An American In Italy

De Felici Culpae Asperges Me, Domine, cum Acqua Viventia

2005-04-10T14:04:00.000-04:00

Theology paper

On the apse of S. Giovanni in Laterano

Though the basilica form existed in pre-Christian times, Constantine converted the Roman design into a place intended for Christian worship, meant to convey the truths of the faith; indeed, a simple mosaic in St. John Lateran uses a few images to speak volumes to us about the mystery of the Incarnation, of baptism and salvation history.

St. John Lateran was built with a transept added on to the standard Roman basilica to form a cross. At the far end of the nave (the middle aisle of the basilica), Constantine added a semi-circular element called an apse. In late Roman housing architecture, the apse functioned as a sort of throne room – or at least a special area for the chair of the master of the house. The combined effect of these elements was such that, upon entering the church, one would recognize being in a cross-shaped building, entering into a place of unity with Christ on the cross. The physical entrance into the physical church would remind one of entering the Church at one’s baptism. The place where the transept crossed the nave would be the place where the attention of the church was directed: towards the altar. Behind this, the apse marked the kathedra [chair] of the master, the clear authority. As religious art developed over the Early Christian and Medieval period, the apse became the site of the art intended mainly to make a theological point.

The mosaic in the apse of St. John Lateran, a copy of the 13th century original, depicts Christ the Savior of the world in the firmament of heaven, surrounded by nine angels. Below him, a dove – the Holy Spirit – pours forth water over the image of a jeweled cross with the figures of Adam and Eve at the center of it. From the cross, streams of heavenly water flow forth to refresh the earth; flocks of lambs and deer come to drink from it.

The water which flows over the central cross comes from an image of the Holy Spirit. In the mosaic, this is the tie between Christ in the firmament of heaven and the physical world, because it was by the power of the Holy Spirit that Mary conceived (Lk 1:35). Further, the Holy Spirit’s tie with baptismal waters comes in part from John’s gospel (Jn 1:32-34), and is prefigured in the Old Testament with the crossing of the Red sea, from which the Israelites are purged of Egyptian slavery and can begin a new life (Ex. 14:10-15:21), and in the flood which destroyed the sinful Ninehvites while the ark (an image of the Church) rescued Noah and his family (Gen 9:1-17). There are a multiplicity of New Testament references to the Living Water (i.e., Jn 7:37-39), and in the very beginning of the account of creation, it is the Spirit of God that “hovered over the waters” (Gen 1:2).

The depiction of the water is inspired by Rev 22:1 – “Then the angel showed me the river of life-giving water, sparkling like crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb.” It is this water that “makes all things new” (Rev. 21:5) – as shown by the abundance of living things the earth brings forth by its watering. Two deer drink from the water, representing the deer in psalm 42: “as the deer long for streams of water, so my soul longs for you, O God” (Ps 42:1). A “dry, weary land without water” (Ps 63:2) is the soul without God.

But one might be surprised to notice that, below Christ, the central figures of the mosaic are the diminutive figures of Adam and Eve in the middle of the jeweled cross. However, their placement is neither symbolically nor theologically surprising in terms of salvation history.

God, the creator ex nihilo, created man as the most important and privileged of creatures, because he breathed into him His own life, giving him His own Image and Likeness, and invited them into the Sabbath (see Genesis 2). Indeed, man is the only creation with whom God himself converses.

But because man’s will is free, the first man chose transgression and “[came] inevitably under the law of death… the presence and love of the Word had called them into being; inevitably, therefore, when they lost the knowledge of God, the lost existence with it; for it is God alone Who exists, evil is non-being, the negation and antithesis of good” (Athanasius, De Incarnatione §4). By tending towards non-existence, evil was beginning to remove God’s image, “man, who was created in God’s image and in his possession of reason reflected the very Word Himself, was disappearing,” Athanasius says (§5). But God had given them a very direct commandment: if they eat of the fruit of the tree, they will die. How could God, the Father of Truth, go back on his word? Yet how could sin triumph over his Image?

But it is this fault which the Easter Exsultet calls a felix culpa, the “happy fault which gains for us so great a Redeemer.” An anonymous homily from the 2nd century narrates the harrowing of Hell with Christ speaking to Adam: “I now command all who are held in bondage to come forth, all who are in darkness to be enlightened, all who are sleeping to arise. I order you, O sleeper, to awake. I did not create you to be held a prisoner in hell. Rise from the dead, for I am the life of the dead. Rise up, work of my hands, you who were created in my image. Rise, let us leave this place, for you are in me and I am in you; together we form only one person and we cannot be separated.”

In the mosaic, it is upon our first parents that the water of baptism pours first, the water of redemption in which we die with Christ and rise to new life with him; with the cross they, as we, are bound as one, and cannot be separated from it. “We were indeed buried with [Christ] through baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might live in the newness of life… our old self was crucified with him, so that our sinful body might be done away with, that we might no longer be in slavery to sin” (Rom 6:4, 6).

But the cross is no longer an instrument of death – for death has no more victory, and the grave has no more sting – but it is the glorious instrument of the salvation of man, a sign of victory and utter triumph. Thus, the mosaic portrays a beautiful jeweled cross, a cross of heavenly riches.

Because Christ is the Good Shepherd (Jn 10:7-18), he leads his flock beside still waters (Ps 23:2), and so we, Christ’s flock, drink abundantly from the waters of life from which we will never thirst again, of his grace, of the waters of baptism.

Thus, the image of saving and life-giving waters culminates in our baptism. This water and the image of our first parents – the central theme of the apse of St. John Lateran – expresses the triumph of the cross, made necessary by the felix culpa, in Christ’s resurrection. It is his resurrection that we share in when we are baptized, dying to ourselves and rising to new life with Christ.

How not to look like an American in Italy

2005-03-31T08:28:00.000-05:00

Stats counter have said I've gotten a few hits searching for this very thing. And so I'll offer my suggestions:

1. Don't be blonde. Physically or mentally. The physically part you mightn't be able to help, but the mental part you can; just be smart.
(My friend in Rome Zadok can't help that he's Irish, straight from the rock, and looks it. On the other hand, my grandfather is Sicilian and I've inherited a good bit of the Meditterranean look. My Italian is basic but better pronounced, and Zadok's much more comprehensive but accented. Whenever in situations where someone was addressing us in Italian, they addressed me instead of him, not knowing how absolutely rock-dumb I was; there was occasional surprise when he gave the intelligible answer whilst I stood dumbly by. But it goes to show you, the look works. I sure fooled them. [G])
2. Observe people around you. Italians are crazy, but they do different crazy things than Americans. For example, if you notice that nobody is standing in the middle of the Piazza Barberini playing a bagpipe, you probably shouldn't do it either. (However, I have observed this phenomenon. It was bizzarre.)
3. Keep it down. Americans have a reputation for being really loud.
4. Don't drink anything out of bottles or eat things on the street; "fast food" is not really a concept over there. Straws and glasses are your best friends, drinking from the beer bottle or the coke can is considered crude and gross.
5. Don't stare at people. I mean, duh. They can stare at you okay, but if a girl looks back it's a come-on.
6. Make it at least look like you're making an effort to use their language. You can not know a word of the language, but if you pretend like you do but you've just forgotten it, I've found people are a lot nicer. (Believe it or not, this also worked in France.)
7. No shorts. EvereverevereverevereverEVER. I don't care how hot it is -- NO! Along the same line are t-shirts. Don't pack 'em.
8. No sneakers. This is more forgiveable, especially if they're colored sneakers (black, red, baby blue). Sneakers that don't look like sneakers, in other words, I have seen Italians wearing.
9. Don't do the jeans thing, Americans can't do it right. I was there in the winter and I found that black pants not only went with everything, but they blended in nicely with everybody else.
10. Pretend you know what's going on. Just fake it and eventually you'll figure it out.
11. Be polite -- say "buon giorno" when you go into a shop, and "arrivederci" when you leave, and "grazie" for anything.

#11, I think, is the most important one, and one that people forget. Being in another person's country is like being a guest in someone else's house. You don't walk in the door and put your muddy shoes on the furniture (*shudder*). Some of the customs (for example, the not-drinking-from-the-bottle thing) seem totally arational, but it doesn't matter... don't make a spectacle of yourself, just follow the customs; it's polite. Mind you, don't let people walk all over you, either. Italian men especially like to be very, erm, friendly to women. Know when to say "basta cosi!" ("enough! quit it!") In other words, make sure your head is screwed firmly upon your shoulders and you've packed your common sense.

One of the searches asked how not to dress like an American in Italy. Well, following the above tips should be a start. The advice I was given was just to dress up generally, as in a dress-casual senss. That should be enough.

I Remember Rome ...

2005-02-12T23:23:00.000-05:00

I was dumb and silent, I held my peace to no avail; my distress grew worse,
my heart became hot within me. As I mused, the fire burned; then I spoke with my tongue:
"Lord, let me know my end, and what is the measure of my days; let me know how fleeting my life is!
Behold, thou hast made my days a few handbreadths, and my lifetime is as nothing in thy sight. Surely every man stands as a mere breath!
~Psalm 39:2-5

Concentrate, Lauren, concentraaaaate ....

I didn’t realize how quickly spring break is coming up – just at the beginning of March, nearish to two weeks away! Holy cow, and just last night I had a very vivid dream about Rome, involving a rare peaceful moment just outside the city. It may have had something to do with the fact that I watched Roman Holiday the other night, and that I’m convinced I’m Audrey Hepburn. But how fun!! Running around Rome on a moterino with Gregory Peck sitting behind you – who could ask for more? Well, aside from jumping into the Tiber .... that was gross. If you’ve seen the Tiber, that’s a “bleeeeeegh!” scene.

Where does the time go?

Dude, I don’t know.

I didn’t think I’d be getting nostalgic until much later. Of course, I also didn’t think I’d be antsy for spring break, yet I, fully intending to do my next week’s worth of homework tonight (as I’m going away for the weekend next weekend) in addition to translating some more Aquinas (dream on, Lauren), have done next to nothing today. I’ve got four lines of translation on the Synod of Constantinople, and I’ve kind of thought about reading Bernard of Clairvaux. I looked at my Medieval Europe syllabus to realize that I’m actually a week behind instead of actually on schedule. And didn’t Dr. S say something about midterms coming up?

Doing school in Rome was fun, because I actually didn’t do much of anything. ;D I was fortunate in having already read all or most of the stuff we were assigned to read. If I read it, fine; if I didn’t, I could make-do (except when I got deathly ill around the time we were studying Aquinas on pre-ordination, and though I’ve read it a million times, I got a terrible grade on that quiz, having missed the finer points of it). Who wanted to do school anyway when one had Rome at one’s feet? Well.... I did, for the first half of it. :P I was a positive recluse. I have no idea what was wrong with me. Well, wait, yes I do – with a few exceptions, I really didn’t connect very well with my peers, as most of the like-minded majors (classics, English, philosophy, theology, etc) go to Rome in the spring shift. I considered it a good weekend if I woke up early, cleaned the room, and curled up on the windowsill exactly like I wasn’t supposed to to read homework for the upcoming week (we had a beautiful view out our window, as partially seen in
this picture.... lovely view of a vineyard out the window).

