I am in Rome, but I am more affected by the death of Mitch Hedberg… okay, the Pope’s death is strange too. There are pictures of him everywhere with the word “GRAZIE” emblazoned on them. The Italian I met at the Colosseum last night remarked, “for what? for dying?!” He was very fancy, and I was very drunk. His English cohort was the most English person I have ever met, or maybe it was just the alcohol.
Did I mention I peed on the Colosseum at 3am? So did the tall Canadian, loud American with R.’s voice, and dual citizen American-Canadian with a lisp.
The bells rang in Florence on Saturday night, and I figured the Pope had died. I might have just heard someone in the hallway mention it.
Even Sunday morning reading headlines on the train from Florence to Rome I was not positive if “morto” meant dead, death, or dying.
A small English monster wants me to get off the computer so he can play chess.
A cat hung out with me at the Colosseum today. It was greasy, so I named it Mike.
I am going to the Vatican tomorrow. Today I “went to Pompei.” Honestly. I did not spend most of it recovering from a hang over in a city park listening to the new Beck CD. Only 20.60 euros! I also bought a ROMA hoodie for 32 euros… so much for living on a budget. Oh well, I have yet to eat out. Last night a Brasilian gave me 20 euros for helping him with computer stuff for a few hours.
If you have ever played the cardgame circle of death… heh. Wine was a bad choice. Drawing the last king and having to drink wine plus beer plus beer was… a new experience.
A girl from Omaha who looks like Prokop was my undoing.
This was going to be a short entry, but so much for that. Spring break is going amazingly (even though everyday I devote too much mental energy to doing cost benefit analysis of travelling alone). How many fucking Ls does travelling have?
So many random people I have met.
Tonight I wandered into Santa Maria Maggiore and a service was being held with incense and all. It was too weird, and I felt like too much of a tourist. I left. I should have gone back and been a good Catholic, but my dogma is infested with doubtful bears.
In the words of the girl who sold me my hoodie, “Ciao Christopher!”