So Verona wasn’t bad!
I found a playground and did some pull-ups for Tony Horton
(Hey Tone!)
Then a redbull car gave me a free redbull! They gave it to
me already open, which was a little sketch, but I’m still alive (albeit with
wings)
I visited Juliet’s House and Grave. Now I’m not sure what
this is exactly. I think this is where they shot one of the movies for Romeo
and Juliet? Or maybe Verona doesn’t know that it’s just a play and they are
very confused? Or maybe Romeo and Juliet was actually a documentary and
Shakespeare wasn’t a real person? All are equally likely.
Did I try to act the scene where Romeo walks into the
catacombs to find his dead love?
Absolutely. Gotta keep the Emo-prep in check.
Was someone filming it?
Yes.
Was that someone a security camera?
…
yes.
So Verona was nice. I saw these two statues that, after The
David, are the best I’ve seen in Italy. One portrayed lust with a small boy
crying on a raft and the other death with a naked woman in a chair. I may have
mixed the two up.
VIENNA AUSTRIA!
First. To get to Vienna from Verona is a looooong trip.
What should one do on a looooong trip?
Finally watch the uncut version of “Dances With Wolves”
Boom!
It was good.
I mean, I’m never going to type my true opinions on any
movie or show or poetry slam event because I can’t.
The last thing I need when Downton Abby is considering me to
play the lead in a spin off series called “Just Gianmarco: I’m in England!”
where in the year 2013 I somehow inherit Downton Abby and become best friends
with an old butler who lives there in a clashing of the generations comedy of
manners but with some out-of-the-blue sentimental moments is for them to see I
wrote poorly about someone they know or a project they worked on, etc.
But Dances With Wolves was very good.
Then I watched Sex, Lies and Videotape, which was also good.
Then I read 3 pages of Moby Dick and fell asleep.
Then I watched Big.
J
Vienna was very nice. (I absolutely suck at describing
experiences)
I got tickets for the Spanish Riding School’s Sunday show.
All that they did was dressage.
I don’t know what’s more entertaining: Watching horses do
dressage or drinking a glass of water at slightly above room temperature.
There was one moment where a horse stood on his hind legs
for less than two seconds.
That was the best part.
So walking around Vienna-WHAT JUAN DIEGO FLOREZ IS DOING A
CONCERT HERE TONIGHT!
Saw that. Wow. He even did Ah Mes Amis as an encore!
However, the classical attitude is simply ridiculous. There
were no anecdotes! There was no-“hey everyone, I’m just the greatest tenor
alive right now, AMA!” And he did this very odd thing where after every song he
left the stage with his pianist…and then came back a few minutes later for the
next song. Can someone explain this to me?
I imagine Juan leaving the stage:
J: Was it okay? I was little bit flat on the high C#
Pianist: Juan! Relax! It’s a C#! Even if you were really flat…Then it’s a frickin high C!
J: So I was flat.
Pianist: Don’t put words into my mouth, Juan.
J: I can’t go back out there.
Pianist: You have to! You have only done one song! We have
like…17 more.
J: Okay…but after the next one can we come back here and
talk again?
Pianist: I don’t know, Juan, it kind of kills the flow a
little bit.
J: WHY CAN’T YOU EVER SUPPORT WHAT I WANT!
Pianist: Okay, Okay, I’m sorry. We can come right back here
after the next song.
J: Fine, if that’s what you want.
Pianist: Don’t be like that, Juan. Who’s the greatest living
tenor? Who’s the greatest living tenor?
J: I am.
Pianist: That’s right, you are. Now let’s go out there and
sing another obscure opera piece!
The next night I saw a Streetcar Named Desire…in German.
So StreetcarMorgen Named Shnitzel.
It was playing at their National Theater and standing room
was 2,50 Euros. That’s like $3.30. And I got them 4 minutes before the show. I
don’t understand.
I’m pretty sure they changed the location of the show to
Miami Beach. Interesting.
(I don’t understand changing the settings of
anything…someone counter me)
I’m not done.
I went to the Zoo, saw some bamboos eating pandas.