“Rome?” thought I at the outset. “Too many nasty Italian men.”

In fact, digging through my old journal entries, I just found a particularly virulent rant against the same ....

If I hear “bella, bella, bellina” ONE more time, I am going to SCREAM.

Ugh! These Italian men! I can’t stand them! .... Do Italian women just take it [their grossness]? One doesn’t want to cause a scene....

Not only are the men insufferable, but the sheer lackadaisicalness of this country. Bus and train times seem to be merely suggestions of when the driver might feel like moseying on over to the stop.

Also, the strange social customs – drinking from a bottle is apparently taboo. This makes little sense to the efficient American mind, but being in a country that considers this The Most Disgusting Thing, one must comply, lest we be like the annoying house-guest who comes into one’s nice, clean house only to put their muddy feet all over the furniture. Che schifo!

Italians, Italians, Italians! When they speak, the shout; when they’re angry, they shout; when they’re happy, they shout; when they’re trying to be extra nice, they shout. Romans are also fairly brusque in their speech. Approached by a gypsy selling some utterly useless and over-priced dust-collector, I replied with a sharp “no, grazie; vae via.” [“No, thank you.... go away!”] When he wouldn’t leave, I added “basta così!” Adopting the best Italian manner and accent I am capable of changes my speech pattern almost entirely. Usually fairly quiet and polite, one of my Australian friends with me seemed shocked at my address. “You come off as almost.... rude,” he said. “But, but....” I stammered, “the Italians do it!”

Do they? Are they just annoyed all the time? Was I being rude?

I don’t know! Stupid country.

In hindsight, it’s funny. At the time, it’s not, really.

But that was the thing that kept me from going into Rome a lot until about halfway through the semester. I usually went by myself – everybody else had plans, and nobody liked to go church-hopping as much as I.

It wasn’t until I met a like-minded individual who not only knew all the good churches and strange relics the Eternal City had to offer that I was able to brave the metro system alone at rush hour.

And what fun .... I can see it all in my mind as clearly as if it were yesterday. The gurgling of Trevi fountain, along with the chatter of the tourists, the shouts of little kids, the calls of the gypsies selling really annoying stuff you don’t need.... if I close my eyes it’s there. Not to mention the fabulous gelato shop across the street and to the right some, and the antiques shop on the Via Umilita where I found a 16th century illustrated breviary for 600 Euro (I was sorely tempted).

And, my most secret of pleasures, the Angelicum. Across from the Trevi fountain, straight, to the left, cross the street and it’s just right there on the left. The trick is not getting run over by Italian drivers on the way. It’s the one thing I loved secretly and went back to when I was alone. There was not a whole lot to see there – and unfortunately the church was never open when I was around – but .... but .... it was the Angelicum! The Infidels just don’t understand. If the name “Thomas Aquinas” didn’t send a person into raptures, I didn't want to take them there. Santa Maria Sopra Minerva I would share, Santa Sabina I’d consider sharing, but people wouldn’t Understand the Angelicum. It’s a Deep Thing. It’s a Dominican Thing.

Thinking back on it, I don’t really know what other people went to go see when they went into Rome. I had a day at the Piazza Del Popolo going into nearly every church on the Via del Corso, and praying at the relic of the heart of St. Charles Borromeo in Ss. Ambrogio e Carlo al Corso. That was a busy evening, and though crowds and crowds of people pressed in around all sides, somehow they weren’t as threatening as they were at the beginning of the semester. I had learned something .... if only how to deal with crowds. Maybe I learned the secret to world peace.

Either way, I had just seen the heart of St. Charles Borromeo, and that was Cool.

At the time, I thought the baroque churches of Rome a bit over done. There was just way too much to absorb. Walking into church was a sensory-overload and, though I professed to dislike it for numerous years, I developed quite a liking to the gothic style. But every day when I sit inside the Eucharistic chapel here – a small box of a chapel with walls made of brick, an entirely unadorned Tabernacle cube and a Persian rug on the floor and little else to be told – I remember the graceful columns (like the daughters of Israel) and the billowing frescoes with their painted explosions of light and holiness, the elegance of the solid marble and the exuberant use of gold leafing. This was kingly stuff.

But it wasn’t just the art, it was the Vision, how everything meant something and it meant something profound. Angels supported altars and held monstrances, saints bowed in worship before tabernacles, Our Lady welcomed pilgrims with dirty feet and St. Lawrence ignores his searing martyrdom while the martyred St. Cecilia holds her fingers thus to signify three persons in one God.

I say this in present tense and without reference to the veil of paintings and statues through which we see and know the saints, and I say this for the reason that the saints are there, really there! One can go calling upon saints like old friends, face-to-face, even. In Cascia, I saw St. Rita face-to-face, and on a lucky day near S. Maria Sopra Mierva I literally walked into St. Catherine of Siena’s parlor (or, her bedroom). One could just .... sit down and have a cup of tea with them while chatting about Things.

And so one does – at the kneelers of their side chapels.

I’m sad that it took me half my semester to discover this. By the time I came back from Greece (where I really learned how to travel on my own), the semester was half-gone. By the time I came back from 10-day (at which point I was going into Rome only every other day), it was two and a half weeks from being over. Then my mother came. We had 10 more days – 10 days seems like such a long time when packing for it – and then they were gone in a moment. Before I knew it, I was standing in front of the Irish college Monday morning with my mom and our luggage, saying goodbye to, aside from the saints, some of the dearest friends I’d met in my whole stay, whom I wouldn’t see for at least a year, if not more, if ever again.

When I returned home, it took me a long time to stop waking up in a panic trying to catch mass at St. John Lateran’s or Santa Maria Sopra Minerva (where, unfortunately, I never did make it to mass). In certain moments I’m back there again, but only in my mind’s eye. That remembrance always has a stab of the bittersweet in its remembrance, but at the same time it makes me grateful for having experienced it, and reminds me to appreciate the moment and to seize the day. Even though these grey, flat, freezing, rainy days seem miserable, annoying, and crammed with way too much Greek homework, they’ll never come again. One day I’ll look back on this era of my college life, like I look back on those warm, meditative spring days of high school home school where I could do my homework in the shade of our potted hibiscus with the sound of the fountain in the background. I’ll think of how great it was to be able to study what I like, and take out time for contemplation. And I’ll rebuke myself for being so foolish in my youth as not to appreciate it like I appreciate the memory of it now.

Had we but world enough, and time .... !

But the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, blessed be the name of the Lord!

Lizzy!!!

2004-12-01T03:13:00.000-05:00

Miss Lizzy --

Thank you for posting on my blog and if you can find my book int he Louvre or discover its whereabouts and in some way return it to me dead or alive, I would be unspeakably greatful and fast and offer prayers for three straight weeks for you.

This. Book. Is. Of. Massive. Importance. To. Me. Seeeeriously. Hence you get a whole post in response to your comment, because I want to make sure you see it. ;)

Thank you SO, SO much. Drop me an email -- my email's somewhere on my other blog.

(P.s. I'm coming back to Paris with my mother somewhere betwen Dec 13th and 19th)

Pictures from 10-day!

2004-11-30T10:06:00.000-05:00

I have pages and pages of notes, MOST OF WHICH WERE LOST WHEN I LOST MY LITTLE NOTEBOOK IN THE LOVRE! *weeps* Mourn, ye Graces and Loves...

Anyway. But here are some pictures!!!

St. Dominic Drawing -- So we sat in Ciampino airport for a while and I got bored, so I started doodling...
Me and my drawing -- I don't wear glasses, I borrowed them for the picture to look Smart.
Santa Maria del Mar Interior -- Then we went to Barcelona, and here's a cool but dark picture from the interior of the Castilian Gothic church, Santa Maria del Mar. (I'm informed that St. Ignatius of Loyola used to beg on the steps of the church.)
Some piazza somewhere in Barcelona somewhere had some fountain so some person took a picture of some other person (me) in front of this ... somewhere.. place...
Then we went to Madrid. To save you a bunch of building facades (which I found really interesting in Spain), here's a picture of something more important -- me -- in the Plaza del Sol, the exact center of all of Spain.
BUT THEN THE REALLY EXCITING PART. WE went to FRAAAAAAANCE, we went to PAAAAAAARIS!!! I have tons more pictures and stories of Paris, but here are a very few just for now. ME AND THE EIFFEL TOWER!!! I called everybody whose number I had memorized from beneath the Eiffel Tower just to say I'M STANDING UNDERNEATH THE EIFFEL TOWER!!! *hyperventilate*
I'll bet the Whapsters thought they were at Notre Dame. Well they're wrong -- it's an impostor!! :O
And then the next morning I rose bright and early (thought I was going to London -- those plans fell through) and instead, wound up wandering Monmarte... and here is the Basilique du Sacre Coeur. Wonder why it's pinkish? ...
This is why.
And further I went into the basilica just in time to catch the sisters at their morning prayer, sung in beautiful, almost tangible four-part harmony (female voices!). Think Messe Besse by Faure, but lovelier. (Anybody know what order the sisters are? There's one in the picture, way down there...)
The next day we went to the Louvre and guess who I saw there! ;)
I met another one of my Favorites there, though this time I was more familiar with the subject than the painter.
A lesson I learned in France, which must have been taken from the The Scarlet Pimpernel -- no limp cravats. Not one. Anywhere! I took a page out of the Frenchies' book. "They seek him here," wot. (What is that you Frenchies say? Touche? You see I'm a bit of a poet, and you did not know it, wot!) Try to pretend I don't look blah. Zadok prefers to call it "18th century French Statue", but I got "eeewww"
The altarpiece of Francizkanerkirche.
THE BEST beer you will EVER have you will find at Augustinerbrau! There's no gas in it, and it's very strong and made by Augustinian monks! Huzzah, almost ousts Guinness as a favorite beer, even though I can see though it. (Augustiner, that is. Not Guinness, certes) These are two of my three companions Claire and Dan.

And that's all I have right now. Stories later!

Quick! Quick!! Domincan Stuff in Spain/France

2004-11-14T13:02:00.000-05:00

O Fratres,

We're planning our 10-day break right now. I've been absorbed in absolutely everything eXCEPT this, and so I have little idea of real actual places to go. I was really hoping to do something Dominican, seeing as our Holy Father Dominic was born in Caleruega. There's not a whooole lot to see there, but it's a Dominican pilgrimage site!

The point being, I'm having a hard time finding information -- and, erm, I started looking about an hour ago -- finding information on Dominican stuff in Spain/France, and a way to go from Madrid to Caleruega.

Can anyone help me out here?

Vir Italicus

2004-11-08T13:45:00.000-05:00

If one spends five minutes around me, one will probably be accosted with my rant against the Italian man. Passed along to me by Zadok, this unposed photo by Ruth Orkin (called "An American Girl in Italy") shows that the staring and leering has apparently been around since at least 1951.

Bleeeeh, Italian men!

Temporary ceassation of blogging...

