-Gabe out
I do not, generally speaking, have a high opinion of public markets. Someone clearly must, because other people marketing publically, and I don't dislike them enough to start a movement or something so it's not a big deal. The sort of market they have around my house can be accurately described as a sort of hippie gauntlet, where you are bufetted on all sides by odors and hacky sacks until you tell your wife you're going home.
I tell Brenna that I would rather not attend it, if it's all the same to her. This means "go there immediately" through the bizarre prism she interprets my clear words, so she subjected me to it immediately. It actually turned out sort of interesting, but I would appreciate it if that didn't get back to her.
It appears to be a haphazard jumble of canopies and vegetables, but there is an ecosystem that governs it. Brenna bought spices, fruit, and something I can't really describe from three separate booths, and each time she had to go to this sort of shifty character in the middle of them, all their areas were lashed to his. I envisage him as a sort of Spice Lord whose word is law everwhere left of the meat guy.
I started to walk on my own to another part of the Campo or whatever, when a man shouted at me with a vigor that belied his advanced age.
"Carroto machine"
I stopped and stared at him.
He raised his voice, this time approaching religious fervor.
"Carroto Machine!"
Any man who can speak with such passion about a grater deserves my time, I'm sorry. So, let's see what this Carroto Machine of his can do.
If you must know, it isn't much to look at. It's hardly a machine at all, it's the kind of twisted metal you might find at the scene of an auto accident. What compels him to rub, straining it against carrots, potatoes, or fish is a matter for philosophy to determine. The state it leaves the grated object in is really quite hideous, I don't know what you would do with the results. I bought it so I could tell you this story, mainly.
Oh, and get this. Instead of the change he owed me, he gave me the most ineffectual juicer. I bought an orange at the market and endeavored to manipulate it with "the best juicer ever," and it didn't juice for shit. Let that be a lesson to you! Never accept small pieces of plastic instead of actual money.
(CW)TB
MTV Cribs needs to talk to the Pope about maybe getting in there with some cameras and shit. I had heard that it was considered a city in and of itself, with its own post office and police force, but I didn't know it was surrounded by a huge wall. It is. It's actually surrounded by two walls, the outer one being comprised entirely of guys selling holy knick-knacks. It is nearly impenetrable.
Once you get your ticket for the Vatican Museum, I think they usually expect you to follow a tour or something but we didn't really know any better. It can take quite a while if you do it right, taking in profoundly beautiful art of every variety. Near the end of the museum itself is the Sistine Chapel, which you might have heard of. Holy shit. It is in that room that they lock the, um... Cardinals (I don't really know) up without food until they pick a new Pope. It's cool, there's like a cage for them. In any case, Michaelangelo's huge fresco that covers one of the walls is only one element of a room that was so breathtaking that it left me drained as I shambled out of there. That was my definition of the Vatican, the Sistine Chapel, and so when I got out of there and went around the corner I wasn't ready.
St. Peter's Basilica practically destroyed me.
There is an amazing square outside of it with extremely refreshing fountains. As you approach the church itself, you'll see a sign that shows people in shorts not getting in there, and people with pants getting in. They're not kidding about it, either. I'm sure their thinking goes something like this: if you want to come into God's house, you can put some fucking pants on.
I was still in a jovial mood when I ascended the front stairs and stood before the doors, I recall the frivolity of the moment because I said it would make a good place for a LAN Party. I noticed that the wall opposite the door was actually wired CAT-5, so I was thinking a couple of switches and we'd be ready to go.
If you can look at the Pieta - I know the accents aren't right on that word, I don't know how to produce them - if you can look at Michaelangelo's Pieta and then crack some fucking jokes, then something other human blood animates you. I kept trying to remind myself that a person made it.
