We couldn't catch a flight to Rome ...

... so my friend Carol Pucci and I settled for a nice lunch in Seattle's Belltown neighborhood at La Vita e Bella, the cool little Sicilian place where Michelle and McCumber and Mich and I all have enjoyed numerous great meals.


Carol and I decided to get together when she joined Facebook recently and we "friended" each other there. In real life we've been friends for more than 20 years, since I started working at the Seattle Times, although we haven't seen each other in ages. Carol's Facebook profile had a photo of her and some friends at a little restaurant that I thought I recognized from Italy. Sure enough, she confirmed, the restaurant was Orso, in Rome. It wasn't the place I was thinking of, where Michelle and I dined near the Spanish Steps, but it might have been the spot Kaye recommended -- renowned for its antipasti -- and it's located very close to where Michelle and I stayed on our recent trip.

Anyway, when Carol and I set up our lunch date we joked about meeting at Orso. I'll buy lunch, I said, if she picked up the cab fare. In the end, we were happy to meet yesterday at La Vita.

It was really nice to reconnect. When Carol and I worked together she was the Times business editor -- Mich's boss, in fact -- but she has since moved to what she must get tired of hearing is the greatest job in Seattle journalism. She's the Times' travel writer. For "work" she trots the globe meeting cool people, eating great meals and writing stories.

We talked about travel and work and our lives, and when I mentioned Michelle she said, "Hey, I've been to the town of Nicolosi!" Here and here are stories she wrote from there.

Carol loved it in Nicolosi, and all of Sicily, and encouraged us to go. One of these days.

'Wait. Are you the Michelle?'

When we walked up to the annual West Seattle SummerFest this afternoon, we stopped by the booth of the excellent West Seattle Blog to say hello and offer props. WSB really is an incredible blog. Michelle and I talk about it all the time as the model for a neighborhood news source and for the kind of community-centered, reader-friendly micro-coverage that might help save the stupid newspaper industry. So we were happy to meet Tracy Record, a lifetime journalist who runs the venture (more than) full-time, and her husband Patrick Sand, whom their site lists as co-publisher and "the sales guy."

Michelle stuck out her hand. "I'm Michelle," she said. "I run the P-I's web site."

"Wait," Tracy said. "Are you the Michelle? Like, from Michelle & Mark?"

I raised my hand, and we all had a nice few minutes of mutual admiration. We noticed long ago that Tracy had listed M&M on her West Seattle blog roll, but she must actually read it too. She asked about our road trip, and when she mentioned something that had happened in the hood recently she added, "I think you were still gone then."

Very cool. It also made me realize we haven't been doing much blogging lately. Sometimes, I find, you just feel like taking a break. We'll have a couple of little posts to catch up on in the next few days. For now, here are a couple more pics from today's street fair.

Streeter

With apologies for the poor photo above, one of the highlights of last week was our dinner Wednesday night with Kurt Streeter, on the right, along with his cool mom Kathy, on the left and, next to Michelle, Kurt's wife Vanashree and our mutual friend Athima.

Kurt and I worked together in Los Angeles and he was one of my favorite reporters: curious, enterprising, incredibly hard-working and always striving to improve. But his best quality, as a reporter and a person, is his huge heart; he's just a great, great guy, one you feel lucky to count as a friend. Kurt grew up in Seattle, so we had the city as a common background, and his parents met at the University of Oregon, a second link. In fact, they had some celebrity there: Mel was a star basketball player for the Ducks -- the fourth African-American ever to play there, and one of only six black on campus at the time -- and he and Kathy were one of the first interracial couples to marry in Oregon.

Kurt grew up as a tennis prodigy, winning a Seattle City Champsionship and many junior events before becoming captain of the University of California tennis team and later turning pro. At one point as a junior he roomed with Andre Agassi at tennis camp. Read about that here.

When we worked together at the LA Times, Kurt was a beat reporter covering Metro, the public transportation system. He did a fine job, and also began spending "off hours" reporting an off-his-beat story that interested him, a feature about a young girl who was a boxer. Long after I left the paper, Kurt wrapped up his sidelight reporting and turned the story into a five-part series, "The Girl," that was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize. Largely based on that, Kurt landed what he calls a dream gig, as a sports columnist for the Times. He's very good.

