Rome Is So Crowded It Took Me 3 Days To Pee On It

Preparing to go to Rome--

Prep Day 1: I went to London and checked into my hostel. While there, I was treated to a preview of my time in Rome when seven dark-haired, smoke-skinned Italian women crowded the counter and chatted incoherently with the desk jockey, causing me to wait forty five minutes for my check-in. Later that night I was stuck in a room with a bunch of crazy Spaniards, who promptly conquistadored the room. Because they didn't shut up until after midnight, I had time to think two things-- 1) Spanish people talk way, way too fast, and don't say "queso" "bonita" or "viva!!" nearly as much as you would think, and 2) I was just annoyed by two very different ethnicities in very short succession. Plus I already hate whitey. Where am I to fit in?

Prep Day 2: Went to the airport to pick up the soon to be aged and decrepit Nicole Clement, who turns 23 in December. Later that night I ate the most delicious steak in the world at a Scottish steakhouse (who knew? I thought they ate grass and the weakest of their young) and we went to Les Miserables (in English, "the nino." ...Remember when SNL was funny?). I thought the play was fantastic. The performances were great, the songs were catchy enough to be good but not simple enough to haunt your existance into the next week, and they weren't as encrusted with cheese as modern musicals. I also enjoyed the plot, which is in part about a man who is forced into crime by an immoral and unfair social structure, then unable to redeem himself because of that same class disparity. It really lends creedence to the Tenacious D line "the government totally sucks mother fucker, the government totally sucks." And you wonder why I said I hate whitey.

Also, it needs to be mentioned that we saw perhaps the greatest television show of all time on British television-- "Cirque de Celebrite" (the "e" has one of those French line things over it, but I don't know how to type it). We watched a fat black woman swing from a rope and then shriek like a jet engine made of live howler monkeys. I can't describe the feeling to you. Its too emotional.

Th next morning we took a cab to London City Airport, which is popular amongst business professionals. With my baseball hat, sweaty t-shirt, ketchup stained jeans, and all-natural, unshowered man-musk I fit right in with their kind. However, beneath the professional veneer, the airport was more like the basement of a really fun high school pothead-- the shop was chock full of munchies and porno, and the one girl was playing video games on her laptop to prove she fit in. Call of Duty! After a brisk morning molestation from the security crew, we were off!

Rome: .... is fucking crazy. The whole city actually looks a whole lot like the parts of Mexico I've seen, just much, much older-- the buildings are all fairly old and slightly disheveled (and short, because by law nothing can be built taller than the dome of St. Peters), the streets are narrow and cobbled, and the city design is a chaotic mess. This could be because it has to be built around the ruins of the ancient city, which are everywhere. Whenever we turned a corner we'd see an awesome statue of some old dude we had never heard of, and there are so many ruins the city doesn't even seem to bother to take care of all of them, just the important ones. I like this, because it made me feel as if I were living amongst the history, not visiting a gigantic museum.

But then, that could be less from a design and more because the Italian government appears to do, well... nothing. Nothing at all. The streets are filthy, the buildings are in poor shape, and the traffic is the god damn craziest thing I've ever seen. The vespas (euphamism for scooter, if you ask me) don't legally have to stop at red lights, and the drivers exercise what one guidebook called "logical caution"-- meaning that if they didn't see opposing traffic, they would just go. Complicating things even further was the fact several intersections, even four lane intersections, were completely uncontrolled. Basically, to cross the street, you just go-- and pray the traffic stops. If they do, you keep going, and if they don't, you figure out which way you're going to run like hell so as to avoid the indignity of being slaughtered by an unemployed man on a glorified scooter.

Also, nary a place in that damn city took credit. The Colesseum even demanded exact change! One of the top tourist attractions in the world, and they need exact change. I think this is to help support their thriving pickpocket industry, which makes bus or metro transport an arduous affair. Our one experience in the bus was a crowded mess, surrounded what smelled like b.o. fermented in curry.

However, none of this means I disliked Rome. Far from it, actually-- while London is the only big city I think I could take residence in, Rome is definitely a place I could visit once a year. There's just an incredible amount to see, and, because the city has been around so long, an incredible variety as well. I personally love Greek and Roman history, so I really enjoyed seeing the really touristy sights. I saw way too much to mention here, but I loved the Colesseum because it is incredibly well preserved (same with the Pantheon) and the Roman forum, because there is enough left there to visualize what once was, and the scenery is verdant and full of life.

