Europe is when you go like this

Well since I've been back in America I've returned to my typical blogging schedule which is seldom and long-delayed from the time I think of something to write. The reason why the first one was retired. It is great to be back. We were warned about reverse culture shock on returning to the States but I managed to ward that off completely. One of the only side effects is not understanding the inside jokes that Letterman makes on the Late Show. I figure it will take me a month to get caught up on that. My sleep schedule is gradually adjusting back to normal, like the shortening of each summer day. For a while I was waking up at 7:30 every morning, but I made it to 9 today. Thank you very much.

The trip back from Berlin was fairly perilous. Starting at the Berlin airport, I was pulled out of line for a random baggage search. Not a big deal except I was carrying back one of Nick's suitcases for him. Also seemingly not a big deal except Nick had left by the time of my search and when I went to open his rickety old baggage I couldn't figure out how to undo the locks. Suspicions arose as I grappled with the peculiar locking mechanism, finally it was taking so long I had to admit it was a friend's bag. "Where is your friend?" they asked with a little hint of accusation. "Well, he's gone..." Knowing how this sounded I blurted out every defense in a preemptive strike. "I mean, I know what's in here! I packed it with him! Some of my stuff is in here too it's just he closed it and I don't know how it opens!" I guess the worst that could have happened was they would have cut it open, seen clothes books and dvds and sent me on my way and I would have had a ruined suitcase to compensate Nick for, but at the time it seemed like I was about to be wrestled to the ground, detained in a dark room with one spotlight shining in my eyes while tall shadowy Germans shouted German accusations at me while passing my passport and wallet around skeptically, I'd miss my flight and maybe never see home again. But just before all that swung into motion, I figured out how to open the lock.

Berlin to New York was the easier leg of the trip seeing how we were actually fed and also due in large part to the malfunction of Delta's "Hitch" dvd, resulting in a vhs copy of "National Lampoon's Vacation" being substitued. I whipped out the headphones in a flash. The movie was great, as it always is, but I wondered if the stewardesses were aware of all the profanity and scenes of nudity that the unedited version actually has. Nothing beats Chevy Chase telling his family that they're all "fucked in the head." We landed at JFK, I was unable to see any of New York from the plane, then a couple hours later was back on the runway waiting to take off for Seattle. A couple hours after that I was still on the runway waiting to take off for Seattle. We taxid around forever, leaving me thinking perhaps the pilots took a wrong turn and we were lost at the airport. But a weather disturbance in Chicago was forcing reroutes on several planes in front of us. Eventually we were airborn, but there were no pillows on this flight, my seat wouldn't recline even though I threw all my strength back against it like I was trying to stop it from crushing me, Star Wars-garbage-smasher-style, they never fed us and the movie was Miss Congeniality 2. Nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.

Well, I think that was a little too much detail for two flights, but I will move on. Berlin was fun and, maybe ironically, there was a peace to it that Rome could never have. If you haven't checked my photos recently, shame on you first of all, but all my Berlin pictures are in one sub-album now. Here is one short passage I jotted down early on in my stay in Germany...

Day two in Berlin is at an end. We are home much earlier than last night, mercifully. After meeting two of Nick’s Berlin compatriots, one from Spain and the other from London, we went to a bar called something that translates to The Living Room, I think, because it was basically a living room. But we sat in the kitchen section. Then we proceeded to a club called Magnet where all the Berlin hipsters gather to awkwardly half-dance the night away. Ever danced to Belle & Sebastian? Well, maybe you have, but probably only in private. I don’t do much clubbing, but I doubt that dance floors at many clubs are ringed by disillusioned youth trying to furrow up more apathy.

It is much greener here, trees and rain are part of my life again. I voluntarily went to Nick’s final class yesterday and learned about native Maori speakers in New Zealand. I’m only interested in their poetry.

Nick is a very well-informed and capable tour guide. It is funny to hear him speaking fluent German and having others speak it right back. It always seemed like a parlor trick when I heard a word or two of it in Seattle, but not something that could actually be used to
communicate!

One odd fact you can impress your friends with now is that in Berlin they never jaywalk, even at wide open intersections. It is to set a good example for the kiddies, says Nick. I speculated that that may be why the Germans lost the war. Think of all the time lost with their infantry battalions waiting for the signal to change as we raced into the city, brazenly disregarding all crosswalks in our path, jaywalking to victory. You won't find that in any textbook.

