Ok, pictures!

Here are some pictures of my new place. It is an old 16th century stable house. It has wireless internet. Yay! The door on the left of this picture is my apartment. Up the stairs is where my friend Jordan and his girlfriend live. Elena, Jordan's girlfriend, owns the house, and is my landlady. Currently Jim and I split a studio. This whole place is an artists' colony. There are many fascinating people living here. My neighborhood, Tor Pignattara, has the ancient aqueducts running through it.

I hope these post in the format I'm trying to get them to post in.








Yours truly,




















There is a little bit of color.



















Our bathroom. I know how interested all of you are in our bathroom.

New Post... With Pictures!

Not a lot, granted, but a few. These are from the Wine Festival here in Marino. La Sagra dell'uvo. I'm in an internet cafe, so again I'm paying good money to smuggle this information back to the United States, so I won't really caption any of them other than to say that most of these pictures were taken by my friend Jordan's girlfriend Elena, and the people in them are friends of mine. Jim is sitting to the left of me in the picture of me (which I appear to be in some sort of prolonged ecstatic state or something) and the rest of the people are the only other English speakers in town (as far as I know). The pictures of the people dancing were taken from the balcony in the Cantina where we were sitting. A cantina is a place where they make wine. This one is 400 years old. An old man sitting at our table brought his accordian and started wailing on it at one point, and the entire place went nuts. Everyone was singing and getting up to dance. It was fun.

Here, let's see if this works...

OK, well nevermind. Coming soon, to a computer screen near you... pictures!

La Casa Nuova

Ladies and Gentlemen, my phone and internet have finally passed away. I should be moving soon, but cercando per un appartamento è piu difficile quando si non ha il internet o un telefono. Si dice, "Merda!"

Communications from here on out will become increasingly sporadic as I plunge into Rome's heart of darkness surrounding Termini-- tis a land of anonymous foreigners, kebab shops, internet points, hostels, and travelling college students. In other words, No Man's Land. Wish me luck. I have ample supplies.

As long as I'm forking out this exorbitant amount to use the internet for a half an hour, I might as well take the opportunity to fill you all in on my life: it is exactly the same as the last time I posted. I have a good job that I enjoy (but which unfortunately ends after next week), I spend all my free time exploring the insides of church, or finding new areas of town to venture into. The other night I wandered into the Jewish Ghetto; I've been there before but never spent much time. The Jewish population in Rome is the oldest in the world outside of Israel. I could tell many stories about their historical persecution in Rome, but I won't go further than to say that in 66 AD, there was a revolt in Jerusalem which ended in the destruction of the entire city, except for the West Wall, or Wailing Wall. Thousands of slaves were brought back to Rome. This is around the same time that Vespasian starts building the Colosseum. Hmm... why don't we use these Jewish slaves to build it?

I think it is now one of my favorite places in town. It's in the center, but buried in a tangled mess of vicoli (alleyways) so that the general tourist would never find his or her way into it. Or out if that be the case. This means it is quite and relaxing, but still maintains the same charm as the neighborhoods surrounding it. There's even an ancient pagan temple there, dedicated to Octavia, the sister of Augustus.

I wandered through there for a little while, waiting for some friends to show up. Eventually I stumbled into a piazza with the infamous "Turtle Fountain" in it. I'd read about the fountain: it was made by Carlo Maderno, one of the few friends of Michelangelo. It's small and very Rennaisance, and therefore not nearly as famous as Nicolo Salvi's offensively Baroque Trevi Fountain (not saying it's ugly, I know that would be a sacrilege, just that there are too many people around and it is so imposing that, with these large crowds, one has a tendency to get claustrophobic) or Bernini's Fountain of the Four Rivers, but I liked it more. It was well lit and in a nice, small piazza. The basin was shallow and set into the ground so that the actual fountain was mostly eye level. It was interesting to stumble onto unexpectedly, especially since I had read about it before and knew it at once.

I decided to buy a beer there. A small one, while I waited for Jim and Yashar. The girl at the small bar in the piazza, the small EMPTY bar, said, "Sei". Sei can mean several things. It can mean, "You are," or "Are you", or "if", or, and this is the last thing I thought she said, "Six." I thought I didn't hear the first part and that she said "Di dove sei?" which means, "Where are you from?" Common enough question. So I replied, "Alabama." "No," she said, "Sei EURO." You never, ever, ever, pay that much for a small peroni. The ones twice their size would run, at an establishment like that, about 3-4 euros.