They keep bodies in that place, remains of saints and so forth, honored by gigantic statues placed above their tombs. I can't describe how still it made me. There is a statue of a seated St. Peter whose stone foot has been worn completely smooth - it looks like a hoof - by a procession of human beings long beyond numbering. Even as a person who is not really down with this sort of thing, it had a very pronounced effect on me. It is beautiful, and you can appreciate it either because it's the house of God or because human beings of tremendous talent and passion created something immortal.
There is a room divided from the rest of the church by a curtain and a guard that is reserved for prayer only. I went in because I was there and I might as well see it, and once through the curtain I was struck as though by a physical force to kneel. I've never done anything like this, Catholics have a special kind of bench they pray on, and it is not a position natural to me so I nearly lost my balance. Where do my arms go?
I won't inflict the particulars of my prayer on you. I just needed to tell someone what happened.
(CW)TB
For one thing, there's Goddamn gelato every hundred feet or so. Gelato is the Italian super ice cream developed - but never unleashed - during World War II. I think they whip it or something.
Also, you can walk pretty much anywhere you want to go. I guess there's some kind of a law that says you can't build anything higher than the dome of St. Peter's, which would just be interesting trivia if we hadn't had to use that fact to get us home one day. Of course, using a church dome as your landmark isn't a great idea here, but we lucked out in this case.
It is very hot all the fucking time. I believe that part of the reason Catholicism was able to secure such a grip is that these people are truly frightened of a place that could possibly be hotter than it is already. Fountains aren't just for decoration here, you would die if they weren't all over. There are also these spigots from hell to breakfast that just spill out ice-cold water all day. You can convert any one of them into a fountain by covering where the water comes out at the bottom.
I come here to the Hello Hello internet access place becasue it is on the opposite side from a store called Shoes and Bags. I used to go to the Western Union on the other side, but every time I came out she would have a new pair of shoes. She stressed that buying shoes is simply what one does in Italy, and I suggested to her that perhaps it was what they didn't do ever again. I stood outside that store waiting for her once, and it has a terrible attraction for the women who pass it. I saw a nun walk by with no intention of entering, when suddenly her neck snapped back and she was hauled in by an invisible cord.
Guys keep hitting on my wife, which I can understand, so it doesn't bother me. She looks pretty good, all's fair. But please, don't tell me I'm So Lucky or that I'm A Lucky Man. Brenna could not understand why this would make me angry when them kissing her arm or whatever would not. I let her in on a little man secret. When you tell a guy that he is a Lucky Man, you aren't saying it because she seems like a really nice person. What you are telling him is that you would so fuck that. You would fuck that to pieces.
Gabriel's fondest wish - though not his life's dream, as you'll see next week - is that he never be exposed to the smell of other people's urine. I think that this is a good wish to have, it's just that they keep putting the good stuff right next to the bad stuff on your planet. Big cities just smell like that, they do. When I look at a, you know, something by Michaelangelo or Raphael or Bernini, I know that I am not seeing everything. I just don't have the eye for it. I mean, shit. I stared at a piece at the Museum of Modern Art for about five minutes - really getting it, man - until I realized it was a fucking fire extinguisher. If only there were some way to combine his capacity to appreciate beauty and my tolerance of - and in some cases, appreciation for - human waste.
(CW)TB
MTV Cribs needs to talk to the Pope about maybe getting in there with some cameras and shit. I had heard that it was considered a city in and of itself, with its own post office and police force, but I didn't know it was surrounded by a huge wall. It is. It's actually surrounded by two walls, the outer one being comprised entirely of guys selling holy knick-knacks. It is nearly impenetrable.
Once you get your ticket for the Vatican Museum, I think they usually expect you to follow a tour or something but we didn't really know any better. It can take quite a while if you do it right, taking in profoundly beautiful art of every variety. Near the end of the museum itself is the Sistine Chapel, which you might have heard of. Holy shit. It is in that room that they lock the, um... Cardinals (I don't really know) up without food until they pick a new Pope. It's cool, there's like a cage for them. In any case, Michaelangelo's huge fresco that covers one of the walls is only one element of a room that was so breathtaking that it left me drained as I shambled out of there. That was my definition of the Vatican, the Sistine Chapel, and so when I got out of there and went around the corner I wasn't ready.
