Moved to a New Home

I've been going through the process of creating a new web site and in the process have moved my blog to a new location.

You can now find me at http://www.gregdinning.com/. Or, if you're Canadian and feeling particularly patriotic, go to http://www.gregdinning.ca/. Same thing.

I've started blogging again (just), and am in the process of adding new content (like pictures). It's a bit of a work in progress for now, but it'll happen.

Hope you haven't given up on me completely, and that I'll see you there!

Lip Balm, and Goodbye to Kilgore Trout

For some time, I've had a list of things that I would like to do or achieve before I die. Some, I've already accomplished: go to India, learn a foreign language, eat a rodent. Some, like climbing Mount Kilimanjaro, I believe I will one day achieve. Others, I don't think I will ever manage. One of the goals I will likely never accomplish is to finish a tube of lip balm. For the last three years, I have been trying my best to meet this lofty goal, but so far, triumph has eluded me. I had spent almost a year on one tube, meticulously keeping track of its location at all times to ensure I didn't lose it. That one went through the laundry. Until recently, I had been working on another tube for well over a year, and based on the uneven weight distribution, I think I was pretty close. I made the mistake of putting it in my pocket in Mexico with two dead batteries which I later threw in the garbage. Later I discovered one of the batteries was actually my lip balm. Once again my dreams were shattered.

Since I was facing a really long, dry flight to Rome, I was forced to buy another one. I made the mistake of buying cherry Labello. Men, be warned: this stuff makes your lips red. It also comes in a lipstick-style tube. Why does this product exist, and why does it have no warnings? I'll tell you one thing though, I would be totally hot in drag.

On a more serious note, one of my favourite authors, Kurt Vonnegut passed away this week. I would like to wish him a fond farewell. The Tralfamadorians know that we will see you later in some previous time, but until then, thanks for the wonderful stories and the inspiration.

Greg's Roman Art Day

I finished class at noon today so, I had a bit of an art day around Rome. I wanted to go and see the Sistene Chapel, but of course, it being another bloody religious holiday, it probably would have been closed. Instead, I went to Santa Maria del Popolo to see the Caravaggios, Fontana de Tritone to see Bernini's triton, and the Basilica di San Pietro in Vincoli to see the tomb of Pope Julius II by Michelangelo. I blended this fine art with my iPod playing the Fratellis which themselves are like a blend of crack and pop-rocks.

First, the metro to Piazza del Popolo. I think this might be my favourite piazza that I saw in Rome. It's big, there are lots of people, but not too crowded, and there's a lovely view in any direction. I first went to see the Caravaggios. Unfortunately they were placed in a little chapel that didn't have very good lighting which is too bad because of the striking light in the Crucifixion of Saint Peter. I found The Conversion of Paul on the Road to Damascus was very difficult to see. While there, I also saw the Assumption of the Virgin Mary by Carracci. I've seen pictures of it before and always thought it looked a little cartoonish for my taste. But, who am I to knock Carracci?

Next, I spent a little more time hanging out in the piazza before moving on. Naturally there was a band of Ecuadorian pan-flute players. Given the choice, I would prefer to be a hammer rather than a nail just as much as the next guy, but enough with the Simon and Garfunkel.

I moved on to Bernini's Triton and my path took me up the Spanish steps. I haven't lost my super-human cardiovascular system recently acquired in Mexico yet, so I was able to scamper up the stairs without even starting to lose my breath. I was like some kind of animal that is half gazelle and half mountain goat being chased by some kind of animal that is half lion and half whatever eats mountain goats.

I stopped on the way for a double espresso pick-me-up. I love how you can just order it at the bar, stand there and drink it, and off you go. No messing about with a table or anything. And god damn these people can make coffee. I got to the triton, which is a lovely fountain, but there's not that much to see, and no place to really sit and enjoy it. There is traffic, a triton, people taking pictures of said triton, and that's about it.

After that, I got lost. Eventually, I found my way to Via Nazionale, which was my destination, via a big tunnel. I wandered around the former Papal Palace with the statues of Castor and Pollux (a.k.a. Castore e Polluce). I walked to see the four fountains at the corner of Via delle Quattro Fontane and XX Settembre. I love those fountains.

