Coming home from a long philosophical argument related to semiotics and linguistic incarceration of thought gives me a fulfilling feeling similar to a full-coursed Italian dinner from La Borca.

Cultural tourism: a concept that always attracted my friend and I...to me, it means trying to feel the pulse of the city, to know what the young and thoughtful (as opposed to the young and shallow, who are the same in every Western city) do at night, to find more bohemian spots for nightlife, instead of the typical Campo di Fiori barhopping-clubbing nights out.

My apartmentmate found a spot in the middle of nowhere--off a little piazza off a main road, a youth club full of supposed political activists and bohemians who show foreign films. They gather every night in an old, now-defunct seminary. Steps leading up to it almost look like there's a dead end at a shrine of our Lady, but when you actually go up there it's a portal to the courtyard wherein you see cheap plastic tables and chairs, a makeshift bar, and a wall full of Italian political statements that are classier than the communist and nazi incendiary graffiti around the city.

So then we watched Zaitochi, the blind samurai movie. Twas alright...it was dubbed Italian without any subtitles so I guess it helped my comprehension.

So that's how we found a place of trippy mind-bending possibly-social-commentary movies. An abandoned seminary turned youth activist liberal club.

That seemed like the culmination of a week bloated with travel, mostly walking. Going to beautiful Ostia Antica to find it closed, visiting the beach four stops down from O. Antica, walking home late with the feeling of prey in unfamiliar suburbs and there's a long way home...
--Fresh air
--Discovering a French quarter near the Pantheon with an old French church invested in by old French kings, with original paintings by Carvaggio
--Dinner with students...Italian style with appetizer, first course, main course, and dessert
--Museu di Contemporani Arti da Roma [sic] with an awesome exhibit from the artist Marc Quinn.
--WALKING WALKING WALKING
--Gelato Gelato Gelato outings
--Café Bella Roma, small and local
--Asking for directions ALL THE TIME..."Dove...il ristorante..."
--Apertivo: free food with purchase for 7euro alcoholic beverage: Momart

Now I have to go to an open-air market.

Salvé!
-guistino

An otherwise splendid night has been tainted with the request of one semi-anonymous person who wanted me to delete my other blog.

Now for more snippets of thoughts:

:::::

Fields of dried dead sunflowers make me sad.
Serene green Tuscan farmscapes make me happy.
Women selling themselves on the side of the freeway at 2:30pm make me sad.
Sisters vibrant with life and expression denying their age make me happy.
Being with a large, loud crowd of American students out to get drunk make me sad.
Playing soccer with my fellow Americans with some Italians makes me happy (and so did a beer afterwords).
Pickpocketers make me sad (and frustrated).
Not giving to beggars makes me sad as well.
Little kids speaking Italian make me happy.
Cheap cappuccinos and gelato make me happy.
Walking alone through the vias of Rome makes me sad.
Walking alone through the vias of Rome makes me happy.

:::::

To add to the beginning of the post--my mother just left for the airport, putting me miles beyond physical contact of anyone from Home. Such a mixed night with mixed feelings.

Today I went to Siena with Mama. There are signs for a "panorama" from the top of Facciocine[sic], part of the Museu near the Duomo in Siena.
"
Views like this should be breathtaking--breathing is a human faculty, and panoramas such as this put us in a superhuman state. We see as angels see--high, over our buildings, hearing echoes of so many more conversations than we normally hear.

I'm at the highest view so far--I could stay up here forever, which is what angels can probably afford to do.
"

Later I went to a Mass in English in a Renaissance-era church called Santa Susanna. Good church, good priests. With the end of the Mass came the mere beginning of the night--I finally got to meet the sweetest most energetic Filipina Sister who works in the Vatican. We went to dinner at one of the new pope's favorite restaurants, from his cardinal days before he was forced to be cloistered. La Borca I think it's called.

When he saw the Sister, the owner of the restaurant threw his arms open and exclaimed "Amore!" The rest of the night was just that awesome. No menus...they just served us tons of amazing food, including a white lasagne made of mushrooms and delicious cheeeeeese...

Then through the lasagne, we got to meet other English speakers in adjacent tables and ended up talking with them for the rest of the night. It was fantastic. The British couple were on their anniversary and they said this was the best night. Sweet.

The rest of the night was more fickle in terms of goodness--Mom had to leave, and there was drama with that. Prior to her leaving I had gone out for a bit to see what Trastavere and Ponte Milvio [sic] was all about--and apparently, they're all about young Italian meet-and-greet. Will have to visit later.

Please check my flickr page for updated pictures: http://www.flickr.com/photos/24207899@N00/

I've been using my little notebook to scribble most of my thoughts, especially when I'm wandering Rome alone, flanerizing or whatever.