St. Peter's Basilica practically destroyed me.
There is an amazing square outside of it with extremely refreshing fountains. As you approach the church itself, you'll see a sign that shows people in shorts not getting in there, and people with pants getting in. They're not kidding about it, either. I'm sure their thinking goes something like this: if you want to come into God's house, you can put some fucking pants on.
I was still in a jovial mood when I ascended the front stairs and stood before the doors, I recall the frivolity of the moment because I said it would make a good place for a LAN Party. I noticed that the wall opposite the door was actually wired CAT-5, so I was thinking a couple of switches and we'd be ready to go.
If you can look at the Pieta - I know the accents aren't right on that word, I don't know how to produce them - if you can look at Michaelangelo's Pieta and then crack some fucking jokes, then something other human blood animates you. I kept trying to remind myself that a person made it.
They keep bodies in that place, remains of saints and so forth, honored by gigantic statues placed above their tombs. I can't describe how still it made me. There is a statue of a seated St. Peter whose stone foot has been worn completely smooth - it looks like a hoof - by a procession of human beings long beyond numbering. Even as a person who is not really down with this sort of thing, it had a very pronounced effect on me. It is beautiful, and you can appreciate it either because it's the house of God or because human beings of tremendous talent and passion created something immortal.
There is a room divided from the rest of the church by a curtain and a guard that is reserved for prayer only. I went in because I was there and I might as well see it, and once through the curtain I was struck as though by a physical force to kneel. I've never done anything like this, Catholics have a special kind of bench they pray on, and it is not a position natural to me so I nearly lost my balance. Where do my arms go?
I won't inflict the particulars of my prayer on you. I just needed to tell someone what happened.
(CW)TB
For one thing, there's Goddamn gelato every hundred feet or so. Gelato is the Italian super ice cream developed - but never unleashed - during World War II. I think they whip it or something.
Also, you can walk pretty much anywhere you want to go. I guess there's some kind of a law that says you can't build anything higher than the dome of St. Peter's, which would just be interesting trivia if we hadn't had to use that fact to get us home one day. Of course, using a church dome as your landmark isn't a great idea here, but we lucked out in this case.
It is very hot all the fucking time. I believe that part of the reason Catholicism was able to secure such a grip is that these people are truly frightened of a place that could possibly be hotter than it is already. Fountains aren't just for decoration here, you would die if they weren't all over. There are also these spigots from hell to breakfast that just spill out ice-cold water all day. You can convert any one of them into a fountain by covering where the water comes out at the bottom.
I come here to the Hello Hello internet access place becasue it is on the opposite side from a store called Shoes and Bags. I used to go to the Western Union on the other side, but every time I came out she would have a new pair of shoes. She stressed that buying shoes is simply what one does in Italy, and I suggested to her that perhaps it was what they didn't do ever again. I stood outside that store waiting for her once, and it has a terrible attraction for the women who pass it. I saw a nun walk by with no intention of entering, when suddenly her neck snapped back and she was hauled in by an invisible cord.
Guys keep hitting on my wife, which I can understand, so it doesn't bother me. She looks pretty good, all's fair. But please, don't tell me I'm So Lucky or that I'm A Lucky Man. Brenna could not understand why this would make me angry when them kissing her arm or whatever would not. I let her in on a little man secret. When you tell a guy that he is a Lucky Man, you aren't saying it because she seems like a really nice person. What you are telling him is that you would so fuck that. You would fuck that to pieces.
Gabriel's fondest wish - though not his life's dream, as you'll see next week - is that he never be exposed to the smell of other people's urine. I think that this is a good wish to have, it's just that they keep putting the good stuff right next to the bad stuff on your planet. Big cities just smell like that, they do. When I look at a, you know, something by Michaelangelo or Raphael or Bernini, I know that I am not seeing everything. I just don't have the eye for it. I mean, shit. I stared at a piece at the Museum of Modern Art for about five minutes - really getting it, man - until I realized it was a fucking fire extinguisher. If only there were some way to combine his capacity to appreciate beauty and my tolerance of - and in some cases, appreciation for - human waste.