I forked it out and drank in bitterness while I waited for Jim and Yashar. Eventually they called me and I met up with them on the main thouroughfare in the Ghetto (did I mention this is where we get the word ghetto?). They led me to an old middle school buried in the ghetto; this old school had been converted into a multi-purpose club. I'm not much into clubs, but this place was undeniably one of the coolest places I've seen in Rome. In Philly it would be famous. It's in the heart of the Jewish Ghetto, every room had some different feel or type of music playing, it was four stories high, in the center of the whole thing was a giant courtyard where the children presumably used to play games. The lunch room was the bar. The place was also inhumanly packed. I saw a friend of mine there and talked to him for a bit-- he was en route to Tuscany for a meeting with the director Spike Lee. He was going to be a translator for Spike Lee's next movie-- a World War II film set in Italy and centered around a squadron of black soldiers. I was impressed, a little.

I talked to several other people there, but didn't dance or anything. Not my style. But maybe I'll go back one day.

This is a pretty typical day here.

Well, I'm going to catch a train back to Marino now. Hope everyone is good.

Poor guy.

http://edition.cnn.com/2007/US/09/27/immigrant.money/index.html?iref=mpstoryview

Happy Birthday Augustus Caesar!

Yes, folks, today is the birthday of Augustus Caesar, full name: Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus. Gaius Octavius Thurinus, if we're referring to him before the year 27BC. If he were still alive, he'd be 2,070 years old. During his reign Jesus Christ was born. Among his descendents were Nero, Caligula, Tiberius, and Claudius. Basically a bunch of lunatics (excepting Claudius). But he was a pretty good guy. As far as emperors go. He was also the first emperor. Let's all pour a little out for our dead homey. I mean, this is the man who virtually invented the calendar we use today, and I mean, not many people have an entire month named after them (I can only think of one other, being July, after Julius Caesar). What a guy. Maybe one day they'll change the name of the month of February to Justinuary. One can only dream, right? Did you know that the months September through December were originally the 7th through the 10 months, hence the roots septem-, octo-, nove-, dece-, which are, respectively seven, eight, nine, and ten in Latin. Augustus changed the calendar from an unreliable Lunar one to a Solar one. I believe he also started the world's first fire department, but don't quote me on that.

I am currently listening to Dave Brubeck. Time Out. And today is Sunday. My roommates are gone to some distant place, and I am alone.

Tomorrow I have an 8 hour tour of Rome, starting at the Vatican, then to the Colosseum and Forum, and finally through all of the piazzas and fountains. My friend told me Joanna Newsome is playing tonight in Rome, and I'm hoping that maybe this private tour is with her, just so I can rub it in the face of everyone I know. Another of my fellow "Cultural Historians" (our preferred nomenclature) got to give a tour to Chelsea Clinton. Being British and none too knowledgeable about the finer details of American politics, she made a joke about Bill Clinton (there is an ancient Roman statue in the Vatican that looks an awful lot like Slick Willy). Her boss was none too happy about that. I've yet to walk anyone through the Vatican, but the other two I've done, and I've become quite proficient with the Forum and Colosseum (if I do say so myself). Obviously this is a lot of information I have to keep in my head, so I've been busy studying up on it all. It's basically like delivering a 6 and a half hour lecture (since we travel a bit in the taxi and also stop for lunch). This is why I've been so lazy in terms of posting. For that, I apologize. My days and nights are spent trying to remember the differences between Baroque architecture and Renaissance; between Carlo Maderno, Domenica Fontana, Carlo Rainaldi, and Giacomo della Porta; between the Pamphilj popes, della Rovere popes, Farnese popes, and the Barberini popes; etc.

Since Jim has arrived, however, I've been much more active. Before I was staying at my house, with my nose in books or on the internet (I've filled an entire Moleskin with notes). He's probably the best person I could have here at the moment, since he enjoys walking around and finding new stuff just as much as I do; and since his background is in Art and Art History, he can tell me about the processes through which bronze doors are cast, or what materials artists used to glue gold leafing to the ceilings. Meanwhile I tell him about the history of the founding of the church, institution, or beliefs depicted in the art. Together we are building our knowledge and teaching each other how to read the art, something quite difficult for me, who's always seen a painting as a painting. Saints and Pagan gods are always depicted with some sort of prop to distinguish them from other Saints or Pagan gods (Hercules always has a lion's skin, St. Peter is always holding keys, St. Paul, a sword, St. Agnes is always with a lamb, Hera is often with a peacock, Venus an apple, etc.). I have now read the New Testament from cover to cover, and plan on starting the Old Testament soon (whenever I get a chance). We've also revived the process of "Church Hunting," which is like treasure hunting, only better. Knowing that Caravaggio's three masterpieces of the lives of St. Matthew are in San Luigi dei Francesi is a good start to the day. From there we walk around, going into church after church, looking for them. That particular example took two days for us to find (turns out it was right around the corner from the Pantheon).

