Rome top 10

Top 10 Worst of Rome

10-Pizza, if I have to eat any more mediocre pizza caldo, I think I will vomit.
9-Via Arenula, not having to avoid the wobbly sidewalk tiles that get your shoes soaked
8-Animal noises, why do they make animal noises when they try to pass you
7-Umbrella salesman-even if you have an umbrella they try and sell you one
6-Italian mindset, piggybacking off successes from 2000 years ago is no way to leave, get up and do something great.

5-Dog shit, I will be so thankful not to see it or potentially step in it.
4-Hobit hole apartment, finally a space without leaks, roaches, bums, and shoty electricity.
3-Bargaining, why do you have to bargain for a fair price for everything
2-Filth and decay, I know the city is old, but why is it acceptable to throw your trash on the ground and allow your dog to shit on the street?
1-Italian efficiency, at least they are efficient at creating chaos.

Top 10 Best of Rome

10-Scooters, the smells, sounds, movement, and danger I have come to love.
9-Campo screaming lady, listening to her scream or eat spaghetti off a car shakes things up enough
8-Make-out central, seeing people of all shapes, sizes, and ages making out somehow makes the country feel more romantic
7-Cuisine-not knowing what you are ordering and still having it taste well is so rewarding
6-Anonymity-the ability to talk freely and not everyone can understand you.

5-Dinners with my roommates-sitting down and enjoy good food and good company
4-The river tiber, the fluctuations, runs, and floods
3-The back streets of Trastevere-a 24-7 street, a joy to experience at any time
2-Ladies of Rome-great looks, tan bodies, and a mysterious language
1-Landmark walking-the chance to walk past the...(Pantheon, St. Peter's, coliseum...etc.) on your way to run an errand.

Calcio: Italian for Anarchy

Soccer like no other sport. Attending matches in Italy has further confirmed my stance that soccer is by far the most amazing sport. I was lucky to get to attend the Serie A match between Juventus and AS Roma. For those of you who do not understand, this is a great rivalry. I conveniently took a group of classmates, many of which had no clue what they were getting into despite my repeated emails about the severity of what we were going to see. I located us in the section adjacent to the visiting fans and informed everyone not to wear black and white (the colors of Juventus). They listened to me and were glad they did. Hearing 88,000 fans singing in the AS Roma song in unison is one of the most intimidating and spine tingling sensations I have experienced. Things started off pretty well, we sat in our area, specific seats are not respected, and noted riot police on both sides of the plexi-glass wall maintaining an increased buffer between us and the unruly visitors. The key to surviving any soccer match is to watch the game and to react like the people around you. So when a bad call is made, you thrust your right hand in the air and yell. But all hell can break lose when one passionate Roma fan lobs a firework into the seats of the visitors. They didn't see it coming. BANG...like a bomb going off. There was a moment of calm shock, the fear on their faces quickly eroding into hateful scowls. And then it is on like Donkey Kong Bitch. A barrage of missiles...small tubes of coffee, plastic beer and coke bottles, come raining down on you. Somehow sitting in a modern stadium at this moment seems like you are participating in a medieval castle siege. The key to safety is reaction. Needless to say after some exchanges of vulgarities and obscene gestures we collect their objects and return the volley. The entire time the riot police do nothing. Fantastic. The battle continues as does the match, although for safety reasons I am unable to comment on the specifics of the match. As the battle appears to be reaching a crescendo, Juventus like a good general, rallies their troops. They score a solid goal. Now the Roma fans are even more upset and as the game heads to halftime, they have 15 minutes with no distractions to express their anger. The battle surges, the vendors eagerly resupply the mercenaries at the bargain price of 5 euro per missile. At this point the beverages are not being consumed and the vendors are not removing the tops. In other words full bottles of coke and beer are being violently hurled. One explodes near us enveloping Ian and I in sticky shrapnel to the cheers of the Juventus fans. We return fire, deliberately selecting our targets, this time throwing coins. They hurt more and are impossible to see. I know this from personal experience. Our whole unit of 20 is engaged in the battle. A couple of our troops cower from the onslaught requiring the consoling of the team mother. War brings out the worst in people. At some point the game resumes and Juventus scores three quick goals. With the soccer game secured for the visitors, all the home side can do now is beat them in the stands. Any shred of control is lost, seats are being ripped up and thrown like frisbees across the wall. The police constantly fall victim to misfires. Exploding bombs. Eventually, the police determine something must be done. As one officer on the Juventus side is struck with a seat, they surge, clubs in the air, face guards down, and shields up. The visitors are compressed into an area 1/3 of the original. People are stampeded, trampled, and beaten. Beaten like step-children. Tag team, club weilding, third-world beating. The surge of course encourages the Roma fans. They cheer and thrown with more conviction as a good home town ass-kicking is on. Order is restored, but not before many bloodied faces and bombs are delivered. Unconscience spectators are drug from the battle field. The game ends and both sides of riot police move in to separate the fans and to get the home crowd out of the stadium. The visitors cheering loudly, so we throw more. One of us is nearly beaten by the military police who have now reinforced both lines. We walk out saddened by our teams outcome, but raging with adrenaline. Somehow being able to unleash my frustration for this country by throwing projectiles at random Italians is soothing. I went back for more the next Sunday. What a great game.