Walking along one afternoon, we passed a mother and her young daughter speaking in German. The mother looked back at her young one and said something, which prompted the daughter to answer exasperatedly, closing her eyes and holding her arms out at her sides. After walking past Nick said, "What a weird conversation." "What did they say?" "The mom said, 'And what is death?' and the girl said, 'Death is when you go like this.'" Cue the closed eyes and rigid posture. What a bizarre and morbid conversation, and yet there's something I like very much about "Death is when you go like this." That does not seem so bad.

Anyways, grand finale time? Almost two weeks detached from Rome now, I think much more about the program and the people than the city. That was more the focus of my interest while I was there too, I think. The interactions between the always unique personalities in our class was usually what I had my eye out for, moreso than any foreshortening techniques employed by Caravaggio. It was a challenge in just about any way you can imagine. Academically, socially, culturally, physically...monetarily. It split me into my basic elements. I was forced to ask questions of myself that maybe I didn't completely answer, and maybe I never wanted to ask the questions anyway, but it was still good to come through respectably enough. I think I had my confidence initially shattered and then by the end had managed to painstakingly glue it back together to where you could barely see the cracks. I joked plenty before leaving about "finding myself", and still could never buy into something so cliched like that, but I think maybe I was reintroduced. And I think this is where I'll leave it. Thanks for checking in and really thanks for leaving comments. Comments make the world go round.

One more practical matter to deal with. My antique cell phone finally died and I have a new one now, same number, but all my precious contacts are history. If anyone wants to leave me their number here, email it, or actually call, that would be stupendous. Alright, ciao.

quick hits from Berlin

I have stormed Berlin, but can only go online on Nick's laptop, so I won't have much time for the rest of the trip to sit down and do any long posts or post any new pictures. So I'll just say a few quick things and get out of the way and do some longer grand finale type posts when I get back to Seattle on the 19th.

Yesterday we saw the longest remaining stretch of Wall, now turned into a memorial and decorated with many murals. Today I think the plan is to see a Picasso museum and go up to the cupola of the Reighstagg which gives a good view of the city. Berlin moves at a much more leisurely pace compared to Rome, and there are actual trees and plants here, it feels much like Seattle.

The Rome program ended up with a large group of us sitting on the banks of the Tiber river, singing songs and consuming beverages and it was a lot of fun, and the feeling of accomplishment was quite substantial when I finally left to wander back to my apartment for the last night. Spent the next night in the Rome airport, sleeping horribly on benches, then caught the quick two-hour flight up to Berlin where Nick was waiting to pick me up in his Mariners shirt in my honor, and here I am now in his dorm room. That's about all I have time for now, I will be home soon.

Oh, and by the way I am in need of a new AIM screen name. MikeBRulz is now permanently defunct after eight or nine years of distinguished service. Any suggestions?

When you become the center of the universe

Something strange happened on the way to anonymity. As I walked up to the podium tonight to unleash the pair of poems I had chosen for our group’s final reading, I started getting a bizarre amount of cheers, so much so that I actually looked behind me to make sure I wasn’t being followed by someone more important. But no, somehow I’ve turned into a minor poetry celebrity. I couldn’t explain it. I just said, “Wow, this really won’t be that good.” I read my two pieces, elicited some laughs and sat back down with a mental shrug. Afterwards, Ian came right up and said, “Man, you had the shit hyped out of you! You could have said anything and they would have eaten it up.” I guess my publicists have been hard at work creating a buzz. Also, Vincent from downstairs closed out our group’s reading by expressing his love for everyone in our apartment but finishing up by focusing on me and giving me a sort of “I love you, man.” Vincent has a way of saying things that there’s really just no response to. Even more curiously, a few people have said my poems are among their favorites and I had to write out a copy of one of them for this girl Jamie tonight and sign and date it. The only thing I can think is that maybe I don’t try to wrap the world up in a poem. Listening to some others tonight I pulled out my journal and wrote, “With your last line, say something like ‘her breasts held time’ or ‘its eyes were God’ or something equally asinine, and you will be met with oohs and ahs.” I’ve said that I can’t take myself seriously writing poetry, but maybe it’s just that universal truth poetry, and maybe people appreciate something different.