My other favorite place in Rome was the Piazza Navona, another extremely touristy spot, but one full of local artists peddling their wares and what I found to be excellent cafes. This is also where I realized the Italian people are the best looking people on Earth. Fellas, if your girl ever cheats on you with an Italian man, take it in stride because chances are you'd cheat on her with the same guy. They just look that good. What I don't understand, however, is how all young people in Italy are tall, thin, and charming, whereas every elderly person we saw appeared to be grumpy, fat, and 3 foot 4. How does that happen? Is it genetic, or did everyone in the country suffer a dehabilitating farming accident? Other than Rome and its museums, we saw...

The Vatican City, noun. 1) a clusterfuck. The Vatican City is overcrowded to the point of being a massive clusterfuck. Its impossible to describe the amount of people we saw there. Granted, we went on a Wednesday, when the Pope makes an appearance (he looks much less like a Nazi war criminal in person) but from all accounts it is incredibly busy all the time. The Vatican City Museum felt like a lavishly opulent waiting line for the Sistine Chapel. Though the Sistine Chapel did make it completely worth it, as I thought the room was beautiful and plenty interesting besides. You know in Good Will Hunting, when Robin Williams says "I'll bet you can't tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel. You've never actually stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling; seen that?" Well, what is far more interesting is how it sounds. It sounds like a bunch of Swiss guards yelling "No photo!" every three seconds to fat American tourists who are determined not to listen to them, followed by those same tourists mumbling derogatory comments into their Italian flag t-shirts coated in breadcrumbs and camera straps. Why do people need to take inferior pictures of world famous tourist attractions? Get on the damn internet.

We also saw St. Peter's Basilica, which was great, even though there were dead Popes littered around the church like Snickers wrappers. But, although I know I'm not the most religious God damn person in the world, I really loved the Cathedral. I have to say I like St. Pauls better, but only because its more managable-- St. Peters is over two football fields long and so intricately decorated it would take several hours to take everything in. The amount of frescoes, mosaics, and sculptures in that museum is staggering. My favorite was a sculpture of a young Virgin Mary holding a crucified Jesus that Michelangelo crafted when he was only a 23 year old ninja turtle.

The last night we met an American guy at a bar who was with the FBI and days from retirement. Though I can't remember any of his stories, I do remember he bought me two rounds, and I feel bad he's destined to die. I mean, he's a nice, family oriented FBI agent days from retirement. If movies have taught me anything, he's going to be murdered and then avenged by a tempestuous young newcomer only he could reach. Sounds like one sexy adventure!

(Note: sorry if there are several grammatical or spelling errors in this one, but I don't have time to proofread it)

3 Strange Things I've Seen In Wales

1. In Wales, dogs are not, I repeat, NOT allowed to poop meatballs. That fine is $2000 in American money. Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaamn.

2. A couple of days ago I was forced to endure a tv commercial for men's hair gel. In it, several men were breakdancing in a gymnasium to display how the gel kept their ri-god-damn-diculous hairstyles intact-- and these hairstyles were hideous and nonsensical, the head fashion equivalent of wearing a dress created entirely out of hemorrhoids.

3. And here's my favorite: I was in McDonald's the other day (apparently Welsh food isn't making me fat quickly enough) when a hobo walked in, rooted around in the trash, didn't find whatever magical hobo juice he was looking for, and left. Now, I always take a special interest in hobos because I may very well be one someday, but this one didn't add anything new to the formula. He had an unkempt beard, teeth that looked like worms were about to pop out of them, and the same hobo outfit they all wear (a mixture of pale green and pale beige, the perfect combination to create that special hobo mixture of monotony and despair).

What I didn't notice as I ate my McNuggets was the fact this man also had a crazy glint in his eye, the kind causes sane people to willingly enter a shark cage or buy $3000 rims for their car. How does the crazy glint effect those who are already nutters? Well, as I was walking back to the bus station, I was distracted by a distant rumbling that soon became a monotony and despair colored blur... First I just saw a rickety, hand-crafted, three-wheeled sled with my hobo on top. Then I noticed the dog he had strapped to the front. That's right-- this genius, this beacon of hope and ingenuity in the homeless community has trained his dog to pull him on a sled. Where is he going? And for what purpose? This we may never know.

Also, I haven't posted in awhile because I've been busy with schoolwork (gasp!) and haven't done anything fun, though I did drink a bottle of champagne to celebrate Rumsfeld stepping down. I'm going to Rome for about five days, though, so hopefully I'll get something better than a sledding hobo out of that.