I actually just type that.
I obviously meant to say giraffes eating pandas.
I went to this maze/labyrinth. I’m typing this from there.
Someone please find me.
Then I had this lovely interaction.
(Man with an empty stroller comes up to me sitting on a
bench reading my daily page of Moby Dick)
Guy: Hey, you speak English?
GM: Why yes, good sir.
Guy: Let me use your phone to make a phonecall
(I recount my stolen iphone story. He clearly doesn’t
believe me)
Guy: Give me a Euro to make a phone call.
GM: I think I’m gonna go.
Guy: Hey, Friend, Fuck you
GM: Why would you say that?
Guy: Why don’t you try it some time.
GM: What does that even entail?
It was traumatic. When he said, “Hey, Friend” I got very
excited. I could really use a traveling buddy. But alas, he proceeded to
recommend I try the paradoxical act of fucking myself. I don’t mean
paradoxical. That just sounded cool. I mean impossible.
I haven’t danced in years but maybe one could be flexible
enough to make love to himself. Is that legal? Or so infrequent Leviticus never
bothered?
When you are traveling alone-the slightest bad interaction
is, like a radius when calculating the area of a circle, multiplied by
pi-squared. I feel very vulnerable
The opposite is true, too. A bartender gave me a free shot
of jiegermeister and I almost cried at his kindness.
By the way-I LOVE JIEGERMEISTER! Who knew?
(God: Um…I did. I’m omnipotent
Me: Do you mean Omniscient?
God: Oh shit…yeah. That word.)
I did go out one night. And was not let into 5 consecutive
nightclubs.
There was some
Oh-You-Can’t-Speak-German?-Get-The-Fuck-Out-Of-My-Club going on.
So I went to a karaoke bar.
Karaoke is not very popular in Vienna.
I did, however, get my 3rd Piano Man rendition
in. 2nd time was better. I was a little bit flat on the high C# I
added in.
So Vienna was chill. Don’t get the wrong impression-I am
going out a bunch. I have probably been to more clubs/bars in the last 3 weeks
than I have in my entire life (minus the last three weeks…duh).
But it is not in me! At a bar, I feel like a very depressed
sexual-anthropologist (that can’t be the correct term) observing humanity at
it’s lowest. I am mixed with revulsion and longing and ultimately sit in a
corner wishing someone would talk to me…
Blah blah blah yaddah
yadda yadda…
I know what you really came here for.
I’m almost done with Moby Dick. 70 pages to go.
I’m not sure what exactly happened plot wise from pages 97
to 421.
But soon I can finally say to all my colleagues, “I have
read Moby Dick” and get laid like crazy at every bar I go to.
It’s actually pretty good. Does it contain an obscene amount
of most likely outdated whale factoids? No. It contains an absurdly obscene
amount of certainly outdated whale Snapple facts. But the language is very
pretty.
It is good. I’m serious.
So next is Hunger Games 2? The 3rd Book in the
Hitchhiker’s series? Anna Karinininininina?
Probably gonna be Hunger Games.
I’m off to Prague where I hope to see the absinthe museum
(which is open late for refreshments), a church made out of bones (as there was
an abundance after the plague), and this place called The Bar (where you have a
tap at your table AND there is a screen in the middle of the restaurant that
displays how much each table has drunk so you can compete. Disastrous
idea).
OH! I may change a few details for those of you who are
stalking me.
I think I’m going to skip Lyon, France and instead go to
Luxembourg for a day and then night-train it to Zurich, Switzerland. Someone
said there was this mountain you climb and ziplines and ropes course and I’m
just such a rogue outdoorsman that I can’t resist.
ANDANDAND! DID YOU SEE MAD MEN!? HOLY SHIT. Amazing.
I want to state right now that before the show is over-not
this year-maybe next-
Don and Betty are gonna hook up.
No doubt.
20 bucks.
I thought of this ad tag-line for Lucky Strikes. Lucky
Strikes: Get Lucky Tonight.
Hire me.
Thank you for reading,
You metaphorically warm my metaphysical heart,
Gianmarco
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