2004-11-05T15:44:00.000-05:00

Apologies to all readers who haven't heard from me before now. Blogging has temporarily ceased due not only to a zillion papers I haven't started on -- and I haven't started on them for reason #2, and my main reason for ceasing blogging:

I'm pretty sick.

Like, I have laryngitis, a throat infection, a sinus infection, an ear infection and pinkeye.

I have no idea how this happened, I never usually get this way. But the good news is that this is the first time I've left my room in two days, partially because my roommates went to Switzerland for the weekend -- I was supposed to go with them, sigh -- and my suitemates do a very bad job of taking care of the infirm, God bless them.

On the mend, should be functional fairly soon. However, blogging must give way to paper-writing.

I ask for you prayers, please. It's nasty being sick.

The 3rd was the feast of St. Martin DePorress (O.P.) and Sunday is the feast of all Dominican saints. Yaaaaay!

Funnyfunnyfunny

2004-10-27T16:34:00.000-04:00

An email I recieved from Zadok...

Dixit Matt:

"YOU WENT TO THE HARD ROCK CAFE??? In Rome?? Hahahahahaha!!!!"

Respondeo dicendum quod:

What are you laughing at? In Rome it is known as the 'Tu es Petrus' Hard Rock Cafe...
I had the 'Fisher of Men' Salmon Burger whilst Lauren had a 'One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic' Veggie Burger. They both came with 'Eldest Daughter of the Church' Fries. The desert was the famous 'Non prevalebunt' Brownie Ice-cream 'Sunday' - so called because our combined efforts could not prevail against it..... :)

A qualification to my poem

2004-10-26T02:27:00.000-04:00

By the way I would like to qualify my "ouzo" poem, as I have been getting an endless amount of rib...

1. I wrote the poem before I'd ever tried the stuff. (Experience isn't everything, as C.S. Lewis insists, otherwise reading is a waste of time)
2. No I've never drunk gasoline
3. I've never "worshipped the porcelain god"
4. I've never been drunk.

Ouzo is gross.

Now go away!

(j/k... don't really, please...)

Voting, Ice Cream, and other Random Stuff that probably doesn't belong on this blog...

2004-10-26T02:04:00.000-04:00

Wonderful short little trip into Rome and an overall good day yesterday...

Class this morning was quite good, though I sounded like an idiot in English class because I emoted too much without thinking (I hold Hamlet as sacred, and sometimes the brain shuts down in sheer awe of the thing, which makes little sense, but shutup, this is my narrative! ;-)). After a lively discussion of Antony and Cleopatra in the following history class, I put my things down in my room and took off for Rome.

From our campus, the very centre of Rome is about a 45 minute or an hour trip, with 20 minutes of a bus ride from the Castelli Romani where we are, to the last stop on the metro line. Sometimes it can be a bit of a harrowing experience for a young lady going alone – Italian men are, for the most part, Really Nasty (and in general, it's not a good idea for a girl to go alone; don't try this at home, kids). Thence, I was very glad to discover a few of my UD friends at the stop, who accompanied me to the metro stop, but didn’t make it off the bus in time to make the waiting train.

I did, and I rode the line to the Barberini stop, where the American Embassy is. There I met Zadok the Roman, who was so very kind to wait very patiently for me as I went through the beuracracy that is the American Embassy.

Time out to kvetch.

This morning I called the embassy to make sure it would be alright that I come down in person to drop off my fully complete absentee ballot. The first time I called, I said "Hello, my name is Lauren B, I am an American student studying in Rome and I have an absentee ballot. I was wondering if it would be--" at this point I was rudely interrupted by hold music. Er, okay... when the hold music ceased, I heard a recorded voice carefully giving me the instructions for the website where I would be able to get information on registering to vote, and reminding me that every state has different procedures and requirements.

Well, duh.

I called back. “Hello,” I said, “I just called. I have an absentee ballot. I’m already registered to vote. I just want to know if—“
“Hold please.”
Well, at least they warned me this time. :P Not as if I had a choice.

Fortunately, however, they did transfer me to a real actual person.
“Hi, all I want to know is if I can drop my absentee ballot of at the embassy today.”
“Yes yes yes,” he replied impatiently.
“Is 2:15 okay?”
“Yes yes yes.”
“Fine. Thank you, goodbye.”

Grr. How terribly rude.

When I reached the embassy, I was able to follow the lead of two ladies in front of me, one of whom spoke fairly fluent Italian. I stood in line to present my passport. I stood in line to have my bag searched. I stood in line to go into the embassy. I stood in line to go through security and have my bag searched again. After clumsily checking my camera and shoving the change back in my pocket, I proceeded through the embassy (*description withheld lest it violate some national security whatsit*) where I ... proceeded to take a number and wait in line again. Geeze.

The happy thing was that all I heard were regional American accents – that guy was from Pittsburgh, that lady from the Midwest, that one from around Maryland. That one has to be from Arizona, or California, or somewhere way out west. How cool! I felt vaguely like Henry Higgins, but with less contempt and more pride. Furthermore, a real American news network was on the internal television link. Most unfortunately, it was Communist News Network (CNN). Alas. Well, no one’s perfect.

Happily, I was not in line very long, and I was able to drop off my ballot and, with a feeling of great triumph, having voted for the first time ever in my life and, what’s more, that time was overseas and during one of the most important elections American history will see. Huzzah, I am an American citizen!

Meeting with my most patient Irish seminarian friend, he kindly acquiesced to my request for food as I skipped lunch to catch the bus in time. As providence would have it, we were directly across the street from the Hard Rock Café, and we were staring at a green crosswalk sign.

It was fated, the gods decreed it should be so.

And so, talking of Michaelangelo, we went into the café where we were greeted with Italians trying to be American. It was really funny, but I was more enthralled with the American rock and roll memorabilia all over the walls. “But,” Z reminded me, “the Beatles and Mick Jagger aren’t American.”

This is true.

I argued that the Beatles first accidental experience of LSD was in America, and therefore 50% of the Beatles music can be attributed to us.

Commenting further on the “peace, love and rock ‘n roll” mentality that dominated the slogans around the restaurant, I noted one of the “save the planet” sayings.

“I agree with the ‘save the planet’ idea,” said my illustrious friend, “seeing as we’d all be floating around in space without it.”

I reminded him that before the earth would be blown up, Zaphod Beeblebrox and the Heart of Gold would come and rescue us, so long as we had our towels with us. Z insisted that he was the sort of person who knows where is towel is.

Ah, such a hoopy frood.

“What about the baby humans? People tend to think of ‘save the baby seals’ but never ‘save the baby humans’.”

“But baby seals are cuuuuute!”

“So are baby humans!”

“Baby humans smell! Baby seals are cute.”

Ah, yes, Zadok, you go on thinking that ...

Then out waiter came and brought us our respective ethnic delights – a salmon burger for the Irishman and a veggie burger for the American vegetarian.

When I left my native soil, I was fairly certain that the other side of the pond had never heard of the culinary high treason that is the veggie burger. The veggie burger is generally for the very strange – the sort of frizzy-haired, save-the-baby-seals-type – or for the very desperate. Being a vegetarian strictly because I’m unable to eat meat, and doing so makes me ill, I belong to this latter category. Digging into said burger, I can close my eyes and pretend its meat. And darnit, when I haven’t touched the stuff in three years, and haven’t touched a veggie burger in four months, it’s pretty dang good to me!

That, and a huge plate of fries. I looked to my left after I had finished and realized I had just eaten an entire meal without touching my silverware. Score. (I would like to point out that Z has the most hysterical habit of eating french fries with a fork and spreading ketchup over them with a knife. *points and laughs* Yes, I realize that I am certainly more the heathen here. Silence! Stop interrupting my narrative.)

But but but. That was not enough. For weeks (or at least, hours) I had been craving some form of a brownie desert, preferably with vanilla ice cream and hot fudge. Ooooh, the Hard Rock had this in spades – not only ice cream and hot fudge, but also whipped cream, chocolate sprinkles and a cherry on top.

It was so beautiful. I wept. I laughed. I couldn’t finish half of it, with Z helping me.

It was so awesome. It was almost a religious experience.

Maybe it was a religious experience. I did lunch with a seminarian, after all. That’s got to count for something.

Either way, I left the Hard Rock Café a better person, and a better American.

Huzzah.

To quote the great Rogers and Hamerstein song from Flower Drum Song, “I Enjoy Being a Girl” :

I flit when a fella sends me flowers,
I drool over dresses made of lace,
I talk on the telephone for hours
With a pound and a half of cream upon my face.

And in this I did endulge (though I didn’t have the cucumber slices to go over the eyes to make it appropriately hideously picturesque) while listening to Enya and reading Thomas Aquinas’ Summa Contra Gentiles.

Ahhh! Does life get better? I submit that it cannot!

An Ode to Ouzo

2004-10-21T14:18:00.000-04:00

Hello my blogging friends,

I am blogging from Olympia, Greece today, day 7 of our 10-day tour. Tomorrow we leave for ... Patras and then back to Rome, I think... we'll probably stop some other places on the way, but tonight the whole class goes out. And I'm resolved to try ... ouzo.

For this occasion, and because I was bored on the bus-ride here, I have written a small ode. It is as yet under construction, but this is what I have thus far.

An Ode to Ouzo

O lovely lucent licorice nectar,
Only you can flatten Hector.
O diamond drink of adamant bite,
With you can I the Hydra fight
And, excepting only gasoline,
Nothing quite the palate wrings.
Down, dank, Draconian, drear --
This my world with only beer;
A weeping, woeful, wretched watch,
A painful world with only scotch.
But ouzo, ah, now there's the thing,
It lights my world like kerosene --
Which I've never tried, though I think it'd
Taste the same were I to drink it.
Open throat and down it goes,
Soon madness on my senses snows.
Around my head the heavens spin
Before I find my feet again
Where, whipped with all Aeolian winds,
I worship a god of porcelain.

Away away, my heart's on fire...

2004-10-12T19:03:00.000-04:00

One and all,

Sorry I'm a wretch and haven't emailed people individually, but what with our Art & Arch exam this morning (for which I stayed up till 4am and probably flunked anyway) and a million and two things this afternoon, I have not had much time at all.

I'm leaving for Greece early tomorrow morning for 10 days -- here a mixture of ::yay:: and ::ugh::.

Also, I think we technically have to be back in our rooms in 5 minutes.

God bless, all -- pray for us on our travels.

Transportation in Scotland and something silly

2004-10-07T13:20:00.000-04:00

Trying to plan a weekend in Scotland, I've been hitting upon a few problems:

1) Train and bus times seem to run fairly late for catching our plane back, considering that once we get back to Glasgow there's another 45-minute train ride to Prestwick airport

2) Time in general (we want to see and do too many things, and a weekend is so short, especially since we're getting in late on Friday)

3) Glencoe: once we get there, how are we going to get around?

Also the fact that our desired hotel is booked Saturday night. Sigh.

This to advise the traveler doing weekend trips to far away.

Furthermore, when I call around to hotels in Scotland, all I hear on the other is Mac from Chicken Run.

Yes, I know. I'm so terrible.

An amusing excerpt from Livy...

2004-10-06T17:14:00.000-04:00

From Livy's Early history of Rome...