At night we get a bottle of wine and sit in the piazzas, trying to talk to girls, with varying degrees of success. Both of us are trying to learn Italian. Since I've been here longer, I feel it would be embarrassing if he mastered it first. So far I speak it better than he does, but he understands it better than I do. Between us we can hold a decent conversation with someone. He has the advantage of being really good friends with several Italians, whereas I only have some acquaintances, most of whom want to practise their English with me. Regardless, his presence is going to motivate me to start really learning this language, if for no other reason than the shame I would feel if I didn't.

I realize that my blogs lack a very important entertaining element: humor. Again, I apologize. I swear I'm funny. Sometimes. I'm just usually so exhausted mentally that I just write out the dryest of details about my life. Keep reading, however, and I swear one day you'll at least crack a smile. Maybe.

Now on to the Gallery of Candelabrae! I can't remember which pope set it up (I think it was Gregory XIII in 1575, but I can't say, "I think" on a tour... too improfessional). Wish me luck, everyone. I'll need it.

Rollin' with the homies...

I'm working again, folks. This is fantastic. I make 25 Euros an hour, and generally give tours around 5 hours long. Then I get tips. I've only given one so far, and it was a 3 hour, and for the rest of the week I'll only be giving 3 hour tours, but next week I'll be getting into the big bucks. Five hours, eight hours. The good stuff. Still, 100 Euros a day isn't half bad. This is good, especially since I still owe my roommate a little bit of money, and I want to move out by the end of the month. We'll see how it goes. In November I'll have to go back to teaching, so most of this money I make will probably set aside for a rainy day, but as soon as the season starts back up in March, I'll be able to actually live and breathe a little. Hoorah.

In other news, my friend Jim lives here now. So now we are two.

I know I've been lazy about posting lately. I actually have about 4 or 5 unposted drafts, but I've been so busy studying that I haven't had time to run through anything and make corrections, etc. Though that's never stopped me before...

Is Cixous a Sick Sue? Philosophical Musings on Theory and the Role of Art in the Modern Community

ok, i'll go ahead and post part 1, since if i extend it much more no one will ever read it...

During the past week, as you may be aware, I have been engaged in a crash course in the art of the Italian Rennaisance. From Bramante to Titian, on through Leonardo, Donatello, Raphael, and Michelangelo (the namesakes of all four Ninja Turtles), the architectural and sculptural philosophies of Bernini to the mad brawls of Michelangelo Merisi (the other Michelangelo, otherwise known as Caravaggio) or Cellini-- my dreams have been infected with the characters I have been forced to memorize the lives of. Apart from one obligatory Art Appreciation course at Troy State University, from which I learned probably less than the stupid jocks and cheerleaders who sat bored around me, I have no experience in Art Criticism. My only exposure to anything approaching a scholarly understanding of Art and its various roles in society or any of the philosophical questions underlining our approach to it, has been in classes about literature or film. Music, the most important art form I have omitted in the above sentences, I have a more natural inclination towards; though even with music there are problems in defining boundaries which I am incapable of understanding, due to my insuffecient knowledge of Music Theory (read a definition of Baroque vs. Classical and you'll understand the impossibility of anyone less than a genius in truly understanding just what makes up each). All of this being said, I have continually been challenged during the course of my studying to understand just what defines a "Masterpiece," or a "Master." This disadvantage of mine has proven to be quite an obstacle, but, as I hope to illustrate in some way in due course, has also been advantageous in several crucial ways.