Last stop on art day was the Basilica di San Pietro in Vincoli. This basilica holds the chains used to hold Saint Peter when he was imprisoned in Jerusalem (vincoli is chains in Italian). There were also a number of Raffaellos and the tomb of Pope Julius II by Michelangelo. The statue of Moses on the tomb has horns due to a mis-translation between the terms "beams of light" and "horns" in Latin. You have to remember that this statue was made before the invention of fact-checkers. There was also a painting which I could have sworn before was a Caravaggio (although it didn't look like it person). As I was looking at it, I looked down and realised I was standing on Pope Gregory XVI, albeit indirectly, since I was only standing on his tomb.

It was a bit early for dinner, but I went anyway. Pizza at my new Roman pizza spot. After, I headed to the metro at the Colosseum to go back to the hotel. There were tons of people around, but I thought it was just a Friday night in Rome thing. The crowds thickened to the point of it being impossible to move through them. I heard a small group of people speaking French and decided to ask what was going on. I opened my mouth and what came out was a shitty patois mixture of French and Spanish which might have actually been Basque or Portuguese or a shitty patois mixture of Basque and Portuguese. The man looked at me like I was in idiot in the literal sense of the word (having an IQ below 25) and after a moment said slowly in French something about Good Friday (I was too flustered and embarrassed to listen closely to his response). I'm not sure, but I think I saw him fishing in his pocket for some spare change. I turned around and sure enough, there was a cross lit up facing the Colosseum. I was in serious danger of attending Mass. I had to get out of there, and quickly.

As I pushed my way through the crowd towards the entrance of the metro, I paused and considered the fact that some sucker devoted volunteer might be about to lug a giant cross down the street only to let a small crowd haul him up on it. I thought about the "wow... this seemed like such a good idea when I signed up, but this bloody hurts" look on his face. Nope - not worth it. Got to go.

There were bars across the door and police guarding the entrance. Eager to make up for my previous linguistic atrocity, I pulled out my best Italian and put together the most complicated sentence I've ever formulated: "Il metro è chiuso qua?" I don't even know where the words came from. It was beautiful and moving. The woman replied (in English) that it was closed here, but I could walk to either Cavour or Circo Massimo and started to explain where they were. Who did she think she was talking to? I am Greg Dinning, metro-slut.

After a quick calculation I opted for Circo Massimo which I deemed to be closer, but it was almost impossible to move that way through the crowd. I had to take the long way around the Colosseum. Following a small group of like-minded heathens, we skirted through the crowd, climbed up a small wall and went through a park and some ruins. On the other side of the crowd, traffic was blocked off and there were almost no people. From there the speed at which we could move is probably easier to express relative to Mach than in km/h.

Tomorrow, I'm up at 4:30 to catch a 7:20 flight to Toronto via Paris. I hate when I have to get up so early that the person arranging the taxi says "Tonight?" instead of "Tomorrow morning?".

Greg Doesn't Speak Italian

If you've ever seen the movie "Roman Holiday", then read no further because that was pretty much my day. Only without Audrey Hepburn or any other love interest, which admittedly is a large part of the plot. Oh ya - and there was no plot. But given that I share my first name with the actor who played the main character, I was in Rome, and I went to the Colosseum, the similarities are striking and more than a little eerie. Oh yes; most people find me more dashing than Gregory Peck, although some people prefer to use the terms "ravishingly handsome" or simply, "yummy".

Warning: This was a big day, so this is going to be a big post. I spent a lot of time by myself today just thinking about stupid things that I can write about. Better cancel your next meeting.

I hate not being able to speak Italian. I try to say a couple of words, and when they immediately come back to me in English, there's absolutely nothing I can do about it. I just don't have the vocabulary to insist that I continue to butcher their language. However, of the thirty or so words I do know, I certainly do try to bandy them about. I just love dragging out that penultimate syllable. GRAzie. BuonGIORno. CappuCCIno. What a hoot. And who doesn't love to say, "Ciao"? I've been experimenting and it seems that a little knowledge of Spanish helps a lot. Change the B's to V's (although sometimes to a 'P'), ch to tt, and a couple of other little things and you're getting close. I haven't quite figured out verb conjugation yet (all the usual irregular ones are weird), but initial experiments are promising.

