Random Rome, Chapter Two

This post is brought to you by the graffiti Beck I saw near the Pantheon. Those Romans must have really loved "Sea Change." Aside: is anyone else impressed at how much this actually really does look like Beck?

I lost my glasses. This means I either have to wear contacts all the time and feel like my eyelids have been rubbed with sandpaper or wear my prescription sunglasses and look like a douche/perpetual hangover victim. Is the Ray Charles look in yet?
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I went to the Galleria Borghese today. The collection is great, but the museum itself is infested with gold and pink and curlicues everywhere. It looks like where a unicorn might sleep. Every single inch of the wall, ceiling and floor competes for your attention. It made me want to go to Ikea and just stare at some calm, uninterrupted lines.
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Panini may be the great invention Rome has ever contributed to society.
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Today my face was Photoshopped on to Leonardo DiCaprio's body for a legitimate, school-related purpose (summer classes rock, by the way). This fulfilled the unarticulated dream I've always carried around of being a 1990s heartthrob.

The Lowdown

Reading my guidebook (Dorling-Kindersely's "Top 10 Rome," in case you were wondering) is like being the new kid in school and making friends with the most gossipy kid there is, the one who knows all the dirt about who pissed off whom and when and why and who's sleeping with whom.

The plaques that explain artwork here in Rome are a little stuffy. Sure, they tell you what you're looking at and who made it, but that's it.

That's where my guidebook comes in. In lets me know which Pope was unhappy with which alterpiece, which artist took a jab at the church by including secret pagan imagery in his painting, which nude statue scandalized Rome...alll the good stuff, in other words.

Some examples:

Plaque: "Michelangelo's Risen Christ (above) stands here in Santa Maria sopra Minerva, Rome's only Gothic Church blah blah blah Pope blah blah blah sculpture."

Guidebook: "Michelangelo's muscular Risen Christ was so shockingly nude that church officials added the bronze wisp of drapery."

Plaque: "Bernini's Beata Ludovica Albertoni is a masterpiece of blah blah blah. Her face expresses extreme religious ecstasy blah blah marble blah blah blah Renaisance."

Guidebook: "The last chapel on the left in San Francesco a Ripa houses Bernini's Beata Ludovica Alertoni in a state of religious ecstasy bordering scandalously on the sexual."

I want a guidebook like this not only for Rome, but for the rest of my life.

I Just Don't Know How To React

Eleven p.m. rolled around and I was struck with the need (need!) for gelato. Thankfully, there is Capitan Cono - the McDonald's of Roman gelato shops, I gather - two blocks from my apartment.

I ordered extra-dark chocolate (which sounds better in Italian -cioccolato scuro supplementare) and when the cashier, who was black, gave it to me, he said "After you eat this, tomorrow you will look like me."

I am so glad I had the language barrier to serve as a scapegoat for the awkward silence that followed.

Cause of Death

I had previously thought if I were to die on this trip, it would be because I got hit by one of the thousands of people who whip around this city on their Vespas, willfully ignorant of traffic laws, common sense and (especially) pedestrians. Never once did I even think about water. People in developed countries stopped dying of diptheria and cholera in the 1880s, right?

On that note, in the picture above you see one of the hundreds of fountain-type things that encrust the sidewalks of Rome. "You can drink this water," we've been told. "It's very clean! All the Romans do it!" I signed on to this feature of Roman life wholeheartedly. The fountain above is right near my apartment and I use it to fill up my water bottle each day as I head out to school.

Or I used to, anyway.

Last night, I saw a woman let her two dogs drink from this fountain. And when I say "drink," I mean "Lick the spigot," as in "Actually put their tongues on the place where the water comes out." As much as I like dogs, I was disgusted. The same mouth region that eats roadkill squirrels was all up on my source of drinking water.

Then this morning, I saw a homeless man bathing under the stream, using it like it was his own personal three-foot-high shower. So now this water source is contaminated with pit juice and crotch sweat as well.

Needless to say, I avoid this particular fountain now. I give it a wide berth when I walk by, in fact. But it makes me wonder - what else rubbed up on it before I realized drinking from it wasn't the best idea?

If I mutate into a werewolf or go insane, now you'll know why.

Understanding the Appeal

I can tell I dig my International Art and Culture Law class because reading the book is fun, not homework.

I really like this passage I came across today. It's about works of art, but I think it can be extended to traveling abroad as well. Even in an age where you can see just about anything over the Internet, there's still a lot to be said for going someplace and seeing or doing something yourself.

"Americans live in a universe of copies and imitations, from fake architectural renderings of Gothic cathedrals to spurious French restaurants; we tend to dwell in a house of mirrors in which nothing is ever what it seems to be. A work of art, on the other hand, has uniqueness and authenticity. A verifiable Rembrandt makes a claim upon us that neither fashion nor the media can distort; unlike stocks and bonds, it has the appeal of something solid, like an anchor in a swamp."
"The Art Museum: Power, Money and Ethics" by Karl Meyer (1979)

Assorted Observations

This post of random observations is brought to you by the above horse, which I saw today in the Fountain of Four Rivers in the Piazza Novona. Check out those eyes. Did this horse serve in Vietnam or something?

Storekeeper: Where are you from?
Mach1: Uh...Stati Uniti. The U.S. Um...Minnesota?
Storekeeper: Ah! So then, you have a lot of money, yes?

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There is a vending machine near my apartment that sells condoms. It's not even in a bathroom or anything. It's just sitting there, facing the street. Bonus: It evidently takes credit cards.

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An actual Italian person said "Ciao, bello" to me today. This thrilled me way more than it should have.

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T-shirts with English on them are very popular over here, even if the saying doesn't make sense. A few I remember: "BOYS BE AMBITIOUS" "YOU'VE BEEN VERY NAUGHTY NO-NO!" and "CLOSE (sic) MAKE THE MAN." There is no judgment on my part here, because there was an era of Mach1's life where he thought it acceptable, even desirable, to wear shirts that said things like "LAGUNA BEACH SURF SUMMER" and "FAR EAST ASIAN TOURS."

Three Times A Day

It's 4 a.m. in Rome right now. This always happens when I travel. The first few days are "Go! Go! Go!" Then the next few are "Walk around like a zombie in a a stupor and then wake up at odd times of the night." Jet lag, you get me every time.

So that means it's the perfect time to talk about food, right? Right.

Di Per Di Sandwiches: There is a gas-station-sized market near my apartment called Di Per Di. It's the source of most of my meals. Every day I go there and get some kind of bread, some kind of cheese and some kind of sandwich meat, like prosciutto. Then I make a sandwich. These are not ordinary sandwiches. Oh, no. They are much better because they are made with Italian ingredients. "Bread, meat and cheese? That doesn't sound so Italian to me, Mach1" you say. "Be quiet," I respond.

Coke: I am not a big pop drinker. But for some reason, Coke tastes really good over here. Different formula, engineered for European tastes? Strange craving brought on by really hot weather? Both, I suspect.

Strawberries: The strawberries over here are paler than the ones at home and about a third of the size. But they are actually have flavor, which can best be described as delicate. Di Per Di had them for awhile but is out of them now. I long for their return.

Spaghetti al Olio: The actual name of this dish is "Spaghetti al olio" and something else, but the last word is almost always different. Basically, this is spaghetti with olive oil and some kind of red pepper. It's really good and typically the cheapest thing on the menu - therefore, it is my kind of pasta.