Tarquin - or Lucius Tarquinius, son or grandson (probably the former) of Tarquinius Preiscus - had a brother called Arruns, a mild-mannered young man. The two brothers, as I mentioned before, had married Servius' daughters, both of them named Tullia but in character diametrically opposed to each other. By what I cannot but feel was the luck of Rome, it so happened that the two fiercely ambitious ones, Tarquin and the younger Tullia, did not, in the first instance, become man and wife; for Rome was thereby granted a period of reprieve; Servius' reign lasted a few years longer, and Roman civilization was able to advance.

The younger Tullia was bitterly humilitaed by the weakness of her husband Arrans, and fiercely resented his lack of ambition and fire. It was to Tarquin that the whole passion of her nature turned; Tarquin was her hero, Tarquin her ideal of a true man and a true prince. Her sister she despised for failing to support with a woman's courage the husband she did not deserve. There was a magnetic power in evil; like draws towards like, and so it was with Tarquin and the younger Tullia.

It was the woman who took the first step along the road of crime. Whispers passedbetween her and her sister's husband; their secret meetings grew more frequent, their talk less guarded. Soon she was pouring into his ears the frankest abuse of her sister and Arruns, while Tarquin, though one was his brother and the other his brother's wife, let here talk on. 'You and I,' she said, 'would have been better single than bound in a marriage so incongruous and absurd, where each of us is forced by a cowardly partner to fritter our lives away in hopeless inactivity. Ah! if God had but given me the husband I deserve, I should soon see in my own house that royalty which I now see in my father's!'

The bold words struck and answering fire. Two deaths soon followed, one close upon the other, and Tarquin found himself a widower, Tullia a widow. The guity pair were then married - the king not preventing, but hardly approving, the match.

I love Livy's phrasing there -- almost like a sinister kind of Wodehouse.

Note to my fellow writers the use of the passive. The passive voice takes all responsibility for the action away from the sentence -- exactly what Livy's using for a sort of dry ironic humor. But most people use the passive voice far too much. Beware the passive voice, my son.

Brother Guy

2004-10-05T14:32:00.000-04:00

I am sitting in a lecture by Brother Guy Consolmagno, SJ ("S.J. Stands for 'Super Jenius'")

He looks like a Jewish rabbi with his thick, curly, salt-and-pepper hair, and he's got a lisp.

And he's hysterical.

Lecture notes:

* the Vatican observatories are not made of tin as Dan Brown asserts but of mahogany
* Br. Guy's office above the Pope's floor. Only man in the church higher than the Pope. ;)
* Galileo ticked off all the Jesuits who should have been on his side by making enormous fun of Christopher Schier, SJ

Galileo and the Church:
* G a devoutly religious man
* Books went through censors; "our civ will be the civ rem. b/c of Galileo"; books passed twice: once in Rome, once in Florence
* Galileo not convicted of heresy
* What was going on? Who knows?
* Galileo guilty of being suspected of heresy; recanted... nothing. Church scientists screwed up. Oops. Got its roes confused.

* (G trial in 1635)
* In 1655 Cassini used Cathedrals as astronomical tools to fix calendars, draw maps, measure sun.
* 1672: Riccioli (SJ) named craters in moon; 35 Jesuits have craters named after them.
* In 1620 Copernicus' book censored; the amount of attention paid to it was about the same amt paid to traffic laws in Rome.
Church of St. Ignatius -- no dome, flat roof painted in perfect perspective; ran out of money; haha. Still haven't put an observatory there.
* the Vatican observatories are not made of tin as Dan Brown asserts but of mahogany
* Fr. Angelo Secchi, SJ observed via color spectrum the composition of stars... previously astronomers measured only positions. Real Things made out of Stuff -- moved the study from Astronomy to Astrophysics. (1865 started publishing)
* Leo XIII wanted to show independance of Vatican; @ same time, idea of science & religion are supposed to be opposed (EVERYBODY knew world was round prior Christopher Columbus; idea that CC thought world was flat invented by Andrew White in 19th century -- specifically American idea, anti-immigrant/anti-Catholic myth). In short, L founded Vatican observatory to show the neutrality of science.
* 1910 Catholic priest working at Vatican proved Galileo right

* Big Bang theory invented by Catholic priest in 19something
* the Vatican observatories are not made of tin as Dan Brown asserts but of mahogany

* 1200 refugees (mostly Jewish) taken care of by (German) Jesuits in neutral territory of Vatican gardens

Br. Guy likes Beatles!!! Story:

1968 one had no Europe-US live t.v. First satellites not synchronous and so live tv was about 20mins. Every maj country in Europe given 3 mins and England wanted a new song in 3mins to be performed, so they wrote "All You Need Is Love".

Sign that church is not opposed to science as sign to scientists, but as a sign to church people.

Totally random and disconnected notes... but there you have them.

Bonny bonny banks of Loch Lomond

2004-10-04T17:51:00.001-04:00

It's official -- I'm going to Scotland this weekend, hooah.

Myself and three girl friends of mine are going to fly into Glasgow on Friday and out on Sunday, in the meantime we'll somehow make a big counter-clockwise loop, taking the train to Edinburgh (say: ED-in-burra) and then circling around stopping somewhere around 9 or 10 o'clock on the circle.

We plan on visiting Birnam Wood and Dunsinane (which were in the guidebooks!) where we will have dramatic readings of Macbeth (which we read for English class), and we're going to break off some branches and storm Dunsinane!

Furthermore, I think I read somewhere that the third Harry Potter movie was filmed in Glencoe, so we're going to try to find that.

Other than that, plans are loose and flexible, but huzzah! A country where they speak English. ;)

Does anybody have any other Scotland suggestions?

Also, a caveat for Ryanair: there are a bunch of hidden fees. Karen's payment thing looked like this:

PAYMENT DETAILS
*******169.98 EUR Adults
*********0.00 EUR Fees
*********5.89 EUR Service Charges
*********6.56 EUR Ins/whcr Levy
*********7.36 EUR UK Air Duty
*********9.01 EUR Government Tax
*********3.93 EUR Airport Taxes
*********0.00 EUR Car rental
*********0.00 EUR Insurance
*******202.73 EUR Total Paid

It looks a little more dramatic on my card, as I put two other people on mine, and that's just for Karen. The respective fees increase per person, and so the "Ins/whcr Levy" (what the heck is that???) is about 20 Euro on mine. The government tax is close to 30.

No clue what to do about this -- it's got to be avoidable somehow.

Huzzah.

To refer to Cnytr

2004-09-28T10:45:00.000-04:00

See this post about the crucifix in Spoleto.

More compost ... nice to say, but I don't really like it.

2004-09-23T15:06:00.000-04:00

I am definitely a Dominican at heart. If I had gotten my license years before, and if I hadn’t been so terrified of driving, I would have driven the two hours from my house to Washington, DC where the only local chapter of third-order Dominicans was located. St. Rose of Lima was one of my first favorite saints ever, and in my maturity I love to read the Summa Theologica and anything by St. Thomas Aquinas, I consider him genius.

When it comes to other saints, of course I love them as my friends and brothers and sisters and whatnot, but I’ve always felt more of a particular kind of kinship amongst Dominicans – it seems we think similarly.

One thing I’ve often noticed – and my confirmation sponsor, a priest, affirmed this – many people (children and adults) like St. Francis “because he’s the patron saint of animals.” Oh that’s deep.

Granted, I’m sure there are those who have a better connection with St. Frank than this, but among Franciscans – especially lay persons acting in the “Franciscan spirit” – there seems to be what a former teacher of mine would call “a lot of new age woo-woo.” I noticed some of this when our class visited Assisi this weekend. We had just come from Florence, and I was a Very Happy Lauren after I spent a morning at the convent of San Marco, admiring the very sweet, very beautiful, very Dominican paintings of Blessed Fra Angelico. Each reflected a very deep insight through Dominican-colored glasses; they were not without a sort of mysticism as many paintings of biblical events included modern people such as St. Dominic, St. Thomas Aquinas, St. Peter Martyr, et cetera: this reflects the mystical view of time, specifically that God is timeless, as are events like the crucifixion.

When we came to Assisi, I saw many modern works of art devoted to St. Francis and his followers. All of them seemed to reflect his love of nature.

That’s nice. What about his love of God?

Yes, he preached to the birds blahblahblah, but what about … other things? I admit the main cathedral with the Giotto paintings was much better about this, but that doesn’t count, as that’s not as modern as I mean. There was one image of St. Francis with his arms out, surrounded by what looked like a sunburst, with the star of David, the crescent moon and star of the Muslims, a cross, something that looked like an astrological symbol, and a sun. After thinking about it a bit, I came to the conclusion that the message must be ecumenism, but at first it seemed to be an equation of these things … or … something. Either way, it’s not something St. Francis would have been really concerned about back in his day – ecumenism is a fairly modern thing which gets many over-conservative traditionalists upset.

That’s not really entirely fair I admit, but I think it does something to point out my preference for the more concrete and analytical Dominican spirituality.

There’s absolutely nothing wrong with Franciscans as a whole, and I love my Franciscan brothers and sisters. I had to keep reminding myself of this as I saw such abominable works of modern art throughout Assisi that really reminded me of Our Lady of Concrete-type parishes back in the United States (a further example, in Santa Croce, there was a side chapel whose main work of art was … a tree-trunk).

I did like the whole idea of St. Francis calling his body “brother ass”, because he treated it badly, like an ass. This was the only thing of which I could think when climbing the 3k hill to his hermitage in the heat of midafternoon – keeping myself going felt very much like beating a stubborn donkey. And that gave me an idea – I’m always rather critical of the Franciscans, I figured I ought to spend this day walking in their footsteps – what more appropriate place than Assisi.

When I arrived at the Hermitage, I found that we were not, in fact, able to have Sunday Mass in the chapel, but that we were compelled to have it outside. I found this rather annoying, but I tried to think like a Franciscan. Okay, I told myself, we must be too big a group to have it indoors… legitimate enough reason to have it outdoors, in God’s creation. I believe St. Francis said that his monastery was all of God’s creation. Therefore we’ll be having Mass in St. Francis’ monastery.

This is what I told myself to cover my annoyance that I was sitting on a tree-trunk and kneeling in the gravel.

But, I realize, Mass has, in times of necessity, been held in much more humble places. Indeed, our Savior was born in a foul-smelling stable. Of what do I have to complain?

After Mass, I wandered off alone. I wanted to think and just be by myself as I often am, but it wasn’t long before I was joined by one of my classmates in what I learned was a very great act of compassion. And so, discussing Theology of the Body and Natural Family Planning, we climbed the steep, rocky and overgrown mountain of Assisi together. Physically more demanding than the hike up the paved road to the hermitage, I don’t think I would have done it alone. Then I realized that St. Francis’ rule called for a monastic community, for one cannot practice virtue (especially humility and obedience) totally alone. And I realized that the climb up the mountain was not only physically edifying, but spiritually and mentally so as well.