Legge Bene Jonathan

Legge Bene Johnathan, Legge Bene!

By far, the most entertaining quote of the program. Imagine our Italian teacher vehemently pleading with Johnathan to speak better Italian. I can understand his confusion as the letter 'c' embodies more sounds than a specific character from Police Academy, but funny nonetheless. Johnathan is a smart man, he knows French. But when you hear him start making Italian words sound French it become funny. Sounds become more rounded, letters are removed from pronunciation, and the 'r's, oh how I love the sound of a French 'r'. The verbal garbling of the Italian language teased her (our teacher). Sometimes getting her so excited she almost threw objects at him.

Va bene.

Hair Dressers and Umbrella Thieves

So the day after Thanksgiving marked the moment when I first fell victim to a crime. This night was nothing short of bizarre. I now enter the ranks of Amy and Serena, all victims of petty theft. Josh, Mike, and I make a cross town trek to a fantastic restaurant, Gusto, in the pouring rain. We are talking Tiber river flooding, serious umbrella weather, looking to board a boat, rain. Walking in the rain, absolutely no singing, for 30 minutes until we make it to Gusto has yielded wet pants from the knee down (ah the power of capillary action). Now this restaurant is pretty hip and general good manners should be used. As Josh and I don't see an umbrella depository, being the gentlemen that we are, we store our umbrellas outside near the front door. In we go. Our waiter, deemed to be Karen's next hair dresser as he clearly was not a good waiter gives me a menu. I tell him that I am not eating and would just like to see a wine menu. After all I just came for birthday drinks (Amy's b-day). He brings me out a glass and an open bottle of wine. Asks me if it is ok, and before I can utter a word, pours me a taste. Awestruck, I tell him that I want to see a menu. He then does the same for Josh and Mike. This is going to be real fun with an asshole that wants to push overstocks off on foreigners. I take the sample and order a different glass of wine. A couple of hours pass and when it comes time for the bill the fun begins. My glass is not on the bill, so I just blindly give him money. Then the ladies want to separate the check, but he can't do it, which he explains very rudely. The bottle of wine he suggested for the ladies which he claimed was only a couple of bucks more than what they were looking at turned out to be 8 euro more. This is the definition of price gauging. As the girls finagle the cash card dilemma, he has the audacity to tell us that tip is not included and that it is 15%. Surprisingly enough this is the first time while in Rome that this had occurred. What an ass for trying to take advantage of us. He didn't get 15%, and he forgot half a bottle of prosecco on the table which after the bill was signed magically disappeared. Leaving with a sour flavor that contaminates the culinary flavors in my mouth, we bid farewell to the far too stylish and superior Italian who tried to screw us. As I emerge from one barrage and prepare to enter the next, still raining drops so big that the sidewalk looks like fish jumping out of a lake, I realize my umbrella has been stolen. Thirty more minutes of fun in the rain without an umbrella. Where are the umbrella salesmen when you need them. Are they stealing umbrellas and reselling them to other tourists? Ah, Italy.

Plenty to be Thankful for

I hope everyone had a most amazing Thanksgiving. Although I had to this most pure festivity away from the sacredness of my family, I was able to surround myself with friends. What an amazing feast we had, even if it was in a classroom. The table was adorned with little toms and most impressive 13 kilo turkey was somehow cooked deliciously in an oven far to small. Martha Stewart would have been proud. Twenty-two students preparing twenty-two traditional dishes from their families makes for the eclectic Thanksgiving feel. I have never been at a Thanksgiving where Jello shots were tradition, but I am not one to judge. The noises, smells, and action were all authentic. It does feel like the holidays now. May you all have had a great holiday as well filled with laughter, food, and good health.