Later at dinner, Micha, one of the grad students, cryptically asked me if I held all the wisdom. When I told him he needed to lead me a little farther down that road he theorized that I am the cold center of the universe that all the warmth gravitates towards. Apparently these poets need a little cynicism in their lives. Many people here love to speak in absolutes, which I hate absolutely. They want to beat their ideas into your head, or at least feel that this is their one chance to be heard so they pounce at every opportunity like, “What?? Did someone say they liked Keats?” Then they pull the cord on their back and start shouting “KEATS IS FILTH, YOU DON’T SEE THAT????” I’m generalizing too much though. The “they” I keep referring to is probably less than five people here but I have had plenty of dinners where I end up sitting back and playing with my silverware as others shout their mighty thoughts across the table. Cool center of the universe perhaps, or I just don’t feel like being an ass.

Quoteworthy

well, my normally scattered postings will continue here, but the London attacks have obviously put me on edge, with the terrorist group claiming Italy would also be targeted, and since i ride the subway and busses during rush hour, through downtown Rome, up to four times a day. needless to say i shall be hoofing it for the remainder of my stay here, nevermind the half hour walk from our apartment to the UW Rome Center.

most of the students here seem to be just about completely worn down from the program, and i've been enjoying listening to gripes from unexpected sources over the last few days. yesterday was our third day trip, this time to the hill town of Todi, then on to a local winery, and finally to this city called Civita, if i remember right. Civita looks like something out of a fantasy world, perched up on a high hill right in the middle of a wide scooped out valley, and you walk over and up a long bridge to reach it. i added the pictures from yesterday's trip to my photo site at http://photobucket.com/albums/a242/mbruscas/. the one picture that needs more explaining is the one with me standing next to the mannequin in KKK attire. a sign next to it explained how it was not KKK-wear, but the traditional garb townspeople (i forget from what town) would use long ago during the burying rituals for someone who had died. wealthy, benevolent individuals would pay for certain services but wanted to remain anonymous, hence the hoods. so i guess the KKK stole their costume idea. shame on you, KKK.

everyone was slightly miffed after spending around six hours total on the bus yesterday and getting back at 11:30 when we were supposed to be back by 8. the strain is starting to show. we're only here for a month, but it is easily a full quarter's worth of time and effort packed in. we have class six days a week, generally involving three hour walks at 9 a.m. in the morning, then three additional hours of class at the Rome center in the evening, whereas one of the history programs has class four times a week and they're always out by 1 p.m., although they are in the city longer. but so that typical schedule, plus the maraton bus trips yesterday and people have started lamenting how much longer they're still travelling after the program ends and wishing they could go home. i am not quite that dour yet, but then i'm only faced with one week in berlin hanging out with Nick before i go home, and not the two months in Africa, for example, that my friend Emily will be experiencing. i definitely want to fast forward these next five days though. i've seen eight churches in the past three days now and judging from my photo production, my interest has steadily waned.

i've taken to keeping myself and a few others amused lately by greeting every new place we visit with the same line. i take a few looks around and say, "so, this is italy." it will probably get old fast but right now it is pretty much a necessity, and my friend patrick titled both of the poems he read today "so, this is italy."

also, since i've heard this story about 10 times over the last two days and it makes me laugh severely every single time, i feel it's just as big a part of the trip as any church or fresco. so i will relate it as best i can, but you really need to hear and see Ian's performance.....anyways, once upon a time a kid named Ian attended Garfield high school, where he was vastly in the minority to all the black students. and in a particular class there were only three white kids, and the black students referred to each of them only as "white boy". well for some unknown reason one day, one of the other white boys brought a bottle of whiskey with him to class, except he had filled it up with apple juice instead. so during class he just pulled the bottle out of his bag and started chugging it, with the pained expression on his face that one would make if they were actually chugging a bottle of whiskey. this is where the story might lose you in the text version, because ian's Chris Rock-like screams are impossible to recreate. anyway, this white boy's actions were met with riotous screams from the black students, and Ian gives the following quotes: "OH SHEEEEYIT!! LOOK AT WHITE BOY!! WHAT THE HELL'S WHITE BOY DOING??? YOU GONNA GET EXPEEEELLED WHITE BOY!!!" ian says many of the black students loved nothing better than an opportunity to shout out loud during class. meanwhile, the teacher just stood idly by chortling to himself. i wish i could claim that story for my own, but Edmonds-Woodway was on the tamer side.