And the view from the top of the mountain was well worth the sweat and aching joints of the climb up – before us lay the entire region of Umbria, visible for miles on end. With the glory of Italy before me, I felt entirely humbled. I think I would have acted in exactly the same manner as Francis … it was so beautiful, and it amazed me to consider the creator of the world creating this and creating me.

Up on the mountaintop, Joe and I were entirely alone, yet surrounded with life. It was so amazing, the beauty so overwhelming, that I just had to tell someone. But the only things around were some cows, a donkey, the birds, a grasshopper – not another soul for miles. If I weren’t embarrassed to do so in front of Joe, I probably would have started talking to the grasshoppers. But like a good Dominican, I stood atop the mountain and recited Psalms in Latin. Caeli enarrant gloriam Dei, et opera manuum eius adnuntiat firmamentum.

Some are called to walk in the footsteps of Francis. I am not. But, spending the day in the footsteps of my brother Francis, I silence my tongue too quick to criticize, and I thank him for one of the most edifying days of my life.

I told myself I'd do some writing today...

2004-09-21T15:53:00.000-04:00

...yeah right. I'm glad I scribbled a lot in Florence. [G] Oh, I was in Florence and Assisi this past weekend. Pictures are coming.

In the meantime, I have an Art and Arch project on Santa Maria Sopra Minerva to do. (YESSS I ROCK!)

By the way ...

2004-09-15T17:38:00.000-04:00

In the works is my genius, a trip to Oxford, England, which (without food and with accomodation) should cost somewhere between 60-100 Euro.

I was watching Shadowlands this evening as I did my laundry and remembered that I HAVE TO GO. HAAAAVE TO.

Trip details should emerge shortly for those interested in the planning stages; looks like it'll occur between 05 Nov - 07 Nov.

Some pictures

2004-09-15T17:19:00.000-04:00

Unfortunately, I haven't been keeping up with my journal writing like I ought (I have notes, but no significant entry yet). However, I do have two sets of pictures -- one from Sperlonga (which merits an entry before the pictures get posted), and Positano on the Amalfi coast south of Naples. This also merits a journal entry (best food ever tasted was at the ristorante da Constantine -- Renee cried), but the pictures also stand alone. Ecco:

This is a random picture of the best bruschetta we've ever had ... with Dan in the background. (That's water)
Renee so happy she's crying ... "This is like ... St. Peter's! But less hungry!"
The view that greeted us as we woke from our hostel Saturday morning.
And again
Amy and Terry at the table
The other side
Me and the view from the hostel
The city ... which looked to be carved from the mountainside.
The streets ... so narrow, almost got hit by a bus twice. INCHES. I saw my life flash before my eyes.
But I'm glad I got to live ... just to see this
Dan and the view
Me and the view
The main piazza before the beach... deserted, early in the morning
The town as viewed from the beach
The main church there had a few broken tablets on the side... I was very interested in the carving of a chalice, so I, like the nerd and wannabe archaeologist I am, broke out pencil and paper and took a rubbing and a picture of it. Here's the picture.
A silly picture of us posing on the beach
My friend Renee insisted on this picture ... the wall was pretty.
I, in turn, insisted upon this picture.

Leaving for Florence and Assisi early tomorrow morning ... will be back on Sunday. Ciao!

(More compost)

2004-09-07T08:58:00.000-04:00

“Character is fate”, I was told this morning. On a literal level, supposedly moi=ra both “character” and “fate”. Reaaaally ... is that so?

I suppose I tend to get a bit arrogant when it comes to Greek and Latin things. Back in Irving, I got so frustrated with myself dozens of times. I was told I am the only freshman to have completed a junior/senior-level Greek class. I remember my first day of Homer with Dr. Davies. I was scared out of my mind. All around the room like a panel of senators or members of the e)kklhsi/a were The Seniors And Juniors. Who am I that the Upperclassmen should come to me? Depart from me, O Upperclassmen, for I am a sinful (fresh)man. I remember being so paranoid about absolutely everything and everyone in that class. It was my first semester in college, and first semester in a real school since junior high since I had been home schooled during my high school years and I had a senior level Greek class. It was both a huge triumph and a tremendous source of stress, both in terms of the difficulty and work assigned in the class and the pressure I put on myself to try to fit in.

That class nearly killed me, but I believe that it was worth it. Some of my better friends were made in that class and the subsequent semester’s Euripides class; furthermore, I discovered just how much Greek I could force myself to memorize over the course of one week, and on just how little sleep it was possible for me to survive.

I did it. I, little stupid Lauren.

It was great – but it has also given me a dangerous temptation to u(/bris to which, I’m afraid to say, I too often succumb. However, once I get around my upperclassmen friends whom I consider absolutely brilliant (Tyler Travillian, for example), I once again feel put in my place – what am I doing here? I’m not a classics major, I’m a dork.

But around people who are not classics majors, I’m a genius. This semester I have seen an inordinate number of eyes widen and jaws drop when they find through inquiry (I’m not keen on exposing myself as an uber-nerd by volunteering this information) that I know Latin and Attic Greek. “So,” they say, “you can speak Greek?” “Only ancient Greek,” I say, thinking of the Greece trip and reminding myself how useless I actually am. “But, like, you can read it and stuff – Homer? And these plays we’re reading?” “Well... yes...” I usually respond, as my head inflates a little more.

I think my biggest claim to fame in that class was the 27 lines I memorized from Book III of the Iliad. I recited them in class and drew a surprisingly positive response from the Very Scary Dr. Davies, at which point the clouds parted and the heavens were opened and I, Lauren, beheld the nine Muses and Graces.

And this sometimes leads me to believe that I know everything.

I do, however, know that I strongly disagree with the idea of character as fate.

I believe this first and foremost because I hate Greek and Latin. I won’t say I hate languages, and I think that’s the only thing that’s gotten me through my Greek and Latin languages thus far. The first time I took Latin, I failed. But then I took it again and passed with flying colors, and requested to skip a grade. My teacher informed me that, while I was fully qualified, she preferred that I not. I complied, but lived with the secret ego-inflation that I could have, as I vyed constantly with one other student for top Latinist in magistra’s class.

But I hate Latin. Hated it, rather. But not because I was bad at it.

And I hate Greek, and I still hate it. As a language, it’s very interesting. I must admit that, for all my protestations of the classics as a useless major, I’ve learned quite a lot about language and its structure which has facilitated the learning of other languages. At heart, I believe I’m a linguist. But not a Greekist. Just a Geek.

I started taking Greek for the stupidest of reasons which I will not divulge here. The only reason I was good at it was because I had a goal: I wanted to catch up with the class which started a year or two ahead of me, and I wanted to do it in the shortest amount of time possible. Sure enough, in a year and a half I had caught up to them. Disappointingly enough, when I “caught up” to them in terms of the book we were using, I found I was bored with the Greek they were doing.

My resolve started to waver some but then my ego was again inflated when my high school Greek teacher said that we could do whatever I wanted ... and so I chose the most difficult author I knew of: Euripides, whose Bacchae comprised the Greek level VI class.

I did the Hippolytus, which I did again second semester of Freshman year in Senior Greek class.

Why did I do this if I hate Greek? I have absolutely no idea.

A further example: I consider myself to be a very girly girl. I’ve never taken a huge interest in sports other than things like gymnastics, ice skating and baseball. Football was odious to me, and soccer, miserable. Lately I’ve taken to skirts and French manicures and a whole host of other silly girl things I despised in my youth. Yet at the same time, I am positively dying to go into the Army. I am in the midst of applying to West Point, and I am beginning to practice for the physical test I will have to take. I did ROTC and camped out in the woods without showering for four days – something I’ve always regardde with disdain. Heaven forbid I should get my hands dirty or even worse, break a sweat. But I find the oddest and most wonderful thing to be the post-workout “YEAH” feeling, as if I could take on the world. I dread working out lest I break a terribly unladylike sweat, but once I have completed a number of pushups and a two-mile run until I am extremely red in the face and soaked through, I wouldn’t trade the Tantaline asphyxiation for the Elysian fields. My family has always ridiculed me for the cushiness of life I’ve had as the youngest child. I questioned myself, at first, what kind of ridiculous idea I thought I had.

But when I started doing ROTC, I had found my niche. It was difficult, yes, but it was extremely rewarding. I went on our field training exercise (FTX) with proudly painted toenails beneath my freshly polished, mirrorlike combat boots. I came back with sanitized dirt ground into the delicate whorls of my fingertips which refused to be removed for some days hence.

Why? If I had looked at myself four years before, I would have thought myself absolutely nuts, as most of my friends and family did. To all appearances, it was totally out of keeping with my character, and I still rather believe it is.

If I were to follow entirely through with my character, I believe my fate would be condemned to some dusty academic corner in some slightly less-than-prestigious university on the East Coast instructing a bunch of disinterested tweens about Hesperides and the blahblahblah of the umpteenth century and the conquests of Whatsisface the Ubiquitous over the Highly Obscure persons of Asia Lesser. And I would probably like it, because I do have a thing for history, obscure knowledge and dead languages.

But I reject that fate and I reject that character. I reject the self-absorbed person I let myself become.

And for that matter I don’t think Oedipus was all that bad. He killed Laius because he was threatened. He stumbled into the city and solved the riddle of the Sphinx and, hey hey hey, here was this rich and awesome widow queen who wanted to reward the nobody with his own kingdom. Seeing as he was entirely displaced from his old kingdom for the very fear of fulfilling the prophecy, who wouldn’t take such an offer? If someone tries to kill you, most thinking persons would fight back. After that, marriage as a reward for saving a kingdom is almost a natural thing at the time. Consider Theseus, consider Whatsisname the Ubiquitous.

Hubris? Who wouldn’t react with shock and an extremely strong knee-jerk reaction if they were accused of bringing ruin to one’s family and kingdom, of killing that which one nurtures above all. What’s worse, sullying the family – killing one’s father and marrying one’s mother. If the idea is wretched and disgusting enough to us, how much worse would it be for a culture of honor. I recall the Spartan mother who told her son as he was going off to war to return triumphant with his shield or dead on top of it.

I guess one could grumblingly say that it was Apollo’s priest Tiresius who ought to know and not just some random schmo. However I think that the emotional reaction would still cover over this for even the most pious of Greeks.

And so I think the gods, as Sophocles portrays them – impersonal, random, absolute and unescapable – are very much akin to a Calvinist’s view of predestination. As a Catholic, I reject the idea of predestination and embrace the notion of free-will (voluntas) and furthermore reject character as fate. For what Paul could escape his moi=ra? For a long span of years, Paul was being formed and forming himself into the person that he was, the Saul of Tarsus who killed Christians. Moi=ra not only ignores the heavenly vocation knocking one off one’s proverbial horse (who would say that Paul’s subsequent actions were completely within character of Saul?), but also the idea of repentance. What most hardened of criminals could repent of his own will and volition, since repentance is de facto out of keeping with the character of a hardened criminal?

I never in my life thought I would pass an Army physical fitness test because I am lazy and I hate to run. But who plans on their birth? Oedipus did not anticipate being born into his family situation and prophecy, nor did I plan on being the daughter of a retired Army Lieutenant Colonel. Dad wanted me to carry the Brannon name on to something, to follow in his footsteps somehow. Being the only one in my family who likes to read and has the slightest academic bent, I continually ran in the opposite direction, until I came to the 9/11 crossroads where I killed my Laius of laziness, doubt and inaction which threatened to dominate my life.