This was written late last night on a bridge over the Tiber, leading from some Palazzio di Guistizia. It's bad.

::::

(I'm out here)
A thousand miles from my home
home
home
Home is now Rome
Rome
Rome
Roaming the city vias afterdark
Roaming charges on international phones
Roam Italy, some place to find myself displaced
Roam Italy, searching for a place to find myself as a displaced man.

:::

Also, this morning I put on a sleeveless shirt thinking it was going to help with the heat. It did, but for the morning, there was a thunderstorm. pwN3D~!!!

Has it only been two nights? Cliche as it sounds, two lifetimes just passed by as well. I haven't been getting much sleep.

What is it about sports that gets you? I found out tonight that soccer really is fun.

I didn't grow up with sports, and even today my mother didn't want me to go play b/c I might get hurt. Consequently perhaps, I grew up disliking people who played sports and athletes. That's not completely true because I had friends on cross-country teams and such, but I never felt like I was in good rapport with any physically taxing sport, soccer being one of them. I've never had confidence in anything involving teamwork with physical endurance and coordination.

But this morning, I was signed up, unexpectedly, for the soccer game our landlord was organizing at 8pm. The concierge lady said "We need strong boys! You look like a strong boy!" I always refuse this compliment in my heart, but I also usually think people say this to me to get me to move furniture. So I just accepted the compliment. She asked for my name and before I knew it, I was signed up for a soccer game.

After flip-flopping like a Democrat (oh snap, just kidding) on whether or not to play, I finally decided to go with some persuasion from a new friend. I was berating my lack of skill constantly up until the time I actually started playing. Then, I was just being genuinely bad at playing soccer.

But strangely, I had fun. I was getting into it. And after the game we played, we were friendly with the Italians we were playing with. Italians you ask? Yes. I was scared to my shoes with the prospect of playing bona fide Italian guys in soccer. They were nice however and played it a bit easier for us, especially the girls. The control they had was downright scary.

As I sat on the bench after the Italians left, I watched my schoolmates continuing to play soccer. Just for the sheer fun of it. It felt like a healthy, positive thing.

Here, I thought, is an animalistic activity that's good for you socially and physically. Animalistic? No...it's so amazingly human in its blend of mental and physical acuity. Now going out bar-hopping for a one-night stand with a Roman...that's animalistic. Here I go with the judgment again.

It was not a Friday night wasted, that's for sure. I actually got to meet Italians in a good context that didn't involve alcohol. Plus, after our landlord Gianni came back, he took us to a great gelateria popular with the locals. I had Indian Fig and Mulberry flavors, both very strong and high flavor fidelity.

All this came at a price--coming home to have my mom bite me in the ass about standing her up for dinner. Yeah, I know I'm in the wrong in principle. She said that I should call her when I get back from the game so we could go out to dinner. I got back with the second group around quarter to midnight, and she was waiting in the doorway after apparently asking my apartment mates for me. So I didn't look her in the eye the rest of the night when we actually found a place 10 minutes before closing and ate dinner.

And here I am, mixed with the blessing of athletic social interaction and good company and a strained relationship with mama.

Ciao.

 Security in the US will always be racist, I guess.  After the insane "100%" security screening of all of us cattle-passengers I went through to the boarding gate and saw officers stopping muslim women and Indian families, and the rest of us just got to walk through.  I don't know what that was all about, but it looked like discrimination.  But I'm welcome to be wrong.

To elaborate on the previous post: 
 I'm alive, after extensive flight delays, thrice-checked by security within the airport, being shanked by gypsies, and playing a futbol game.  

two of those events are untrue.  But I do plan on attempting soccer here.  From what I've gathered of the general itinerary of the semester, these next four months will go by very quickly, and we're at once spoon-fed with resources but left to fend for ourselves.  It's an interesting dichotomy, one that I definitely can't describe accurately.  

OH, right--MY ROOM...you should all see it.  It's about the size of my cubicle at the Getty.  The bed's kinda big, and takes up 75% of area of the room.  The rest is odd narrow space to fit things here and there.  Then there's this strange loft on top of me, and I can't figure out how to make the best use of it other than it being a place to store my ginormous luggage.  Suggestions are definitely welcome.  Pictures will be posted later.   


Things I miss so far:
-Los Angeles sunsets
Los Angeles, my hoome
Los Angeles, treasure of California, the West
Glowing gold, jeweled lights 
arterial freeways and capillary streets
Golden glow, jeweled necklace on ancient Indian blood
Microchip city, black void suburbs, lightspeed 10pm freeways...

-You.

I'm alive.