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God is American ... don't you forget it.
ciao from bologna. so as you may or may not know, i met uncle art in rome a few days ago. since we hammered out all the main attractions we decided to head to bologna, north of florence, for a day before i started classes in Florence. bologna is a really, for lack of a better word, cool, place. It fuses together medieval buildings and McDonalds in a way most people, including myself, do not find offensive. although, i must say, having that first wiff of mcdonalds greasy fries wafting through the air takes me back...but not to a good place. it takes me to a very fat place. yeech. moving on. it seems that the mullet's popularity is full throttle here in bologna but im having a difficult time figuring out if it never went out of style or if this is some kind of rebirth. i pray it's not the latter. i mean, both scenarios are devastating but i've got to believe that a mullet revival is a least a degree worse than if it never went out of style. it's like bringing back, i dunno, witch hunts or something. it never made sense then, it certainly wouldn't make sense now. anyway, i was in a church today that was built in 390. 390. thats really old. but that's besides the point, in their gift shop they were selling limoncello, ah hem. lemoncello is that poisonous alcoholic lemonade you can find everywhere here in italy it's odor if pleasant, quite like that of, well, a lemon, but you wouldn't eat a lemon would you? no, you wouldnt, but thats exactly what it tastes like, only much worse, when you take of swig of that stuff, its like biting into a lemon, only imagine someone hitting you in the neck with a golf club the very second that s*** touches your lips. so, the church sells this stuff..among other, equally perplexing, "gifts": a tea set for example- or perhaps grandma would like some chocolate balls- afterall, nothing says "medival church" quite like some melted brown balls in a nondescript ziplock bag. "to grandma, with love - rodger. here nonna, found these in a church basement in bologna, the melted goodness immediately reminded me of you. i should also comment on men's fashion here...in all of italy. there are two distinct categories. the first. men decked out in really boss two piece suits, the kind of suits that make you feel like a hobo for walking out of the door in shorts and a tshirt. the kind of suits that, perfectly tailored, look as if the man wearing it has just stepped out of a chauffeured bently. a bently, however, is the last mode of transportation any of these studly beefcakes showed up for work in. in fact, one cant even use the word "in" when describing the method these fellas go from point A to point B. the prefered term is "on" as in on a moped. now, im sure you know the old cliche, "dating a fat chick is like riding a moped, it's fun, but dont let your friends ever see you." italian men are too busy looking like fully clothed underwear models to give a s*** what they're riding around on. they know they look good and they dont give a damn if some american backpacker with white sneakers and a fanny pack thinks otherwise. Everywhere you look, zipping by at incredible speeds, speeds formerly unique to one cylinder, two-wheeled, transportation, are dwarf-like scooters ushering around fully-grown, impeccably dressed, sunglass wearing guys and girls who could send you shamefully running back into your house to change your entire outfit -all with a single sneer accompanied by and a well timed scoff. ok, so we have the high end covered. the low end consist of, what i like to describe as "american carnival" attire. not the participant, the patrons. imagine, if you will, the target audience of a traveling cicus. have you got it? if you pictured white washed jeans, mullets, and fabulously tight tshirts with gold lettering from sleeve to sleeve and from neck to belt, youve got a pretty good idea of how the italian youth dress on a daily basis, guys and girls. which brings me to another point. transplant an italian youth...lets say male...from the safety of his mothercountry to a highschool football game in wyoming and, my friends, you would see a hate crime waiting to happen. there would be no chance of this poor italian lad, even if his english were as clear as Peter Jenning's, that he could ever convince the gathering mob that he were straight. ever. it simply couldnt happen. and yet, here, the girls seems to swoon for it. go figure. that's the difference an ocean can make, i suppose. alrite, so my dad wants to tell you about the food but i dont think im qualified, at least, not yet, ive pretty much only had pizza and gnocchi. its the only thing i can understand on the menu, my italian sucks. however, i have tried a few interesting things that i will share with you. one. brochiutto and melon. i grew up fearing this strange combination but have recently grown to love it. really. its good. two. pear juice. they sell pear juice in a bottle and i love the stuff. mmmmmmmmm. oh, third. and last. something called blood orange. its basically red orange juice with a cool name. blood orange, i took a picture. in fact, i took a picture of practically everything ive eaten or drank here, much to the dismay of every waiter ive had thus far. ok, enough for now. i told you nothing of bologna, just trust me that its a really boss city. tomorrow i go to Florence and get my apartment. bye for now. rodge
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