I just love that name.

When I was in high school, I went out with a guy that was seriously beyond his time. He was scruffy, with a scruffy little beard wanna-be, and a scruffy leather jacket. He drove a scruffy old truck, and carried his guitar (in its scruffy case) everywhere. He wanted to be like Bob Dylan. Hell, he wanted to BE Bob Dylan, full stop.

He also wanted to be Dale Earnhardt. Took his scruffy truck to the drag races every week. Must have put all his money on the inside of the hood, cuz he sure didn't put any on the places you can actually see. He always wanted me to go. Sit in the stands, swoon with admiration. "I'll get you a pass to the pit," he'd say enticingly. Somehow, it failed to work.

He smelled like grease and gas and heavy cigarette smoke. Now, I smoked then. I smoke now. I don't play around with it: I am a serious, two-packs-a-day-and-if-it-kills-me-fine cigarette smoker. So is my husband. (He'd kinda have to be, eh?) But I have never smelled cigarette smoke on a person like this guy. I swear, he exuded it from his pores.

But I liked the guy. He was sweet, and kinda sexy in that bewildering way Bob Dylan is kinda sexy. Or used to be, anyway. So we dated a bit. He took me to the drive in once, in his scruffy truck. We saw some movie that had Willy Nelson in it, and we saw Conan the Barbarian. Conan the Barbarian was a hideous movie. Why, I asked, did you take me to see such an awful movie?

"Well, I didn't plan on actually watching it."

I should not have asked.

Telepiu was showing Conan the Barbarian. I watched some of it. It's worse than I remember.

Much worse.

The Satellite mag (that's sa-TEL-ee-tay in Italian) gives it three stars, so maybe I should watch it all the way through, give it a chance. Or not.

Although, funnily enough, Arnie looks much better. Maybe it's a relative thing-- he looked so much better then than he does now. Even if it is, it still worries me.

Telepiu, by the way, is an Italian satellite service. And we've got digital, baby, cuz were people of the noughties. They show mostly in Italian, but with more than enough stuff in English to make it worth your while. They even install it for you, although you may have some trouble convincing them to put the dish on the roof, and not stick it on your teensy balcony and drill a hole through your living room wall for the cords. And by the middle of your living room wall, I do mean smack dab in the middle, not down on the floor half way along. If they do try such a thing, do as my husband: call your wife, and stall stall stall whilst she races along in a taxi to try and get home to straighten it out by telling them it's forbidden (by her anyway), and they'll just have to put it on the roof and string some cable. The installation guys may be late for lunch, but you'll be much happier.

Telepiu is pretty much what you'd expect, actually. Some movie channels (mostly with an original language option), cartoons, Discovery, Hallmark (sponsored by Kleenex), home shopping, cooking, etc. My favorite is Channel Jimmy. Now, isn't that a great name for a TV channel? You also get the news-- CNN, BBC, Sky, etc. Which will make you popular in a hurry if some deluded jackasses decide to bomb the hell out of your homeland.

But that is whole 'nother story.

I stiffened my spine today, and said no when Angie called and suggested lunch. I had Italian class and needed to go to the grocery store (which takes a lot longer than you might think, especially when you're forced to cart the groceries home on a bus driven by a maniac who couldn't manage to pass his drivers test for real cars, and so is forced to drive a large bus over cobbly streets because he is less likely to injure himself in the inevitable forthcoming accident. Yep, driving a large vehicle with no shock absorbers full of people packed in like sardines is just the job for him, I tell you.) Luckily, my stop is at the end of this particular route, which gives me added time to pick up any items that have been jostled out of my bags. Today it was celery, although I just barely kept the tampons from making a run for it.

But we did have to go to the travel agent to pick up our tickets for Venice, and to find out about our possible trip to Budapest. Which is not looking too likely, as far as I can tell. Popular place-- maybe it IS the new Prague or Krakow or whatever the hot destination was last. Barcelona looks good though. Angie wants to wait and see, but this is a trip planned around several bridgable holiday, and therefore getting out of Dodge will be rather difficult unless we plan quickly. Quite frankly, W would rather do Spain, and I'm inclined to book it whether Angie and Maggie manage to get in to Hungary or not. What I don't want to do is hurt their feelings: well, Angie's anyway, as I get the feeling Maggie and Mr. V would rather do Barcelona as well.

After, as per usual, we went for coffee. The suprise was: they ordered coffee. Well, Maggie had some of the Italian hot chocolate that's like uncongealed pudding. Could they have been reading this, even though they don't know about it? Even though all names have been changed yadda yadda yadda? Unlikely in the extreme, I should think. Angie was acting a bit odd, but I think that had more to do with no one wanting to do lunch. Apparently Maggie cancelled on her-- got tied up in her morning meeting. Also I think she's peeved about our lack of Budapestian enthusiasm. I suggested that, since she and Bruce wanted to go really bad, and can stay longer and are more flexible, making the flight problem a mere annoyance, that maybe they should just go ahead and go for it. To make it worse for her, Maggie agreed: she and V just want to get out of town for a while.

We'll see.