48 Hours of Artistic Pandemonium

My first time to Fiernze and I am still reeling from the experience. The city sweats of exquisite art, it can not hold more. Indeed the city is a giant gallery. In a mere 48 hours I managed to see all the important sites minus one. My legs are tired and my soles worn to the liner, but my mind is full and spirit renewed. I will start with the "Birth of Venus." I had no idea the painting was so large. She is breathtaking. Serene. It is hard to describe the power of such a piece, but the combination of movement and her stoically calm demeanor yield a highly volatile piece. The second piece would be the Duomo. An immaculant combination of colors, textures, and materials encourages a dynamic experience. Once inside, climbing through passageways and examining the inside of the dome is worth the hefty 6 euro charge. The frescos on the interior of the dome are powerfully grandiose, depicting a divine battle of biblical proportions. One gets the pleasure of not only experiencing the inside, but on summiting. An amazing panorama of Fiernze awaits. Try and catch your breath and take it all in. By far the single most moving piece for me was David. I turned the corner and was nearly knocked on my ass. By breath was drawn from me and a tingling chill traveled my spinal chord. Electrifying. David is a magnificent sculpture alone, but the setting around him makes him epic. Flanked by unfinished works of Michelangelo, these behemoth blocks of stone are animated with expertly executed rough drafts emerging from them. You get the opportunity to see the hand at work. Then David is awash in amazing natural light, making him appear to glow within the space he commands. All the tourists just seem to disappear.

Cosmo.it

At some point I will catch up and describe my travels in Fierenze, but for now, quench your parched medulla oblongata on a peppering of Italian Cosmo quotes. Clearly, cosmo maintains an equally racy and mysterious level of intrigue in Italy as in the U.S.

tacchi da' mal di mare--(a stiletto that turns the sea mad) Image a pair of heels that are so subductively saturated they can infuse a room with such electricity and sexual power only a raging sea can rival them.

lingerie da urlo--(lingerie that howls) Now every woman needs a pair of fine Italian lingerie that leaves her screaming like a wild animal.

devo sprigieriare l' erotismo--(the need to release ones' eroticism)

Now I know where all the cheesy lines woman expect Italian men to woo them with come from. Clearly Italian men are well-vised in the art of verbal seduction.

Uva Rara

Last Friday night Josh and I decided to try our hand at a quaint wine bar in Trastevere. When we walked in we soon realized that the attractive young woman (how do Josh and I always manage to drink around such great ladies) spoke beautiful American English. It became quite appetizing to have a causal conversation with another American who is not studying architecture or trying to figure out how to get to the colleseum. Eventually we discover that our wine nymph doesn't like wine, but is dating the owner. So as she procures our bottle, we know a good show is unfolding. To begin with she uses a foil cutter, but creates a jagged scarring gauge at the improper location on the bottle. Next she thrusts the corkscrew in with vigorous determination, futiliy trying to make up for her previous sloppiness. She steps the corkscrew out...first pull...second. Now typically the cork should be free by now and she should be smelling it. But no, not our little Californian. She yanks and pulls, rotating the bottle around violently trying to jimmy the cork free of its five year grasp. Back and forth she jostles the cork, coaxing it out with grunted verbiage. "Come on little fellow, come on work with me." As she is doing this she bluntly proclaims her fear of breaking another cork off, but quickly reassures us that she is fully trained to remove broken cork. How many times has she done this? No time to ask. SNAP...well the cork is broken sitting mockingly in the neck. However, she is quite good at removing a broken cork. At least she gets a lot of practice at it. But as this little spectacle is unfolding my mind wanders to where all mens' minds wander...sex. Phallic references are easily drawn from what I witness and combining that with her soothing sentences yields a truly divine mental image. Continuing along this train of thought...SNAP...I begin to suddenly feel sorry for her boyfriend. None the less witnessing another random American floundering helplessly in the Italian culture like I do was refreshing. Because of this I am sure I will be back. She definitely is an Uva Rara (try not to say that without a growl).

Wonkavision

"A little nonsense, now and then, is relished by the wisest men." There is no other way to describe the eccentric purchase of one quirky undergraduate. Maybe it is the mystique of Capri (the Sirens of the shopping world) that confounds logic and coaxes people to make fantasmic purchases. Nonetheless a purchase of economically priced faux designer frames occurred. Pearly white, squat, and square...a modern take on wonkavision glasses. Give the man a white suit and a top hat.
"We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams."

