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Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Dublin

Scott and Dan here, reporting from Dublin as planned.  This is a very good thing, as Rome's winding, busy streets had as much killing potential as no-handed, downhill bicycling.  Worst analogy yet.  But seriously, if you go to Rome, avoid consumption of gelato while walking around.  You can easily enter an alternate universe of gelato jubilee, and get run over by motorcycle or automobile.  The locals (if you can find any in Rome, that is..) seem to have an understanding with the drivers, and simply walk onward, fearlessly, unscathed.  My crossings of the street had the feel of those coarsely-shot, rocky Any Given Sunday football scenes.

Speaking of alternate universes, START RATIONING.  BE PREPARED FOR THE END.  THE SCIENTISTS ARE NOT TELLING US EVERYTHING.

I'll fill in the gaps here.  So Scott and I were cruising around Rome a couple of days ago (he sets a torrid pace), trying to fit in the Vatican museum.  We were giving out serious tourist vibes, maps out, clothes not clinging to our bodies mercilessly (image of Scott's tree trunks in tight, European jeans...WOOF), myself donning 4euro plastic glasses purchased from the ubiquitous street peddlers.

A middle-aged woman greeted us in American English.  She kindly informed us that the Vatican museum was closed, so we would have to try again the next day.  I asked her what she was doing in Rome.  She was a tour guide, she explained, who grew up in L.A.  That's when things got weird.

She went on to say that she flew in to Europe on 06/06/06, because there were ''cheap flights'' (right...) and anyways, the devil and her had a deal worked out in which they leave each other alone.  ''I came over to connect some dots,'' she added.

My eyes remained locked to hers and I feigned open-minded interest (ok the ''interest'' part I did not have to fake... I love encounters like this) because I am a softie and I try to avoid giving off the "You are clinically insane" message, even if I am sure of the diagnosis.  However, out of the corner of my eye, I could see Scott shuffling around a bit, as well as some facial adjustments that I figured to be cynical (and merited) smirking.

Additional points from Constellation Lady:
- A ticket to the underworld can be obtained.  She did not provide more details; I would hook you guys up if I knew more, and you know that.
- All of the presidents are related.  Obama, Taft... Recessive genes make for crazy times!
- The truth is on youtube.
- I can be a servant of God.  I just have to keep my mind open, and not believe everything I hear (yes, her inclusion of this advice could be classified as this Alanis Morsette song).

Viewers wishing to know more about the truth can visit projectcamelot.org.

 The conclusion of our exchange involved us walking away slowly, and her saying that she hoped we didn't think she was crazy.  I meekly replied, "No, no.  Projectcamelot.org.  I'll check it out."
____________________

Let me just say that the countries of Japan and New Zealand are in my good graces at the moment.  In Rome, we kicked it a bit with Yoshi from Tokyo, a 23-year old who said "Wow!" to about everything we had to say.  Great kid.

And then there was Byron from New Zealand.  A slightly overweight, shaggy-haired graffic design artist, he was doing what Australians and New Zealanders tend to do:  travelling the world until no more money remained, and then heading back home.  He arrived at the hostel our last night in Rome, already drunk from dinner.  If I was making a light-hearted romance movie in which a girl brought her beau over to meet the family, I would cast Byron as the loveable but slightly abrasive little brother who manages to put the beau in uncomfortable situations.

They were two more fantastic hosteling diplomats.

Slán, my friends.  There's sleep to be slept and Guinnesses to be consumed.

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