I started off by taking the metro to Circo Massimus where I was able to easily walk to the Colosseum and hopefully get some good views on the way. The Circus Maximus is now little more than a green area, although people walk and jog there. Maybe later in the week I'll do a couple of Ben Hur's around the loop. I'll have to see about fastening spikes to the sides of my running shoes.

I walked to the Colosseum, noshing on a panini with prosciutto (my jaw is still aching). When I got there, there was a long queue to get in, and Homey don't play that, so I didn't see the inside. I've heard that there's not actually that much to see there anyway. I took the obligatory pictures and moved on through the forum.

When it comes to batteries dying, I am like a prophet. As I left this morning, I thought to myself, "I really should have charged my camera batteries". Sure enough, they died while I was right in the middle of the forum far from any place that might sell batteries and surrounded by a million photo opportunities. I had to walk out of the forum, get batteries and walk back. This happens to me every single time I go out to take pictures somewhere interesting. Every. Single. Time.

For any single guys out there... When you travel and you see two cute girls taking pictures of each other, offer to take a picture of them together for them. Language doesn't matter. You're a tourist, they're tourists, all tourists want to meet people, and you're showing what a nice guy you are. If you're really too shy to offer, try to awkwardly take a picture of yourself in front of whatever site you're in front of. They will almost always offer to take your picture for you (and if not, they're probably nasty and you don't want to meet them anyway). It's so easy that it's almost not fair- you have no excuse. This is generally a good way to meet anybody when you travel.

Time for a little lunch. This time another panini and a big beer. The food for the body, and the beer to help prevent my brain from over-developing and making me too smart. I sat near Trajan's column and listened to the ubiquitous Ecuadorian pan flute band kicking out jams by Air Supply and Abba. You may know that Mormons are required to spend a year abroad preaching their faith. Many countries require mandatory military service. In a similar vein, I suspect that Ecuadorians are required to spend a year abroad playing the pan flutes at shopping malls and tourist attractions because man, they are everywhere.

There are quite a few beggars in Rome. A number of them are women who prostrate themselves in front of an icon of the virgin Mary and a small empty Pringles can (the can is present without exception). These women are part of a little-known sect called the Followers of Our Lady of Monosodium Glutemate. I also saw a man sitting in a doorway with the story of how he lost his house and family written on a large sheet of card paper and a can of change, weeping openly. A large crowd had gathered around. My heart was frosty; I've watched enough World Cup Football to know that an Italian man on the ground in anguish means nothing. I'm sure that if someone had shown a yellow card to one of the passersby he would have been fine (I hope none of my students this week read that). Besides; after this happened to him, he had the presence of mind to sit down and think up a plan, go out and buy card paper and a Sharpe, write out his story, get an empty coffee can, and find an empty doorway on a busy thouroughfare. This would have taken me at least two days to organise. After all that, the tears are still streaming down his face. Time to learn how to re-assess your priorities in dealing with major life issues, dude.

I hadn't really thought about it, but I got to knock another country off the list - Vatican City. Yes, it is a country. Yes, this is a cheap one, but it counts. I got a little lost on the way there, but all I had to do was follow the reverse direction of the groups of teenagers shouting, holding palm leaves (it's Palm Sunday today), and waving flags declaring their religion. It's as if they were an invading army. There were tons of these little armies of Euro-teens heading to Saint Peters. One particularly obnoxious group of Spanish kids was yelling and singing and blocking traffic, including a police car. When told to move by the polizia, he said something snippy to the cop (didn't hear what he said). Of course the other little soldiers in his little army thought this was hilarious. So did he until he got hauled off and chucked into the back of the police car. The little soldiers in the little army didn't sing or yell any more after that. Once again, karma at work. In fact, he's lucky that karma acted so quickly. If it hadn't, it might have built up and later in life he would have gotten chlamydia.