Noises from an abyss

Playing soccer in a piazza in Italy used to be an accepted past time. But apparently in Almalfi this is frowned upon as it makes people crazy. Five-thirty on a weeknight, four of us decide to knock the ball around. Nothing competitive or physical. Four guys juggling and passing. A little conversation to pass the time. Abruptly from an abyss in the urban fabric a high pitched drawn out "eeeee...ooooooo" is uttered in out general direction. I must warn you that the correct spelling of the sounds still eludes me six days after experiencing it. The noise was both odd and well calculated. The first time such Italian vulgarities are uttered at us we pay them little response. "eeee...oooo" Ok, so maybe it is one of our friends playing a bizarre joke on us from one of the hotel windows. We placate them in turning around and looking for the origin of such pollution. Silence and darkness. Back to the game, an anomaly, a tear in the interstitial fabric of time. It comes again like some horror movie haunting..."Booooccckkk....Moooooo." Now as they more closely resemble barnyard noises it must clearly be either one of our friends or the matting call of a salty dog. Between each noise is roughly a 30 second pause...yes a full thirty seconds. "Seeeeoowww." Sounds like meow. Ok we should reply as we still cannot see who is making noises at us. Clearly they were not raised with manners. As a cultured bunch of Americans, we begin meowing into the dark at this noisy object. Nothing....30 second pause. "ping....beep...beep." Maybe it is the audition for Police Academy Italy. Finally when our curiosity is reaching a boiling point a hardly discernible, unbelievably drawn out, "Sileeeeeennnnccceeeee....Pleeeeeeeeeaaaaaasssssse" is wailed from the bowels of some subterranean lair. Squeaking reverberations bound off the battered walls of Christendom. Well enough soccer for us. Enough noises from a crazy lady. Maybe we can coax her out of hiding with a can of tuna.

Blue Grotto

I went to Capri. Let me preface this by saying, if Villa Malaparte had not been there I never would have gone. Josh and I decided to take a boat around the island and see everything from the sea. It sounded like a steal for 10 euro, but there area always hidden costs in Italy. Away we go speeding down the coast with four other people; two young Asian woman and a middle-aged Italian couple (possibly married). One of the places we get to see is the Blue Grotto (apparently a must see). But with all travels you reach a point somewhere along the journey where you get shafted by a tourist scam. So the large boat stops near a small hole in the rock. An armada of dinghies approach. Since our captain is an Italian male the young woman get a dingy all to themselves, typical. The Italian couple are escorted down the ladder into a second dingy. Then the captain commands me to get in, where our greasy rower folds me like a piece of luggage, awkwardly stowing me under a support board; my ass positioned between the woman's legs, pinching both her and her boyfriend's legs against the side of the boat. Josh is the last to board, positioned at crotch level with our rower in the bow of the vessel. We are rowed up to another boat where we are forced to pay 8.50 euro as an entrance fee. I can hardly reach my wallet, but am so uncomfortable, my ass now drenched with the salt water from previous trips, that I reluctantly pay. I just keep smiling and telling myself not to rock the boat, no one would be able to get out if they wanted to. As we approach the hole, the rower yells at Josh to put his head down. The rower grabs a chain attached to the wall and yanks us into the grotto. In performing this movement, he violently thrusts his ass into my face smashing it into the woman's crotch. A game of ass-crotch ping pong ensues as I try to regain consciousness. Everything goes blue...eerie. I hear Italian's singing. We are paddled around the grotto and then back to the threshold. I can anticipate what is coming, but am powerless to reposition myself to avoid it. Ding...round two. I hate being the ball. After maybe 5 minutes we return to our boat where I am told to get out. I thought it was difficult to get in, well getting out in any sort of a dignified manner is impossible. I am forced to rotate 180 degrees positioning my body such that I appear to be bedding this man's girlfriend. Then thrust my body vertically along her until I can reach a point to bend my knees thus straddling her face with my crotch. Reluctantly I can only muster a sheepish "scusa" as I perform a sexual boat dance with another man's woman. As I exit the dingy, the rower has the audacity to ask me for a tip. I have a tip for you...