Anyway, after our very enjoyable dinner at Bizzaro, an Italian place we'd never been in Seattle's Wallingford neighborhood, Kurt and I squabbled a little over the bill. He thought Michelle and I were contributing too much (we weren't), so I told him he could make up the difference by giving me three tennis tips.

Here's what he said:

* "First, read 'The Inner Game of Tennis,'" by Timothy Gallwey.

* "Try to finish," he said. Follow through. Don't check your swing.

* "Definitely keep your eye on the ball."

* "Stay centered and upright. Stay loose. Don't get all hunched over."

OK, great. I even got a bonus suggestion or two. And lord knows my still-unresuscitated game could use the help. So I went online and looked up the Gallwey book. I hadn't heard of it, but apparently this is a classic sports-psychology sermon, from 1972, and I'm sure it's useful for good tennis players.

"The problems which most perplex tennis players are not those dealing with the proper way to swing a racket," the book begins. "The most common complaint of sportsmen ringing down the corridors of the ages is, 'It's not that I don't know what to do, it's that I don't do what I know!'"

Well, actually, that's not the problem that most perplexes me. I'm still dealing with the proper way to swing the racket.

Until the next time I see Kurt, I'm keeping my eye open for "The Outer Game of Tennis."

'Franny, get out of the shot!'

That was Gina, director, barking instructions to her sister this afternoon as they were setting up to film a scene of "Stella" in the historic Pioneer Square district of Seattle. As Franny pointed out, the camera wasn't even turned on and there was no danger of Fran winding up in the scene, since she was there only to operate the camera for Gina and her friend Katy, the film's star. Me, I was the roadie and the chaperone, happy to stay out of camera range and watch the next chapter in Queen's filmmaking career unfold.

When we left off, before Michelle and I departed on Pie in the Sky II, the girls and their friends were in the middle of their big "Sweeney Todd" remake. But that production didn't make it to completion. Details are hazy, but something about artistic differences and a flaking co-star.

Anyway, after a day or two of sulking about that, Gina got back to work, writing the original screenplay "Stella," about a girl who has suffered some traumatic brain injury and may now be insane, but whose life is slowly revealed in metaphoric flashback. I've read the synopsis, though not the full script, and I'm impressed by the imaginative writing and the story's clever construction.

Most of the same crew working on "Sweeney" are back for this one. If anything it's more elaborate, and the planning and cooperation are, so far, a wonder to behold.

Here are a couple of pics I took this afternoon, followed by screen shots from last week's shoot.

Wheeeeee!

So distracting we've hardly missed the Internet.

Ever since we got home from Pie in the Sky Michelle and I -- and now Gina and Franny too -- have been junkies for Wii, the awesome video game system Ronelle and her family gave us when we visited in New Jersey. We've all stayed up way too late, bowling and playing baseball and tennis until our eyes blurred and our elbows burned.

For those who haven't played the game or seen the ads, the Wii, by Nintendo, is a game system in which you don't just push buttons but actually move the game controller to control your player. So, to swing a virtual tennis racquet you swing your arm, forehand or backhand, timing it so your racquet hits the ball in the direction and with the speed you want. Same for baseball, bowling, golf and the rest. And we all spent some time creating our own personalized "Miis" to represent us on the screen. It's surprisingly, ridiculously fun. Gina and Franny even stopped by unannounced last week -- twice! -- to squeeze in a game.

Based on Wii Tennis alone, Gina and Franny have now expressed interest in playing real tennis, and Fran and I went out the other day for her first lesson.


One of the games is helping Franny in the other. I'm not sure which, but in another couple of weeks I don't expect to be able to beat her in either.

In honor of Ronelle's daughter Christin (above left, with her cousin Holley, right) we try to remember not to call the game Wii, but "Wheeee!," which really is more fitting.

(Speaking of which: Ronelle, If we send each other our Wii console numbers we should be able to exchange Miis and messages and maybe even play against each other. Hit me up by e-mail.)

The game really does make your arm sore though. We're already thinking we'll need to go buy the new "Wii Fit" program to get us into shape to play regular Wii.