It was a longer walk than I expected to get to St. Peter's. It felt like I walked halfway across the country to get there (ha ha - I've been waiting all day to use that). There was a bit of a queue going into St. Peter's but for Michelangelo, I'll make a slight exception. I have to admit that the inside of the church was spectacular. I wandered around a bit and then went to the entrance to the Vatican museum. I, didn't go in since the Sistine Chapel was closed today (once again - Palm Sunday). This is where the Vatican houses many of the treasures purchased with the 2000 years of taxes, tithes and toil paid by my ancestors. The entrance fee was six Euro. I wonder how you say "irony" in Latin.

After leaving Vatican City, I walked along the Tiber River towards the Piazza del Popolo. I took a little side jaunt to see the Mausoleum of Augustus. Back in the day, if you were rich, powerful, good-looking, and cremated, this was the place to be seen. People were dying to get in there, but you really had to urn the privilege (I've been waiting all day to use those too. Sorry about the puns; I'm being a bit of an ash). There wasn't much to see, but I had a bit of a coughing attack while walking around the building. I think I might have inhaled a little Marcus Agrippa.

On to the Popolo; a nice little square with a lovely fountain in the middle. At this point, it was pretty hot and I'd been walking all day in the sun. A bit of a face wash with the cool water was just the thing. On to the Spanish steps. I totally overshot them and had to turn around and backtrack. As luck would have it, I stumbled into the Trevi Fountain. Legend says that if you throw a coin into this fountain, you will one day return to Rome. I was pretty tired by this time, and decided to wait on tossing the coin until I'd made up my mind for sure. By the way, calling it a mere fountain diminishes it in terms of size and grandeur.

I made it to the Spanish steps (which weren't as big as I was expecting) where I plunked my arse down for about an hour and a half and stared into space. There were tons of people there. I talked to a family from Tucson for a bit. I explained how to get to the Trevi fountain. No matter how many times I said the name or pointed to a sign or map that had it written on it, the father insisted on calling it the "Trivia" Fountain. I'm not sure if they ended up going, but I think his wife was keen on meeting Alex Trebec. Good people though.

After that, a bit more wandering (including another pass by Trevi where I chucked in a coin), dinner, wine and a walk back to the metro past the Colosseum. Got some good night shots.

I didn't write a thing about Mexico, so I still owe that one. Probably, you'll see that later this week.

Chapter 58: In which the auther rediscovers the joy of having knees and learns Italian

I can't believe that I haven't posted in a week. I've been so good up until now. I shouldn't complain. It's not even the end of March, and I've already posted more than I did all last year.

I haven't run in a week because my knees hurt so bad that I could barely walk. Silly me just thought that if I worked harder, that somehow I could just "run through the pain". This seemed reasonable to me since it didn't seem that different from my approach to mechanical problems in my car: if you ignore them, they will eventually get better as mechanical problems are wont to do. Anyway, I finally decided to take a week away from it and today was the first day I could walk down stairs without any discomfort. I tested out the new knees today on an easy mile. So far so good, but I think a couple of braces and a proper pair of running shoes might be in order.

I'm in Toronto now, and on Sunday, I leave from here to go Mexico City. I can't wait for some of those deliciously nasty street tacos. Originally, I was supposed to go to Rome the week after, but for about a month, I've been hearing that it wasn't going to happen, so I didn't worry about it much. I got an email yesterday, and it's happening. Because of my schedule and the distances involved, I'm not going to make it home for four weeks. Thank god I don't need a visa. Here's my planned itinerary.

• March 18: Greg drives to Toronto
• March 23: Greg finishes class at noon and goes to Newmarket
• March 25: Greg flies to Mexico City, sleeping on the plane. Spends the afternoon at the Diego Rivera museum looking at lillies and Frida Kahlo's eyebrows
  
• March 28 7:23: Greg goes out looking for street tacos and gets mugged (OK, this might not happen, but I've never been robbed before and I'm probably due). He curses all chilangos everywhere and says lots of bad words
  
• March 30 8:00am: Greg checks out of his hotel, goes to class, and finishes by noon
• March 30 1:00pm: Greg eats tacos, goes to the airport and spends four hours in the afternoon learning to speak absolutely perfect Italian
• March 30 10:30pm: Greg gets on flight to Rome via Paris
• March 31 7:55pm: Greg arrives in Rome and smells really bad. He sleeps for 14 hours
  
• April 1: Greg sees everything there is to see in Rome. He drinks so much espresso that he wets himself and doesn't sleep for three days. Visa puts a hold on his card after buying a metro ticket and wifi access.
  
