So I'll be ringing in the New Year in a command center in a basement. Very Tom Clancy-esque. The least they could do if they're going to make me sit here "just in case" is to give me a big red button that says "DO NOT PUSH."

At least we have a really accurate clock.

I'm trying to get together something of a travel schedule for the next six months and I was looking at going somewhere for St. Patrick's Day. Ireland, of course, seemed like the obvious choice, but I've heard Dublin (and Ireland on the whole) isn't really all that exciting for St. Pat's Day. Can anybody confirm or refute this? And suggest another alternative (besides Boston or Savannah)?

Yet another reason to love Gmail. When I go to my "spam" folder, the link Google puts at the top of the page (related to what's in the folder or message you're looking at) gives me:
Spam Fajitas - Serves 8, add extra salsa if desired
Vineyard Spam Salad - Combine grapes, spam, peapods and onions in large bowl
Spam Primavera - Toss with linguini, serve immediately
Spam Breakfast Burritos - Bake 5-10 minutes, serve with salsa
And a seemingly limitless treasure trove of recipe upon recipe for spam spam spam spam, spam spam spam spam, spammity spam....

Alitalia does, in fact, suck. It was like a self-fulfilling prophecy. Four hours late taking off from Boston because they had to replace some valve that had to be flown up from New York (Note: I'm all about replacing valves before flying), which allowed me to spend some quality time with Elisa, the bartender in the airport bar. She reminded me a lot of Carla from Cheers. Except that she worked in an airport bar and wasn't as funny. The plane ride itself was awful; the seats were cramped and uncomfortable, you couldn't see the TVs if you had a window seat, and it just generally sucked, for lack of a better term. Had to stand in line for two hours in Milan to get rebooked to Rome (which flight also took off an hour late, by the way) so got to Rome 8 hours after I was supposed to. Went to grab a rental car to drive back down to Naples, but hey, guess who forgot to reserve a car? Of course, nobody had any available, so I had to take the train back to Naples and have a friend pick me up from the station and bring me to my car. Good thing, too, because the two-hour train ride was the most relaxing part of the trip.

On the bright side, I slept for fourteen (yes, as in 14) hours yesterday (non-consecutively: a ten-hour stretch, two-and-a-half hours awake, and then a four hour stretch) in an attempt to adjust myself to my work schedule, as starting last night I'm working three days of 8 p.m. to 8 a.m. shifts.

Merry Christmas. In case you're wondering, I'm not dead; I'm home in CT enjoying Christmas with the family. Air France is definitely the way to go if you're doing trans-Atlantic flying and are stuck in Economy; it's the most comfortable coach-class seating I've ever been in. I'm a little apprehensive of flying Alitalia back, though...it's like they pride themselves on being inefficient.

By the way, if you want a good half hour of entertainment, try getting an entire Italian family to pronounce, "Massachussetts."

Pop quiz: You've just returned from San Diego. You have a ton of laundry and packing to do before going to Connecticut tomorrow. Your landlord and his wife stop by from upstairs to give you your Christmas present, which happens to be a bottle of limoncello (lemon-based liquor; for those of you living in CT, you'll find out about it soon enough). You then give them their presents from you, which consist mainly of a bottle of good scotch whiskey, a Hickory Farms gift pack (hey, I wanted to get them something American), and all the Hershey's bars and Tootsie Rolls you could fit into your shopping basket (all very nicely wrapped in Christmas wrapping paper). In their gratitude, they invite you up to have pizza with them. However, as previously mentioned, you haven't packed a damn thing to go back to the States yet. Also, you have a Cornish game hen in the oven, within 30 minutes of being done. What do you do?

Answer: Of course you go have the damn pizza. You can cook a chicken anytime. One of the pizzas had french fries on it; I thought that was kind of wierd. But it actually tasted pretty damn good, so I guess they're onto something. Their two daughters sat there giggling and behaving like little girls the whole time, and even though I only understood about a quarter of what they were saying, I still sort of followed along. Sort of like having my own little Italian family. I think my landlord was actually kind of happy to have another guy up for dinner, since he's normally the only one. For the record, I've been told to, a) say hi and Merry Christmas to my family, b) come back with a picture of my family, and c) drag my family's collective ass out here to visit sometime this year.

Apparently I did a little bit too good of a job pre-adjusting to the 9-hour time lag between here and San Diego, and not quite good enough of a job adjusting to the corresponding time difference on the way back. Because, while I have just spent more than a full day travelling home and should be exhausted, it's 2 a.m. here right now and I'm not the least interested in going to bed. On the bright side, I did just learn that my trip home next week will give me enough Skymiles on Delta to push me over the edge for Medallion membership. (Some of you will note that this means I have to have at least 25,000 miles actually flown in one calendar year; others of you will note that the only two Delta trips I will have taken this year are this week's and next week's. That's a lot of miles in two trips.)

