Hey there, all… Apologies for the relative slowdown, but upon my return from Italy this past Saturday, I’ve really hit the ground running. Well, may be not so much running as urgently limping. See, while I’m incredibly grateful to work where I do, the work itself does not wait for me when I’m away. This was compounded by the relatively sudden departure of a colleague of mine just prior to my vacation. As such, I came back from Italy with twice as many demands on my plate, and I’ve been doing my best to catch-up and make it all work. I’m sure you can understand.
In terms of the trip, what can I say? It was spectacular. Truly, one has not properly eaten food until one has experienced the culinary richness of Italy. They know what they’re doing. Just as one fleeting example, at a friend’s recommendation, we stopped by a restaurant in Rome called Colline Emiliane and it was without question the greatest meal I’ve ever had in my 55 years. I’m not kidding. Every other meal was amazing, as well. Even if you’re getting the most clichéd dish – arguably the Carbonara – it’ll genuinly blow a new part in your hair.
Beyond that, Rome is a tirelessly remarkable city, from the warmth of its people to the breathtaking art and architecture around virtually corner to the fascinating wellspring of its rich, magnificent history. Similarly, the Umbrian countryside is absolutely stunning, as are its myriad towns like Orvietto, Assisi, Spoletto, Spelo and Todi, each with their own, individual aspects to recommend them. The whole trip was amazing.
It wasn’t all delicious gelato, though. As I mentioned just prior to leaving, to my continuing astonishment, I have been walking around on broken bones in my left foot for some indeterminate amount of time, and the increasing discomfort brought on by same was already reaching a new level before I’d even departed. Rome and Umbria, meanwhile, are basically all uneven ground. I basically spent ten days subjecting my dumb, lame foot to uneven stone stairs, cobblestone streets, maddening inclines or combinations of all three (see picture above). That aspect was honestly torture, but what was I gonna do? Not walk around? Fuck that! I just did my best to bite the bullet, keep my complaining (relatively) at bay and get through it, which I did.
Upon my arrival home, I checked back in with cheeky Dr. Quip (not his real name, as immortalized here). I relayed my ambulatory exploits, and he rewarded me with a “prouder” (i.e. more pronounced) pad to be tucked into my left sneaker whilst I await the arrival of the my “short air cam walker fracture boot” which I’ll presumably be sporting later this very week. I’m sure I’ll have a litany of anecdotal grievances to relay from a few days of lurching around in that shit, so look forward to that.
Beyond the heartbreaking news about Jesse Malin, I was saddened to learn of the deaths of local hero Philipe Marcade of the Senders (who I’ve discussed here before), guitarist John Waddington of The Pop Group (and so soon after the demise of his bandmate Mark Stewart) and Teresa Taylor of the Butthole Surfers, who finally passed away from her illness this past weekend.
Back at you soon.
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