• April 7: Greg leaves Rome to go back to Toronto. It's Gavin's and Krista's birthdays (hey guys, just because I haven't called in 15 years doesn't mean I forgot)
• April 8: Greg picks up his car in Newmarket, drives to Waterloo and on the way there, realises that he forgot to tell Lara's brother, David, that he is going to spend the week on his couch
• April 12: Home again to Ottawa. The kids announce that "that guy in the picture is back again"
  

Chapter 57: In which the author buys his third iPod and considers the purchase of a pair of ruby slippers

Storms a-comin'. At least that's what I'm told. When I stepped out of the hotel tonight for dinner, it was beginning to rain and the air felt thick and humid. In speaking with my new buddy at the restaurant (which I went to last night as well), I hear there's a good chance of a tornado. I was only hoping for a cracking good thunderstorm, but if we get a twister, maybe I'll have something interesting to write about tomorrow.

I just purchased an iPod shuffle; a tiny, blue clip-on one. I love it. The music it plays is completely random, but it always seems to know exactly what I want to hear. Maybe that has something to do with the fact that I selected the music that went on it. I wasn't sure how it was going to behave with my iPod video. I kept them on separate sides of my laptop until I was sure they would get along. At first, you could see that they were curious about each other by the way they eyed each other across the keyboard, although they didn't quite know what to make of each other. Fortunately, all is well and the two get along fine.

The reason I bought it is that I have a more-or-less permanent ache in my left thumb from clutching my iPod video while I run. The shuffle is weightless and clips on to my shirt. My other thumb is still sore from a ball that jammed it during a dodgeball practice a couple of weeks ago. No need to point out who threw it: they know who they are. I miss having the use of both of my thumbs. It somehow makes me feel less-than-primate.

Oh yeah - I play on a dodgeball team. Well sort of... More on that some other night in some other post.

I had a piece of peanut butter pie after dinner. It had some chocolate sauce. It was really good. Really, really good. Peanut butter and chocolate is my arch-enemy. My nemesis. The Lex Luthor to my Clark Kent. The Zoltar to my G-Force. I know that it's bad for me and I hate it, but despite its rich, creamy depravity, I love it so and know that I can never truly leave it. Such is our kismet.

People I met:
The waiter from the restaurant. He works at State Farm during the day, and as a waiter at night. I asked him why, and he says it's because he's a single dad and has lots of kids. I'm not sure if he works a second job to support them or to get away from them.

I Got the Daylight Savings Blues

Daylight savings really messes me up bad, and I don't understand why. I completely get timezones. I can track seven different people in seven different time zones without messing up, but move the clock by an hour within the same time zone and I'm totally thrown off. It just boggles my mind - it's like calculating the solution to partial differential equations. And to top it off, what really messes me up is trying to figure out what time it is in countries that don't follow daylight savings. Thank god for Google (try "what time is it in ").

What a great feeling on the that first day after the spring time change, when you get the extra hour of light at night. It always makes you feel like spring is just around the corner. Add to that the warm sunny day we had today (it was 8C when I arrived today in Chicago), and you can't help but feel like the winter is coming to an end. It looks like I will fulfill my goal this year of not touching a snow shovel for the entire winter.

I'm back in Bloomington again. There's not much to do or many places to eat, but now that it's light a little bit later, maybe I'll swing by the hotel on Washington St. to see if they still have the room full of lamp shades. If so I'll take a picture and post it here. It's really something. Other than that I have no plans other than to pick up a nice bottle of wine at Friar Tuck's (a really good liquor store in Bloomington with a stellar selection of wines).