Umbrella Condoms

Ah, the umbrella condom. The name says it all; a protective device which enables one to prevent fluid from making its way to any number of undesirable surfaces. They come in a variety of colors (yellow, smoke grey, and translucent) and fit a large variation of sizes, although pretty much one size fits all. Application is a snap, literally. First locate a new umbrella condom. Attach the condom to the end. This can be done in either a fully erect state or when not deployed. Ensure that you attach the condom on the correct end. Verify which direction it unfolds to ensure correct orientation. The condom is only effective if you prevent premature contamination. Now unlike normal condoms, the umbrella condom must be used when the umbrella is not deployed. Simply close the umbrella. Gently slide the condom up the shaft of the umbrella, ensuring a dry and pleasant umbrella experience. Proper use of the umbrella condom will ensure that indoor spaces are free of unwanted fluids and prevent angry looks from your neighbors. Be prepared...umbrella condoms will be taking Seattle by storm this winter when our arsenal returns.

Complexities of Menu Navigation

It has been a while since I have posted. Sorry, but I was on a trip to the South of Italy navigating some of the most complex Italian menus. Now imagine a menu with eight times as many pages of wine as food. Then somewhere within the sea of wine pages lurks a food page. Once you get past the overwhelmed feeling, navigating the waters is a bit tricky. First you have to know a thing or two about wine. Slowly, but surely I have been learning. Second you should try and match wine and food. This of course is complicated by the difficulty in translating Italian food dishes. Some of the translations are things like voracious octopus, pork to the irons, penne mad, or fish to the crazy water. Once you have managed to figure out this menu you have to try and remember what you ordered for both primi and secondi. I heavily recommend the stuffed squid.

Directions from a Machine Gun

Have you ever tried to get directions from a machine gun wielding bullet-proof vest wearing Italian? It begins with an attempt, a poor attempt at asking for directions with your fragmented Italian. When they (there are two of them) reply that they do not understand you...you are required to resort to any means necessary to solve the problem, usually resulting in you looking like a fool. I gesticulate what I am looking for and how to get there, which now I realize by their facial reactions closely resembled, "I hate your president and I would like to blow him and all your churches up." Mayday...Mayday...I am going down. Seeing where this is headed I attempt to recover from my poor volley of gestures with a series of over zealous full body motions and rapidly spoken English ramblings. Now they are raising their guns, sweaty palms closing around the handle, the finger bending around the trigger. A moment of truth, a light bulb comes on, "I have an Italian phrase book in my coat pocket," problem solved. I calmly tell them everything is going to fine and make a confident move towards the inside pocket of my coat to withdraw my solution. World goes black...I wake up. I am confident that this was a dream, but the next day when Jill asks for directions to a church from two machine gun wielding Carabinieri, lets just say I didn't stick around to find out how it went.

Wee Headbut

Sometimes the most outlandish story comes from the most unexpected place. A tale of a..."gross sweaty wee-man" and a headbut. Of course this is about the famous Wee-Man. It all takes place in a bar called Tsunami in Annapolis. A table of celebrities draws attention when Wee-Man begins doing wee-cartwheels around the bar. Now my Hello Kitty, Brittany Spears loving friend is entirely enamored when she discovers that Wee-Man is enjoying drinks with...well quite possibly the most bizarre group of celebrities ever. Now I trust her story because I am certain she was sober, and due to her expertise in movies, music, and...well I don't even know what Hello Kitty is. A table of celebrities, Wee-Man, the lead singer from Linkin Park, and Chris from N'Sync. Now as she struggles to get access to one of her favorite singers, Chris...she is intercepted by the Wee-Man who deliberately engages her with a well calculated headbut, of course which only reaches her stomach. I know it all seems unbelievably fantasmic, but I guess everyone has a story to tell.

Kick the Dog

It has been a while since I have seen a grown man kick a dog. But Italy is full of surprises. Now imagine, one American walking down a back street in Rome. As an architecture student, his head is in the clouds as he surveys the buildings around him. Approaching towards him is a man with a dog on a chord, not a leash, but a chord. The dog oblivious to its surroundings is mindlessly being guided by the tugs and pulls of the chord, but as the chord is quite long there is considerable distance between the owner and the canine. As these two ships begin to approach, I suspect that a peaceful passing in the night will occur. How often do you see a person and an animal accidentally collide? Nonetheless, this is going to be close. As the two approach closer to a point of no return, my focus intensifies and excitement boils with anticipation to a feverish pitch. Then it happens. The student oblivious of the dog, the dog of the student. The student leads with his right leg and makes solid, very solid contact with the dog. The dog is small, so his meager body goes for a bit of a spin. Now as I learned in science class, for every action there is an equal reaction. Cue, dog yelp, immediately followed by the most terrifying combination of growls, snarls, and teeth wielding you have ever imagined. I can relate it to the wolf dogs of the movie Willow, those things still scare me. Anyway, by the time the student's brain has realized that is has kicked something, that it is a dog, and that it is pissed, the only reaction that ensues is a startled yell of, "Jesus Christ!," followed by a one-legged hop dance where the little ankle biter is shaken loose. The owner gives a half assed tug on the chord, mumbles some inarticulate Italian and all is done. By far the most amusing thing I have seen in the past 237 days.

