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Tycho / on Wed, Jun 4 2003 at 8:00 am

Rome, Italy

Not bad at all.

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.


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