I was in Rome this morning

February 04, 2007
We wrapped up the Italy adventure with another road trip.
This time to the mountainous center north east of Rome. We saw mountains and castles and waterfalls. We hiked up and down the mountain town of Spoleto. Umbria is the region. I got into the usual trouble wanting vegetables on my sandwich. Damn, slices of meat on dry slices of bread is just not a balanced meal; they humor my insane idea and put tomatoes on, then watch me eat with smirks. On the way back we drove thru the industrial city of Terni. They make steel there; it looks like a steel town. Their biggest customer is the police. The gun factories are also right there and some very well stocked gun shops are visible from the street.

Photo of Spoleto school kids


I had a smooth flight to the U.S. I had planned on staying at a friend's apt that night. He was trying to finish his deadline and had to work later than 4:00, so I dropped my bags in a bar, had a beer, and read the Village Voice. He finally came home, we hung out, then another dude came over. We went out for food and margaritas. Then to a music place where a friend was playing her rocking acoustic guitar music. So I got to see many friends right away. Then an old friend from Chicago was in town and called, he was nearby so he came over too. Fun. I got to mention that "I was in Rome this morning" many times. Went to bed at a reasonable hour but I had been up for 20 some hours.

Friend from Chicago is a magazine writer in town to cover an architectural CAD convention (just one company). He took me to a party in the Guggenheim Museum. Nice party: music, drinks, food, architects. I crashed it with someone else's name tag. I got nervous when a conventioneer was admiring the firm I work for (on the tag). She was despondent when I didn't respond about my workplace. After I hid my tag, I had a nice long talk with a buoyant Canadian architect, plus I ran into Monica from the firm on the same floor as my work studio. Fun.

Well I am happy to be back in NY, talking to people in english, reading the news in english, and watching tv in english. There are no espresso bars and people here don't like Americans as much, but I'll try to enjoy myself. Thanks for listening to my stories, and thanks for the nice responses.

Love,
Brian

Volcanoes and Stone

January 29, 2007
So back to Roma. We immediately head out to the countryside to the town of Canale. Our hosts, whom we had just previously entertained for 2 weeks in NY, made jokes about arriving at Canal Street. (NY folk should understand the international word, with which the Romans made jokes, spoken in chinese accent: DVD? DVD?)

This little town is out by the lakes north west of Rome.
All of these large round lakes throughout Italy are in old volcanoes, look at the map. Damn. The festival of the weekend was the blessing of the animals.
This is a community of cowboys and there was a big parade with all the locals riding horses doing tricks; also distinguished well dressed older gentleman riders, plus a few toothless geezers. There was a group of young men and a woman with monogrammed jackets like a 50s car club. Following the riders were dog walkers, some cats, pet goats, and many rabbits. This entire town is filled with barking dogs, barking early in the morning everywhere late into the night. Bark bark bark bark bark. The blessing seemed to have no effect on their manners.

Later in the day we went to the community feast. Grand meaty meal with lots of wine on cramped picnic tables finished with many types of sweet cakes.

At another nearby lake with a slightly bigger town was a castle and entire neighborhood of medieval apartments. Fascinating living, steep stone streets, roaming cats, laundry out the window, luxury living in piles of stones. This is the castle where an actor recently had a big wedding; he allegedly paid all the local restaurants to close, and the area to be cleared. It is still the sarcastic talk of the town; they call it Tohm Cruweese castle.

We also toured other lakes in volcanoes. One town is called Rocca di Papa; I hoped it was a band called Rock of the Pope, but it was a rock of the Pope.

We cruised downtown Rome most days looking for contemporary art galleries. We found some damn good ones. For several days in a row, there were thunderstorms and hail all day long. Hail and thunderstorms in January?! Crazy. Miserable walking but weird enough to not be oppressive.

The buses have four extra superwide seats, presumably for fat people, and two wheelchair places, though I hardly saw any fat people or a single wheelchair person in Rome.

We went out to a rock club called Jail Break, saw bands called Real Swinger, and Tito and the Brain Suckers. All these names were displayed like this in English. It was a typical rock club with beat up dark wood and posters. We had dinner there(?!). Then the bands played late. I had to see some music in my quest to confirm that the USA is actually the cultural superpower, not the military superpower; as our government's military apparently isn't. My experience has been that musicians in the US are the world's best. This is partly because all the best people in the world immigrate to the US, but that is not the whole story. I am not sure what it is, but creators of original material outside the US are usually just not as good as even average US creators. The bands we saw were good, but were lacking some innate knowledge or attitude preventing them from being great.