And another one bites the dust

The act of running while in Italy appears to be a dangerous one. This past week on our northern field trip another one of us was consumed by the varied elevation of the dreaded cobbles. My roommate unwittingly fell victim to the medieval fabric. Wham bam and a broken collar bone. 6 weeks no fun, no cooking, no carrying bags. Poor guy. I wish him the best and a speedy recovery, my belly is grumbling.

Gelato-A tumultuous discovery of Italian ice cream

Now just as I enjoy cheese, I could devote an entire blog to this dulce.

Favorite Flavors
Cinnamon Ginger--a pungent ecstasy for your tastebuds
Bacio--a versitle everyday flavor strewn with whole hazelnuts and the richest chocolate
(Italian name unknown)--imagine crushed berries rolled in creamy goodness topped with whipped cream

Favorite Gelateria
San Crispino--near the Trevi Fountain with a truly stand-offish anti-American frown and a rather inflated ego, the gelato is sweet enough to make you put up with a little Yankee hating.

Worst Gelateria
Blu Ice--anyone who goes for one of these overpriced flavorless scoops is clearly a tourist or part of the newly formed UW female gelato club (I have never seen students consume so much of an inferior product...shame).

Spaghetti Eaters and the Abbey Theatre

Ever seen a crazy street lady eat spaghetti off the top of a car? Maybe...well...what if she continued to scream random Italian words while consuming here pasta? Getting more specific...now imagine watching nearly 30 American students hang out a third storey window watching her. Who becomes the spectacle? Italians finding the crazy woman normal and the American's bizarre, or the Americans finding the transverse. At least as loud obnoxious Americans we can find solace in drowning our unfamiliar surroundings at a good English speaking pub.

Sniped by a 40 year old chain

According to my friend, Italian doctors are hilarious. My friend was sniped by a 40 year old chain while running. I know, she clearly is not Italian as they do not run, nor hop over chains, but none the less she speaks Italian...or at least she did before she was sniped. Keep the story short. She runs, she's sniped, falls on cobbles, screams, no ambulance, taxi to hospital, broken knee cap. I will leave the artistic license up to you on this one, I have confidence in your ability to animate it in a highly dramatic fashion. Now back to the doctors. Was it a moto accident? No, I fell while running. Where? The chain at Ponte Siste bridge. Did you see the chain? Yes. Are you sure that you saw the chain, it has been there for 40 years? Yes, I am sure I saw it. Ok, then we will scan your knee and have you fitted for some new glasses.

A man taketh, the man runeth

The enjoyable thing about Rome is wondering what new things she will show you. Today I saw my first glimpse of the efficient Italian justice system. It begins in a piazza. Large fountain in the center, blue sky, children playing, and birds singing. You get the picture. The camera pans the scene, then zooms in on three men struggling near the fountain. One of the men is holding the other man's hand in a rather torturous manner. The kind of move you pull on a sibling so that they have to return what they stole from you. Although my Italian is spotchy, this appears to be exactly what happened. One man pleading with his capture that he promises to return what he took if only he were to free his had. Another man, the interrogator, confiscating the captor's bag and refusing to negotiate with the accused. So now we have two men performing their own street justice on one bon-a-fide Italian criminal. I know, I know, innocent until proven guilty. Well the interrogator has finally had enough arguing with the criminal, so he decides to contact the professionals. Dial 113 (loosely translated as 911).

"Good morning, Polizia."
"Good morning, my friend and I have temporarily detained a criminal. Could you please assist?"
"Of course, could you please tell me your location?"
"We are at the lovely fountain in the piazza."
"Oh...you are quite right it is lovely. Now would you prefer I dispatch an officer in black pants with red stripes, or an officer in blue pants with black stripes?"
"Beh...let me ask him whom he would prefer arrest him...yes...yes...Sir, do the officers with blue pants wear berets?"