A few students on this trip also fall on the crazier side. one girl i witnessed rub her head and neck back and forth against the bus seat in front of her yesterday like a cat. another occasion she lovingly embraced a tree at Hadrian's Villa and gave the bark a long, deep sniff, as i walked past thinking "let's just ignore that." but my favorite was also on the bus yesterday, when she enthusiastically suggested "let's have a day where we force ourselves to speak only in iambs!" i wanted to say, with all the seriousness i could muster, "wow, that is the single greatest idea i believe i have ever heard. and i think i love you now." i shouldn't only pick on her, there are several other slightly off-kilter people here, but those moments deserved special attention.

It's getting late so i will close with breakneck speed.
an exchange that sums up my poetry feelings....
Katie: "I've begun the slow descent into mediocrity."
Myself: "I plunged in headfirst."

an exchange with a history student on the bus....
Him: "What the hell, are they drunk?"
Myself: "No, they're my roommates. That's pretty typical behavior."
Him: "Jeez, how do you put up with that?"
Myself: "..............................."
And i'm still working on the answer to that.

A strong grip and a wary eye

Sunday evening here now, the end of my lovely break. Ran into Stephanie on the street while waiting for the bus today. Wonderful to see her of course and she has a lovely tan going after three months in Greece. I'm becoming slightly off-white, but that is the most I can expect.

Oh, and to whomever composed the Grape Nuts haiku following my last post, that will definitely get recited in our meeting tomorrow. Now that's MY kind of poetry!

I enjoy passing restaurants that advertise their Rick Steves approval. I feel like they owe me a free drink or something because of Rick and my shared Edmonds residence. I suppose he really must be the most famous man from Edmonds, for what that's worth.

Other reminders of home: Last night the Italian MTV channel played the video for “Neighborhood #3 (Power Out)” by The Arcade Fire, a great video I must say. Not that the Arcade Fire have anything to do with Seattle, but I was on their bandwagon early so it is interesting that they are now cracking the Italian mainstream.

Today I saw an Italian man wearing a Supersuckers shirt. For those who don’t know, the Supersuckers are a very small-time country/punk band from the Emerald City. I should have shouted “Eddie Spaghetti!” (the lead singer’s name) and seen if I got a reaction. Maybe anyone with the name Spaghetti has a big following in Rome. tee hee.

I recently decided to really wave my American flag by going to the local McDonald’s for the first time. I then paid tribute to Pulp Fiction by ordering the McRoyal with cheese. However, I did not then proceed with John Travolta to murder Brett and his friends while shouting Bible verses. While I was sitting in the restaurant, a girl of maybe five came up to me holding up an egg-ish toy. Here in Rome, little gypsy children are some of the biggest con artists of all. I once saw a man violently throw three sniggering kids from the subway (before it had started moving), someone later explaining that they were pickpockets. Or they are tools of their conning moms and pops, like the man who always comes around restaurants in our neighborhood playing guitar while his tiny daughter sullenly belly dances in a circle next to him, then goes around to the tables pulling on sleeves and asking for money. My dad made me mow the lawn, but at least he didn’t make me dance around the mower on the street corner to support our family. But the point is that when this bright-eyed child cautiously approached me holding up the egg, I regarded her with suspicion I usually only reserve for……well, I can’t think of any situations in America where I’m so guarded against people. At least with Ave rats you know where they stand. So I tried to shoo her away, saying “No grazie” and quickly looking back to my book. But she persisted and held it up again. “You just want me to open it?” I said finally. She nodded. So, still feeling I was somehow being hoodwinked—like it would burst open and I would have unwittingly been forced to accept whatever was inside, for five euro—I pulled it apart. She lit up, took it and ran over to another table where she waved it to someone out of my sight, just a mother with a weak grip I suppose. It was only her happy meal toy. And it made me thoroughly disgusted with Rome for making me regard this little girl with such scorn. At least to the American sucker, people are guilty until proven innocent here.