I would even say Oedipus did a brave and pious thing in making every effort not to offend the gods in fleeing from his adopted parents. He faced adversity at the crossroads and preserved his life.

However, the Editor in my head reminds me – the Editor formed partially by the Uniform Code of Military Justice (UCMJ) – ignorance of the law is no excuse.

I’m almost certain, however, that had Oedipus come up for trial before an Army court that he would not have received a dishonorable discharge, but merely demotion and some time in Leavenworth.

Compost

2004-09-02T04:56:00.000-04:00

Note: since this is my Rome blog, I am going to use it for English class as well; the posts known as "compost" are for the journal project in English class and will sometimes reflect on Rome and sometimes on the literature we read... just something to keep one writing. Therefore, some will have greater relevance to this blog than others. This post may more properly belong to Cnytr, but as my English professor actually reads this blog it will be posted here. Thank you for your patience, The Management.

I believe my favorite Greek play that we’ve read thus far has been “The Libation Bearers”, this because it reminds me, tonally speaking, of the funeral scene and the death of Polonius from Hamlet, and I’m sure that William Shakespeare borrowed some from it as everyone used to be schooled in the classics at one time.

But I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, Aristotle’s “Poetics” does not seem to understand art. People often criticize the scholastics (and modern people with a scholastic bend) that breaking beauty down into categories so as to explain the modes in which it is received and appreciated kills the beauty-appreciator or it kills the beauty.

Aristotle, on the other hand, seems to think that art – specifically tragedy – can be broken down into a set of criteria which can be called “good” if and only if it fulfills this criteria. Furthermore, what is to distinguish a work of art from a work of engineering built to a certain set of specifics?

Tragedy fulfills a function. It would seem that if someone didn’t go to a tragedy every so often to achieve the kathartic purgation of emotions that he would be an unhealthy person in much the same way that someone who continually bottles up his anger is.

On the whole, I assert with C.S. Lewis in “An Experiment in Criticism” that art – tragedy – is to be received and not used for its kathartic function (assuming that one such function even exists). Art is supposed to do things to you, you’re not supposed to do things to it.

One positive thing about Aristotle’s understanding, if we take it to its full implications, is that a work of art could be universally acknowledged as good or bad based on the set of specifics of its function and how well it fulfills it. We could finally get everyone to acknowledge that “Pirates of the Carribean” is not the greatest movie ever made but a mind-control plot to take over the world. I believe that this is the only way to explain its otherwise inexplicable popularity.

I often find this frustrating at home, I will recommend a movie to my parents that I find particularly wonderful – say the German film “Mostly Martha”, or the recently released biography of Cole Porter, “De-Lovely”. When my parents see the recommended film, they often level at it the criticism of “it’s not uplifting”.

…? So? Is “Hamlet” uplifting? Is “Hamlet” awesome?

That is, I find, another frustrating example of using art and ignoring artistic value for its use. Art does not need to be uplifting! Art is not a happy-go-lucky let’s-all-hold-hands-and-sing-kumbaya that many people (iconoclasts *cough*) want it to be.

The last time I was in Rome, I went to this particular church whose name I have forgotten on the Via Veneto. A very macabre but fascinating this about this church is the crypt attached to it – the walls, ceilings and floors are practically paved with the bones of monks and others who died in the various plagues that swept through Rome. The image of the arm of God (bared) crossed with the arm of Christ (clothed, with his pierced hand) is re-created with actual arms. That sounds disgusting, and on one level it is. Death is horrible. But “Death, where is thy sting?” The entire crypt is a reminder of man’s mortality so that he may shed his sinful nature and choose eternity with God. At the very end of the crypt, there is an entire skeleton on the ceiling circled by vertebrae. The skeleton is holding an hourglass and a scythe, and in four languages, a sign says

As you are, we once were
As we are, you will become.

“Frater, memento mori!”

The thing was explained to me beforehand in a “how cool is this” manner, and I approached it with a similar attitude. But when I actually saw it, my first unthinking reaction was one of shock and horror – the explicit visual reminder of death and decay was almost too much for me. And now I think that going into the crypt with a “let’s see how gross and cool this whole thing is!” totally misses the entire point.

First reactions should not be immediately discounted, and sometimes they can reveal to us the entire point of a thing.

When Italian is funny....

2004-08-30T18:07:00.000-04:00

Since we connect through an Italian server, we get Italian advertisements and popup ads and whatnot. One of the funniest Italian translations of English I have seen thus far comes from one of those:

"Clicchi qui!" (pronounced clicky kwee! -- "click here")

That just cracks me up.

Herodotus

2004-08-30T17:41:00.000-04:00

I am usually good about taking notes as I read, especially when I know I'm going to disagree with an author. When it came to the Poetics of Aristotle which I read last night, I took a bunch of notes which I had already refuted before in an oh-so-brilliant paper of mine from AP English in highschool.

But I had never read Herodotus before, at least, not actually paying any kind of attention to him. My only note on the subject was, quote:

"Just *how* ADD is Herodotus???"

I fully intend to write one entry here in the style of Herodotus.

And, Dr. Roper, comments are fully welcome and appreciated on any and all posts in this blog.

Another day in Rome

2004-08-29T18:37:00.000-04:00

So today we had mass in the catacombs. We were not actually underground, and they said that the Christians didn't actually hide in there (I still rather like to think that they did), but I felt as though my name were Apollonia and here I was, near the tombs of my friends and family who had been martyred for the faith. They were somehow just as present as I, and that we were somehow mystically joined ... and we were.

The sheer mystery that surrounds this place is awesome. Aside from that, all I could hear in my head was "the catacombs of Rome" by Respighi.

Rome is so amazing. I have seen people weep openly at mass, especially at the mass near St. Peter's tomb.

And still beauty and truth are everywhere. Part of our travels today brought my friend Matt and I to the Villa Borghese. The Villa Borghese is another place I had visited before, and thought I might be bored but thought Matt should see it anyway.

...Nope.

The entrance to the place filled me with every ounce of girlish excitement I've ever had, but caused by an intellectual delight. I find this to be a very strange combination, but no matter.

Looking again at the beautiful, beautiful, beautiful statues of Bernini, I found new things about them to which I would stood in awe. The mutual commentary traded between Matt and myself enhanced our experience of the art as we stood in each others shoes and looked with the other's eyes to see the art as completely as possible. I still don't think I'll ever be able to it drink in enough.

The villa itself was awesome. There was one place, just a big dusty ring that rather resembled a track. "Look," Matt said, "you should be able to have a chariot race there." The sense of history being somehow present, that the past dwells alongside the living. It would have surprised neither of us, I think, should such a thing actually happened. The relics of our ancestors remain, and we look upon the same objects as they, and visited the same places, walk the same streets, sometimes speak the same language. What is a few thousand years if we have a physical connection to them? When one leaves something behind -- say, a note -- for another person, the note is filled with that-personness. Like receiving a letter or a postcard from a friend or loved one, there is that sense that the person is somehow present in the letter. After all, they took the time to write it out, the letter is filled with their personality. It belongs distinctly to that friend, and no one else could have written a letter that way. You know them so well you can picture them writing it, and it's as if they're right next to you.

And so we walk by the Colosseum, through the Foro Romano... and so did the Romans. The only thing that separates us from them is thousands of years, which seems like nothing when standing in the presence of the remains of the past. The place is here, exactly here. There's nothing else like it in the world, and only the Romans could have built it. It's so very Roman, it's like they're still here.

It was for that ideal that I at one time wished to be an archaeologist.

After Matt and I passed through the Villa, I was going to take him down the Via Veneto since it was nice and a bit upscale, and also in hope of showing him the basement of a particular Cappucin church, which is constructed of monks and other persons who died during the plagues. A room of skulls, a room of clavicals and the image of the Son and the Father's arms crossed ... made from real arms. It's morbid and disgusting but really cool at the same time. They certainly don't do that in the states.

And now for some stupid notes and pictures:
Slowly but surely, I am getting around to taking pictures of the campus. Right now, I have some images of the capp bar (which I will not post) and of the ampitheater (which I will post). I took these pictures as I sat on the top step and surfed the net. I have never experienced wireless before, REAL wireless, and the coolest place to do it was in the ampitheatre. [G]

But pictures:

* The chapel, built by Pope Sylvester (I believe), where we had Sunday Mass, directly on top of the catacombs of Sts. Felix and Philip, sons of St. Felicity.
* Outside the catacombs.
* Matt in the Villa Borghese; a park on a Sunday afternoon where families would come and ride bikes. Lovely! Oh, not Matt... that's Matt. ;) j/k Matt
* Another picture inside the Villa.
* Me posing by a random fountain in the Villa.
* The Villa Borghese itself.
* On the Via Veneto is the Hard Rock Cafe, which has a stained-glass window of Elvis in front of the Arch of Constantine, of Jimi Hendrix in front of the Collosseum (one day I'll learn how to spell that), and of the BEATLES in front of Bernini's Apllo and Daphne! Here is me with said stained-glass window. ;)
* Me and the same three years ago.
* The cuteness of Via Veneto
* Every time I pass by this place, I have an urge to take a picture of it (which I usually do). I've never actually been up there, however.
* Matt challenged me to make Art out of a leaf. So I did.
* The piazza on campus in front of the dormitory.
* The University motto above the Ampitheatre.
* The Ampitheatre in late afternoon. look!!! We get wireless up here!! ... but not in the dorms?!
* My perch from the top of the ampitheatre on my computer 100% wire-free, bay-bee. Look, there's my foot and there's my desktop!

And that's all for now. Yes it's late, we had a lot of stupid Herodotus reading to do. Fortunately I've read the Agamemnon already. It's a good thing we have afternoon classes tomorrow.

Reflections on the Parthenon

2004-08-28T17:53:00.000-04:00

When I posted here the other day, I neglected to post a picture of the Pantheon itself for several reasons. The most practical is that a picture of the Pantheon is easy to find anywhere, and I do not have anything to make it personal, like a picture of me or of one of my friends next to it.

The other reason is that I have no interesting picture of it, no closeups. I think a closeup image of the Parthenon is more revealing than the generic postcard image of the entire structure, which can in no way express the enormity or the genius or the antiquity of the structure. A close-up would, however, be more revealing not only of the structure itself, but as a sample of Rome itself.

The thing was built in 27 B.C. by Agrippa (as the inscription states in its abbreviated Latin) as homage to the pagan gods, and modified by Hadrian between 118 and 128AD. The renovations later ion 609 included a Christianization of the interior, and this day it looks like a church. There is an altar and crucifices and other Chrisitan iconography... yet the thing is fundamentally a work of ancient pagan Romans, and not at all like the first churches, basilicas, catacombs, etc. The construction of the building is fascinating, absolute genius -- not only was the dome the largest in the world until 1436. It was constructed over a wooden frame in a single operation. The oculus, appx. 7.8 meters in diameter, is the only source of light in this surprisingly bright structure. Although it was never covered, a remarkably small amount of rain enters the structure: the small amount that does is immediately whisked away by Roman drains. The entire structure of the Pantheon, I have been told, was at one point covered in marble, but is now primarily brick. In fact, on the interior one can easily tell the different stages of the architecture; the more ancient areas are their original brick, while the newer additions or reconstructions or Hadrianic renovations are done in marble.