While one can only speculate what is going on with the police, the criminal convinces his captor to free his hand. Now the criminal is pleading to have his bag returned. Of course neither of the victims are so inclined to comply. The victim begs again, while carefully inching his way closer to the bottom of the fountain. And as you suspect, he bolts. Now watching two irate Italian men who can't run chase a criminal down the street screaming and hollering is quite entertaining. As for the police, I am still waiting for the ones' with stripes to arrest the dog which keeps defecating on my stoop.

Formaggio Dulce

A very dear friend wrote to me (all in Italian, which thank you very much took me a while to translate) all about cheese. For most Americans the topic of cheese would appear simple and short. But when you have finally had the opportunity to experience cheese, to really experience cheese, you won't be able to stop speaking about it. Now many woman I know have already come to terms with this utter delight. For me I relate cheese to a woman, simply because I love both. Cheese is complicated. She comes in all shapes, colors, and flavors. Born from different utters that were fed varied grains her flavor changes. Some aren't even born from the breast. She can be firm, delicate, pungent, sweet, spicy, simple, complex. Her age can establish add to her wealth. Sometimes she has thick rinds, others times she wants to be consumed rind and all. She requires care and nurturing to form, to be optimal. She never judges and is always confident in who she is. She is best enjoyed alone, one slice at a time; but is great at a party. There is cheese for everyone, and for some like me, I enjoy the flirtatious game she plays with me.

Mabton Mermaids and Psychedelic Lenses

Story telling is a delicate art. I choose to live my life in a rather...shall we say...dramatic fashion. In doing so my psychological persona is equipped with a rather fantasmic wardrobe. There are many set of fashionable lenses I wear, many of which no Italian designer could replicate with pure nirvana. These frames enable a varied and sometimes less than accurate viewing of events. But how accurate are stories. A good story needs both great characters, drama, emotion, and artistic license. The extent to which I choose to adjust the contrast, infusing my banal existence with exquisite saturated vigor depends solely on the lens. Go out and find yourself a pair of psychedelic lenses; see how the world changes.

Middle School Romance

I know that romance has been a recent theme, but I am in Rome. This story has to be told, an epic about a friend we will call Jack and a lady he swoons after named Jill. Remember those relationships we watched blossom in Jr. High. Well here I am a graduate student witnessing it again. At first it had the potential to be cute. Cute is a word I try to avoid. The awkward tension was suffocating. Jack following Jill, sitting next to her, eating with her, spending every waking moment next to her (even laughing at her primitive jokes that even a grade schooler knows are lame). The hunt was obvious so much so that the undergraduates got it. Romance takes time and even the most pathetic lamest tiger is thrown a bone every once an a while, not that Jill was a bone by any means, but that Jack's game was so elementary that it should have been animated in a flip book. Progressing at the standard adolescent pace, Jack caught his doe, but not before a lengthy chase. To be fair, there isn't much alone time--we all have roommates and are quite busy with school, making the task of love slightly more challenging. The humor was stifling as public displays of affection were tirelessly withdrawn at a sluggish pace. Now they openly hold hands, and some of us have even seen them sneak a kiss, to the giggles and whispers of those around them. Alas we can all finally stop holding our breath and sit back, snicker, and make jokes to their faces. Easy tiger.

A place to Sneak a Kiss

Ostia Antica--
Located 20 minutes by train southwest of Rome, Ostia Antica is a marvelous amalgamation of ancient Roman ruins. During its heyday around...well lets just say 5 BC...it was the primary port for Rome. Amazingly enough the frescos still retain their color and many finely crafted sculptures can be see throughout. The weather was warm and sunny, optimal for a day of sketching and painting. The maze-like layout of Ostia makes this an ideal place to sneak away with a lover and burn an entire day in each others' embrace...not that his happened, but you think about a lot when you are waiting for your watercolors to dry. Definitely worth a return visit hopefully with a beautiful woman.

Lost Glamour

Today I realized that the spectacle of being in Rome has finally eluded me. Now I just want to be able to accomplish a normal task without floundering maddly. Prime Example--today I thought I would be smart and save money by making my own sandwich. Ok, make a lunch for under 3 euro. Well it starts off with me buying bread stuffed with steamed cabbage for 1.80 euro. Not a great start, for it not only tastes bad, but half my budget is spent on bread. Ok now the meat. I end up with spicy pork jerky for a bargain 4.50 euro. Italian is hard enough, but ordering food in Italian metric is near impossible. Forget the cheese clearly this was not the day to try this. I managed to blow two days lunch money on one bad meal. Clearly my Italian classes are paying off. Ah...better luck tomorrow.

