En route home from Berlin this morning, on Autobahn 6, we got stuck in a traffic jam. An hour north of Stuttgart, traffic came to a complete stop. For at least ten kilometers, or so we were told, nobody was moving.

An hour into our ordeal, I got out of the car and started taking pictures. Four automobiles in front of us were two camouflaged US military vehicles. One was a tanker, the other, what looked like a troop transport.

“Where are you guys from?” I asked two GIs, loitering outside their vehicle. Stunned by the question, as though on command, they both answered in unison, “California.” “Me too,” I replied. “San Francisco.”

It was the first thing that came to mind, as I saw this image flash across the TV screen. Standing on the platform at Stuttgart’s central station, I was waiting for a train take me to the airport, where I was to begin the first leg of a trip to the US.

He may be small. However, I’d be hard pressed to find an American who didn’t feel diminished these days. Freeport, Maine, 9/11.

Waiting for a basket of shrimp and fries. Freeport, Maine, September 11.

In two hours time, my big sister is to marry her longtime partner,  John Christie. Check out this fabulous wedding announcement in Sunday’s New York Times.

This was a nice surprise to wake up to today. I’m equally thrilled to be sandwiched between both books. Listing courtesy of Bookforum.

If it were up to me, I’d write in the morning, edit in the afternoon, and make music after dinner. In reality, I’m lucky if I get to do anything besides edit. Still in the throes of recovering from a simultaneous magazine and book launch last October, (followed by a US book tour in November), I’m anxious to get creative again.

Since I returned to Milan, I’ve been consumed with editing Zeek, and troubleshooting the inevitable problems one encounters with a brand new site. Starting out each morning writing short posts for the magazine’s Facebook group and Tweeting related copy, I publish an article each weekday, while Jo Ellen handles the columnists.

It’s a decidedly different experience than when I worked as the editor at Allvoices, writing and editing between five and six pieces a day. But, once I found the stories that needed covering, I had no problem losing myself in my flow of responsibilities. Today, I can expend just as much time doing half that, without blinking an eye.

I have three partially completed book outlines to finish, which I began last year, that I plan on returning to. I’ve also started working on several audio projects, including a set of remixes of American belly dance recordings from the 1950s, together with an essay about the records I’m using, that I am anxious to complete.

First things first, though. As soon as I’ve resumed writing my weekly column, in all likelihood, I’ll feel like I’m on top of everything else.

I hadn’t heard of the Chicago Center for Literature and Photography before it ran one of the first pieces on Israel vs. Utopia. Today, I was informed that the book had made it’s 2009 best-of list. IvU is the 6th book cited, as you work your way down the page. The reviewer writes with an enormous amount of energy, and is extremely supportive.

I just did an interview with a terrific local journalist, Anna Momigliano, for Italy’s Jewish monthly, Pagine Hebraiche. We covered a lot of territory, relating to the book, as well as my family’s background in Venice. It was a nice change of conversational coordinates to navigate, though I wish I’d had more time to do my homework on my Italian ancestors.

I was surprised to see the visage of a US president other than Obama. That is, a portrait of the only American head of state of equal iconographic significance. Painted on the surface of a section of the Berlin Wall, positioned outside the entrance to the European Union’s Brussels headquarters, Kennedy’s distant look particularly stood out.

The death of Claude Lévi-Strauss last month came as a shock. I thought he’d live forever. I was equally surprised by the ambivalence with which his passing was observed.

So much so, that, seeing this display of his works last night, in the brightly lit basement of our local Feltrinelli store, I felt strangely relieved to be away from America.

“There’s no ambiguity here,” I thought to myself, as I repeatedly snapped pictures of this display, hoping to get the perfect shot.