(CW)TB
So anyway this past year at E3 we were invited to a couple different parties and I decided that I could either spend the rest of my life in a hotel room or actually go out and have fun. The first party we went to was the Nintendo one and getting to it involved a taxi ride and a bit of walking. I swiped a piece of stationary from the hotel that had its address on it and stuffed in my pocket. This was incase Tycho and Robert who I was with were somehow incapacitated and it became my responsibility to get us back. I also made sure I had change so that should I be thrown from the cab I could make my way to a pay phone and call for help. I lucked out in that the party was actually taking place at a hotel so worse case scenario if everyone I knew there were to die and someone stole my pay phone change I could just get a room there for the night. You think I am kidding but all of this is true.
The next night we were invited to the Sony party. I had no intention of going to this one as I was still recovering from the previous night’s adventure. However when it came time to leave I made myself get up and walk out the door before I could talk myself out of it. Everyone looked surprised as I forced myself to walk towards the elevator. Each step forward that I took required every ounce of strength I could muster. I left in such a hurry that I did not have time to bring the hotels address or make sure I had change in my pocket. This made me uneasy, and as we began our decent into downtown L.A. I felt like I was gonna throw up. Robert was driving this time, he had borrowed his brothers car earlier in the day. His brother, who had apparently gotten a head start on the drinking was seated up front giving directions while I sat in the back with Tycho and Pork. The combination of a drunken navigator and a driver unfamiliar with the area meant that we spent a lot of time just driving around downtown trying to find the party. This was made even more difficult by the fact that the police had blocked off large sections of downtown. When we stopped to ask a cop for directions and what the deal with the road blocks was he informed us that there was a crazy man on the loose with a gun. I asked Robert to repeat what the cop had said just so I could be certain and he said “there is a crazy party on the roof and it’s a lot of fun!” It was a kind attempt by a good friend to keep me from getting worked up but it was too little too late. I began to pray, something I had not really done since grade school.
I prayed and rocked back and forth in my seat as we looked for a place to park near the party. We ended up finding a place next to a sign that said our car may or may not get towed. Things were getting worse. We arrived at the party late to find that all the interesting bands had already left and apparently they had taken all the sober people with them. We mingled for a bit and then lost Pork in a crowed of people undulating to the sounds of George Clinton and his Funky All Stars. Tycho and I sat outside keeping an eye on Robert’s brother Dan who was now sloshed while Robert tried to find Pork. Once we are all back together again we made our way to the exit, grabbed some free backpacks and then started off towards the car. Robert saw a cop giving tickets and took off running in order to reach the car first. I walked with Dan while Tycho and pork talked to some people behind us. As Robert ran off he knocked over a girl and made her spill her water. She hoisted herself up, shouted some obscenities and ran after him. She was in no state to run though and quickly found that standing with her head against a wall waiting for the world to stop spinning was much more her style. As we passed her she recognized us as “That asshole’s friends” and came over to us. She yelled at Dan for a bit and then threw her arm around him and started whispering in his ear and rubbing her fingers though his hair. He just kept smiling and walking until she finally left. I asked him what she had said and he told me he couldn’t remember. Luckily the car was still there and after a quick stop over at Dan’s frat house to put him to bed we caught a cab back to the hotel.
This was more adventure than I had ever experienced in my life. During it of course I was terrified but afterwards I was able to appreciate it. Even as I write it here now I can think back on it and say that I am honestly glad I did it. It was a huge step for me and I think that it means I am getting better. I really think that soon I’ll be able to take a trip like Tycho is on now. Only I think that once I make up my mind to do it the first place I want to go is Japan.
-Gabe out
