Sogno Romano


For the first time in many years, I dreamt of my father. It was a hectic dream, there was a lot going on, most of which I did not understand but for a brief moment he was there. For a brief moment things were as they were many years ago and there he was sitting on our couch wearing the faded blue shirt and silver basketball shorts he liked to wear around the house. There he was dark stubble and striking brown eyes in tact. There he was in my dream, returned to me if only for a moment.

I can’t help but contemplate the timing of such a dream. In the ten years since he passed I have often wished, prayed even, for dreams of my father but they never hapened. So I do wonder why this dream would happen now, at a time when my father (who is always in my thoughts) was not at the forefront of my mind. I must admit that I do in small part attribute this subconcious visitation from my father to Dacia Maraini and her story Sogno Romano. In the story she writes of a dream she had of her deceased friend Pier Paolo, how life-like he was, how young and energetic. She clearly understands how it feels to miss someone you love. And maybe my mind picked up on this having read the story earlier this week. Maybe my mind stored this emotional trigger and allowed it to bubble up to my subconcious while I slept. Maybe, I don’t know, but it was nice to see him again.


Piacere: First impressions of Rome


Finally it rains. After a week of ungodly heat which likely made many people contemplate the pros and cons of walking outside naked (or simply not going outside at all) things are starting to cool down. I’ve been in Rome for two weeks now and I’m in love, how could I not be? Rome to me is what every young male protagonist is in any Disney movie to his young female counterpart: the person (or place) to which you have an instant affinity and from there embark on a romantic adventure you didn’t know you had the capacity to endure. Everything amazes me here, from the business of the city as it teems with life each morning and afternoon to  the stark quiet of the night when the city goes to sleep.

There are so many little things, so many intracies that I’d never thought I’d see or experience. For one thing traffic is crazy here, a billion compact cars, mopeds, buses, trams, and pedestrians going every which way at once. One of the more surprising things for me is the was the way people park here, it’s not unsual to see cars parallel parked in the street next to cars  parallel parked on the curb. Lets just say Romans give a whole new meaning to the phrase, “double-parked.” Many people just make their own parking spots by parking in front of dumpsters, on medians, or parking in a perpindicular fashion adjacent to a string of parallel parked cars. Walking is an equally crazy task, crossing the street requires that you basically step out in front of cars and expect them to break or swerve around you. There have been several times when instead of doing this I stood on the sidewalk waiting for all the cars to pass and was given a weird look as if to say, “what are you doing”, by the drivers and pedestrians passing me. Its a miracle that I get anywhere that doesn’t have a pedestrian light to tell you when to walk, although I find on the busier streets it helps to find a bold Roman and follow them as they cross.

Graffitti is everywhere in this city, everywhere. Its as ubiquitous as the culture and history found on every corner. Another thing found on every corner, and every place in between is dog poop. For some reason I thought that Rome, being such a small place, would have cats as the number one pet of choice. Afterall, they are small self-sufficient, and most importantly poop in litter boxes, making them a great pet for the familes living in the multitude of Rome’s apartments and condominiums. However that doesn’t seem to be the case at all, everywhere I go I see nothing but dogs and thusly dog poop. Some sidewalks have been turned into goat paths where one weaves their way through piles of petrified dog poop.

None of this is a critique of Rome, as I said, I love it here. Honestly, in some weird way these things add to the beauty and complexity of Rome. I find it oddly hilarious that the city that has been the center of some much history, so much power could be plagued by small things like angsty teenagers who need hobbies, or the the need for city ordinances that require people to pick up after their pets. Rome encapsulates the human experience, from the small inconsequential things to major movements of history. And I couldn’t be happier to be here.

Il Buon Viaggio: My First Flight


We don’t travel much in my family. It just takes too much time and effort what with taking off work, and buying gasoline, and checking into hotels, just too much. And yet here I am, at the ripe yet unexperienced age of twenty-one, I’ve decided to go to Rome. Never been out of the country, never even been on an airplane but I was determined to get to Rome and there was only one way to get there (because boats take forever and I don’t know how to swim). So I secured a flight (or flights rather because it took two to get here) with a travel agency (because I didn’t trust myself to do it correctly) packed my bags and headed off on my Roman holiday. Here’s a brief look at the assortment of thoughts that passed through my head:

Wow, this is a lot tinier than I thought it would be”

This plane is comprable to a flying yellow-dog (school bus)”

“Really wishing I had a better grasp of physics so I could rationalize my fears away”

We have nothing to fear but fear itself….and birds getting stuck in the turbines causing us to explode in the sky,”

If the plane crashes I hope CNN uses a good picture of me….they probably won’t”

I hope we don’t burn up on re-entry to the atmosphere…..wait, we’re not in space…..but still”

[In my Seinfeld voice]”What’s the deal with airplane food?”

That wasn’t so bad”

Wait, I think I’m going to throw….”

Great, now the flight attendants keep referring to me as “the sick one”

“Airplane pilots should really use the word “unfornately” sparingly”

Oh my God, that’s Italy down there, kind of looks like California, so beautiful”

All in all it wasn’t that bad. But I have to admit I’m not really looking forwar to that return flight.



If I could write a letter to the women of the world,

I’d tell them be an enigma, let people fall in love with the mystery of you, your Mona Lisa smile a maze in which we gladly wander 

Be moonlight, the soft beacon by which lovers leave footprints in the sands of beaches yet strong enough to push and pull the tides

Let men retreat into your veil when they are weary and gaze into the constellations you call eyes, irises libel to capture the soul of a man and transport it to another place, like the black holes that warp time and space

Be the air we breath, bring a moments clarity, bring life to heart and caress us with the breeze, encapsulate the moments that bring us to our knees, your gentleness makes life livable and your harshness takes it away

Be a calloused hand but a warm embrace, showing much wear from love’s labors, yet still open

Be laugh lines and crows feet, bear the scars of a life lived proudly, show the marks of the joy you created and the stories you authored

And when you’re gone we’ll bask in the warmth of who you were like good friends at a campfire 



I wonder if when you get to heaven there are tombstones for the people that you leave behind

Serving as reminders of the life you once lived and list of people to check up on from time to time

I wonder if just as you die a newborn child lets out its first cry

If angels stand at the pearly gates having simultaneous goodbye and welcome parties

I wonder if when you left me you knew I’d be okay, that you knew it’d hurt me dearly but I was well prepared for life without you so you said goodbye anyway

The Fault in Our Stars: An Open Letter On Role Models

              The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars
             But in ourselves, that we are underlings.
— Julius Caesar, Act I Scene 2
Sooner or later we’re going to have to admit it, that (as often times is the case) the artful words of Shakespeare still ring true today. It does not matter how long we try to perpetuate the blame game, the fault lies not with the people we admire but in ourselves that we would subject ourselves to being their underlings hopelessly devoted to following in their footsteps though the path they tread may lead to folly. You see, it really doesn’t matter what Miley Cyrus, Kim Kardashian, Justin Bieber, Jay-Z, or anyone else may do we as individuals are responsible for our own actions (as are they). We each wake up with twenty-four hours in a day and we have to choose how we’re going to spend it. And we could choose to ruthlessly pursue fame irregardless of who we may hurt in the process (ourselves included), we could continue to perpetuate hatred and negative stereotypes by acting in a manner that is beneath ourselves, we could even waste our time envying others for what they have. Or we could choose to live, to appreciate life for what it is: a fleeting second on the hands of time. We could choose to love, to hope, to dream, to take risk, to devote ourselves to that which is positive and good. No matter what we choose to do with our lives we must always remember that we made that choice and embrace it for whatever lessons it may have to teach us.