Got my hair cut today. I've been trying to let it grow out a bit, but that's all over now, or at least for the time being. Apparently, the 80s are coming back into style with a vengeance, and vengeance was had upon my hair. Yep, I've got me a new wave haircut. I look like one of the girls from Human League, or possibly a member of Duran Duran.

It is, however, a vast improvement on the Mrs. Brady model I was sporting a few months back.

What is it about hair that makes hairdressers want to cut it all off? Marci the Hairdresser transformed Maggie's shoulder length style into prince valiant last week. Which would be ok if it suited her. Sadly, it doesn't, makes her look all jowly. I didn't have the heart to tell her what I really thought: she feels bad enough already. Won't have to have it cut for a while, though! And today she had a go at me. It's actually not too bad, but I wish she wouldn't use the razor so much. I beg her not too-- my hair is too fine and gets all frizzy. But she just can't seem to help herself. "Just a little around the edges" and she's off, along with a great deal of my very own hair. It's like an addiction. Or a Monty Python skit.

Why do we all go to Marci? And all us Amercians do go to Marci. It's simple, really. She's very sweet, very nice. She gives me a 20 percent discount. And she speaks English perfectly, which lulls us into the fantasy that we will actually get what we want.

And that's another thing: the last time she cut my hair (after the Carol Brady debacle), I DID get what I want. Perfect. I thought we had it down, that we'd reached an understanding, that after a year of trial and error, trials and errors were over. Today, I asked for the exact same cut. Told her I loved it, do it again. And that's when I discovered I was wrong.

On the walk back home, I stopped in to the bookstore-- well, two bookstores. Angie still has all my Venice books, and I couldn't stand it anymore, had to feed my own guidebook addiction. Which I did, in very fine style. Got some great ones, in fact.

And if Angie shows up with all my guidebooks tomorrow, expecting me to take them back, she's got another think coming. I am not gonna haul them around, she and Bruce can just hang on to them. Besides, I have my own stack to cart around. Or have W cart around, to be perfectly honest.

So, I'm off to pack. I'll take notes, but I won't be taking the laptop or updating until Monday. Or possibly Tuesday. It seems to the railway workers are going on strike from 9pm Saturday to 9pm Sunday, to protest some proposed laws that might make it easier to fire workers for cause. Since you can't really fire workers at all in Italy, for cause or otherwise, ANY employment law might make it easier to do so. Certainly can't make it any harder. We're scheduled to leave at 8pm-- one hour before the strike is due to end. Won't just be a crying shame if we have to stay Sunday night and come back Monday morning instead?