Stephanie Klein Greek Tragedy

is all about the truffle sandwiches and Tuscan wine. You see the postcards of dick. Not see Dick and Jane at the David. I’m talking dick. Postcards of all the penis in Florence. Naked statues get photographed. And people wonder…

I didn’t tell you this yet: I chase the sun. I chase a photo opportunity. I chased a marching band down a side street in Bologna. I literally was mid-forkful when the band of violin, accordion, and guitar turned the…

I’m not a hiker, and no man I ever meet will make me want to be a hiker. It’s just not my thing. Unless there is food at the top, I’m so not in. See the thing about site seeing…

I am a broken record. GET OUT. I just cannot deal. I keep saying it; it is all gorgeous. Aquamarine, rocks, everything smells of suntan lotion. I am so happy. I wish you were here with me, to put lotion…

the city is just that; a mediocre lunch meat. It smells a little better, but it leaves you kind of soggy and wanting what she is having. There is nothing to do in Bologna besides churches and museums. I did…

In just one step I smell leather then plums, then onto baked goods. Amazingly, I have photographed more than just food on this trip to Venice. My photos have been post cards. I am in love with Venice, love like…

I arrive in Venice the morning of August 22, 2004. Hotel Monaco & Grand Canal Hotel. Ya know, in case you want to send wine and flowers to my room. I’m not allergic to strawberries either. On August 24th, I…

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A straight man resembling Ewan McGregor sings “Patience,” but when he runs over the chorus, he becomes a “tough call.” His friends join in high-pitched vibrato, friends, I am certain appear on CD shelves,…