Top 10 memories of Rome

14 Days of Rome Top Ten List

10-Gelatto, mountains of sweet creamy goodness
9- Italian efficentcy, how do they accomplish anything
8- African salesman, how many umbrellas and faux-prada purses can one nation consume
7- Running the River Tiber, each day I run past the Pope, buon giorno Papa
6- Trash in the River, how can so many bottles, logs, and soccer balls stay in one place for so long (14 days)

5- Bus 116, who new riding the short bus could be so much fun
4- passagiatta, the festival of walking
3- Trastevere, who new a river could keep the tourists at bay
2- Italian Women, Mediterranean tans and they walk all day, buns of steel
1- Cuisine, who new 4 men could create such epicurean delights

Josh (Sweet Cheeks Honey) and his stains

The past week has seen another story unfold. My roommate Josh is a superhero. His strength is his uncanny ability to attract stains. The first such example occurred at the grocery store Di per Di. While holding a bottle of wine, he unwittingly transferred a stain from the bottom of the bottle to his sweater. A beautiful red wine circle. The problem was as the humidity was too high for clothes to dry it took all week for his sweater to become wearable again. Example 2, white pants. I know what you are thinking, honestly who attempts to wear white pants in Rome. If you weren't thinking this it is simply because you have not been to Rome. Lesson one, white pants in Rome are a bad idea. Simply put Josh has a close encounter with a building. A magnificent streak of urban grime was haphazardly distributed across the entire front of his pants. Example 3. Now at this point Josh is a little more inclined to be careful. Learning how to control a super power takes time. Now he was about to leave the Hobbit Hole to go draw with charcoal in a white shirt, but he stopped himself. He changed his shirt to black...smart one Josh, you catch on. Now the funny thing about both super powers and irony are their careful marriage with fate. As Josh walks out the door he is happy for having caught his white shirt debacle and proudly states that he prevented another stain. Here is where fate steps up and shows irony what to do. As Josh walks out the door of the school, a large fowl decides to deploy a hearty white stain to Josh's black shirt. All Josh can do is tag someone else with the luck, hopefully it isn't me.

Hobbit Hole Apartment

The apartment seemed fine until...

The kitchen had no ventilation.
The basement has only one small window for ventilation.
Dirt is swept in from the street through the aforementioned window and onto Josh's bed.
The de-humidifier doesn't fit into the outlet, loving the slime and mold growing in our basement. It becomes prime real estate for culturing our own Italian cheeses.
The floor is so dirty that is has left our feet black and our sheets stained.
Our skylight leaks and the three large bowls we have must now be used for flood control.
We have only one knife and it is for cutting bread.
We have no bowls for cereal.
The air gets cold and we have no blankets, thank you UW for the "fully furnished" apartments.

Not bad for a week one punch list. Now if Italian efficientcy existed or if they actually ever worked than some of these issues might get resolved.

Day three we got blankets.

Trastevere

Once more across the River Tiber...

After an aborted landing attempt where the plane made an unexpected climb for the stratosphere which mimicked a shuttle launch (experience from a previous life), I was safely on the ground. Reason for aborted landing, "ladies and gentleman the captain has decided to attempt landing again as the winds were not optimal for our first attempt." Winds were not optimal, we were thirty feet from the ground when he decided this!

Deep breathe...you are ok...you are safe. Now to discover where this so called Rome Center is and where the hell I live. I just flew half way around the world to a foreign city where they promise I have an apartment.

Trastevere. This is where the apartment lies, on a street named after mountain flowers. After opening my hobbit door I discover my hobbit apartment. It appears nice at first. I will see. But as the neighborhood name implies, my apartment lies across the Tiber.

Everyday I am greeted with her movement and majesty. Not even a hobbit apartment could spoil her grace.

A Roma

Nine and a half hours next to an Aussie. Solution--ipod and alcohol at 30.000 feet.
First stop, Copenhagen.
Christiania...no more pushers street although the hash still flows underground...one of the few questions I understand in Danish
Amalenborg...finally saw the changing of the guard. I am so glad I waited to see it. Nothing like feeling like a tourist.
Stroget...same crowd, same bands, same smells, same...

Denmark really hadn't changed. It was still homely and welcoming. I felt more a part of the city and culture than any other country I have visited.

Naeste Stop...Rome