We went to Naples. Wow. Chaos and grunge. Even the luxury areas made me feel uncomfortable; I couldn't stop thinking about that the mafia is touching all wealth here. There was a lot of beauty and vibrant life right there in the shadow of active Vesuvius; damn. I think it is illegal to use a leash on your dog. We went to the national archaeology museum and saw the Secret Room where they have a collection of erotic mosaics, hot sculpture, and sexy everyday good luck charms. A statistically measurable number of people in Naples have a fake tan.


Most doors of businesses open in, confusing Americans. Our doors open out in case of fire so people don't pile at the door and burn up. Buildings in Italy don't use much wood, everything is stone, they don't consider fire. Most businesses are closed on Monday, most also close for a several hour lunch.

Love,
Brian

Learning is Entertainment.

I like to command a corner. My alertly seated view from the window, all the way down to 0’-0” AFF. I control much more power simultaneously observing down two streets at the nearby corner. Even though big firearms are not even useful these days, and not very legal in my neighborhood; I can see where they could be helpful with some projects.

My view provides an advantage over ground pedestrians. While they are busy scanning their 2 dimensional world for danger or pleasure or both, they rarely notice an observer from above.

Phone conversations are pleasantly revealing. Especially the small pacing radius of the soon to be extinct pay phones. Gestures and postures are readable from afar.

I can often deduce the thoughts of walkers below. I can see the top of that woman’s head turned slightly, with enough eye rotating angle left - she is watching that stylish man across the street, while attempting to not appear so. I can tell from his gait, he does not notice her, even after she stumbles on a crack.

I can read the thoughts of someone staring, head forward of the shoulders, his line of sight down the sidewalk to a large man. Then he gets distracted by a tire squeak, turning his head toward the sound. When he remembers his original interest, he looks back down the sidewalk. I see he cannot locate that guy using the shoulder and head weaving technique. He looks at the ground forgetting why he was tracking the man. Looking up, he makes a quick scan around to see if anyone noticed his confusion (or maybe looking for something else). He turns and leans with arms cocked, stops, turns 180 and trots away.

Though the talkers sometimes have enough leftover brain processing to actually look up.

I fully enjoy my leisure time. hmm perhaps foolishly.

Skeletons are for Archaeologists

Conversation Swirling Into Cocktail 1

New year’s eve 2001 was approaching and I had spent every night previous with my musician friends. A love filled bunch, but I felt I was wearing out my welcome. I called the head of my art friends to hear what might be going on. Johnny explained a party with Mary the gallery gal and that whole crowd. He insinuated heavy cocaine use a couple of times. That turned me off and said that I told a guitar player I was doing whatever he did. Which was the truth.

On the Eve I couldn’t contact the guitar player, so I called Johnny to see how it was going. I successfully invited myself to the party. I got dressed wearing the new red silk boxers and sexy socks I bought the day previous. I went to his place; one of the gallery guys was there already. We worried about drinks. Knowing the place would be stocked, it is still bad manners to not offer a gift. John was sure there would be too much traffic by the gallery to get the champagne there. We had a little coke. Johnny finished shaving and we were off to the gallery (no alcohol sales on Sun) by taxi.

Up the stairs, past the alarm. I saw the show at the opening but I re-enjoyed the soft light-switch by Oldenburg and the giant felt thing with turmeric powder in a depression in the top. In the back were new Tom Wesselmans in crates with color xeroxes of the work on the outside. There was also a new large one on the wall. Exciting for me, I like this artist. In the fridge were two big champagnes and a respectable red.

Taxi to midtown. Swanky neighborhood. Inside many shoes were left on a rug by the stairs. I was undecided what to do. I had already had a shoe dilemma. I bought some new boots two days prior because of a foot of snow in the city and very spotty plowing. (I had put off buying boots for many years, but now I couldn’t even cross the street. Luckily there are several shoe stores around the corner.) They are cool and new and the streets were still sloppy, but they are boots. I can’t wear boots to a sophisticated party. I also cannot wear the other inevitably slush and snow covered shoe choice.

The boots came off. I also had new socks to show off. A woman came down the stairs to greet us. Peter the gallery guy introduced me and Johnny to her. She was nice and took the wine. I lamented not being able to show the bottles we brought publicly. She said it was ok; she was the hostess.

There were several people I know and more I didn’t. Champagne was all there was to drink. Yack yak yak. oooo dinner. Very good food. Heard stories from the French artist ,the leading turkish video maker, and some Israeli dude. Then some walking around.