Rome, once the center of the pagan classical world, has become the ubi of ubi Petra, ibi Ecclesia. The Vatican itself was built upon a very ancient Etruscan burial site, and the "gates" of St. Peter's once stood where the Roman circus was, where St. Peter, the head of the church, was killed. And there he lives in contradiction found and reconciled so often within the church. Innumerable pagan sites have been reconciled to Christianity in this way ... as has the whole of Rome.

This mash of the past and the present is not in short supply, either. One of the first things that struck me when we visited the Vatican for the first time was our angle of approach. One of my first pictures of that day is this:

St. Peter's, as viewed from the gas station. Who would have thought? It seems that the very presence of St. Peter's bones ought to radiate such holiness and sacredness that nothing should be built around it for miles. Yet here, the unremarkableness of every day life juts up against the higly remarkable St. Peter's basilica. Such a symbol is in and among the mundanity of familiarity.

Simili modo, neither is our Christianity to be kept entirely separate from the vast, dirty city of our every day existence. I should stand out and be a universal monument for all to see and to imitate and to wonder. Indeed, our being a temple of the Holy Spirit is much more beautiful and impressive than St. Peter's, or of any basilica or church that could ever be constructed by mortal hands.

One of my friends once composed a poem which captures this, in two parts, extremely well. He's describing his love, whom he says is "like an old cathedral; / Crafted by men but breathed of God / Living stone of Christ made beautiful, /Ever sure." He further expounds in this sonnet:

Can mortal words, like mortals, near to death,
Place perfect predicate of beauty on this hall
That hears my every prayer, and every breath,
And rings with every song and beauteous call

This fashioned stone, this mortal-crafted stone –
Yet testament to Heaven’s immortal face -
Is tossed, and carved, and built, in purest grown:
A mortal craft endures by Heaven’s grace.

And is this not much like my mortal love?
Who mortal-like is yet of loveliest mind;
Whose beauty, grace, and kindness from above,
Lend grace immortal that from Love is shined.

Thus mortal words unjust may yet give praise,
When whom they laud herself does so them raise.

Everywhere I go, I see these old cathedrals, these mortal monuments to immortal Love, the greatest works of art in the world, but not even as great as we, living testaments of Love.

Rome was the city first of man, but now of God. What more appropriate reason is there for the title of "The Eternal City".

Saturday Class, yay :P

2004-08-28T07:38:00.000-04:00

Well today is our first day of classes; I'm assuming they're a bunch of intro here's-your-syllabus classes. Overall, my schedule looks like this:

A Day:
0940-1110 Lit Trad III
1120-1250 Western Civilization
0200-0300 Survival Italian (audit)

B Day:
0800-0930 Western Theo Trad
0940-1110 Art and Architecture of Rome
1120-1240 Philosophy of Man

Cheap cheap European airfare

2004-08-27T12:46:00.000-04:00

Ryan Air.com -- someone was saying something about a flight from Rome to London for $15? The cheapest I'm finding right now is E39.99 ($48). I shall have to investigate this. I suspect this may be much cheaper than Eurail, however I do want to take Eurail through places whose countryside I've been wanting to see (i.e. Switzerland).

Continued...

2004-08-27T11:59:00.000-04:00

Lauren's adventure in Rome today continued...

Right before we went to the Parthenon, I passed a church that had "O Crux Ave" written on it. It was a beautiful church, and immediately the strains of the Palestrina polyphony came to mind ... I had to take a picture. I'm conjecturing that that is the Chiesa de Santa Cruce, but I thought that was bigger than this church.

Having arrived at the Parthenon, Shane and I walked 300 meters to Santa Maria Sopra Minerva, unaware that our orientation leader would freak out. I did get some nice pictures (which I won't upload to save space)... I know that a relic of St. Catherine of Siena is there ... I believe it is her head (while the rest of her is in Siena?); I don't suppose it is, er, on display, but I found her little shrine and said a prayer. Furthermore, I found a picture depicting both St. Lucy and St. Agatha. I wonder if, like St. Cecilia, the Dominicans "claim" them...? If so, this is cool, as I was born on St. Agatha's feast day.

When we sallied forth from there, we stopped at a coffee shop wildly devoted to St. Eustace (San Eustachio?). It was amusing -- there was a flyer advertising music in the church of St. Eustace on St. Eustace's feast day in September. It was a very professional shop, and there were images and prayers to him everywhere. I found this amusing, and I wonder why St. Eustace in particular. Patron saint of coffee-brewers?

Our next stop was the Colosseum (sp), and on the way we passed the Roman forum. I tried to take a picture of me with some of the stuff in the background, but I mostly just got me. [G] Then we went to the Colosseum, turned around and got gelato. Not much to say there, so here's a picture.

It was a short day. We took the metro and then the bus back, and I tried to get some pictures of the castelli Romani on the way home. And here are some pictures from the actual Rome campus. (Pictures of the campus coming later...)

Our vineyard and the view.
In between those two trees sticking up is the dome of St Peter's. I wonder if the Pope can see this from up the hill at Castolo Gandolfo... never out of view of the office, eh, Papa?

And that was my day in Rome today. Strictly a narrative account for now. Perhaps more later.

Ciao!

Ciao, Roma!

2004-08-27T08:20:00.000-04:00

Well.... wow! Here I am, in Rome!

I had a bit of a post started but I accidentally lost it... let's see if I can remember what I wrote.

Well, we rose early this morning and went into Rome. We all started at the Vatican, and it was good to see old, familiar St. Peter's. :) You know, looking back on the pictures I took, it's difficult to tell just how huge everything in St. Peter's Square place is. For example, there is this picture of me in front of St. Peter's. I ran a good distance away from the camera and I'm very small, but the state of St. Peter behind me doesn't look all that big if I were to just run a little farther back. But here I am with St. Paul ... and I'm still right up next to the statue and he's huge.

Here's a picture looking out from St. Peter's, just behind the statue of St. Paul.
Morning at St. Peter's ... I accidently shrunk this picture -- and then deleted it off my camera! Aaaahhh!
Climbing the stairs to St. Peter's ... it's a beautiful day.

I had originally complained about coming back to St. Peter's because I had been so many times the first time I visited Rome that I could practically recite the tour guide spiel, but ... wow. Once I got there, I shutup.

One of the things I think is really cooll about St. Peter's is the fact that they take all the huge churches of the world and have a mark on the marble floor where, if that church were to be placed inside St. Peter's, it would end. They had marks for Westminster Abbey and something close to home, the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception in Washington, D.C.. It ended way far away from the main altar.

The obligitory picture of me rubbing the famed St. Peter statue's foot. If I look ticked off, it's because Claire dropped my camera on accident and it wasn't functioning for a few minutes.
Me doing the same thing 3 years ago.
The main altar of St. Peter's. St. Francis' statue is to the left of the altar, and St. Dominic's is to the right. This is as close as I could get to them, and the pictures I took of the individual statues came out blurry.

Now ... here's the kicker of the whole day, that's practically made my life (though had I known I was going to do this, I still would have been loath to come, mom) -- we had mass this morning *on* St. Peter's tomb. I kid you not. Here is an image of the mass setup; behind it is the tomb itself. That was *absolutely amazing*...!

I'd like to write so much more (and so much better), but I have a very limited amount of time right now. Continuing a little faster ...

Then we crossed the Ponti Santi Angeli> (which has angels holding the instruments of the passion) and saw the very famed Tiber river. It was just an orientation tour, so we kind of saw Piazza Navona very briefly... I'll post some pictures later. We went to the Pantheon, and were told "go explore for about 10 minutes" ... okay ... so me an this guy Shane decided we'd see the Pantheon another time, and poked our heads into Santa Maria Sopra Minerva, the Dominican church adjacent to that pagan Roman place. We got yelled at, but geeze ... she said go explore.

More pictures to come later, have to go to some kind of meeting now.

Mo...za....mbique?

2004-07-09T22:02:00.000-04:00

Ala this post by Fr. Jim Tucker, I think it would be cool to go to a Mozarbic Rite mass in Toledo, Spain.

You talk of battles to be won, now here you come like Don Ju-an, he's better than an o-per-a!

2004-06-24T12:52:00.000-04:00

John .... we are going to the Viennese opera if it KILLS us.

Not only are they playing "Die Zauberflo:te" by the great Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart who LIVED in that city (*heart palpitations*), but ALSO they are playing the BEST and most BEAUTIFUL opera in the world, not to mention the fault is yours for getting me to like it anyway, "La Boheme"!!!!

I don't care how much it costs. I would give both arms, all my fingers and toes and probably my left leg to go to BOTH.

Of course they also have "Siegfried" by *cough*wagner*cough*... but .... that's not as important!

Oh my gosh ... they also have "Swan Lake". I've been dying to see that forever. Holy cow. After I marry my French millionaire, I'm going to have a second house in Austria. Near Vienna.

They've also got "Tosca" ... and another Wagner opera ... this is unbelievable. How many operas do they have going at once? Lordy, how many primma donnas can they afford to hire!? "Nabucco"! "Fidelio"! "La Traviata"! And the obligatory "Nutcracker"! Ho...lee... cow. My life's goal was once to see a Mozart opera, so I could have died happy after "Don Giovanni" a year and a half ago (before YWW). Now I've gotten a bit greedy. ;)

The monthly program is available here. It will test your operatic languages. But of course all the famous names are recognizeable at once (such as "Boheme").

In fact, that is a way I recommend becoming familiar with the languages -- memorize all Rodolfo's aria's from La Boheme Act I. (It's easy stuff, too) Listen to it over to hear how the language is pronounced. German is a bit more tricky... it's difficult to sing the umulat, and the other vowels with the ":" over them. I don't know what they're called, and I'm still trying to figure out how to pronounce them. I suspect there's something e-sih about the "o:", and something eh-ish about the "a:". Right now I'm working through a Berlitz teach-yourself-German with a German grammar book, and Mozart's "Dies Bildnis ist Benzaubernd scho:n".

Did you know that if you half-translate the title "I am a Rock, I am an Island" so that you have "Bin ich Rock, Bin ich Island", you get "I am a Coat, I am Iceland"?

Also, John, I'm giving you access to post in this blog if you would like to.

Oh my gosh, Gounod's "Romeo and Juliette"...

Before I get too lost in this fantasyland, I am looking at ticket prices for "Zauberflote" and "Boheme".

October 2nd, La Boheme is listed as "Price category B" (or "Prieskategorie"), which means the absolute cheapest, worst seats are ...

9 Euro??? 10 bucks???
The next one up is 25 Euro, about 30 bucks! After that, 36 Euro, $43! That's, like, nothing! Rome opera was no less than 60 or 70 bucks a pop, German opera was likewise highly expensive. Hooooly cow. We paid $30 for our "family circle" seats at the Met! That roooooocks so hard!!!!

