Rome is Where the Heart Is

Preface: I have pictures for this blog, but they're all on my mobile; which is how I'm posting this blog. And blogspot won't allow me to upload them. — And, folks, I took some equisite pictures of this gorgeous city (See Facebook). So, imagine if you will...


Much of the week's events are jumbled together in my brain; mainly because all of us have had very little time to enjoy Rome. And we rehearsed or performed every single day of this week. And since the cast has been spending SO much time together because of this, there's also been TONS of drama. I've managed to slink by unnoticed (I think). And whenever there've been fights/arguments/heavy silences I've worn the ball of my heel down to a nub pivoting out of the room. Not because I believe in avoidance, no. Y'all know me. I'm a counselor at heart. — But I'm in Italy for the first time, so whatever's going on with everybody else can take a backseat. Hell, it can fall off the hood for all I care.

Most of the week consisted of waking up late, being shuttled away to the theater, and catching glimpses of Rome from the window of our BMW. Then performing the show at 9:45 every night (even though we were supposed to start at 9 — slow Italians), finishing the show around midnight. Shuttle to our apartments. Eat dinner at 1am. Sleep... Lather, Rinse, Repeat.

We had two days out of the week where we could see the city before our evening performance. One of those days I dedicated to keeping my promise to Mateo and Ashley (more on that later), while the rest of the cast went to the Coliseum. The second day I slept through 65% of it off and on, like a cat, while the rest of the cast went to The Vatican. — Oh, yeah. I did clean the apartment, wash all the dishes, sweep, and do the laundry. So I wasn't, completely listless. But my body needed the rest. This show is a workout. I'm in a crouch and standing on my toes for nearly all of it.

Anywho,
Saturday I went to the Coliseum on my own steam, and caught a bit of EuroPride which was being hosted in Rome this year. You can pay to go in and see The Forum as well, but I knew I wouldn't want to do either. 

I know it may seem crazy, but I just can't go into a museum of ANY kind while in a foreign country. I can understand why other people would want to, but I know that if I did, I'd be pissed when I was finished. Why?

Well, there's a whole WORLD of people and live experiences happening outside the walls of that museum or church. Why would I waste a single second staring at dead statues made by dead people. Because it's beautiful? Because it's historical? Yes, but real live beauty is happening right now, at this very moment, and I'd be missing it to crane my neck back at the past. And historical? I'm MAKING history dammit! — I'm in Italy!

Needless to say, I spent not even a full minute in front of The Coliseum and The Forum, before I was ducking into some alley, or walking down a cobbled street sucking Rome into my lungs...

Here's the truth of it, kids:
I. Love. Rome.
This IS my city. It's everything that NYC is, but older and with massive amounts of charm. I love that I can wake up in a city that rises at exactly the same time that I do: 11:30am. Then, an hour later they take lunch, create/work through the evening, and dine and dance till midnight.

The traffic is terrible. Executives ride Vespas to work. It's noisy. Romans talk with their hands. The tourists are everywhere. The teenagers are the most lascivious, lecherous, salacious, promiscuous creatures I've ever encountered (I saw a boy lift his fanny pack to push his boner into his girlfriend's back, and I swear the pair of them were no higher than my hip!) — And I love it! I love ALL of it!

Their subway system only has two lines for an incredibly crowded city, and yet I've never felt stressed about it 'cause you never — I repeat — never have to wait more than 3mins for the next train.

I swear to the high heavens that this is the city I want to Eat, Pray, Love in.
Not Rome with it's Coliseum, Parthenon, Vatican, and Basilica. But the Rome of today, with it's leaning bookstalls, wailing streetcars, towering angels, weary gladiators, flower shops dotting every sidewalk, stately doorways, smokin' hot polizia, fountained piazzas, ebullient gellaterias, and graffiti, graffiti, graffiti...

And I did have one of those moments where I felt like Julia Roberts — I mean, Liz Gilbert — where I was walking through an alley, turned the corner, and saw God's brilliance staring back at me...

I caught a glimpse of the EuroPride parade, and the stage where Lady Gage was set to perform a free concert in the park, but I had to leave to do a performance of my own.
Gaga and I will meet in our own time.

So you want to know if I bedded an Italian boy (*he says like Hedwig on a pile of tires)...

Yes... Two.
The first is Davide. An acrobat (yes, really). He had a thin, soft, tenor voice. Curly sandy locks; crystal blue eyes, ridiculous pecs, and a haughty smirk. 

The sex was fine. But he was thinking far too much.

After him was Pietro... A very, very, very Italian man. A little older, swarthy, thickly stubbled, slender, black hair everywhere, and carried with him a sweet silence hidden behind dark, dark eyes.

If the problem with Davide was that he wouldn't let go, then Pietro was ALL about letting go. The sex was a dance. And afterward, in his quiet, shy, way he kept asking when I would be leaving Rome, and when I would be coming back. 

It's sweet to be missed, but (and forgive me for this) I view both experiences as a "cleaning of the pipes". It had been so long since I had gotten any... And I was in Rome... And I promised my friends...

It was kinda like how everyone in the cast kept badgering me about seeing the Coliseum: "You're not gonna go to Italy and NOT see the Coliseum, Lamar!"

That's how I view Davide and Pietro. Something I just had to do. Not "had to" like "I had to go to work on a Saturday". But "had to" like "I had to go to my best friend's birthday party, no matter how tired I am."

I'm glad I did it. — It was not at all romantic; even in the way I met both of them (Grindr). But I'm glad I did it.

I feel like now I've paved the way, or cleared my head for something more real and true. Probably in Milan.

It was a lot like snacking before a meal: You shouldn't do it, but you don't regret it. — You're still hungry for dinner, though. It is, after all, a snack.

Some tips on Rome:

— Be aggressive... 'cause they are.
If you're a NYer you're set. Shove with pride. They'll smile at you for doing so.

— If you happen to be someone who is perpetually late to meetings, dates, and functions, worry no more. Everybody is. And since they run on a different clock, you'll ALWAYS be seen as punctual 'cause I guarantee you the Italian is running further behind.

— Never take the bus. Even if you're sure you're on the right one. If you ask the driver if it will stop at your stop, and even show him that stop on a printed schedule, he may dismiss it with a shrug, or deny it flatly. He's thinking "Maybe, I'll stop there today. Maybe I won't. Let's find out together."

— The city is overrun with cats. So no rats or roaches. ... Another reason I love this place.

That's it, my loves.
My train is pulling into Milan...