So if you were a betting man (or woman), how long would you say a raw Cornish game hen lasts in the refrigerator once it's been thawed out, before it's no longer good for cooking?

The flight out to San Diego was fantastic. Turns out that whole Business Class/First Class upgrade thing is, in fact, all it's cracked up to be. Especially compared to the hell of having to ride back in the cattle-car section on the way back. Because the trip back was awful. Oh, it was all well and good when we made it from San Diego to Atlanta half an hour early. But then we boarded the plane in Atlanta. And the geniuses who run Delta decided it would be a brilliant idea to hold the plane at the gate for an hour so that the people whose flights were all delayed on the eastern seaboard could make their connection to Rome. Which is a nice thought, in theory. Except that the real impact of that decision is to make the plane an hour late to get into Rome (actually, an hour and a half late, due to stronger-than-expected headwinds), and to cause everyone who has a connecting flight in Rome (most of the plane) to miss it. So I went on standby for the next flight to Naples. And didn't get on because the flight was full. And so I had to standby again. Have you ever tried being in the standby line with a bunch of angry Italians? (Well, "line" is a term I use sort of loosely; it's more like the standby "mob.") (And by "mob," I mean "large angry crowd," as opposed to the traditional context in which said term is frequently applied to a large group of Italians.) After 7 hours in the Rome airport (yes, I could have taken the train to Naples and been there faster, but I'm not about to spend more money because the airlines are stupid), I finally got a flight out, in the middle seat. Which, for a 45 minute flight, isn't so bad. Until you get there and they have lost your luggage. Realize, this is the third flight to Naples since my plane got in from Atlanta. Meaning they have had two previous opportunities to put my suitcase (just one, very ordinary suitcase) on a plane from Rome to Naples. Add in the flight that I actually made it on, and that makes three. Apparently I should have just waited around for the fourth flight that day from Rome to Naples. So 25 hours after my plane took off "this" morning from San Diego, I'm in the Naples airport wishing desperately for a scotch on the rocks. And realizing that I can't have one because my scotch is, in fact, in the very same luggage that Alitalia lost.

On the bright side, I made it home in one piece, and managed to relax by watching the third-best movie ever made. That's right: North Shore.

Unfortunately, air travel no longer excites me nearly as much as it used to. Which is too bad, because...

12 Dec 6:25 a.m.
- Leave Naples
12 Dec 7:41 p.m. (22 hrs 16 min later)
- Arrive San Diego (and lose 9 hrs)
15 Dec 9:00 a.m. (2 days 13 hrs 19 min later)
- Leave San Diego (just as I recover from jet lag)
16 Dec 10:45 a.m. (15 hrs 45 min later)
- Arrive Naples (regaining those 9 hrs)
19 Dec 10:20 a.m. (2 days 23 hrs 35 min later)
- Leave Rome (what jet lag?)
19 Dec 5:50 p.m. (10 hrs 30 min later)
- Arrive Boston (and sleep for three days)
27 Dec 6:00 p.m. (8 days 5 min later)
- Leave Boston (finally adjusted)
28 Dec 10:35 a.m. (13 hrs 35 min later)
- Arrive Rome (and on the next day roll into three consecutive days of night-time duty at work)

So for those of you doing the math, that's 2 days, 14 hrs, 6 min of flying over the course of 7 days.

On a related note, I swung by church last night and went to confession for the first time in a couple years...with four trans-Atlantic trips coming up, I figure better safe than sorry. (And by "sorry," I mean, "condemned to eternal damnation.")

Johnny D. in pinstripes? This should send chills down the spine of every God-fearing citizen of New England.

Woke up this morning about 8 times between 1:00 and 3:30 because of the wind howling on my back porch. Realized that if I cracked open the door from my bedroom to the porch, it didn't howl so much. When I finally got up for good at 6:30, I discovered I had no hot water. And all my radiators were cold. Turns out the wind had blown out the pilot light for my furnace.

And the rest of the day pretty much went like that.

So as some of you may know, as a military member living overseas, I get a couple of allowances to compensate for the difference in cost of living. One of these is the cost-of-living allowance (COLA), which is pegged to a standard "basket" of household goods and whatnot, and adjusted for the cost of these in dollars in your location, versus the cost of the same items in the US. They change this real value of COLA every couple of years. It's then adjusted for the difference in currency valuation (dollar versus Euro, in my case). I also get an overseas housing allowance, which is based on a set value of rent in Euro, but fluctuates as the dollar changes against the Euro; I think they adjust for currency fluctuations weekly. And I get a utility allowance, which is figured in much the same way as COLA.