Conversation Swirling Into Cocktail 2

There were several people I know and more I didn’t. Champagne was all there was to drink. Yack yak yak. oooo dinner. Very good food. Heard stories from the French artist, the leading turkish video maker, and some Israeli dude. Then some walking around.

A very good house for a party. 5 floors, each with different flavored rooms and a bathroom on each floor. Many kisses at the bell. Numerous interesting people: the guy who takes photos of large groups of naked people that I had heard about (we almost got him to take us all on the roof), the man of the house was a gallery owner but I thought he was a dick (and I told my friends), the german fashion designer with her sexy pants, and the other artists. I even got a chance to show off my new red silk, then my boxers were photographed. We talked about many interesting things like our era in history, the nature of art, and the future of art. I also had a good talk with a beautiful woman about atheism. She had apparently inadvertently scared someone off and was looking for a kindred spirit. She’s lucky to have found me. The hostess was also great. Maybe 2 single women there.

My anxiety about the drug situation was exaggerated. There was a pile of coke and generous lines for everyone, but none of that nonstop peer pressure sort of coke party I have seen before. It was very nice. Many of us danced to old disco. Ugh I can barely make myself dance to that even though I danced most of the night.

A huge group of us left at the same time. The hostess told me without solicitation that I added a lot. We walked to an avenue contemplating taxis. At the corner a few minutes later, a limousine was flagged down. It was empty, on its way back to the livery. A fare downtown was negotiated. We were on our way to the west side of Soho to a restaurant we use for a treehouse. The limo was packed; the gangsta rap was a welcome change. Damn this limo is beat up: hanging headliner, bad seats, scratched window tint. What a comfortable ride though, and the whole posse for $30.

The restaurant that we usually have to ourselves was full of strangers. Damn not so much fun. Still we hung out ‘til dawn. I made my rounds with the parting smooches and had a delightful walk home at sunrise with my protective boots.

Landscape-With-Volcano--millerx

To Your Health

Everybody needs orgasm. There should be more orgasm. It is not about adultery or underage sex or other taboos. Though kids should be having orgasms. Everybody needs orgasm. Many people have regular orgasms; many do not.

Unfortunately with repetition comes boredom and increased tolerance. So technique variety should be developed to keep on a satisfactory course of never ending pleasure.

Giving away orgasm is good.

Orangaculation

What's the scoop on New Orleans, she asks.

The scoop on NOLA is wild and beautiful, even without Mardi Gras.

The taxis are plentiful but usually poor mechanically. From the airport there are vans that will drop you at your hotel for cheap. Big blue Super Shuttles for example. Driving is ok. The streets follow the shape of the river, making a roughly serpentine grid. I recommend finding a shuttle bus then take taxis around, unless ya gotta have a car.

Walk to end of Canal, watch the frantic river traffic.

Directions do not include north, east, west or south. You will get a blank stare if you ask someone if this is north of that. The usable directions in New Orleans are upriver / downriver and lakeside / riverside. The West Bank is usually south and sometimes east; it means everything west of the Mississippi where radio stations start with a K.

Everyone addresses everybody else as Babe, regardless of gender.

The 300 year old French Quarter is walkable from business district. Avoid Bourbon Street. All other streets are ok. Esplanade is pronounced with a nod, Burgundy is burGUNdy. Cool old piano bar far down on Dauphine. Just beyond that, downriver of Esplanade, is a cool neighborhood free of drunken tourists. It’s full of drunken residents. The Faubourg Marigny. Check Point Charlie for dinner, laundry, live music and beer at Esplanade and Decatur. R-Bar downriver on Royal street is cool and full of locals. Café Brazil (music) over there too.

Downtown is the central business district just off the river on Canal. Then Uptown and the Garden District is upriver along Saint Charles. It is filled big old houses but is newer than the Quarter. It is the land of vampire writer Anne Rice and Tulane University. Riding the trolley along St Charles is scenic and you get places, but it is slow. Also paralleling the river, Magazine Street is the cooler, funkier, more fly, more hip part of the area.

It is a dicey town, but reasonably good street smarts will keep you alive. Good to bad neighborhoods can change quick, just be aware. You can walk around downtown, the Quarter, the warehouse district and the river. But get a ride uptown under the freeway. Don’t walk into anything that looks like a housing project. You don’t want the streetcar named Desire, it is now a bus to the Desire Housing project.

Disclaimer: all of the locations were happening in 1995, absolute accuracy today not guaranteed.

Relentless Growth of Greed