I would say shell out the $43, and then go see another for $10. I wonder why they're $10, they must have some kind of view obstruction or something. Two operas for $53 is, like, nothing. Not to mention it's another Zefirelli production -- I believe he did the sets for Don Giovanni when we saw it. I don't know what "Inszenierung" is, but the "bild" in "Bühnenbild" leads me to believe sets. He did both "Inszenierung" and "Bühnenbild".

La Boheme:

September:
25th, Saturday
29th, Wednesday
October:
2nd, Saturday
6th, Wednesday

And that's it. And Die Zauberflo:te is Preiskategorie A, which means it's more expensive. In fact, most of the other operas are Prieskategorie A. They go for 1O E, 29 E, and 44E, which means $12, $35, and $53.

Good luck navigating the not-very-well-planned site, and pitifully-planned "English" site (I braved the German with the help of Babelfish). You can click here for the opera plan (to note where the cheap seats are), or if you want to plug the URL in to babelfish, it is http://www.wiener-staatsoper.at/Content.Node2/sitzplaene/stop_sitzplan.html .

O soave fanciulla
che dolce viso
di mite circonfuso
alba lunar
in te, vivo ravviso
il sogno ch'io vorrei
sempre sognar

The hills are incarnate with symphonic melodies!

2004-06-23T23:58:00.000-04:00

Also, I have to start marking the things in this book that I want to do. Like visit the Musee des Beaux Arts because of the Auden poem. It's in northeast France.

Oh, and I definitely want to go to Troyes, because of the famous Chertien (sp) de Troyes who wrote the Lancelot and some other medieval romances. Also, there's totally a chapel built by the Knights Templar in the 13th century in Metz. Wow, just the pictures of some of the churches are amazing. Like La Madeline in Paris (when I think of "La Madeline", I think of a restaurant by the same name)... and Versailles... holy cow...

But this quote from a chapter on Paris:
Many of Paris' famous sights are slightly out of the city center. Monmartre, long a mecca for artists and writers, still retains much of its bohemian atmosphere...

*Christian voice* "I first came to Paris one year ago ... it was 1899, the summer of love. I knew nothing of the Moulin Rouge, Harold Zidler, or Satine. The world had been swept up in a bohemian revolution, and I had traveled from London to be a part of it. On the hill near Paris was the village of Montmartre. It was not, as my father said, 'a village of sin', but the center of the bohemian revolution! Musicians, painters, writers -- they were known as 'the children of the revolution'. Yes, I had come to live a peniless existence! I had come to write about truth, beauty, freedom, and that which I believed in above all things -- love. ["ALways this riDIculous obSEssion with LOVE!"] There was only one problem -- I'd never been in love! Luckily, right at that moment, an unconscious Argentinian fell through my roof. He was quickly joined by a dwarf dressed as a nun."

Haha! Sorry. But! Get this ...

Built in 1885, the Moulin Rouge was turned into a dance hall as early as 1900. Henri Toulouse-Lautrec immortalized the wild and colourful cancan shows here in his poster and drawing of his famous dancers such as Jane Avril...

Toulouse was real!!!!!! I wonder if he was a midget. Also --

The steep butte (hill) of Montmartre has been associated with artists for 200 years. Theodore Gericault and Camille Corot came here at the start of the 19th cntury, and in the 20th century Maurice Utrillo immortalized the streets in his works. Today, the street artists thrive predominantly on the tourist trade, but much of the area still preserves its villagey, sometimes seedy, prewar atmosphere. The name of the area is ascribed to martyrs tortured and killed in the area around AD 250, hence mons martyrium.

That ... is ... so ... cool. My goal is go to to Montmartre (have a picture taken next to the sign to prove that I've been there, i.e. this) and then buy something (a painting?) from one of the local bohemian arists. Also, I'm going to bring something Satineish and pose with it in front of the Moulin Rouge. I want my picture in front of the Moulin Rouge, but I don't want to go in ... as it's uh, Vegasy and gross. But I'll do my Satine impression ... "the French are glad to die for love, they delight in fighting duels... but I prefer a man who lives, and gives expensive jewels."

Also, there are both stores of Tiffany AND Cartier in Paris.

I'm heaven. And I'm not even there yet.

Totally alone.

Envy me, Tyler Whetstone!!! ;D

...and I am a material girl.

2004-06-23T23:52:00.000-04:00

The more I read about it, the more I fall in love with France. I think I'll marry a French millionaire and have a mansion somewhere in the middle of the French countryside, and all our children will grow up speaking French and English and they'll have these adorable little French accents when they speak English. And they'll all go to school in France except for college because they'll all go to West Point, except the two girls and three boys who are going to become Carmelite and Dominican sisters and Dominican priests. Every Sunday we'll go to church at the local monastery where they make cheese and say Mass in Latin and I'll get up every day to go listen to them chant lauds and every evening to hear matins and I'll wear a veil and with my small children in tow, I'll look very pious. Also, my husband will buy me lots of diamonds, and a horse. And a horse with diamonds. And a diamond-horse.

And a sportscar. A really fast, zippy sportscar.

That was like a scene out of a 19th-century novel until the sportscar part. I like the part about the sportscar.

Eurail Info Wanted....

2004-06-23T16:11:00.000-04:00

Hey

Who knows something about Eurail? There is no schedule available online ... and I'm really suspicious of any kind of non-official ... anything. One of the things I got when I typed in "Eurail" on Google was railpass.com, which looks official at first, but not when you dig around. Also, when you try to get a schedule for that, it takes you to Deutsche Bahn. Uh.

Also it says that something from Rome to Avignon is 20 hours. That can't be right.

Digging around a bit more on the REAL Eurail website (which is very, very European made by virtue of such phrases on a professional website as, "Too much luggage is a DRAG" and "For some connections in Europe trains make use of ferry crossings. You won't believe it, but really, the entire train is put aboard the boat!") I find something about various special trains including high-speed and overnight trains. I have no clue if my Eurail pass covers this ... the one I got from UD is the Eurail Youthpass, I believe. The description on the blue sheet says:

For anyone under 26 years of age. Unlimited second-class train travel. Second-class on the European trains is most comfortable, and it's the way most Europeans travel. The Youthpass is accepteed on the world's fastest train, the TGV in France. You can even reserve seats and couchette accomodations (for additional fee).

The high-speed Artesia du jour train goes through France and Italy (from Paris and Lyon to Milano via Modane and Torino) ... hey, I think this is that "world's fastest" train they were talking about. And that ticket covers it. Diggit! Now ... how long does it take?

HOLY cow! The TGV train can take you from Paris to London in 3 hours via the Chunnel!

And it looks like I can't get a schedule without ordering a pass. Hmmm... I'll contact UD about schedules.

After that, the next thing I want to know about is the cheapest accomodations. I remember Steph and Colleen and other people talking about "hostels" -- what're those?

Should these commands be ignored, a disaster beyond imagination shall occur...

2004-06-23T14:06:00.000-04:00

HOLY COW

You know what I just realized?

I could go to the PARIS OPERA HOUSE and go to BOX 5 and see where the PHANTOM OF THE OPERA sits! They have an opera about St. Francis of Assisi, they have something that looks like "Dialogues of Carmelites", and then they're premiering "The Barber of Seville" in December. WOOT!

Looks like the cheapest seats they have are 61 euro, which according to xe.com is ... $73!?

Maybe not.

At least we can get a tour of the opera house and I'll take pictures of box 5, maybe break in to the secure areas and see if I can find the phantom's lair and steal all his music and his organ and his little organ-grinding monkey! Mwahahaaa!

Spectacular! Spectacular! No words in the vernacular...

2004-06-23T12:55:00.000-04:00

Since I have recently decided for definitely-sure that I am going to Rome, I am going to need some kind of travel-logue ... travellogue... travellog... travel-log ... some kind of place to post pictures and memoirs and stuff, before I inevitably come home and create a massive scrapbook. Here will be my online Rome scrapbook, except I won't glue ticket stubs and stuff to my comptuer, otherwise that might make it hard to see the screen.

I am told there is wireless access from the Rome campus. And since the only thing that allowed me even to consider Rome is that I would not be wholly out of touch with America because of this, I intend to make full use of it. However I have no idea how I'm going to secure it while I'm off on 10-day, because I'm certainly not lugging this thing around. My plan is to get a biggish backpack, and pack everything I will need for 10-day in one backpack. Hopefully I have some room to spare for stuff I'll hopefully buy along the way.

Since I'm obviously not in Rome right now, I shall use this as the planning-stages stuff, where I can put thoughts down and come back and read them so I don't forget. Also, this is Being For The Benefit Of John Esposito, as the Beatles might say. It is quite fortunate that JohnE and Sarah will both be in Italy this next semester -- JohnE and I are planning on doing a bit of traveling, and hopefully we can take Sarah along with us.

So this is my to-do list so far:

1) Find out about dual-use (America/Europe) cellphones
2) Write a letter concerning a papal audience
3) investigate the practicalities of utilizing walkie-talkies for group expeditions
4) Get information on the Scavi tour
5) See if mom and I can't drag John with us to the British isles after the semester is over
6) Find out how long it takes to get around to places
7) Figure out the tricky logistics of accomodations
8) Opera?
9) Plan out, to the nearest detail, various trips doable over weekends; possibly arrane these by theme:
      * cathedrals
      * medieval courtly love thingies
      * Knights Templar?
      * mountains
      * St. Dominic?

Places on the list:

* France (mostly southern)
* Spain (wherever John wants to go)
* Portugal, the islands or wherever the mountains are
* Switzerland
* Austria
* Libya (I wish ...)
* Constantinople/Istanbul (John and I wish ...)
* British Isles (England/Ireland/Scotland/Wales)

Anywhere else I'll leave up to chance.

Also, I want to see the movie "An American in Paris". (typoed: "An American in Parish") Also, I want to be Audrey Hepburn. When I picture myself in Paris, I have two overly-romantic notions: the first is of Audrey Hepburn/whoever it was who did the remake, of the movie Sabrina ... she goes to Paris an ugly duckling and comes back ... Audrey Hepburn, the epitome of grace, class, etc. Also the other is from the animated movie Anastasia... I don't know if there's an actual shot of this, but it's her in her Audrey-Hepburn gown and Dmitri in front of the Eiffel Tower. Oh, also there's Moulin Rouge and "Spectacular Spectacular" and the windmills and the can-can dancers, blahblahblah. ("You'll end up WASTING your life at the MOULIN ROUGE with a can-can dancer! ... ALways this riDIculous obSEssion with LOVE!")

Love ... above all things, I believe in love. Love is like oxygen, love ... LIFTS us up to where we belong: all you need is love!

The hiiiiiills are aliiiiiiive with the sound of muuuuuusiiiiiiic....

I know what movie I'm watching tonight. HOLY COW, nevermind, I forgot -- I have a paper due for Western Civ tomorrow. Oh well, it's some Greeky thing. Easy, I can fake it.

So there is my first post. It's public, so anyone can search in and write things if they want to. Comments and suggestions are appreciated.