So, they recently re-adjusted COLA. Because of higher-than-normal inflation in the US, it's now comparatively cheaper to live here than it was before, as compared to the US. (Note: I said "as compared to the US." It is not, in fact, cheaper to live here in real terms.) This means COLA goes down. Considerably. Also, the dollar has been gaining on the Euro in the last couple months.

Anyway, the point of all this is just to complain about the fact that due to changes in the above allowances, I took a $400 pay cut last month, despite the fact that it's not actually any less expensive to live here. It's just more expensive to live in the US, so our pay goes down because it's based on a ratio. That's crap.

I think I'm now in a vicious cycle...as I mentioned, my landlord and his wife had me up to their apartment for coffee yesterday and loaded me up with food and wine to take home. So to reciprocate, today I brought them about $50 of Budweiser, Coke, and cocoa. So to reciprocate for that, they had me up for dinner and fed me fresh swordfish, giant shrimp, minestrone soup, artichokes, olives, melanzane (some kind of Italian vegetable that I have no idea what it actually is, but it's delicious), gelato, wine, coffee, and some kind of really good apertif made out of some kind of berry. I'm stuffed; don't think I can eat for the next two days. So now I have to figure out how to reciprocate for that. I think we're almost at the point where I buy them a boat. Got to learn some more Italian words and phrases tonight. I managed to convey the fact that my father and brother work for a company that puts electronic things for lights and thermostats into hotels. And that my father used to be in the Navy. And a few other things. Keep in mind that there are a lot of hand motions and miming to go along with these conversations. I challenge anyone to a game of charades when I get back; I guarantee I'll kick your ass.

Oh, I decided I need to get Italian TV, both because it'll help me continue to learn Italian and also because during dinner we watched my new favorite TV show, "Guardia Costeria." If you're thinking, "gee, that sounds a lot like 'Coast Guard,' " that's because it is. And if you're thinking, "wow, that sounds like a cross between 'Baywatch' and 'JAG' but with the Italian Coast Guard," you'd also be correct. I only understood about a fifth of the conversation, but it still seems like a fine show. And it co-stars Catherine Bell. Imagine that.

So it looks like I won't be able to make it home for Christmas next year. Because my landlord's family about flipped out when I told them I was going home in a couple of weeks for natale (not to be confused with Natalie, although I'd go home for her, too). His wife was particularly upset because she was looking forward to showing me all the Italian traditions and feeding me meal after meal. So if anyone cares to see me during the holidays next year, you're going to have to come out this way.

This discussion took place up in their apartment this evening over coffee. It's the first time they've invited me up (I think they would have done it long ago if I were actually ever here). It was a fantastic time. Besides me, my landlord and his wife, there were also his two daughters and his mother and mother-in-law. And none of them really speak any English except his (rather cute but a little young) oldest daughter (home for the weekend from college). So it was a great chance to practice my Italian, which I haven't had much opportunity to do lately. Turns out my Italian has gotten a lot better in the last couple of months--they all complemented me on it. Apparently I know enough Italian to have my landlord's wife hire me a cleaning lady, learn how to make Neapolitan-style coffee (basically espresso, but much better than I've had anywhere else), describe the highlights of my Paris trip, tell them I have a vacuum cleaner but it runs on American electricity not Italian, and tell them I'm going to San Diego next week for work, coming home for three days, and then going home for Christmas. They, like me, thought it was stupid that I'm flying from California to Italy and then back to Connecticut three days later, and I got them to understand that it wasn't my choice. But we had a really fun time sitting around trying to get me to understand them and trying to get them to understand me. They're just so incredibly friendly, and I think they're really thrilled with the fact that I've been making an effort to learn their language. Oh, also they gave me an entire meal to take back to my apartment and eat. Including bread, pasta with calamaretti (small squid), some kind of fish, dessert, and an entire bottle of wine. Oh, and they gave me an entire package of Italian coffee when they learned that I have the espresso maker (basically a little percolator), but nothing to put in it. So tomorrow I'm going out and buying them a case of Budweiser (I learned that my landlord really likes it and he's on his last bottle) and a boatload of Coca-Cola.

Also, I felt really bad when they asked if I had a picture of my family, and I had to respond "only on my computer," and they looked at me all disapproving-like. So it looks like I might have to get one printed out.

So yeah, I'm getting a cleaning lady. Because I'm never home, and when I am home, I've either been working or else been out, and the last thing I want to do is clean my house. But hey, I figure three hours a week for $10 an hour isn't too bad. Unfortunately, I'm now in the odd position of wanting to clean my house so that I'm not embarrassed when the cleaning lady shows up. Ah well.