Generally we all agree that Michelangelo was a "Master," but not many of us can really explain why without pointing towards the obvious magnitude of his works, such as the monumental 17 foot David chiselled out of a single block of marble, or the 300 figures of the Sistine Chapel's ceiling. When trying to explain why we all universally admire a work like Botticelli's "Birth of Venus," we are posed with more difficulties, since the work is not immediately striking to the eye acquainted with someone like Michelangelo. In short, we do not understand the context, or the innovations that made these paintings famous to begin with. Indeed, most people are unaware that several of the paintings lining the walls of the Sistine Chapel were made by the infamous Botticelli; we tend to look at what's famous. Of course, not being any sort of art snob, I don't blame the people who look at it without knowing a damn thing about it: it's naturally impressive and there is a worldwide familiarity with it. In fact, I take a fair amount of comfort in the bovine expressions of the tourists craning their necks and sneaking snapshots to show off to the folks back home. There is something calming about it, like listening to the ocean in a seashell.

Let's move on to the term "Art Fag." This term has become ubiquitous in the latter half of the 20th century and into the 21st, and in some circles has even been embraced. Part of this starts with the insufferable elitism of the art community and their deliberate attempts to alienate their perceived intellectual inferiors, and, by virtue of those very elements, the audience attracted has tended to be the disenfranchised or countercurrent, in other words, kids who never really fit in with a taste for fashion. "Fag" or not, the image that most modern Americans have of art and artists nowadays is the complete opposite of what it once was in other times and places. Art has lost its masculine connotations. In my research, the artists I am familiarizing myself with were, in their days, like the rock stars of today. They were famous and admired; though a Rennaisance wench was still unlikely to throw her bra at him while he was painting, the artists still affected a certain amount of charm on the ladies. One of Caravaggio's contemporaries noted that "after a fortnight's work he will swagger about for a month or two with a sword at his side and a servant following him, from one ball-court to the next, ever ready to engage in a fight or an argument, so that it is most awkward to get along with him." Drinking, fighting, gambling, and women: these are some of the characteristics of the famous painters of the Rennaisance era. Both Caravaggio and Celini (whom I mentioned together earlier) were guilty of homicide. Even the great Michelangelo got into fist fights. In one little known incident, he and Leonardo da Vinci (with whom he had a fierce rivalry with), when commissioned to paint opposite walls in the same chapel, started throwing paint at each other. Imagine that. Two of the greatest geniuses ever to live, two men whom the term "Rennaisance Man" was invented for, throwing paint at each other in a temper tantrum. I'm reminded of the snide insults that would pass between Axl Rose and Kurt Cobain when they would pass each other, or even the lyrical jabs that passed between Neil Young and Lynyrd Skynyrd (to state a few examples most of us our familiar with).

I'm not trying to form any opinion about these details, just including them for my argument. When I say that art has lost its masculine side, I am not saying it should move back towards it or that it has any more validity or any less validity than the more feminine art, or even the sexless, abstract kind that cram our museums nowadays to confuse the paying patrons. The question I am attempting to raise is about the universality of art.

Though I am beginning to realize what a difficult task I've undertaken, I'll press on, hopefully illuminating at some point my main point. And please, forgive any ostensible tangents, I promise they have some purpose.

The art of the Rennaisance coincided with the birth of Humanism. Finally the potential and strength of the toiling peasants had been realized (note: irony)! Even in the Roman Republic voting was never popular, it was a mere charade. As far as the Empire goes, people were too busy watching the gladiatorial matches of the Colosseum or the chariot races of the Circus Maximus to be too concerned with politics, and indeed, these were some of the noted functions of the various arenas: to distract the masses from the corrupt political process (does this principle have any relevance today?). The buildings designated for voting soon became theaters of base entertainment(note: no irony). Through the Middle Ages Rome was too devastated by wars and plagues to worry about either art or the political potential of the masses. As the upheavel left in the wake of the fallen Empire gradually began to settle and powerful families and rich merchants began to take over, the quality of life began to improve. Aqueducts were repaired or built providing drinkable water, trade routes re-established bringing in a traffic of products and ideas from around the Mediterranean, building materials imported to build stronger houses, etc. Those in charge were forced more and more to rely upon the common citizens. In the affluent period that followed, there could only be one more step: beautifying the city; making it worthy of all the thousands of pilgrims who came to see where St. Peter was crucified upside down, where St. Lawrence was burned alive (reported last words, doubtlessly apocryphal, were, "I am done on this side! Turn me over and eat," or something to that effect), where St. Paul was beheaded, the fragments of the cross Jesus was crucified on St. Helena brought back from Jerusalem, or any of the thousands of other things that are either located here or happened here. To do this would require an army of ambitious young artists.