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.