I am a junior in high school visiting Italy with the Latin Clubs of New Jersey. It is my first trip outside North America and everything astounds me. Our hotel in Sorrento is lush with lemon trees. When I order a Coke at the bar the barman gives it to me in a tulip-shaped glass, a slice of lemon floating in the middle. At breakfast our waiter pulls at the chain around his neck to show us the Kennedy half dollar he wears as a medallion.
At the drive-through Starbucks
I think of how the old coffeehouses of Europe
Were the social media of their day
(According to an article I read in the New York Times),
Surrogates for home,
Public reading rooms,
Incubators of great ideas.
Then Jean-Paul Sartre drives up in his Escalade,
Simone de Beauvoir sitting shotgun.
Lovely picture on the front page of this morning's Herald of the MSC Divina being escorted into the Port of Miami by two small Fiats. The cars are actually dolled-up personal watercraft, and the port's official name is PortMiami. Not sure if that is due to a distaste for prepositions or a desire for port news to fit more easily on Twitter.
You can't read a newspaper or watch television these days without coming across the Kennedys. Yesterday I was at Brew Next Door in C&I studios in FAT Village. The new cafe-bar has a few photographs hanging on the walls (one of an old black typewriter), a chandelier above a concrete floor, an Airstream parked at the east end of the bar, and 3,000 books rising to the ceiling behind the bar. I was waiting for my iced tea when one title jumped out at me: Jackie After Jack.