museum in the Palazzo Reale campus in Torino (say that five times fast).  But whether mine was a Shasta and whether, like this picture, the words said “lime-lemon soda” or as I automatically assume “lemon-lime soda” I can never say, because that was several days ago and I’ve moved on, people. :-))

I honestly sent a friend an email with the above subject line today!

I meant to write, and I actually think that I did write: “from your Torino pen pal.”  I hate spell check.  I actually like what I spell 90% of the time, so I’d appreciate it if spell check would get the the hell out of my life.  But, like a lot of things.  I have no control over that.

So my subject line came out as “Re: you Torino, Italia penal” which is pretty damn funny if you ask me.

I think it is somehow Freudian.  Not exactly sure how.  It is just sort of vaguely provocative when it was totally innocent to begin with.

and I still didn’t get what I want.

I think it’s the heat.  Nothing is working right.  Not my brain.  Not the internet. Niente.

F: Furbo

“Ma quella ragazza è proprio furba!” [That girl is truly clever!] is half compliment, half criticism. She’s devious, she’s sneaky, but you have to hand it to her, boy, that girl knows how to obtain results.

http://www.arttrav.com/headline/italian-translations/

I think.  I can’t be sure.  I left them somewhere and I don’t think it was San Francisco.  Wasn’t that my heart?  Penso.  I think so.

I only wish I could have taken a picture today of the Italian man who tried to pick me up in a piazza today. I was drinking a MacDonald’s giant coke with ice and resting on a hot bench (hot to the touch, but I was desperate to sit down). He had on a neon green polyester sports shirt and matching shoes, and some kind of shorts and that’s all I saw before I saw how he was leering at me. I tried to be cool but had to leave. But I see a lot of beautiful Italian men in my age bracket so I am starting to zero in.

I left my keys in my apartment today, but it’s only 90 degrees 24 hours a day so I’m doing well. :-))

I’ve never been able to decide, so I call a tie.

But since I’m in Italy at the moment, let’s have a quick look so far: